In Dreams by Jaiden_s
Summary: After his death, Celegorm is offered a chance at redemption. Will he rise to the challenge or will his stubborn nature get in the way of happiness?
Categories: FPS > Irmo/Celegorm, FPS, FPS > Celegorm/Irmo Characters: Celegorm, Irmo
Type: None
Warning: Angst, AU, Character Death
Challenges: None
Series: None
Chapters: 1 Completed: Yes Word count: 10066 Read: 1949 Published: June 16, 2009 Updated: June 16, 2009
Story Notes:


Written for the Library of Moria Uncommon Pairings Challenge. Originally, the story was to be a reinterpretation of the Eros/Psyche myth, but somewhere along the way, it morphed into a real story. Go figure.

Beta: Alex_cat

1. Chapter 1 by Jaiden_s

Chapter 1 by Jaiden_s
"I want him."

A pair of coal black eyes turned to stare at the one who spoke with a quizzical look. "I'm sorry...?"

"I said, I want him. You have repeatedly expressed your distaste for both him and his kin, even going so far as to deny them entry to your halls. Give him to me."

The quizzical look turned to one of abject shock. "Truly, you have lost what is left of your mind. Have you any idea what he has done? Or what he could be capable of doing?"

Musical laughter echoed down from the treetop in which the brothers perched. "Certainly! Have I not been observing his actions over the course of the last age, more often than not, with you by my side? He, more than any Elf on Arda, completely captivates me. I am fascinated by him, and I think with the proper motivation, he could repent...perhaps even learn a measure of humility."

That comment elicited a derisive snort. "A humble Fëanorian? You are delusional, blinded by his beauty and charm. Once you have him, he will drive you mad with frustration."

"Then leave me to my madness. After all, I am the Master of Visions, the Lord of Dreams and the Designer of Enchantments. If I cannot affect a modicum of change, then he cannot be saved, and into the celestial heavens will I release his spirit."

"Why would you pursue such folly, Irmo? He is not a stray dog for you to train. He made foolish choices of his own volition, the consequences of which he must bear. His fate has been sealed."

Irmo rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his eyes silver as sparkling twilight while he studied the dying Elf on the ground below. "There is still a portion of his heart that remains unsullied. In the magical moments between sleeping and wake, he longs for absolution. His soul speaks to me. How can I turn a deaf ear to his pleas?"

Namo breathed a heavy sigh. "Very well. If you wish to assume responsibility for a renegade Elf, then do so, but do not come to me for assistance when he wreaks havoc in your peaceful gardens."

Like a graceful bird, Irmo floated down from the knotty pine branch on which he had been reclining, his descent veiled from curious eyes by a misty haze of smoke. The hillside below him was stained crimson with the spilled blood of fallen Elves who had been slain in the name of misguided allegiances, yet it was one Elf in particular who held him in thrall.

Irmo landed atop a grassy knoll amidst the macabre mass of broken bodies and torn flesh. Dried blood painted the grass a crisp vermilion that crunched beneath his feet as he walked. Elven eyes that once would have widened in awe at the sight of him now stared straight ahead, glassy and lifeless, unblinking.

On the far side of the somber hillside scene lay Celegorm the Fair, broken and on the cusp of fading. Even in death, he was splendid, cold and dazzling as a sculpture carved in ice. His golden hair glinted in the fading light, which heightened the sharp angles of his cheekbones and jaw. Irmo bent over the dying Elf and placed his warm hand on Celegorm's pale cheek. Of all the Sons of Fëanor, this one showed the most promise and harbored the deepest regrets. No one r11; not man nor Elf r11; had crumbled the hard wall of defensiveness Celegorm had erected to shield his heart. Irmo found himself irresistibly drawn to the challenge of tearing it down.

"My child," he began, bending to press a chaste kiss to Celegorm's bloodied forehead. "My lovely, misguided Tyelcormo whose loyalty knows no bounds. Come with me and find rest."

As gently as the breeze carries aloft a fallen leaf, Irmo lifted Celegorm's limp body into his arms and disappeared.

Namo watched the scene unfold without comment, his face as impassive as that of a gilded mask. In truth, he had already passed judgment on Fëanor and his sons, and nothing Irmo did or said would change his mind. The Elf was lost, a casualty of his stubborn pride and blind obsession with the Silmarili.




Celegorm stood waist-deep in the middle of a crystal lake shrouded in the pale light of the moon that would soon give way to dawn. The air around him was deadly still; the icy water that lapped at his bare skin chilled him right to the bone. The scene itself was stark. No birds flew through the sky above him. No squirrels scurried around the banks of the lake. No frogs croaked from their muddy beds. The silence was unnerving. He shivered, confused.

A lone figure stood on the bank opposite, his arms outstretched in welcome. Celegorm smiled. He knew the one who quietly beckoned to him. Celegorm's feet seemed made of lead, and he struggled to walk through the silt of the lake bottom, but he pressed onward.

When at last he reached the other side of the lake, strong hands reached down, pulled him from the cold water, and wrapped him in a warm embrace. Celegorm leaned wearily against the other's broad chest. It was all so familiar, so comforting.

They remained that way until the sun drenched the sky in the brilliant hues of sunrise. "The time has come for me to leave. Even though I am not with you in body, my spirit is never far away. Have faith. Let it be your safe harbor in times of turbulence," whispered a voice softly into Celegorm's ear.

Celegorm clung to his rescuer, unwilling to be parted from him. "Do not leave me. I need you," he pleaded.

But as the sun began its slow journey across the sky, the one in his arms disappeared into the morning mist.




The sound of his own voice crying out in desperation jarred Celegorm out of his healing sleep. "Only a dream," he whispered to himself, and within moments, the vision evaporated completely like thick fog in the heat of the sun. As he blinked his eyes and gathered his thoughts, he slowly realized that the bed in which he lay was completely unfamiliar.

The room itself was small, yet bright and airy, with glass doors that opened out to a lush courtyard garden filled with brilliant blooms. Billowy curtains of sheer gauze fluttered in the gentle breeze and filtered the sunlight that streamed in through the open windows. The bed on which he lay took up the majority of the space in the room, and with considerable effort he propped himself up in it, leaning back against the starched white pillows. In the far corner of the room, near the open doors, a slender blond Elf busied himself arranging a bouquet of flowers.

"Where am I?" Celegorm's raspy voice sounded harsh even to his own ears. He cleared his throat with a self-conscious cough.

"You are awake," said the Elf, the very picture of serenity as he made his way to where Celegorm lay. Fitting with the decor, the Elf wore robes of white and silver. Even his long hair shimmered with silver threads that had been intricately woven among his braids. Celegorm studied at length the Elf who poured a glass of water from a silver pitcher on the bedside table. He immediately disliked him.

"It would appear so, yes. May I ask again where I am? This room looks entirely unfamiliar to me, and you are clearly not one of my servants," snipped Celegorm as he took the proffered glass. "Servants in my household would not dare address me in a manner so informal."

The Elf chuckled, which irked Celegorm to no end. "You are in a place of healing. For now, that is all you need to know. Once you have fully recovered, you will join me in service of our Lord," said the blond.

Celegorm's face twisted into an expression of shocked anger. "What do you mean, join you?! I am not a servant! I am Tyelcormo, Son of Fëanor! I am bound to nothing and beholding to no one, save the Oath I swore to my father," he raged, his face flaming with indignation.

Much to his surprise, the blond Elf scarcely batted an eye at his outburst. "You are here under the auspices of our Lord, and to him you will swear your allegiance," he stated calmly.

"I will do no such thing," cried Celegorm. "He cannot force me to serve him!"

The expression on the Elf's face changed ever so slightly from pleasant calm to mild amusement. Reaching out, he caught Celegorm's arm in a firm grip and turned it over, revealing a small tattoo on the inside of his wrist. "There is no choice to be made, Tyelcormo. He bought you. You belong to him. That is his mark you bear on your skin."

Speechless, Celegorm gaped openmouthed at the interlaced knots that formed an intricate circular pattern on his left wrist. With a trembling finger, he traced the black ink, unwilling to believe what he saw. "Then, I am...." The words would not come. Celegorm could only blink in stunned silence.

"A slave," finished the Elf with a wry smile. "Take your rest while you can, for tomorrow your service begins in earnest. I will come for you at sunrise."

A sinking feeling welled up in Celegorm as he watched the Elf float out the door. The feeling grew stronger still when he heard the grate of a key turning in a lock. "This cannot be," he breathed, his eyes darting around the room wildly.

Flinging back the covers and ignoring his pain, he crawled out of the bed and limped to the open doors. The gardens were smaller than he had originally thought, surrounded by thick walls of cut stone that rose higher than he could ever hope to climb. Defeated, he sank onto a wooden bench beneath a blooming magnolia tree and fingered one of the white flowers.

"A slave..." he repeated, as if speaking the words aloud would make them seem less horrible. Shame mixed with anger flooded his mind, and he clenched his fist, crushing the delicate bloom that he held within it. "Not for long," he swore through gritted teeth.




Celegorm walked barefoot on a dusty pathway through a grassy field along the edge of a bubbling brook. He was searching for something, though he could not quite remember what exactly it might be. The sun dipped low on the horizon, washing the lower half of the sky with a pinkish glow, and Celegorm lingered on the path to gaze in at it in awe.

A hand on his shoulder drew his attention, though, and when Celegorm recognized his companion, his eyes lit up with joy. "I have been searching for you," he exclaimed with a broad smile. The two embraced beneath the setting sun, but the moment was fleeting. When the last rays of orange and purple faded from the evening sky, Celegorm's companion disappeared, leaving him alone once more.




True to his promise, the blond Elf appeared at the door to Celegorm's room just as the first rays of sunlight painted the edge of the horizon with broad strokes of pink and orange.

"Rise and face the day, Tyelcormo," the Elf called in a singsong voice. Heavy draperies that covered the windows parted only after extreme effort on the part of the slim Elf, allowing a wash of light to filter into the small room.

Celegorm grunted and flung an arm over his squinted eyes. "It's too early," he croaked from under the covers. He wanted to stay in bed...and return to the pleasant dream that lingered just on the edge of his memory.

"Nonsense," scolded the Elf whist selecting an appropriate outfit from the wardrobe near the bed. "Once you have dressed, join me at the end of the hallway, seventh door on the left. I will issue your day's assignment at that time." And with a curt smile, the Elf swept from the room, leaving a befuddled Celegorm to stare after him.

His first thought was to escape, to scale the high wall of the courtyard and run for the safety of the hills, but as he swung his feet over the edge of the bed, a sharp pain shot through him like an arrow piercing flesh. He could not possible run. Not now.

"I will remain here until I am healed, and not a minute longer," he promised himself stubbornly. But then what? To whom would he return? What would be left of his home, his family and the honor for which he had been willing to die? It was hopeless. He was alone, a slave to an unknown master.

He forced those thoughts from his mind with a scowl, and focused on the unusually difficult task of dressing himself. Limbs, stiff and sore from battle, protested when forced into a starched linen tunic and heavy wool trousers, and his feet throbbed inside the new boots. Walking would be a challenge.

In fact, it was a snail's pace at which he ambled down the hallway. So slow was his shuffle that the blond Elf who had greeted him that morning, now stuck his head out of the doorway.

"Make haste! There is much to be done," he said darting to Celegorm's side to help him along.

Celegorm swatted at the Elf's hand that firmly gripped his elbow. "I am not an invalid," he groused. The Elf made no move to unhand him, so Celegorm sighed and allowed himself to be led.

Once they finally reached the end of the hallway, the Elf held open an ornate wooden door, allowing Celegorm to step inside the cavernous room.

Few things on Arda truly impressed Celegorm's jaded sensibilities, but that enormous room certainly did. It was nothing short of spectacular, with floor-to-ceiling picture windows spanning the entire rear wall. A sparkling crystal chandelier dangled from the ceiling by gilded chains. Twinkling lights danced on golden wall sconces, their light reflecting up from the polished marble floors. Every spot his gaze lingered was awash in shimmering brilliance.

"What is this place?" said Celegorm as he turned around in a slow circle. His voice echoed off of the bare walls.

"It is to be a grand ballroom, but it is unfinished. That is your assignment, Tyelcormo," replied the Elf. "You must choose the furnishings, paint the walls, and select appropriate artwork to hang by the end of the day."

Celegorm froze in place and turned to glare over his shoulder at the blond Elf. "That is my assignment? It is an insurmountable load of mindless busywork. What you need is a band of half-witted ogres, not a lone Elf," he exclaimed.

The blond handed Celegorm a slate tile. "It seems you are the closest thing to an ogre that we have, so the task has fallen to you," he said with a grin. "Do be advised that our Lord will critique your work this evening. If it is not performed to his exacting standards, you will be required to redo it."

A paper affixed to the slate tile listed each of the tasks in detail, beginning with the selection of paint. 'In the storage room to the right of the fireplace, you will find paint arranged by color, in a variety of finishes. Select the one each for the walls and the trim, and give your choices to my assistant. He will be present to aid you.' By the time Celegorm finished scanning the long list, the blond Elf had quietly exited the room, closing the door behind him.

Celegorm's eyes flicked up from the slate tile to scan the vast expanse of bare walls. How in the name of Manwë would he ever finish painting before nightfall? What of the rest of his tasks? Nobody could possibly complete the entire list in just one day! And to make matters worse, his helper had just left! In a fit of anger, he hurled the slate tile to the floor with a loud clatter.

"Frustrated already? Why, you have not even begun to work," noted a deep voice from behind him.

Celegorm wheeled around to spot an alarmingly tall, gray-cloaked figure lurking in the storage room doorway. A hood, shielding his features from Celegorm's scrutinizing gaze covered the Elf's face.

"Who are you?" Celegorm demanded, taking a step toward the mysterious Elf.

"I am the Lord's assistant. Do the written instructions not mention me?"

Grumbling, Celegorm stooped to pick up the slate tile. "I suppose they do, but I was not expecting you to be here just now."

A hint of a smile flashed from beneath the Elf's shadowy hood. "Nevertheless, here I am. May we begin?" He gestured for Celegorm to follow him into the storage room, which turned out to be much larger than expected.

Shelves lined all four walls, stretching nearly to the ceiling, and on them was a dizzying array of paint cans. In bins on the floor were stacked oil paintings and woolen rugs of every color in the rainbow. Lamps, vases and candelabras were haphazardly piled on small tables that dotted the room. Not one inch of space was wasted.

As impressive as that was, Celegorm was more intrigued by the dark Elf who hovered like a shadow just over his shoulder. Though he made an attempt to study the paint colors in earnest, he found himself constantly glancing back at the assistant with growing curiosity. The assistant, however, remained veiled and maddeningly unreadable. After a short while, Celegorm decided he did not like him, and as the minutes ticked by, he became more and more irritated with the entire situation.

"I cannot be expected to simply choose a color with no prior knowledge of the Lord's personal tastes," he complained. "Who is this Lord and what is he like?"

The cloaked assistant folded his long arms over his chest and remarked, "He is a powerful Lord, one of great vision and inspiration. He does not work in the open - his power is unseen and his influence is subtle even to the wise. Few here, if any, have ever seen his face, but all are touched by his divine presence."

Celegorm chewed on that statement thoughtfully for a moment. "I serve a Lord who skulks about in the shadows like a rat?"

For a brief moment, Celegorm thought he saw the twinkle of an impish grin from beneath the hooded cloak, but the Elf ducked his head before he could be certain.

"You misunderstand me, Tyelcormo," the Elf gently chided. "The Lord wishes to instill faith in his servants that they may believe in that which cannot be seen or touched. Yet, those who seek him in earnest may find him in the twinkling mists at sunrise or in the last light of day, for are not dusk and dawn the wondrous and brief mingling of light and darkness? A time of waking dreams and colorful visions that dance on the edge of reality?"

The words piqued Celegorm's curiosity. "He will see me. Surely he would not deny audience to a Noldor Prince."

"Ah, but you are no longer a prince. Your job now is to serve the Lord, no more and no less."

Anger clawed a deep gash in Celegorm's chest, and he fumed silently at the Elf's blunt statement. He would see this so-called Lord if it was the last thing he ever did. Obviously, the lurking assistant had seen him. That being the case, Celegorm certainly deserved a meeting with him, too. His eyes narrowed to tiny slits as he skewered the Elf with a steely glare. When the cloaked Elf left for the day to report back to his Lord, Celegorm would follow him.




The day seemed to drag on for eternity, yet Celegorm still achieved precious little. After some deliberation, he selected a soft mossy green for the walls, and set to the enormous task of painting the cavernous room. Painting the first wall seemed to be longer than one of Curufin's speeches, and certainly was more tedious, even with the secretive Elf lending his assistance. By the time the second wall was painted, the sun hung low in the sky and cast a harsh glare on the yet-to-be-painted wall opposite the window.

"How in the name of Morgoth did anyone expect me to finish the room in one day?" griped Celegorm. He dropped his paintbrush into the empty can with a scowl, a scowl that deepened when he saw his helper walking toward the door.

"Forgive me, but I must bid you a good evening. The Lord requires my presence," stated the Elf. With a quick bow of his head, he was gone.

Celegorm tossed his paintbrush in an empty jar and crept out behind him, unnoticed.

Following the cloaked Elf through the winding passageways of the unfamiliar palace proved more difficult than Celegorm had thought. The highly polished marble floors caused even the lightest footstep to echo loudly in the narrow corridors. And the floors were slippery. Quite slippery. Celegorm nearly skidded right into an unsuspecting Elf as he slid inelegantly around a particularly well-polished corner. A grumbled, "Bygones," served as an apology, and without so much as a backward glance, he hurried to catch up with his elusive subject.

Several slippery turns later, Celegorm caught sight of the Elf just as he slipped quietly out a paned door and into the gardens beyond. Celegorm smiled to himself. Obviously, the Elf was to meet the Lord in the gardens at dusk, and if he hurried, he could catch them both unawares.

Carefully, he eased open the glass doors and stepped lightly onto the slate tile of the patio. The sun had begun its slow descent toward the horizon, kissing the darkening sky with flaming orange and ripe pink before it retired for the evening. So vibrant were the colors and so alive was the palette that painted the blooms in the deep colors of twilight that Celegorm wondered for a moment if the hues themselves were alive, a shimmering union of dark and light born anew each day at twilight. The magic of the moment so enchanted him that he forgot his singular purpose and stepped awestruck onto the soft grass. "It is a waking dream," he murmured.

"Aye, and we are blessed to have seen it," came the unexpected reply.

Surprised, Celegorm wheeled around to see an all-too-familiar blond Elf standing behind him carrying a large silver urn. Where was the cloaked Elf he had taken such care to follow?! Somehow in the soft light of dusk, the other Elf had escaped. Celegorm frowned. "What are you doing here? I thought you tended to my bedchamber."

The Elf's laughter lilted on the thin evening breeze. "I have many duties, Tyelcormo, only one of which is dealing with you. My most important duty, though, is to water the trees in the Lord's garden. Will you help me?" asked the Elf with a serene smile.

Celegorm cast one last, desperate look around the gardens, hoping beyond hope that the cloaked Elf lingered, hidden in the shadows as he did so well. But Celegorm's sharp eyes saw nothing other than a brightly colored bird preening himself on a low hanging tree limb. With a sigh, Celegorm nodded his assent and followed the blond to a shimmering pool in the center of the gardens.

Their footsteps made barely a sound as they stepped through the ring of towering cypress that encircled the pool of water. The blond knelt gracefully and filled his silver urn nearly to the brim before handing it to Celegorm. "Do you see the silver tree just over there? Our Lord prizes it above all others, and I am charged with its care. Take the urn and pour the water over the roots."

Celegorm approached the tree with a healthy amount of skepticism. Though it was certainly a lovely tree, the fact remained that it was just a tree. But as he began to gently pour the water over the base of the trunk, an extraordinary thing happened. The tree itself swayed and shivered as if being blown by an undetectable breeze. Celegorm paused and gave his companion a startled look. The blond responded with a knowing smile.

"It enjoys being watered and quivers with delight as the first cool drops reach its roots," said the Elf, as if it were an everyday occurrence for a tree to move on its own.

That was enough for Celegorm, who unceremoniously dumped the remainder of the water over the tree roots and backed away as quickly as he could. The blond found it quite amusing, which in turn irritated Celegorm even further, but the blond ignored Celegorm's scowl of disapproval and took from his hands the empty urn.

"How did you fare with your first day's tasks? I take it you finished with time to spare, for you were here before the sun finished setting." The blond's eyebrow hitched upward ever so slightly. Celegorm's reaction was priceless.

"Stars! My tasks!" In his quest to follow the cloaked Elf, he had left the great hall unfinished. "I thought r11; Oh, never mind what I thought! I have to return and finish the painting!"

He had taken no more than two steps toward the doorway before a hand on his bicep stopped him in his tracks. "Did you put forth your best effort, Tyelcormo?"

Celegorm blinked in confusion and shrugged off the hand that encircled his arm. "Of course! Any task I pursue, I do so with the best of my abilities, even if the task itself is futile," he replied as he charged for the door once again.

"Then fear not. The Lord rewards hard work with inspiration and hope. You will see," called the blond from behind him.

Celegorm only half heard what he said, however, so focused was he on returning to finish the room before the end-of-day inspection. He retraced his steps, darting down one hallway and hurtling up another until he at last stood in front of the ornately carved door, which had been securely locked in his absence. A small silver lock dangled from the clasp just above the knob, and he tugged on it to no avail. His shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Then I have no choice but to start again on the morrow," he said with a sigh. He shuffled back down the hallway to his room in the far corner.




The grand ballroom was breathtaking, even more so when painted in the pale light of dawn. Celegorm stood in the center of it, turning in a slow circle so as to admire it from every angle. "Yes, this is how it was meant to be. This is how I pictured it in my mind's eye," he said to himself. "It should be filled with lively music and lithe dancers spinning about in delight."

All at once, the first swells of a harp filled the room, soon joined by a mandolin and flute. Celegorm beamed with delight. A warm hand clasped his own and twirled him out to the center of the floor. He knew the steps without thinking. After all, he had danced here before...hadn't he? He gazed up into the silver eyes of his partner and smiled. Yes, he had danced here before. And when the colors of sunrise faded from the sky, so faded the enchanting dream.




Celegorm disliked mornings. He always had. Given the choice, he would far rather linger in bed and dream. Though he scarcely remembered them, his dreams always left him feeling wistful, and he wished he could make the feeling last just a little longer.

As if on cue, the blond Elf knocked softly on his bedroom door. "Rise and shine, Tyelcormo. Embrace the day!"

Celegorm scowled at the chipper Elf. "Why should I? I serve a Lord who cannot be pleased. I'm assigned tasks that cannot be finished. My only companions are a skulky Elf who hides his face and a tittering blond with an affinity for trees."

His comments brought a smile the blond's face. "You see things as you choose to see them, Tyelcormo. Look beyond the obvious. True faith lies in things unseen," he replied as he opened the window to the gardens to allow the sun to fill the small room. A brightly colored bird fluttered down from his perch on a tree limb and pecked absently at a small beetle on the windowsill.

"I am a realist. I value only that which can be seen and touched. Only a dreamer is foolish enough to have faith in things unseen," Celegorm said, wincing as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. Though he had healed remarkably well over the past few days, a few lingering pains remained. He rubbed at his knee, willing the stiffness in it to subside.

"Can you see the wind? It blows where it will, unseen by both Elf and man, yet it is strong enough to topple the mightiest tower or uproot the tallest tree," remarked the blond with a casual tone.

Celegorm grunted in response and tugged on his trousers. "That is different. I have seen power of the wind with my own eyes. I have watched it wildly toss ships about as if they were children's toys, and seen it turn sturdy wooden homes into piles of kindling."

"Then reserve your judgment. That which is hidden shall soon be revealed," came the blond's cryptic reply. Before Celegorm could ask any further questions, the Elf brushed past him and strode quickly out the door.

Once he had finished dressing, Celegorm began the slow, tortuous walk to his imminent doom. The previous day's task remained unfinished. His stomach churned with worry. Had one of his own servants failed to perform a required duty, the punishment would have been swift and severe. Celegorm exhaled a sigh of resignation. If he was to be punished, he would accept whatever it might be without comment. By the time he reached the seventh door on the left, his nerves knotted into a ball in the pit of his stomach. There was no use putting it off any longer. With a deep breath, he opened the door.

"Forgive me," he began, but the rest of his apology died on his lips, for the room was nothing short of spectacular. Somehow in the dead of the night, a miracle had occurred! The walls gleamed with a fresh coat of paint. The floors had been covered with thick, plush rugs. Over the windows hung heavy draperies of the finest brocade. Someone had even taken the time to polish the chandelier until the crystals that dangled from the golden spires sparkled like tiny diamonds beneath the flickering candles.

"It's glorious! You've done a spectacular job," beamed the blond Elf. "The Lord is most pleased! He said so himself."

Celegorm was speechless. His eyes darted from the beveled mirror over the fireplace to the spray of flowers on a table near the door and back again. How had this happened?! Who had crept in and finished the task in his stead? His mind reeled.

The blond seemed oblivious to his shock, however, and he ushered Celegorm right back out the doorway. "In fact, the Lord was so impressed that he has assigned you a very important task! He wants you to prepare his evening meal," said the Elf, as if that job were akin to an audience with Eru himself.

Celegorm's shoulders ached at the mere though of kneading dough or chopping vegetables for hours on end. "But, I can't," he protested weakly, unsure of exactly how much he should admit about his true role in the redecorating process.

"Of course you can," the blond reassured him. "If you can paint and carpet a grand ballroom, then you can certainly cook dinner!"

But that wasn't me. I didn't do it! Celegorm felt weak. Could a miracle happen again? He certainly hoped so.




Though Celegorm had eaten more than his share of meals in his previous lifetime, he realized with a start that he knew almost nothing about the act of cooking itself. But cooking couldn't be that difficult, could it? Surely he could scrape together a simple meal that would be good enough to please the Lord. His mind ticked through the few meals he felt confident preparing as they walked along the narrow corridor that led to the rear of the palace. Pancakes? Too simple. Sandwiches? Too casual. Stew! Brilliant! A smug grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. All he needed was a large pot, fresh vegetables and a nice cut of meat and he would be ready to cook. By the time he pushed open the double doors and stepped into the kitchen, Celegorm fairly glowed with confidence.

His confidence lasted as long as it took for him to read the recipe scrawled on the large slate tile above the hearth.

"Crepes in a raspberry reduction sauce? Celegorm stared at the recipe for a long minute before adding, "I was not aware that raspberries could be reduced."

The blond Elf by his side gave his shoulder a quick squeeze. "It is the sauce that is reduced, not the raspberries. You have approximately six hours to prepare the requested meal. Our Lord enjoys dining on the verandah at sunset. Make absolutely sure to have the meal finished on time or he will be quite displeased."

Much like the day before, Celegorm found himself alone and facing a nearly impossible task. A row of delicate white eggs sat neatly on the wooden countertop. "At least I don't have to go and pluck them from under the hens," he muttered as he reached for the first egg. It made a satisfying thwack as it hit the edge of the counter and split neatly down the center. Celegorm pried it apart and dumped the yolk into a large mixing bowl. "I'll finish with hours to spare," he said with a smug grin.

Soon, however, he was bent over a wooden mixing bowl, picking eggshells from the yolks with his fingernails. At last his forefinger brushed over a gritty bit of white shell. "Aha!" He held the stubborn shell aloft in triumph. "You didn't think you could escape me, did you?"

From somewhere behind him came a nervous cough. Celegorm dropped the mixing bowl to the counter with a clatter and turned to see the ever-present blond Elf hovering sheepishly in the doorway.

"Are you here to assist me?" Celegorm returned to his mixing bowl. "Take up some eggs and help me discover the secret to cracking them without having eggshells in the yolk."

The slim Elf took a hesitant step out of the shadows and replied, "Ah...I fear not, Tyelcormo. The Lord's pet bird has escaped his cage, and I cannot seem to catch him."

Celegorm turned to look at normally cheerful Elf. The uncharacteristic slump of the blond's shoulders gave Celegorm pause, and he heaved a sigh. "I could help you capture him, if you like," he offered, albeit reluctantly. Moments later, he found himself chasing a brightly colored bird around the herb garden behind the kitchen.

It was maddening. The bird flitted from shrub to shrub, alighting just long enough for Celegorm to nearly snatch a tailfeather before taking flight once more. The game of tag continued for what Celegorm deemed to be nigh until infinity, until finally he threw up his hands in frustration. "I give up! Fly all the way to Mordor, you vile creature!"

The bird cocked his head. Celegorm glared in response. "If I weren't serving crepes for dinner, I would add you to the menu," he growled in a tone laced with anger.

Once more, the chase was on! The bird tittered happily as it darted to a limb far higher than Celegorm could ever hope to reach. He placed one hand on the sturdy tree trunk, and then stole another look at the source of his irritation, which preened himself blithely from his lofty perch. There was only one thing to be done: climb the tree.

Celegorm made quick progress on the lower half of the tree, as the branches grew thick and strong, but he slowed as he climbed higher and the branches bent under his substantial weight. "Do not move," he panted to the preening bird.

The bird blinked at him and dropped a red feather that fluttered down to land on his shoulder. Celegorm's ire flamed to full inferno. Unfortunately, it also caused him to lose his grip on the branch to which he clung, and he fell to the ground below, where he landed with a hard thud. For a moment, he merely lay on the ground staring up at the afternoon sky, and then everything faded from view.




The last stars of evening slowly faded into the blue, eliciting a wistful sigh from Celegorm. He leaned back into the strong arms that encircled his waist. "You will be leaving me soon." It was a statement rather than a question, for he already knew the answer.

"Yes. Once the sun has risen, I will take my leave. But do not fret, for I shall return on the morrow."

"I want you to stay...just this once," Celegorm entreated. He stopped short of begging, though his heart was filled with silent pleas.

Soft lips brushed over his temple and a gentle voice said, "I want nothing more than to be with you night and day, but the time is not yet here. Soon."

They embraced in silence and savored the few fleeting moments left to share before sunrise.




Celegorm awoke to a bird pecking hungrily at his collar. "Ahhh...I must have knocked myself out cold," he said as he willed his eyes into focus. The bird cocked his head in curiosity and delivered another peck to Celegorm's collar, to which Celegorm responded by grabbing the bird forcefully with both hands.

"Now I have you, you wretched little beast!"

The bird squawked and nibbled at Celegorm's thumb, but after a few seconds of fluttering in vain, he settled down and resigned himself to his fate.

With a groan, Celegorm struggled to a seated position, which proved to be a difficult feat when hindered by a handful of wriggling bird. "Now, what to do with you..."

The blond Elf raced up to him as if on cue, breathless with relief. "I shall take him back to our Lord's bedchamber," he said as he took the bird from Celegorm's outstretched hands. "If you had not offered to help me, I fear I would have lost him forever! Thank you, Tyelcormo."

Celegorm nodded in reply and struggled to his feet. Already the first tinges of sunset crept up from the horizon. He blinked in dismay. "Blast! My meal! I must have been unconscious for longer than I realized!"

Like an arrow fired from a strongbow, Celegorm hurtled toward the kitchen and burst in through the double doors. The sight that greeted him rocked him to his very core. Instead of finding a kitchen left in a state of egg-covered disarray he saw a steaming platter of cheese crepes, drizzled with raspberry sauce sitting atop a silver tray. His breath caught in his chest. Who had done such a thing?

He could not contemplate the wondrous miracle at length for there was precious little time to spare before the sun dipped below the horizon. Quickly, he picked up the tray and carried it to the verandah where he found his absolute favorite acquaintance, the mysterious cloaked Elf, arranging a place setting on a small table. He gritted his teeth in consternation.

"How did you? ...oh, never mind. You travel as a ghost in the realm of spirits, appearing at will," Celegorm groused aloud. The Elf took the tray from him without a word, causing Celegorm to wonder if his absurd comment might actually have a kernel of truth buried in the center.

Once the plates had been carefully arranged on the tabletop, the cloaked Elf turned to him and pointed to the door. "Thank you, Tyelcormo. You may bid your farewells." The tone of his voice made it clear that he would not accept "no" for an answer.

Celegorm frowned and folded his arms over his chest. "I am not leaving. I helped cook the meal, and I wish to meet the mysterious Lord for whom it was prepared."

The Elf shook his head in calm refusal. "No. Return to your rooms and rest. The Lord has another small task for you tomorrow."

Celegorm's frown deepened to a scowl, and he opened his mouth to vigorously protest, when a brilliant idea came to him. He would hide in the kitchen and spy on the Lord as he walked past. No Elf would be the wiser! Pasting on his most charming smile, he said, "Perhaps you are right. I shall retire to my chambers for the rest of the evening."

He made a grand show of exiting, even going so far as to fling open the doors to the main corridor so hard that they hit the walls with a loud clatter. But after a few minutes passed, he tiptoed back into the kitchen, quiet as a mouse, and hid himself in the pantry, leaving the hinged door open just enough for him to peek out. He crouched on the floor, one eye glued to the crack in the hinges, and waited.

A hand on his shoulder shook him awake, and his head snapped up with a start. "What happened? Where am I?"

The familiar blond servant bent over him, as he lay sprawled in the kitchen pantry. "You fell asleep here last night, though why you would want to rest on a cold, stone floor instead of a warm bed is beyond my understanding. But never mind that now. The Lord was pleased with your meal and has assigned you another small task for today. His personal gardens need weeding and replanting."

Celegorm pulled himself to his feet and stifled a yawn. He felt like death warmed over, and very likely smelled even worse. He covertly raised an arm and gave himself a curious sniff. Oh yes. A rancid bucket of pig slop likely smelled better than did he. What he wouldn't give for a warm bath and a soft bed! "If I had done as I was told, I would be well fed and rested," he thought bitterly to himself. As it was, he was hungry, smelly and sore from a night spent on the floor.




As it turned out, the blond's definition of 'small' differed greatly from Celegorm's definition, for the garden he saw in front of him seemed to stretch out for miles. A thick wall of prickly hedges rose up ten feet from the verdant carpet of grass and surrounded the well-manicured lawn. Rows of lilac bloomed brightly, perfuming the air with their delicate scent. Soft camellias and cheerful tulips tossed their heads in the gentle breeze. Woven in the tapestry of vibrant colors was a quiet sense of peace. The knot of worry in Celegorm's stomach gradually began to unwind. Perhaps this task wouldn't be so insurmountable. Perhaps it would be manageable. Perhaps it would even be pleasant.

The blond pointed at a rather large flowerbed of multicolored tulips. "You are to swap out all of the red tulips for yellow ones you will find in the greenhouse, and replace the white tulips with daffodils from the bed over by the fountain. The remaining flowers are to be interspersed at your discretion," he said as if it were the easiest task in all of Arda.

Celegorm blanched. "That's impossible," he breathed, scarcely able to comprehend the amount of work that would entail. "It would take an army of Elves a week to accomplish that task!"

The blond grinned and pressed a garden spade into the palm of Celegorm's hand. "Then I suggest you get started. The Lord will be here at sunset to inspect your progress."

Though his face twisted into a scowl, Celegorm said nothing and gripped the spade in silent fury. A part of him wanted to bury the tool right between that smug Elf's shoulder blades, but the reasonable part of him won out, and he sank to his knees instead, hacking and shoveling the dirt angrily.

Biting back a grin, the blond made his way back to the main house, only to be stopped by the mysterious cloaked Elf.

"Silmo," the Elf said as he cupped the blond's cheek in his hand. "You are doing a marvelous job with Tyelcormo. Thank you."

Silmo blushed prettily and dropped his eyes. "I would do anything for you, Lord Irmo. Anything at all."

Irmo responded by pressing a soft kiss to the blond's warm cheek. "You must be weary from your nightly journey across the sky. Go and find rest. I will see to Tyelcormo for the rest of the day." With a curt nod, and another faint blush, Silmo darted off into the main house, leaving Irmo alone in the gardens with a seething Celegorm.

The grass muffled the sound of Irmo's boots as he approached Celegorm, a fact that he used to his distinct advantage. "What have we here? A Noldo Prince up to his elbows in compost?"

Celegorm let loose a yelp of surprise, and flung an angry glare up to Irmo's shrouded face. "I have no use for an Elf who taunts me, so either leave me be or take up a spade and help!"

"I am at your service," chuckled Irmo, taking up a nearby spade and kneeling on the ground next to Celegorm. "I thought you would have enjoyed gardening. It's tactile and substantial. You can feel the dirt in your hands and know it's real. The fruits of your labor can be seen quickly."

Celegorm hacked at a stubborn weed and tossed it over his shoulder. "Whatever gave you that idea? I hate gardening."

"But did you not say that you valued that which can be seen and touched?" Irmo asked while delicately fingering the tulip in front of him. "I thought you would find worth in this task."

Slowly, Celegorm turned to stare at Irmo with a penetrating gaze. "I did say that, yes. I said it this very morning in the privacy of my own bedchambers...but you were not there. How did you know what I said?" The mystery surrounding his companion deepened.

The hint of a smile flashed from beneath Irmo's hood. "There are lots of things I know about you, both good and bad."

That was more than Celegorm could take, and like a flash, his hand shot out, determined to yank back the hood that shielded the Elf's face from his view. A firm hand caught his wrist, however, and clamped it in a wrenching grip mere inches from the gray hood.

"Can you not trust that I have your well-being in mind? Have I not helped you to the best of my abilities? If so, then let me be," asked Irmo. The tone in his voice was gentle, despite his firm grasp.

For a long minute, he glared daggers at the hooded Elf, but in the end, Celegorm relented and pulled his wrist away from Irmo's grasp. Red marks in the shape of fingerprints indented his skin, and he rubbed it absently as he eyed his cloaked companion. "I cannot deny that you have helped me," he admitted grudgingly, "and for that I am grateful. Please, stay." Leaning forward, he attempted one last glimpse of what lay hidden beneath the hood, frowning when he only saw the faint glimpse of gray eyes.

For the rest of the day, they worked in amiable silence, pausing only to take long draughts of water from the fountain in the center of the garden. To his credit, Celegorm's companion never uttered a word of complaint, and worked with quiet determination until the sun sank low on the horizon.

"Sunset approaches and I must bid my farewell," Irmo noted as he sat back on his heels to assess their progress. Little more than half the flowers had been moved and replanted, and enormous pile of scraggly weeds lay on the ground at Celegorm's side. Irmo shrugged and set his spade down on the grass. "I am afraid we have done all we can."

Celegorm wiped at his sweaty brow, dragging a line of dark mulch across it in the process, and scowled at his companion. "Perhaps you are willing to just give up, but I am not! I committed to this Valar-forsaken task, and I will complete it if it's the last thing I ever do," he stated forcefully. And to emphasize his point, he stabbed hard at particularly stubborn weed.

"You are nothing if not determined," replied Irmo. He stood and brushed the dirt off of his cloak. "The strength of your character is remarkable. Just remember that some things cannot be accomplished by sheer force of will."

That statement rankled Celegorm, who turned with a frown to rebut Irmo's comment, but much to Celegorm's surprise, the cloaked figure had completely disappeared. Alarmed, Celegorm dropped the spade and leapt to his feet to see where the Elf could have gone. Search as he might, however, Celegorm saw nothing at all, save a brightly colored bird perched on a nearby tree, pecking at a ripe berry.

"How odd," he decided as he sank back down to the grass with a heavy sigh. Ohhhh, the ground felt soft to his sore body. So soft, in fact, that he lay back on the lawn and stretched his legs out in front of him. "Mmmm...maybe a bit of a rest would be nice. I haven't rested all day..." His eyes slipped out of focus before he even finished his thought.




A gentle breeze stirred the golden hairs on Celegorm's forehead, twirling them with invisible fingers until he blinked his eyes. The grass had grown cool. Evening dew covered everything in the garden with a fine, hazy mist. Celegorm propped himself up on one elbow and cast a lethargic look around. That's when he saw him: a tall Elf with long hair as dark as midnight, his chest bare, his loins covered with a crimson sarong that swayed seductively around his ankles as he walked.

The Elf moved with a grace and fluidity that surpassed even that of the Eldar, each movement both precise and poetic. Celegorm's heart leapt in his chest. A pinprick of vague awareness pierced his soul as if this Elf should be familiar to him. Perhaps it was all an illusion, an enchantment born of exhaustion, but Celegorm was held in thrall by the narrowest hope that it might indeed be real.

"I wish this were more than a dream," Celegorm whispered with the reverence of one offering a desperate prayer.

In an instant the Elf was beside him, holding him close. "Do not wish. Believe. Have faith," he murmured.

"Yes...faith..." Celegorm's eyelids felt terribly heavy, and with a sigh, he succumbed to slumber once more.




When Celegorm awoke some time later, a sprinkling of stars twinkled from the dark sky above him. He sat bolt upright with a start. "I must have slept longer than I intended," he said to himself. He scrambled to his feet, determined to squeeze in a bit more work before the Lord came to tour the gardens, but he froze in place as he looked around. Just like the previous evening, a miracle had happened!

A series of lanterns hung from wooden stakes all around the perimeter of the yard, giving a soft glow to everything within. The flowerbed that had been only half finished now looked spectacular. All of the red and white tulips had been moved to the center of the bed, surrounded by the yellow tulips and daffodils from the greenhouse. Even the pile of weeds had somehow been removed. Not a single blade of grass was out of place. Celegorm was thunderstruck.

"A fine job, Tyelcormo. You accomplished quite a bit after I left."

Celegorm turned to see his mysterious companion had returned, the hood of his cloak pulled low over his eyes. He watched with curiosity as Irmo bent to inspect the edge of the flowerbed, and a tiny pang of guilt pricked his heart.

"I...did not finish the assigned task. It was simply too difficult. Though the gardens look immaculate, I am not the gardener who created such beauty. After you left, I fell asleep and during that time, someone finished my task...and to him, I owe a measure of gratitude," Celegorm confessed. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides from nervous habit.

Irmo smiled to himself from beneath his hooded cloak and turned to face Celegorm. "Yes, I know, and I had hoped you would admit the truth to me."

A look of confusion registered on Celegorm's face, a look that slowly turned to ripe irritation. "If you knew, then why did you ask me? And who finished the task in my place?"

"Someone who wanted to help you," came the puzzling reply.

Celegorm threw up his hands in frustration. "I do not understand!"

But Irmo had already turned away. He had nearly reached the door to the main house when Celegorm caught up to him, grabbing his bicep and spinning him around. "It was you who helped me, wasn't it? Why? Who are you? Why will you not show your face to me?"

Irmo stared at him for a long moment before answering, "when the time is right, all will be revealed. Have faith. Let it be your safe harbor in turbulent times."

Something in those words sounded eerily familiar, as if Celegorm had heard them somewhere before...perhaps in a dream. He blinked and released his grip on Irmo's arm. A...dream? His eyes dropped to his wrist, which bore the mark of his Lord. His Lord...dreams...gardens... Celegorm's eyes widened in sudden realization. Could it be?

But when Celegorm raised his eyes once more, the mysterious figure was gone.




By the time Celegorm had stormed his way back to his bedchamber, he was irate. He slammed the heavy oak door behind him so hard that it jarred the windows and nearly knocked a glass figurine off of the bedside table. He cared not a whit. Like a caged tiger, he stalked back and forth across the room, pacing and growling with barely contained rage. "A Vala!! I belong to a Vala! A member of the same self-righteous gods who failed my Father and sought to take his most prized creations! And now he finds amusement in my frustration and joy in my desperation? How dare he!?!"

At that moment, the paned door that led to the small garden burst open and in walked Lord Irmo in all his resplendent glory. A long crimson sarong hung to the floor, tied with a loose knot around his slim waist and adorned with silver embroidery on the edges. From around his neck dangled a circular charm, engraved with the same design that adorned Celegorm's wrist. A bracelet with the same pattern encircled his bicep. His dark hair tumbled over his shoulders in ebony waves. And underlying his physical beauty was a current of calm assurance.

Celegorm decided he did not like him.

"Have you come to gloat? Then do so and leave me be! I may bear your mark, but you cannot control me!"

"Child," Irmo began with a voice as soft as a gentle breeze, "I never wished to control you. In fact, my desire is to give you freedom. Freedom from the oath of futility you swore to Fëanor. Freedom from having to accomplish everything by yourself and in your own strength. Freedom from the past. What I offer, Tyelcormo, is redemption."

Celegorm shot Irmo a look of healthy skepticism. "It seems to me that I have been the subject of some grand experiment."

Irmo smiled and reached for Celegorm's hand, turning it over to trace the pattern on his wrist. "No. The tasks were a means for you to prove your worth. I believed in you, Tyelcormo. I always knew you possessed a strong will, but I had to be certain you also possessed integrity, humility and the ability to accept help. To your credit, you admirably displayed all three," he said as his finger continued its light caresses.

Celegorm swallowed hard. For some reason, his mouth had gone completely dry. He desperately wanted to take a step back, to move away from the intense stare that Irmo had locked onto him, but the hand on his wrist held him fast. "So what is to become of me? Will I be your servant indefinitely?" His voice seemed high-pitched even to his own ears, and he winced inwardly.

Irmo responded by leaning forward and placing a soft kiss to the mark on Celegorm's wrist. "I have no need of a servant," he murmured against the tender skin.

Celegorm shivered. The implications of those words made his head spin. The warm lips that brushed over his wrist made his knees weak. The spark that shone in Irmo's silver eyes made his heart pound in his ears. Before he fully realized what was happening, Irmo had closed the distance between them, wrapping a strong arm around Celegorm's waist and pulling him hard against his chest.

"For years you cried out to me in your dreams, your unconscious mind reaching for what your iron will would not allow," Irmo whispered, his breath warm against Celegorm's ear. "What I want is all of you, not just a part. I want the waking you as well as the dreaming one who walks with me in the twilight and dances with me in the first rays of dawn. But the question is, Tyelcormo, what do you want?"

Celegorm's eyes fluttered closed and he leaned his woozy head against Irmo's strong shoulder. Somehow his hands had traveled to twine in the soft curls at the base of Irmo's neck and there they rested as if that was where they belonged. In fact, the entire scene seemed so very familiar. As if out of a dream...His eyes flew open in shock, and he raised his head to stare up at Irmo's smiling face.

"You remember," whispered Irmo as their mouths met in a heated kiss, lips like liquid satin that melted together, soft and sweet, urgent and demanding. Honeyed desire, thick and warm, rolled through Celegorm. Everything ceased to exist. The kiss commanded him, owned him, and left him desperate and yearning and craving more. When it ended far too quickly, he ached from the loss of it. And that is when he knew his heart.

"I want to be with you," he said. With those words, everything went black.




The Elfling wandered past the towering oak, pausing to stare up into the treetops. Though his mommy had told him not to wander far from the house, he had done exactly that, deciding that the brightly colored bird perched on a tree at the edge of the forest was worth a scolding. But once he reached the edge of the forest, he could not find the bird. It must have flown away. Disappointed, he turned back toward home.

"Hello, child. Are you lost?"

The Elfling stared up at a tall Elf with sparkling silver eyes and a cloak as bright as the feathers of a bird. "No. I live just over there," he replied, pointing at a nearby house.

The tall Elf knelt and held out his hand. "Then I will see you home. What is your name?"

"Celly. What is your name?"

"You may call me Lor. My brother gave me that nickname ages ago."

Celly took Lor's hand and smiled up at him. "I think you will be my new best friend, Lor."

Irmo chuckled softly. The Elflings hand was small in his large one, and he turned the tiny fist over to press a kiss on the inside of the child's wrist...just over a small, round birthmark. "I think so too, dear one."
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