Drought

Mellow Soulmate AU.  Celebrimbor must let go of his past in order to live again.  Sindarin names used, so no equal signs.  This turned out way less angsty than I had expected.  It also mentions several OC characters.  I blame the Dark Prince AU for my pension for making up spouses and children; it's corrupted my taste for canon (perhaps for the better).  Also, this story is connected to "Locked" (and all related stories) and "Disaster" (and all related stories). The list of related stories is now too long to list all of them.  Anyway, this is the AU where all the exiled Noldor head on back over to Middle-earth at the beginning of the Third Age.  Takes place in the Misty Mountains sometime between then and the events of the Hobbit.

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns the Silmarillion, but several OC characters are mine

Pairings: Sauron x Celebrimbor (past) (others mentioned)

Characters: Celebrimbor, Curufin, Ulmo (mentions Sauron, Lindalórë (Curufin's OC wife), Teldanno (Curufin's OC second son), unnamed other OCs, Maedhros, Maglor, Celegorm, Caranthir, Fingon, Finrod, Orodreth, Aegnor, and Manwë; Lúthien, Amarië and Andreth (sort of))

Warning: extremely AU, slash, OFC, OMC, canon character death, rebirth, spontaneous children, unhealthy emotional state, dysfunctional family, very faint allusions to torture

Song: Into The Open Air

Words: 883
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drought (noun): a period of dryness especially when prolonged; specifically: one that causes extensive damage to crops or prevents their successful growth; a prolonged or chronic shortage or lack of something expected or desired
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/drought

"You cannot run away from your fears forever.  The past will never leave you behind unless you leave it behind first."  That was the advice his father had given him upon catching him leaving for the mountains in the dead of night like a thief.

Truer words, Celebrimbor could not recall.

If only reality were so simple.

Up in the mountains, higher than any rational person would consider living, striving for survival on the deadly edges of cliffs daily and sleeping beneath the gentle snowfall and thunder in the gorges below, Celebrimbor was more alone than a single flower blooming in a wasteland.  No one ventured this high into the Hithaeglir, not even in their diminished glory after thousands of years of wearing, their peaks no longer jagged wolf-teeth piercing the sky.

But despite the danger and the loneliness, Celebrimbor found it easier to live here, so utterly alone, than to face the past that he wished would disappear.

Every year, his father and mother would send a missive, a disguised plea for him to come down from the heavenly heights and stay with them and their kin, to head for what was left of Lindon on the edges of the sea, to see his younger brother who had married in the years since his disappearance, to meet the newest member of their family of exiles.  And every year Celebrimbor would shred the fine parchment between his fingers and scatter it onto the high winds, watching the confetti drift as snowflakes into the distance with the heavy buffer of the wind.  And he would never even blink.

He did not dare say yes.

Perhaps it was cowardly, but he did not feel as though he had much of a choice in the matter.  A drought had come over his spirit, burning away the dangerous emotions that he feared to drown beneath.  It was only this barricade that kept the unnumbered tears at bay.  No brand of anger to scorch his bones.   No rays of hope to torture his soul.  No tide of sorrow to bring down the rainy season upon his head.

For if he began to cry, the elf feared he would never be able to cease.

He had seen it all before.  He had seen how his father wept for loss of his mother.  He had seen how Maedhros wept for the loss of Fingon.  He had seen how Maglor wept for the desertion of his beloved sons.  He had seen how Orodreth wept for dreams crushed beneath the weight of responsibility.  He had seen how Aegnor wept for desperate longing.  He had seen his Celegorm wept for unrequited love.  He had seen how Caranthir wept for cruel fate.  He had seen how Finrod wept for the future he desired but knew he would never possess.  Every one of his kin wept for something, cursed as they were by the thoughtless words of a vala.

But it was none of those things that Celebrimbor son of Curufin would weep for.  It was the desolation of devotion, the ultimate betrayal, and the hatred in fire-bright eyes...

No, better that he spend year after year holding himself tightly in check, feeling nothing but the cold bite of wind on his rosy cheeks and the cold touch of snow upon his lashes.  If the rains began, he feared he might die and fade away.

And yet...

And yet as a new year came upon him, the snows began to melt farther and farther up the mountainside, he felt the smell of a storm upon the air.  As though the Lord Ulmo had heard the sorrow of his song in the lost haze of fallen snow melting and spilling down from the passes in gushes of pure water, the thunder and downpour of new spring broke upon his camp and soaked the elf down to his bones.

How much longer could his eyes remain dry?  He steadfastly ignored the cold streams of water over his cheeks and pretended he did not taste salt as he licked his lips.

How could he ever face the past that lay in his wake and not fall apart at the seams?  When the rain finally lashed down upon the land and extricated its payment from his fragile soul, would he be able to rise from the newfound world, sated of thirst, as one whole and sound?

Celebrimbor did not know how much longer he could wait in solitude for the answer.

Above his head, the Manwë's broad demesne wept crystalline droplets upon his world.  Perhaps... perhaps he could bear to think of the all-encompassing heat of his terrifying memories with the refreshing water slipping over his slickened skin as a comforting touch, soothing away raw wounds left to fester, stoking forgiveness withered and parched without watering of the spirit.

Perhaps he did not have to forget.  And perhaps it really was that simple.

And the heavenly tears did not stop until the green of healing peeked through the cracked, dry ground.  It was that summer, Celebrimbor would fondly recall, that he first met his nephew.
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So, this was actually supposed to be angst.  Originally there was not going to be any happy ending at all, but I was watching Brave and listening to Into The Open Air (by Alex Mandel) and that song just made this story hurt/comfort instead of angst, I swear!  I had an angsty song with beautiful vocals all picked out and everything, and then this song just completely took over like a dang dandelion sprouting its stupid yellow-headed progeny all over the front yard!

But I can't say I'm unsatisfied.  Until today, Teldanno (that would be the brother; yes, I made him up) was not married and was quite childless.  Hello, Fëanor, you'll be quite pleased to know that you now have at least one great-grandchild.  Congratulations!  And Celebrimbor needed comforting after all the shit I've put him through in my other stories.  After "Lies" I think he maybe deserved a break and a little comforting, yeah?

A shame that Sauron is going to come back again.  But there are some things that even an aspiring AU authoress such as myself is not willing to change, and the second rise of Sauron is one of them.  Lord of the Rings is just necessary for me LOL.