Shield

Mellow Soulmate AU.  Lúthien cannot run away from the consequences of her actions forever.  Eventually, she will have to face them.  All Sindarin names (because of the POV).  This is, of course, related to "Mellow", "Dust", "Collide", "Reap", "All I Ask" and all other Celegorm/Lúthien pieces and Nargothrond arc pieces.  Does not follow canon.  Dior's parentage is changed and, obviously, Lúthien does not become "mortal".  Takes place in the Halls of the Waiting probably mid-Second Age.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Silmarillion

Pairings: pre-Celegorm x Lúthien, post-Beren x Lúthien

Characters: Lúthien, Mandos, Celegorm (mentions Beren, Finrod, Curufin, Fëanor, Daeron, Dior and Eru)

Warning: non-canon compliant AU, non-canon pairings, insanity and sadism, premarital sex implied, betrayal, dysfunctional relationships, self-hatred and self-punishment

Song: Shukumei

Words: 1,688
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
shield (noun): a broad piece of defensive armor carried on the arm; one that protects or defends: defense; a device or part that serves as a protective cover or barrier
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/shield

She thought, after all this time, she would have been prepared to face the consequences of her own actions--would have had the resilience and strength to stand before the reality of her shameful selfishness and not look away.  Would have had the courage to speak to those she had wronged and make them understand just how sorry and just how grateful she would be for all of eternity.  That their sacrifices meant something to her--more than she could ever describe in words. 

But in the end, she always found herself turning back.  Running away from the haze of terror and the sting in her heart.

Finrod of Nargothrond, she could hardly bear to face.  It was not the inherent ugliness of his ravaged features that drove her away, but the opposing brilliance of his spirit.  Rare was the sight of such a pure-hearted being immersed in such honor and compassion.  And she did not feel she deserved his comfort and acceptance.

Neither did she dare approach Curufin of the House of Fëanor, though she knew in the Halls he could not exact revenge or punishment upon her person.  It was, rather, fright at the thought of the look in his eyes and the truth she would see--the disgust she knew he held for her burrowed down deep into the very marrow of his bones and the scorn that would curl his upper lip and twist his handsome face.  Scorn and disgust she willing embraced after what she had done to his brother.  In the name of love.  Love of another man.

Daeron, her dearest friend and confident, was far beyond her reach.  Still, he walked the realm of the living, far on the other side of the Belegaer, and she mourned that she might never again speak with him.  Might never have the chance to apologize for her anger when all he wanted--even in his envious affection--was to keep her safe and happy.

But, most of all, she dared not approach Celegorm.

The father of her only son.  Her true other half.  The man she had used and thrown away without second thought.

How could she ever face him again?  Would he, as did his brother, hold for her that same hatred, blazing in eyes made of starlight?  Or would he be as he had been in her darkest memories, so love-stricken as to throw himself before her as a willing sacrifice if only to assuage her pain for a mere moment in time?

Lúthien did not know if she could stand it either way.  She did not think that she could live with herself if he had lost all love for her and threw her aside--as he rightfully should--like filth that might taint his hands should they touch.  But at the same time, it hurt to think of his lusty, adoring eyes gazing upon her with wonder--as though she were a pure angel full of goodness and holiness--when she felt the ink of wickedness run across the white sheets of her innocence, staining and bruising irreversibly.

Actively, she had avoided him.  Until today.

Truly, she had not meant to see him, to gaze upon his form.  Never had she intended for this confrontation to come into existence.  But she had come upon him alone and stopped short at his sight.  For he was not as she recalled.

There was no hatred, but nor was there love.  There was nothing there that even remotely resembled the romantic man she remembered, the man who had soothed her tears away and crooned comforts in her ears as she mourned.  The man who had held her so tenderly as they made love and declared his passion and devotion to her image even when she called out the name of another in the throes of their union. 

Nothing of that man stared back at her.  Only empty amusement--a spine-chilling smile curving upwards the corners of his trembling white lips and cackling laughter that warned away those foolish enough to step too close and risk being bitten.  Even just standing as he was innocuously before a tapestry, eyes riveted upon the weaving, twining images, his entire being screamed of blood-thirst--a predator that might torture and tease its prey before a slow, agonizing death.

But even through that wicked, sadistic joy, distant coldness iced over the depths of his expressive eyes.  A shield to hide the vulnerable underbelly of his hurt--a perceived weakness to be exploited.

A shield of fear and hopelessness formed and sculpted by her hands and decorated by his insecurities and shattered dreams.

She knew exactly what that hurt and fear were.  Before, she had seen it in the eyes of her best friend--her minstrel and protector.  The betrayal and the agony and still the inability to cease loving.  Daeron's eyes had flashed with it the day she had spoken harshly of his jealousy and treachery.  As though his attempts to keep her safe--even from herself--were damning to the continued growth of their close friendship.  He had looked as though she stabbed him through the heart.

"So thou hast finally decided to face the truth."

Shocked, the former princess spun away from the saddening sight, instead facing the Lord of the Dead, who had long haunted her nightmares with his disappointed, derisive stare cutting holes through her blindness and delusion.  Those dark mirror-eyes were not so harsh and cold now as they had been in their first encounter, but neither were they friendly.  Merely neutral observers to mortal drama.

"I... It was an accident..." She knew she could not lie to him.  And she hadn't intended to seek out Celegorm--not ever.  Not after what had happened between them.  But now it was done, and she could not merely forget what now rested so blatantly before her eyes and settled as a heavy stone of guilt in her belly. "How long has he... has he been...?"

The eyes were not upon her, and for that she was grateful. "Before Beren came to Nargothrond," the vala admitted, his deep voice rolling through her, sincerity in its every timbre.  "Long before then, even, though he was better at hiding it before the Siege was broken.  Your love for your precious atan was merely the last strike that brought him beyond mere torment into hopelessness and despair."

Almost audibly, she gulped.  Bile burned at the back of her throat, and had she not wanted to maintain her dignity before the Lord of the Dead, she might very well have vomited upon her own silk slippers.

That such harm could be caused without intent... Before she had come to Nargothrond, she had not even known he existed...

And certainly not all of it was her fault, at least not before their first meeting.  But neither was she blameless, nor would she pretend otherwise.  Her choice to use him--to pretend to love him to get the comfort she needed in her darkest hour--had been her own.  Her damnation and fall.

"Can anything be done?" she asked in a whisper, voice wavering with shame.

"We--I and the servants of my Halls--have done our best, but nothing yet has helped bring his spirit back from shadow." Resignation was prominent in that voice, and it left Lúthien cold and shuddering with dread.

"Then what... what shall become of him, my Lord?"

Then he was looking upon her once more, and she could see sadness and regret, but no mercy.  No compassion.  Just acceptance. "I cannot allow him to leave in this state--broken in mind and in spirit.  Celegorm will remain here in our care forever until the End of All Things, and then Ilúvatar will do with him as He wills.  The final destination of Celegorm is out of my hands now."

And what a sad fate it seemed.  She would move on, be reborn into the bliss of Valinor with her parents and her friends and her people.  But nothing she ever did could ever give back what she had taken from him if she turned around and walked away now without looking back.  Never again would she witness his suffering, but always would it rest in the back of her mind, a phantom to haunt her thoughts and shadow her joy.

There would be no repayment.  No redemption.  Just regret.

"Let me... let me speak to him, my Lord..."

"Thou canst do as thou dost choose, and I cannot stop thee." The Lord of the Dead did not protest as she thought he might, nor did he warn her away and crush her whispering thoughts of guilt erased through healing.  Selfish thoughts.  Because she wasn't really doing this for him, but because she felt sorry for him and did not want to feel this cold weight in her belly forever.

She did not love Celegorm son of Fëanor.

But no one else had been able to penetrate that shield--the adamantine shell of lust for blood, bitterness and sadism burning over a layer of ice to put Helcaraxë to shame.  No one had been able to crack it open and bleed out the sorrow that must be writhing and screaming beyond.  Was there anyone more suitable to the task than she whom had had hand in its creation?

And salvation was the only repayment she could offer.  She had to try.

It was then that Lúthien stepped away from her dour companion and towards the wild-eyed golodh who had once loved her with every ounce of his being--who might still love her with unceasingly loyalty and devotion.  And she told herself it was about equal trade and paying back a debt and soothing away the burning that took up residence in her chest--not about yearning for forgiveness.  From him.  From them.

From herself.

Forgiveness she did not believe she would ever deserve.  Nor ever request.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I wasn't sure where I was going with this when I wrote it, and I'm still not quite sure now.  There's a huge gap between Celegorm's death ("Reap") and Lúthien's rebirth ("All I Ask"), which happen near each other chronologically, and "Dust", which is at least late Second Age, so the middle stuff has to be filled in.  Obviously, Lúthien does not magically fall in love with her soul-mate just because Beren is now dead and never coming back (or is he?  LOL), but in "Mellow" they are very obviously in love and quite happy with one another.

This is the missing Oreo cookie cream from that arc.  We'll see where it takes me.  I've never been good at writing romance, slow-burn or otherwise, and usually work with established pairings for exactly that reason.  But maybe if I go in small segments it will somehow connect itself up into a complete picture, ne?  Besides, I have yet to start on the post-"Skill" part of their arc, which promises to be rewarding and interesting.

The song for today is Shukumei, which is by Yasuharu Takanashi--obviously one of my favorite anime OST composers--but is from Fairy Tale and not Naruto Shippuuden.  I found this one completely by accident, but I became fond of it very quickly.  I'm sure if my sister ever actually convinces me to watch Fairy Tale, I might become even more attached.  That is, after all, why I love certain Naruto songs so much (*cough* Samidare *cough*).

Anyway, that is all I have for today.  Enjoy.