#coroniel

After the shock of being stuck on Tol Eressëa wears off, Coroniel and Pegolodh send some letters. Cori goes house-hunting, and Pengolodh starts a new hobby or three.

Come for the nightmares of past lives, stay for tensions over land use in Avallónë.

For @tolkienocweek. Eregion is fallen, Celebrimbor and almost all of her other friends are dead, and Coroniel cannot muster the will to rebuild again. They say Valinor offers peace and healing, but healing the wounds of the spirit is harder than it seems. On top of that, they also neglected to mention that Tol Eressëa is kind of a fiasco.

Rated G, Gen, and this first chapter is about 3k.

Coroniel goes back to her inventive roots and is visited by a very old friend.

For @feanorianweek Day 5 - Curufin.

The courtyard, or barnyard really, Curufin thought as he almost tripped over a chicken, seemed empty, but he could hear someone singing in one of the outbuildings. He looked around, expecting someone to stop him at any moment. He remained alone in the yard. Curufin knocked on the doors leading into the house. There was no response. He knocked harder, summoning the almost forgotten authority that a prince of the Noldor should have, discarded for long ages after his long wait in Mandos and the barren years before that.

“Do you need help?” someone called from within.

“I beg admittance to the house of Lady Nerdanel, Mahtan’s daughter,” he said. The lack of any kind of doorman here was very vexing.

“Just let yourself in,” said the voice.

After a moment of hesitation, Curufin stepped inside. He was in a large entryway with many doors on either side and two sets of staircases rising before him. He waited another moment, but the owner of the voice never materialized. He cautiously walked deeper into the entryway, glancing at the doors and doorways on either side. There were voices from one open doorway on the far left. He walked into the room.

And there was Celebrimbor, healthy and laughing and whole, sitting at a table with another elf playing cards. He looked up. Gone was the disappointed anger Curufin remembered from the last time they had spoken. He smiled brightly.

“You made it,” he said, and laid down his cards. “A run of rubies.” There was a note of triumph in his voice.

So I know I said I was trying to do Second Age stuff, but then this perfect Fourth Age idea appeared, and I had to write it! From this list of prompts:

“You’d like to try? Really?” Bilbo was thrilled. Tol Eressëa was a wonderful place. The weather was almost always lovely, there was excellent food and drink that never ran out, and best of all he could speak to many of the legends of the Elder Days himself. In fact, they frequently came to visit him and Frodo in the cottage they had on the outskirts of Avallónë. Just yesterday Finrod Felagund had visited, as wise and merry as Bilbo had always thought he’d be.

Today, he and Frodo had the honor of a visit from one of the greatest elven craftsmen who had ever lived, Celebrimbor of Hollin. Bilbo had briefly met him when they arrived at Tol Eressëa, but those first few weeks had been such a whirlwind of introductions and wonderment that Bilbo hadn’t really had a chance to talk to him until today.

When he’d heard that he wished to visit with his friend, Coroniel of Hollin, he’d been delighted and told him to come over at his earliest possible convenience. They’d had hours of good conversation in the garden over an endless array of snacks and tea. Celebrimbor and Coroniel had as many questions about hobbits as he had about Eregion, and the time had flown by. When he realized that they also could provide another perspective on Gondolin, Bilbo had almost been overwhelmed by the new round of questions he had for them.

“This calls for a pipe,” he announced. Celebrimbor and Coroniel had watched fascinated as he lit up his pipe and blew a few smoke rings. After further interrogation, and a regretful remark from Frodo that it was too bad Meriadoc Brandybuck wasn’t here to share his research into pipeweed, Celebrimbor asked if they could try smoking.

Frodo chuckled. “I’ve been told many times that elves don’t enjoy wreathing themselves in smoke.”

“I’ve spent much of my life surrounded by various fumes; I’m sure at the very least it won’t harm me,” Celebrimbor replied. 

“Well, then. I think we both have a spare pipe, don’t we Frodo my lad?” Bilbo said. “I’ll run into the house and grab them.”

He returned with matches, two more pipes, and more pipeweed. They had brought a whole cask of the stuff to the Blessed Lands, and they had already given some thought into how they could find the same plants in Valinor. The stories clearly said that every plant that existed in Middle-earth also existed in Valinor, but Bilbo was afraid the strains would be different enough that it wouldn’t be the same experience. At the very least, he was very sure they’d never find something as good as Old Toby. As far as he was concerned, that was even more of a reason to share their precious pipeweed with their curious guests — how often could one provide immortal beings with something they had never experienced before?

He helped them fill the bowls of the pipes and lit the leaf as Coroniel and Celebrimbor drew on the stems. Soon they were all puffing merrily away. To his surprise there was no coughing or waving the smoke away from the elves, although they did amuse themselves by blowing smoke in each other’s faces for a time. 

“How did you shape those rings?” Coroniel asked after a few puffs on the pipe.

“Ah, now that is a skill that takes some practice, although I’ve always found your folk to be quite quick on the uptake,” Bilbo said. “I’ll try to show you how. First, draw a full mouthful of smoke.” Two pairs of eyes, one silver and the other brown, watched avidly and drew in their own mouthfuls of smoke.

Bilbo realized at this point that verbalizing the technique would be a bit difficult. He tried anyway from the corner of his mouth.

“Pruss yur tun don,” Bilbo said. Both pairs of eyes widened slightly as they followed his instruction.

“Then shuck yur cheekf in end make an ‘o’ es ye bluh.” He blew a little ring out with the smoke that had managed to stay in his mouth. Celebrimbor and Coroniel just managed to blow out slightly more concentrated clouds of smoke. 

Eventually, with a bit more instruction not obstructed by smoke, the two elves were beginning to blow small rings.

“Well done!” Frodo said, after a mid-sized ring from Coroniel. “You’ll be matching Gandalf soon enough, although I think he cheats with magic.”

“Magic? How does one use magic for this practice?” Coroniel asked.

“I’m not sure, but Gandalf can make all manner of shapes, like ships and dragons and flowers, appear from his smoke.” 

“Oh! I suppose you could just shape the air currents as you blow out,” Celebrimbor said thoughtfully and then proceeded to blow a perfect spiral shape.

Coroniel rolled her eyes. “Don’t mind him. He’s just as much of an outrageous show off as the rest of his family.” She blew a second smoke ring, slightly larger than the last one she’d attempted, with a look of intense concentration on her face. “I will continue honing the practice in the authentic manner of your people.”

My OC Coroniel and a happy ending from this list of prompts. This was an excellent prompt as it forced me to figure out some geography — always a chore for me. It also is more of a happy beginning than an ending, but I think it might answer some questions about what happens next.

Second Age 745

Coroniel paused for a moment to catch her breath. It had been a long day. They had started east early that morning from the Sindarin village they had stayed in the night before, traveling along the dirt road that ran next to the Glanduin. When the sun was at its zenith, they had finally met up with the Khazad-dûm dwarves they had been exchanging letters with for years. It had been a merry meeting, and they had stopped for over an hour for each to praise the other party with many toasts. Her stomach full and head light with the potent spirits the dwarves had brought with them, Coroniel had thought it was an excellent time for a midday nap, but apparently for the dwarves, full stomachs and light heads were the perfect conditions for a long march. 

As they walked at a brisk pace, they had alternated between walking songs, light hearted jests, and the more serious business they had journeyed all the way from Mithlond to discuss. They had finally made camp as the shadows began to lengthen and the light took on a golden quality. 

Their discussions became more serious then, as they talked about the details of the formal mithril trade they wanted to start. 

“Trading you our excess mithril is all well and good,” said Lamlim, one of the senior dwarves in the party, and not one who Coroniel had met personally before. “But what you’re asking for would mean we’d have to smith less of it ourselves, and we are the greatest craftsmen in the world. What makes you think you are worthy of our greatest resource?” There had been some mutters of agreement from the other dwarves and outraged bristling from some of the Mithlond elves.

Bilran just winked at Celebrimbor. Clearly he had been anticipating this question and had no doubt been scheming with Celebrimbor for years via letters on how they would answer the challenge. 

“The craft of the Khazâd is excellent and I would not want to deprive the world of your fine work,” Celebrimbor answered. “But we also have some skill in metalworking, and see great potential to refine mithril even further, so that it becomes the most beautiful and coveted substance on Middle-earth.”

With that, he drew out a gorget he had crafted out of mithril. The dwarves fell completely silent as they passed the piece of armor from person to person, looking at the delicate traceries, feeling the strength of the metal, and marveling at the gleaming surfaces. Bilran was almost bursting with glee — clearly Celebrimbor had shown him the gorget before this moment. They were certainly going to get the trade agreement they had set out to make. 

After the first stunned silence, the floodgates had opened and the dwarves began bombarding Celebrimbor with questions about how he had elevated the already lovely mithril to even greater strength and beauty. 

Coroniel left the party then, content to let Celebrimbor and the other smiths answer their questions. She continued up the hill, finally reaching a flat outlook with a good view of the river below and the mountains ahead. 

She ran her hand over a nearby boulder. It was good limestone; they wouldn’t have to go far to quarry enough for their needs. She looked at the towering mountains that created a very familiar wall to the east. They were good; she liked mountains. The river though, that was what made this the perfect spot. The land was mostly open, but trees grew along the river, and she thought that there many types that could be planted in the stony soil in the future.

Coroniel turned her back to the river and let her gaze become unfocused. Multi-colored tiled roofs and soaring towers danced before her eyes. They could build high here, and create a city as tall as Gondolin had been, especially with their new found knowledge on how to create buildings that could withstand the earth’s tremors that they’d been forced to learn at the end of the First Age. 

She made her way back to camp as the last rays of the sun sank below the horizon. She found Celebrimbor sitting on a rock, still humming with the happiness of someone who had spent the past hour talking about his greatest passions.