#detective!cel

ok last few days of finals I will not be drowning for much longer,,,regardless here is a snippet of detective cel fic chpt 2 because I needed to write a little something that was not academic >0<

Though she is the center, afloat in the sea of Eldar, Celebrían feels unmoored; coughed up bedraggled in front of those who deemed themselves better than she was. Perhaps they were, but they sat here, smiling and bereft of displeasure while those in Middle Earth still felt the sting of unfair blades, still were tormented with tears and sorrow. Anger swells, the kind she was able to bury in Elrond’s presence; it is her mother’s fury. Like a thousand seas set to wash the land clean.  A child babbles, and a small fit of controlled laughter swims through the crowd.  The Eldar of this land were perfect. Briefly, Celebrían wonders what her mother would look like if—forbid it—death was to come to Lothlorien. A smoothed mother is almost no mother at all, she loves her fractures and her scars; it would be unnerving, she thinks, for her to see a face that did not have a place in her memory. She could see it in Finrod, his alabaster skin undented and nearing falsehood; the court with their smooth hands and polished skins though they are among those that crossed the Helcaraxë, that faced creatures with teeth made to bite.  Namo watches them, too; proud. 

halfway through the next chapter of brightest star, would I were stedfast as thou, I am going on a trip soon but hope to have some time to write while I'm gone!!!!!!! will update,,,probably next week sometime <3 for now, a little snippet!!!

“I have called for ale for us,” Finrod leans in. “An old friend showed me its taste–I prefer it to wine.”  In truth, Celebrian preferred wine. The scent, however, reminded her of Imladris’ kitchens–they made a variety of drinks; often ale would be served. The taste was bitter, singeing the back of her throat–a burning bit of home.  The froth is quickly wiped from her lips. “It is good.” 

“Ah but my friend made it better. But look–the feast begins.”  Manwe stands silently, the bird on his shoulder spreads its wings in a moment of glory before settling as it had before. Though the King’s movements are inaudible hall quickly shifts into a hush, not even the sound of life breaks through.  Celebrian is the only to make sound as she puts her cup back down–the clink of the table awfully loud. There is a half-second of burning mortification that wells hot and heady in her cheeks before the attention returns to Manwe. When she looks up, his eyes hold firmly before sweeping over the whole of the hall.  The stone beneath his feet seems to break each and every foot fall, swallowing their sounds. He does not step off his platform, rather coming as close as he can to the hall without lowering himself. His own raiment is as loud as the rest. Pearls are laced in the white of his hair; hidden shimmers glimmering off the pale strands–they clink together as he moves, like the soft clatter of a freezing man’s teeth. Outwardly, his robes are as white as the hair on his head; but are made of many colors, swathed in the variegated patterns of feathers—when he waves his hands about Celebrian can see streaks of crimson and orange.  Atop his head, as always, is the great crown. Silver-white with cool gems of blue embedded into the sides–a ring of blue sat above his forehead–a sky-like halo.  In her observations she has missed the welcome, but Manwe does not end his speech yet.  “And for all who have sailed; and who come from those who walked the path of doom. For those who reflect not the forgone wisdom of the past but the coming strength of the time that is now–we hope you find joy and mirth to be your merry loves.” Manwe pauses; there is a strange wind that passes through the hall, it catches Celebrian’s hair and spreads it like fabric across her face.  “With this, feast! Drink and eat and praise those beside you!”  There are no gasps, not cautious laughter–but the wind is strong now, and Celebrian brings a hand to free her of the grasp her own hair has on her. Vision obstructed–she sees little but hears the words of Manwe clearly.  “The darkness cannot come here. Feast, feast! For safety has found you; and on these lands only will your blood not be spilled.”  The wind falters and then leaves all at once; but something sour fills her senses.

1/? — read on ao3

Celebrian sails to Valinor and though the air is like silver she finds she is bare and fearful; grasped by a world she has only heard of in whispers and her mother's history tales, she spends an absorbing amount of time cracking open the layer of mystery that lays upon the land of the undying.

A snippet of chapter one:

thank you for tagging @hobbitwrangler !!! excited to see more of Miryeman!!

I am working on chapter three of brightest star, would I were stedfast as thou (detective Celebrian) which is, as usual, really fun. this chapter has an intense focus on Cel's own emotions surrounding the assassination attempt, as well as how she feels about settling into Valinor with this looming over her head. below, she's visiting Lorien and encounters her own strange dreams in the waters there.

The skin of her ankle turns a righteous cold, and slowly her foot within her slipper follows. She stands in a puddle, half a pace from where Lorien ends–the silver trees gather around her and their flowering buds seem to caress her nape, little white pupils peering down at her with sorrowful eyes that almost seem to understand. We see, they say from their small budding mouths–their leaves are slick like apples, and their limbs are long; lithe like the group ahead of her. We see. We know. We see.  When she looks down, for her slipper is wet and her foot is cold, the puddle she is in is no puddle at all; but a grand expanse of infinity. The pond seems to go on and on, so far she can no longer see the end of her leg, it is just distance and in the distance, she has lost a portion of herself. Though she feels it, she feels it keenly, cold and wet, cold and wet. Until–the chill is vivid suddenly and the distance turns its face to hers and leans in.  There is Fëanor, and there is wine at his lips. There is a fox at his feet, it laps the wine that has puddled there, from its white mouth comes a pink tongue, like when a root pops from the ground, and it drinks until its teeth are red. Then, it smiles; but Celebrían can see its fox teeth are not fox at all, the fox has the smile of a human child, half-there and half-not, and stained with joy. But Feanor’s hands are upon its scruff, and his smile is like that of a fox’s. When he moves, so does the fox–until he is as a puppet, moved when the one holding the strings so wishes.  It is a strange dream, and the lips of the white buds tickle her neck. Swiftly, Celebrían pulls her foot from the puddle and closes back into the group, seeking comfort in their fathomable oddity. 

2/? — read on ao3

As the sea kisses her back, Celebrian finds herself in the midst of Tirion and it's Court, falling into the adorned arms of the Undying Land's hosts. Oh, but little is made perfectly for the daughters of doom, which is in her like worms in the bellies of birds. 

A snippet of Chapter Two: Posthumous Division

thank you for tagging me @ladysterndust !! last lines I wrote were technically for an original story but as far as for lotr it was for detective!cel again!!

Nerdanel may have a desire to kill, she certainly has the means to.

dun dun dun!!