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Fic - Iron Clasps - 1/1
Title: Iron Clasps
Author: Evandar
Fandom: The Silmarillion
Rating: G
Pairing: Celebrimbor/Narvi
Genre: Fluff
Disclaimer: I do not own The Silmarillion and am making no profit from this story.
Summary: Celebrimbor has asked Narvi to braid his hair; Narvi isn't dim enough to think he doesn't know what it means.
Author's Notes: Writtenwith a kitten perched on my shoulder for my GenPrompt Bingo table for the prompt 'Silver and Gold'.
He runs his fingers gently through the offered hair. He’s not dim enough to imagine that Celebrimbor doesn’t know the implications of what he’s asking. The Elf knows Dwarven culture better than most outsiders; more, he actually pays attention to it, rather than dismissing it out of scorn or misunderstanding. It’s why he adored – likes - the Elf. Why his people like the Elf.
His hair is red. Almost. In the light it shifts unnaturally between the red of a dying forge and the black of a mine, unable to stay just one colour. It’s an Elf thing, Narvi has noticed. Their appearance shifts as much as their opinions – that is what his kin would say; Narvi just thinks it makes them more beautiful. Like the firstborn should be.
Slowly, carefully, making sure not to pull, he begins to weave braids into Celebrimbor’s hair. Dwarf braids. One for his coming of age, in a distant time on a distant shore; one for his craft, perfected; one for his kindred, royal and hated; one for Narvi – he hopes – beloved.
He fastens each of them with clasps of iron. For all of his skill in working them, Celebrimbor has no personal love for silver and gold, and the only jewellery he has kept for himself is black and dull and inscribed, on occasion, with cirth runes and holly. Plain and dull, not really fitting for one of his high station, but they do suit him well. Gold would be too gaudy, Narvi thinks, when paired with his hair; silver would suit him better – it would match his eyes.
Finally finished, he sweeps the curtain of hair aside and presses a kiss to the back of Celebrimbor’s long, white neck. The Elf’s shoulders relax, his head bows, and Narvi knows he was right.
Author: Evandar
Fandom: The Silmarillion
Rating: G
Pairing: Celebrimbor/Narvi
Genre: Fluff
Disclaimer: I do not own The Silmarillion and am making no profit from this story.
Summary: Celebrimbor has asked Narvi to braid his hair; Narvi isn't dim enough to think he doesn't know what it means.
Author's Notes: Written
He runs his fingers gently through the offered hair. He’s not dim enough to imagine that Celebrimbor doesn’t know the implications of what he’s asking. The Elf knows Dwarven culture better than most outsiders; more, he actually pays attention to it, rather than dismissing it out of scorn or misunderstanding. It’s why he adored – likes - the Elf. Why his people like the Elf.
His hair is red. Almost. In the light it shifts unnaturally between the red of a dying forge and the black of a mine, unable to stay just one colour. It’s an Elf thing, Narvi has noticed. Their appearance shifts as much as their opinions – that is what his kin would say; Narvi just thinks it makes them more beautiful. Like the firstborn should be.
Slowly, carefully, making sure not to pull, he begins to weave braids into Celebrimbor’s hair. Dwarf braids. One for his coming of age, in a distant time on a distant shore; one for his craft, perfected; one for his kindred, royal and hated; one for Narvi – he hopes – beloved.
He fastens each of them with clasps of iron. For all of his skill in working them, Celebrimbor has no personal love for silver and gold, and the only jewellery he has kept for himself is black and dull and inscribed, on occasion, with cirth runes and holly. Plain and dull, not really fitting for one of his high station, but they do suit him well. Gold would be too gaudy, Narvi thinks, when paired with his hair; silver would suit him better – it would match his eyes.
Finally finished, he sweeps the curtain of hair aside and presses a kiss to the back of Celebrimbor’s long, white neck. The Elf’s shoulders relax, his head bows, and Narvi knows he was right.