Archive of Our Own

Elrond clicks his tongue as he assesses the burn, holding Celebrimbor's arm gently, careful to not cause any more harm. "It's deep," Elrond says into the quiet air of the forge, sparing a quick glance to Celebrimbor before refocusing on the burn. "I will dress it with a salve, which should help with the pain. It won't take more than a week or two to finish healing."

Celebrimbor hums, and Elrond releases his arm with a clearing of his throat. No longer able to focus on the wound, he looks towards the Lord of Eregion, feeling slightly anxious. Celebrimbor had several healers on staff, ones that likely had far more training and experience than Elrond, and yet when he had gotten burned, he did not go to them. The elf in question does not look like his is in too much pain, which is good. His face is not set in a grimace, no furrow between his brows, and there are no tears in his eyes- in fact, Celebrimbor is giving Elrond a smile. "Thank you," Celebrimbor says softly, making it stand up. Elrond backs up to give him space, and stands as well, fidgeting with the sleeves for a moment.

"I will return shortly with the salve and bandages," Elrond says suddenly, because he desperately needs out of this forge, away from Celebrimbor's softening gaze and kind smile. He is down the stairs and out the doors before his lord can get in a word, not quite running but certainly rushing, back to his room. He can hear his heart, lodged in his throat as he collects the dried plants and herbs he has with him. He knows why he is anxious around Celebrimbor more often than the other elf lords he knows. Not only does he worry about making a fool out of himself politically, but Celebrimbor is part of his family, the only living connection he has to Maedhros and Maglor, and he desperately wants Celebrimbor to approve of him.

In Celebrimbor's smiles, his moments of calm and rationality that pull Elrond from spiraling thoughts, the way he looks at Elrond- soft, gentle, protective- Elrond sees his fathers. He was still a child when he saw them last, but he carries the memories of them close in his heart and recalls all the details of them as often as he can, lest he forget anything. To lose his memories of them, his knowledge of how they loved him, every little way, would be like losing his heart itself.

The salve is easy to make, muscle memory taking over as Elrond wanders in his thoughts. Celebrimbor seemed to have mostly painful memories of his family, and Elrond does not wish to cause him pain so he has yet to broach the subject, but there is an itch under his skin that desires to know each and every one of Celebrimbor's memories of them. There is so much he does not about them, and he longs for a chance to reunite with them, hope still present in his heart that he may one day meet Maglor again, for there are rumors that he wanders Middle Earth still.

The pestle in his hands is trembling, so he sets it down and sets a lid over the ceramic container he had made the salve in. Short, choppy breaths fall from his lips as he graps the salve and collects some bandages that he had brought with him. Elrond is used to getting minor injuries, he is more fragile than the average elf, with his being peredhel, and so always ensures that he has the necessary medical supplies to dress small wounds.

The walk back to the forge seems to stretch on, as though the Valar want to give him more time to grow anxious about attending to Celebrimbor. What if he injures him? Elrond could never forgive himself if he were to harm Celebrimbor. He has failed the descendants of Feanor far too many times already to fail Celebrimbor too. He had not been able to help Maedhros and Maglor when the oath had gotten worse, or at least not help enough so that they would not feel the need to leave him and Elros behind.

The doors of the forge appear in front of him, suddenly, and Elrond hesitates- just for a moment, the length of the sharp inhale he takes- and steps inside. It is quiet, and Elrond cringes at the way his steps echo in the large room as he approaches Celebrimbor. The smith has not moved from his spot, greeting Elrond with a small smile, one that is startlingly similar to Maglor- one that spoke of tiredness but genuine joy to see the person it is given too.

"You looked like Maglor, for a moment there." Elrond says before he can stop himself, the words spill out of him outside of his control. He stiffens, opening his mouth to apologize but Celebrimbor speaks first. Elrond scans his face, looking for any signs of pain or upset, but finds fondness instead.

"Did I really?" Celebrimbor asks, lips curled up as he looks towards Elrond with sparkling eyes. "It would not be the first time we were compared, but it has been a long time since anyone has said it, let alone kindly." There is a true joy on Celebrimbor's face, so Elrond cannot do anything but nod, breath catching in his chest.

"You did," Elrond confirms, looking away before he speaks more and makes a fool of himself. He sets down the salve and bandages, reaching out for Celebrimbor's arm but pausing before he makes contact. "May I?" He asks quietly, swallowing down the lump in his throat when Celebrimbor looks at him and all he can see are his foster fathers, suffering through Elrond's beginner healing skills and they got any sort of minor injury.

"Go ahead," Celebrimbor hums, and Elrond can feel his gaze as he carefully applies the salve and wraps the injury. It is simple, and he can almost forget that he is treating Lord Celebrimbor of Eregion, the last living blood descendant of Feanor. "Thank you." Celebrimbor tells him with a smile as Elrond finishes and steps back, looking over the now bandaged injury.

"It is no trouble. I must admit, it is flattering that you asked me to help you." Elrond laughs a bit, trying to force himself to relax and calm down. Celebrimbor has been nothing but kind to him during his stay in Eregion, that will not change now. Celebrimbor laughs as well, but it is tinged with sadness, much to Elrond's immediate concern.

"When I was young," Celebrimbor begins, shifting his gaze towards the window and fidgeting with his sleeves, "My father was not often around. He was busy, you see, with a great variety of things that are not limited to the oath. I got very close with my uncles, because at least one of them was always around, and I have a fond memory of my uncle Maglor helping me after I had scraped myself. I had thought that perhaps you might heal as he did, and you did not disappoint." Celebrimbor gave a wet laugh, wiping at his eyes and giving Elrond another smile.

Elrond can feel the wetness on his face as he starts to cry too, blinking rapidly as he stands in front of Celebrimbor. "Thank you," He replies in a hoarse voice, choked by tears. He gives Celebrimbor a smile back, because to know that at the very least, one of his father's is so deeply intertwined in his craft, his healing, is a very soothing knowledge indeed.