Date: 2015-03-12 12:50 pm (UTC)
My apologies for the belated comment, Binka! I thoroughly enjoyed this wonderful short story with its many layers. The tone is wry and somber by turns, and wow, the theme of doom is woven adroitly throughout. I love your characterization of Celebrimbor, his combination of self-confidence in his skill and knowledge, colored by personal despair and yet with a sense of humor, too.

I especially liked this...

when Tyelpo glided his palm over the flat of the sword, he felt a light stinging in his skin. He removed his hand and brushed his fingertips along the heel of his thumb. The stinging feeling vanished.

A subtle way of showing the dark "magic" of Anglachel, an eerie contrast to Tyelpo's quite rational comment that the iron is derived from "alien rock" vs. Mormengil's poetic assessment of a fallen star. In fact, I read a lot of subtlety in this fic - Tyelpo's drinking himself numb on his begetting day, the way Túrin and Tyelpo skirt the elephant in the room, the pervasive sense of foreboding. The latter never becomes heavy-handed, though, as that touch of dark humor continues. This is a tone that is not easy to achieve, and you did it well!

Pairing: Túrin/doom; Celebrimbor/booze


AH HAHAHAHAHA!

Thanks for the nod to the Pandë!verse. :^) That finally prompted me to give Culinen's little brother a name (scurried off to the erstwhile Darth Fingon's site last night and came up with "Mornilin".)

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