Chapter Text
“You know, the Edain, or at least Balan, had something they called Jul,” Finrod said as he, Elrond, Frodo, an elderly hobbit, whatever that was, who had apparently killed Annatar, and somehow Curufin, sat up the long table in the Turuhalmë decorated home of Elrond himself. “It’s a twelve days celebration starting on the first day of Turuhalmë, and then ending at the day of their own Yestarë, which they hold much before us—”
“Who is Balan?” Frodo asked as the group around the table nodded, Celebrimbor himself was pushing around some of the spruce set out on the table as decoration.
“Balan of the house of Bëor,” Finrod said as he continued to put out the plates for their little party, his fingers deftly arranging the fine painted plates he had brought to Elrond when he was newly arrived..
“No…” Frodo said, “I fear I haven’t heard of him.”
“Balan is Bëor’s other name,” Elrond helpfully cut in before Finrod could reply, his voice soothing as ever, like a gentle stream flowing through a forest.
“Oh,” said Frodo, “but did you not name him Bëor?”
“Well… yes. But that is only his title… or one of his titles…” Finrod answered, now looking as confused as the Hobbit, his brow furrowing slightly as he glanced around the table, searching for understanding in his companions’ faces.
“What do you hold Frodo?” Curufin asked, his tone sharp yet curious as ever.
“Yule,” Frodo said, his eyes sparkling with fond memories, “it sounds very much like what Bë- Balan must have held. It’s a two day festival, with a month of celebration and preparation before it called Foreyule, where we also give our gifts on the sixth and seventh day, and then again a month of celebration after called Afteryule.”
“So it’s the same day each year?” Celebrimbor asked, peeking up with interest, this he had not heard of before, or he had. He had heard a bit from Annatar about the Northmen who held Yule-tide in two whole months, but the celebration wasn’t always celebrated on the same days. And to what he knew, that holiday did come from the older manish holiday called Jul.
“Oh no!” Frodo exclaimed, shaking his head vigorously, his curls bouncing slightly with the motion, “see, that would be too easy, would it not? No, the first Yule day is always held on the last Highday of the old year, and the second Yule day is always held on the first Sterday of the new year!”
“Oh, so your Yule is also a form of Yestarë to you?” asked Finrod excitedly, his eyes lit with the thrill of discovery.
“Yestarë…?” Frodo echoed, his brow knitting in confusion.
“The New Reckoning,” Elrond helpfully supplied, “Tyelpe, your do—”
“The Dwarves celebrate Mahalmerag in Âfnarag,” Curufin suddenly broke in, his voice slicing through the conversation with the precision of a well honed blade, “the month after Ghiluz Durin, Durin’s day.”
“Yes!” Frodo exclaimed, his excitement clear in his bright face, “it is a two month celebration too, right? Me, Uncle Bilbo, and dear Gandalf would celebrate it sometimes as a smaller feast when I was little!” his voice was filled with warmth, as memories of laughter and merriment filled his mind.
“Well, one thing we all have in common it seems,” said Elrond, his tone turning pensive, “is the celebration of a dark, dark, dark day. Now Tyelp, your dog?”
Celebrimbor froze up as he felt Curufin’s judging glare at him, as if Atto was getting ready to say ´I told you so.´ the tension in the air was palpable, and to say they had had a milder disagreement about whether Celebrimbor should bring Annatar with him was a rather delicate matter, fraught with perilous implications.
“Is he okay?” Elrond asked, his concern genuine, “he was quick to hide.”
“Ahh…” Celebrimbor said, his heart racing, he was pretty sure Elrond could feel Annatar was a Maia, or a Úmaia, creepy Maia descendant he was. Still, he wasn't sure whether he knew who Annatar was or not, “well… Anna- Anna just isn’t that good in crowds,” he said, fidgeting his hands as Curufin snorted, “... lately…”
“Ah. I hope… Anna will feel up to coming out again when the rest of the guests come and celebrate with us,” Elrond said, frowning as silence fell over them, the weight of unspoken truths lingering in the air like shadows on a cloudy day.
“I didn’t know you had a dog, Tyelpe,” Finrod said happily, his voice a beacon of light amidst the gathering storm, “I do hope we can meet him today, and if not, I hope you don’t mind me visiting for a visit soon.”
“Right,” Celebrimbor said, trying to shake off the discomfort that seemed to blanket the room, as Curufin, yet again, snorted, ignoring the glare both Celebrimbor and Finrod sent him for two different reasons.
“Why does Anna sound like the name Annatar?” Frodo said after a moment of quiet, his voice tinged with curiosity, “remind me again who Annatar was?” he asked, looking mildly confused, and even more so at the even louder silence that enveloped the room, the air thickening with unvoiced fears and buried histories.
“Tyelpe, I fucking swear, if Sauron is here, I will kill him, you and then myself,” Finrod growled, his voice low and fierce, a growl that resonated with the weight of ancient battles and dreadful truths. Celebrimbor looked down at his hands in his lap as the moment passed against him like an inescapable tide, “right,” he mumbled, “right.”