“Celebrimbor, there’s news about your father.” An elleth stood in the doorway.

Seeing her reddened eyes and tear-streaked face, Celebrimbor stiffened slightly, but schooled his features to not betray his emotions as she told him the details of Doriath. He closed his eyes to not see her deep sorrow at another kinslaying, hearing death wails over the aria forever playing within his heart.

‘He’s gone. No hope he’ll repent. It’s over.’

“Elwing, daughter of Dior, has the Silmaril,” the elleth whispered.

Silence. The music hesitated for long breathless moments. It was so quiet, he felt like screaming.

Celebrimbor nodded, as agony wracked his fea. Her soft footsteps drifted out of his chambers and he opened his eyes, staring at the mirror before him. He resembled his father but where Curufin’s once-fair features were twisted with cruelty, pain and regret shadowed Celebrimbor’s face. He still remembered his father’s words when his father and uncle were driven from Nargothrond.

“If you turn from me now,” Curufin shouted at him, “you’re no longer part of me, nor do you have my love or loyalty. If you betray me, it’s the death of you in my mind.”

“Adar, this unrelenting Oath is driving you mad. I cannot be loyal to that any longer or it will blacken my fea completely - as it will blacken yours if you do not turn from this path of deviltry," Celebrimbor pleaded. “You are not Feanor. Do not make the same mistakes he made.”

His father looked him over with disgust. “No, his sons were loyal to him. And we still are.”

Celebrimbor watched until his father rode out of sight, unwilling to give up hope that he would turn back.

The music in his heart returned, more haunted. Celebrimbor shattered the mirror, casting aside his father’s reflection.