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Talion knew little of elves and their healing. He had heard tales their wounds healed quickly, less than a scratch in half the time it would take a man to recover. He knew for men healing required rest, it required good health, vigor. A man under duress, a man starved, an elder, they would heal slower than one in ideal circumstances. He knew men tortured, held captive, scarred worse than those free.
Scars, for humans, were common. He had never met an elf before Celebrimbor, he couldn’t say if how his wounds had healed was typical of his race. He could say, from what he had been trusted with, that his wounds were numerous. And his wounds, the number of his wounds, was not typical for anyone.
Celebrimbor had been a warrior, a lord, he had surely acquired some of his scars from battle. But Talion knew the majority of them had to have been from his two years with Sauron. These scars, uniform and intentional, made up the majority. They crossed at least his chest and arms, ranging in color and shape, all looking dreadfully painful. They ranged from things whose origin Talion could guess at to things he would not even dare to, slashes and stabs, burns, the distinctive shape of four arrowheads that had been buried in his flesh.
While Talion was thinking, the room grew unbearably quiet, crickets chirped quietly in melody just outside. Talion drew in a breath he had forgotten to take and realized he had sat pondering and staring for far too long.
“It’s frightful,” Celebrimbor murmured, breaking the near silence after Talion had his chance to stare for what felt like minutes. “Some of these I was not alive for. I’m not sure why they’ve scarred too. I’m not sure why I remember them, either.” He ran a thumb over one of the arrowhead-shaped scars, just under his collarbone. His expression was ponderous, somber. Anxious, even.
Talion did not speak, he simply could not find the words, and he could see from how Celebrimbor’s anxious hands found each other to pick at the beds of his nails that he was dreading Talion’s disgust, his disapproval.
Talion grasped the elf’s hands in his own, hoping even if he found himself speechless to convey through them how unswayable his admiration was. Talion brought one to his mouth, pressed a kiss to his lover’s knuckles. He found words to say.
“Nothing in this world, no evil or torture could ever make you less beautiful, and you are not responsible for what others have done to hurt you,” Talion spoke at last into the rough skin of his hands, voice so soft it was almost a whisper.
Celebrimbor grew still, his gaze fixed on anything but Talion’s face. They sat in this heavy silence until Celebrimbor huffed. Talion knew his mood would turn caustic now, in defense. He withdrew his hands gently, but it appeared that he wanted this moment of vulnerability to end. “But I am left to bear the consequences of their actions, even after they are gone. They are free of their treachery and I am made to display it on my very skin.” His voice rose as a challenge, baiting Talion to fight him so they might forget this.
“I understand your frustration,” his voice was steady, even. Talion refused to end this night with an argument.
“I bear my own marks, though none so harsh as your own.” Celebrimbor ducked his head, his hair falling from his shoulders to shade his face.
Talion wrapped his lover in his embrace, rested the elf’s head gently in the crook of his shoulder. Celebrimbor did not move, save for a little bristling at the close contact.
They stayed like that for a moment or so, Celebrimbor held stiff in his arms, until Talion broke their uneasy silence.
“You are perfect, because you are here. I am grieved that you cannot see it.”
Celebrimbor’s response tickled Talion’s neck as he murmured, “Silly to be proud of such a thing,” into his skin.
Talion tightened his embrace just a fraction. “You’ve had a harder time simply being here than most, lover. You’ve much to be proud of.”
At that, Celebrimbor softened, just the slightest. He rested his head against Talion’s shoulder, wrapped his arms around his waist loosely.
Talion grew aware of the chirping of the crickets outside, he heard Celebrimbor’s soft breathing near his ear. The near-silence grew easy, then. Comfortable.