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Halbrand awoke not completely sure what day it was, what his own name was, and with the feeling that the great Dwarven wheels from the forge were now churning steadily inside his head. He groaned - a bad thing, with such a dry mouth - and felt about for a pillow to cram over his head.
All in all, the auspices suggested his first Yuletide in Eregion had been a wonderful success.
He was still trying to burrow back into the merciful darkness of bed, when a gentle hand stroked through his hair, and a soft, smiling voice just beside his ear said, “Ah, so you’re awake, Halbrand.”
Whether it was some power innate to all Elves, or just the power that this one particular Elf had over his his heart, Halbrand felt the ache in his head soothed and replaced by a warm glow; and he turned over, looking up with a bleary smile. “Mm… what time is it?”
Celebrimbor, still smiling, said, “Some little time past noon. Coming up to the seventh hour, I think.”
“That late!” This nearly sent Halbrand springing right out of bed. “Gods, I didn’t mean — I’m sorry —”
But Celebrimbor only shushed him gently, pressing him back with a gentle hand to his chest. “It’s all right, my dearest. Enjoy your rest. Even the House of the Mírdain tends to be quiet in the days after midwinter.”
Halbrand chuckled. “That so?”
“Oh, yes. The sound of hammers and files is rather too much even for our heads.” His eyes crinkled with amusement. “One would think by now that we would know not to mix our Elven wine with our Dwarven ale, but that’s one lesson we never seem to learn.”
“Doesn’t seem to have done you much harm,” Halbrand remarked drily. Now that he was more awake, he noticed now that the light was streaming through the window - the pure brilliance of a fine winter’s day - and it showed Celebrimbor to glorious advantage. He was clad in the light green robe that he favoured when keeping to his rooms, and his golden hair was just slightly rumpled, one curl falling over his forehead in such an endearing way that Halbrand couldn’t resist lifting his hand to stroke it back. Perhaps he looked a pinch more sleepy than usual, but really, Halbrand thought, he looked much more refreshed and alert than he had any right to. Memories of last night’s celebrations were now returning to him in scraps, and one of them involved cheering on Celebrimbor as he took on Narvi in some complicated old Dwarven drinking game - a very close finish, if he remembered right.
Actually, sod it: Celebrimbor looked stunning.
He said as much and Celebrimbor laughed, colouring slightly, and if moving hadn’t been completely beyond Halbrand at that moment, he would have flung his arms round him and pulled him down beneath the coverlets with him.
As it was, he settled for saying, “Well, it’s nice to know the Mírdain know how to enjoy themselves as well as they work.”
“No less than Men,” Celebrimbor replied. “You had fairly laid claim to that bottle of Caranthir’s old Ossiriand vintage by the end of the night.”
Halbrand huffed - laughing felt too much like hard work just now - and slumped back with his arm over his eyes. “Your Uncle Caranthir had good taste. And a head made of solid steel, I reckon.”
“His was a particularly hard head,” Celebrimbor agreed, light and grave all at once. Now he drew his hand through Halbrand’s hair again. “But now, my love, is there anything I can get for you to relieve your suffering?”
Halbrand peered out from under his arm, and smiled his most roguish smile. “No…” he said slowly. “But if you haven’t got any more pressing duties today, O Lord of Eregion, I reckon you could spend it looking after me here.”
Somehow, at that, he did find the strength to pull Celebrimbor down beneath the coverlets with him, and both of them were quite happy to remain in that bed for the rest of the day.