Anathema by Harnatano - Lithenna

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Playing with fire

Long story short, hm?
.... Celegorm doesn't agree with his brother's initiatives, and Finrod thinks he has to do something about it... for better or for worse.

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Nargothrond was silent, save for the sound of footsteps on the tiles. At this hour of the night, it seemed empty, devoid of breath and life, while the only light was that which was provided by the few lampstones which never stopped burning in the depths of the caves. The contrast was blatant between the lively activity of the day – with its songs, laughter and the ongoing hubbub of the inhabitants –  and the seemingly emptiness of the night. It was made even more obvious for, behind the closed gates of the caves, none could actually guess the hour. There was no other choice than to trust the beautiful hourglasses offered by the king to his people.

Slowly stroking the red cat lying on his lap, Curufinwë was trying to soothe the stiffness of his muscles along with the soreness of a heart gnawed on by doubts. In this silence, he could both think and pray, though the prayer was neither for the Valar nor for Eru, bur for himself. A prayer like a safekeeping, an enclosed place in his mind which was supposed to protect him from his own shame and to help him brace himself for whatever fate had been devised for him. The cat stirred, and that was when the Ñoldo acknowledged a distant pitter patter which was indeed increasing in speed and sound. Yet he felt drowsy, and in his semi-awareness he barely paid any attention to it. So when the door suddenly opened with a crash, Curufinwë (and the cat) jumped with surprise and stared blankly at the intruder.

“Did I give you a start, brother?” asked Tyelkormo without a smile. His face was paler than usual, but his hair was beautifully kept in long plates and his garments displayed an unquestionable finesse which greatly contrasted with the fell glint of eyes.

“Yes. Yes indeed.” Curufinwë was confused, as if violently dragged out of a dreamy and a comfortable slumber. “I was—”

“Good.” Tyelkormo cut him off with a sharp movement of his hand. “Because I too have felt rather surprised lately. And that is an understatement.”

Curufinwë blinked, even more confused but not impressed.

“… and do not start to pretend that you do not know what it is about.” Tyelkormo ignored his brother’s confusion and he started to pace through the room, his wide and quick steps alarming the cat who found nothing better to do than to hide under the nearest cupboard.

“I do not know what you are talking about.”

Tyelkormo froze. His fists clenched and Curufinwë heard a sigh, sharp and stern. “Do no make me do it, brother.”

“Do what, Tyelkormo?” He was not provoking him, and if Tyelkormo was questioning his brother’s genuineness, it was a mistake.

“I do not mind you leading the debate during the councils, Curvo. I do not mind you taking the initiatives in terms of political involvement in Nargothrond. And I do not mind you playing your little diplomatic games. Politics is your field more than mine, and I trust you with it.”

Curufinwë tried to speak, to remind his brother of his recurrent interventions in this so-called political game, but a single sign of Tyelkormo’s hand hindered his complaint.

“… But orc-hunting, military practises and tactics are mine more than yours.” Again, Curufinwë was about to argue (who would have ever denied his own skills as a military strategist?), but his brother did not let him. “And the archers are under my command. Did we not agree on that?”

Now Curufinwë understood.  “Indeed. Yet, I thought–”

“No Curufinwë. No. I have enough of your schemes. ” The tone was sharp, so sharp that Curufinwë couldn’t repress a wince. “I have enough of your thinking that you know better. I have enough your self-centred refrain. This is not about you.”

The words didn’t miss their target, and like pointed shafts they pierced right into Curufinwë’s pride. He folded his arms on his chest, sat back in the sofa, and with his eyes staring sharply at his brother, he snorted. “If this isn’t about me, why are you even here Turcafinwë?”

Tyelkormo’s reply first came through a gaze that was sterner than a stormy sky. “To summon your morals. Does this word ring a bell, Curufinwë? Or need I remind you that you used to abide by something called virtue?

It was enough. Curufinwë stood up only to walk right to his brother. Two stern faces challenging one another. “Have you finished, Turcafinwë? Is your little lecture over? Because I do not plan to spend the whole night listening idly to your sermon.”

Tyelkormo gave a scornful snicker. “Why not? After all, I did not come to hear your poor excuses. I already know how you will try to justify your deeds.”

“Oh believe me, you do not.”

“Believe you?!” Now Tyelkormo was laughing loudly in his brother’s face, obviously unwilling to give him the presumption of innocence that Curufinwë had hoped for. His own anger was increasing, and as frustration rolled in the pit of his stomach, he stepped backward, if only to not be tempted to smack Tyelkormo’s face. His hands grabbed the back of chair which he used as a support to brace himself, but his fingers were already squeezing the wooden backrest. Somehow, it helped him control himself and wait for his brother’s laughter to stop. “Are you done, Turcafinwë?’ He asked gloomily.

His brother didn’t answer, but the scornful grin on his face was eloquent enough. For a little moment, silence filled the room, heavy and thick. There was no point in beating around the bush, and so Curufinwë resumed. “I did give orders to some of our archers and bid them ride off to the northern borders of the realm because one of us had to do it.”

“I do not remember agreeing to that.”

“No?” replied Curufinwë. “Did we not agree that we ought to keep an eye on the shadows crawling through the moors and into Nargothrond ? Because I do remember you saying it was the weakest post in the defence of the realm.”

“I know very well what I said. And I never implied that we ought to defend it. Findaráto can very well manage on his own, can he not?”

“You know very well that he cannot. Just like you know that we have a debt. Our place in this realm is guaranteed solely by our capacity to defend it.”

Another snicker, another scornful glance and Tyelkormo shook his head. “And so you believed that it gave you the right to command my troops?”

Curufinwë was tired of this conversation. And already he knew that he would not get his brother to listen to reason. “Our troops, Tyelkormo.” He replied with a sigh. “It has always been our troops. Our responsibilities. Our duties.”

“Really, Curvo?” Curufinwë did not like the mischievous glint which had appeared in his brother’s eyes. “Then why do you insist on carrying the burden, the blames and hardship on your own?

Curufinwë was speechless; he opened his mouth  but not words would come out. So Tyelkormo went on. “Besides, if you wanted to send our archers to the moors, you should have as well send them under my command. You should have let me go with them.”

“Out of the question. You ought to remain with our people.”

“Those riders you sent away are our people.”

You ought to stay with me. That was what Curufinwë should have said. That was what Curufinwë wanted to say. But he could not utter the words. Terrified by the burning  truth they carried, he could only lock them up in the back of his mind, keeping them away from his brother’s perspicacity.

“I did what I had to do.” Curufinwë finally stated, sternly, his frustration slowly turning into animosity. “I did what was expected of me.”

“Your senses must have been blurred, brother. That is not what I expected of you.”

The younger brother bit tongue, but it didn’t prevent the horrid feeling from spreading through his limbs. A strange, embarrassing silence was surrounding them. Tyelkormo’s anger seemed to abate, although his brother knew that it could be awaken with one single word. He himself wished not to argue any longer. He was so tired. But he would stand his ground.

 The cat crawled out of his hidden place and stared at the two Noldor, his big yellow eyes moving from one Elda to the other, as if he expected them to pay attention to him. They did not even acknowledge his presence. Jawlines tensed, sharp breaths and clenching fists; what else was there to be said?

“I would have never expected you to do anything like that, Curufinwë.” Tyelkormo’s voice sounded different, unusually sombre, if not sad. “What happened to you? Who have you become?”

The chuckle that escaped Curufinwë’s lips was bitter and tasted like blood. “How can you even ask, Turcafinwë? You know me. You know me better than anyone.”

Tyelkormo shook his head slowly, the gloom on his face increasing with each new seconds. “I thought I did.”

The cat followed him out the room, and the door closed on Curufinwë’s quiet anxiety.

---

 

During the following days, Curufinwë’s exhaustion did not decrease. On the contrary. And the circumstances did not help.

Tyelkormo had never been very assiduous regarding the royal councils. Relying on his brother, he used to be quite negligent and rarely attended the meetings, if only because he deemed his actual actions among their people much more potent than lengthy discussions which, most of the times, led to nothing but dead-ends. Curufinwë had never complained, although he would have made good use of his brother’s support during the debates. And anyway, even when Tyelkormo did attend the councils, his outspokenness and lack of tact and patience would sometimes work to the Fëanorian’s disadvantage – according to Curufinwë.  

Yet, since that dreadful argument between the two brothers, Tyelkormo was making a point of honour at attending every single meeting, no matter the importance or the topic at stake. Even if it didn’t involve their people, even if he had no interest in participating, even when he didn’t know what it was about. He did not really challenge his brother, but his deep grey eyes always stared at him with a painful intensity. Ere long, Curufinwë started to  suspect his brother to be watching him.

A base attempt to keep an eye on him.

How upsetting. And how disappointing.

 The sudden disappearance of this trust which had always been the main features of their relationship completely undermined what remained of Curufinwë’s good spirits, and he soon found himself burdened with a most distasteful grief.

Of course, the gossips had ran wild in Nargothrond, but if they all pretended to know about the feud, Curufinwë had kept his lips locked. And he knew his brother well enough to suspect any leak from him. When deep, personal matters were at stake, Tyelkormo was no less secretive than he was.

As for Tyelperinquar, he had asked no question, but Curufinwë could very often feel his son’s eyes on him. Inspecting him. Judging him. What he exactly knew of the conflict, Curufinwë had no clue, for they had not talked about it. But Tyelperinquar was smart, and even if he hadn’t managed to get any information from his uncle, he had probably guessed most of the truth already. His father now knew that he should never underestimate the young Ñoldo’s perspicacity.

In any case, Tyelperinquar too was watching him.

In the midst of his growing paranoia, Curufinwë longed for loneliness. But there was no safe place anymore and anywhere he looked, he saw but greedy eyes and eager ears.

On that night, he left the smithies early. He wanted to escape, although he knew not where to go. He wandered through the long corridors for a moment, and the deep thoughtful frown on his forehead sufficed to keep anyone from bothering him with a request or a mere greeting. He pretended to be busy, and it suited him perfectly.

The Ñoldo eventually found an empty room behind the library. A sort of back room where was kept a few old chairs and tables that needed to be repaired, along with some forgotten scrolls which should have been filed long before. He rummaged through the documents for a little while, took a close look at the furniture, promised himself to eventually come back with some tools, and sat down on the best-looking seat he could find. The room was dark, dusty, and a musty smell invaded it, but it was quiet and the whole place conveyed an odd nostalgic atmosphere. Alone in its darkness, Curufinwë could finally allow himself to ponder and doze. Although aware of his loneliness, of the chasm of gloom in his heart, he would not complain. Anger, shame, disappointment were feelings which he’d rather keep lock within him.

He didn’t know how long he strayed there, but he was suddenly startled by the sudden appearance of light. Someone had stepped into the room which Curufinwë had purposely kept in the dark. Ere long he recognized the soft sound of silk and taffeta (too much of it), and the clinking of the golden bracelets. He kept his eyes shut, pretending to sleep, but he could already tell that this poor trick wouldn’t deceive his cousin.

No words were said, but Curufinwë could feel Felagund’s eyes upon him, as if trying to pierce the shield being which he kept his mind. He kept it locked, unwilling to let his cousin slip in, even superficially. And so a silent battle of mind against mind began. The Fëanorion didn’t need to open his eyes to know that Felagund’s presence was growing heavier, stronger and more invasive which each breath he drew. Curufinwë could but cloister himself in a mute resistance.

Finally, Felagund retreated and the Fëanorion opened his eyes, only to see the king sitting in an old dilapidated chair and staring at him. His fingers were crossed under his chin, as in a prayer or a deep reflection. His face was thoughtful, but nothing in his features reflected the nature of those thoughts. As for the contrast between the rich garments of the king and the shabbiness of his seat, it was rather disconcerting, if not plainly risible, but Curufinwë was in no mood for jests.

“You are troubled, my friend.” The king finally said with a slow and deep voice which wasn’t devoid of concern.

“Whether that is true or not, I do not recall asking for your solicitude. Please cousin - and I will only ask once - keep your pity and leave me be.”

“Pity has nothing to do with it, Curufinwë.” The king stood up, now looking clearly down at his cousin. “Your current state of mind weakens you, and you are my ally, are you not? As a king, and given the situation, I cannot suffer my allies to be weak. Am I clear enough or must I elaborate?”

Curufinwë’s sole reaction relied in the hoarse, sullen groan which left his lungs.

“I am neither blind nor stupid, Curufinwë. I know you and your brother have been at variance with each other lately. And I believe I know the reasons of your quarrel.”

“That is none of your business.” If he were irascible before, Curufin was now sorely offended, furious, and as usual, only his eyes revealed the intensity of his wrath. As for his body, it was tensed, and his voice was cold, but there was no effusion of anger. “You may be the king here, but this title does not give you the right to stick your nose into our business.”

“On the contrary. My duty is to make sure my allies are still in a position of strength and capable of responding to my call. Yet – I am certain you know that – your quarrelling with Tyelkormo brings disruption and confusion among your troops and mine – and they are no more blind than I am. Besides, if you and Tyelkormo cannot be brought to an agreement while sitting at my meetings, I am afraid the first victim of this feud might be Nargothrond itself.”

“My, my Findaráto…” Curufinwë’s bitterness was mingling with an acrid irony. “What happened to your compassion? I believed you were the embodiment of sympathy but look at you now! So practical, so coldly calculating. Beware, soon you might turn into a better schemer than I.”

“I am compassionate when the circumstances require compassion. But you said it yourself, you want nothing from me, neither pity nor sympathy. And a king cannot only rely on his sentiments, can he? You should know this better than anyone else, Atarincë.”

“I did not allow you to use my mother-name.”

“I begin to think that someone has to use it, if only to remind you of your place.”

It seemed the light of the lamp was growing dim. Curufinwë stood up and stared right into his cousin’s eyes. He indeed found no pity there, and the king’s usual thoughtful stance was gone. “You think yourself above me, do you not, Findaráto? “Like cracks in a mirror, Curufinwës anger was now breaking through his austerity. “Yet you should keep in mind that the line of Fëanáro is and shall ever be the eldest one – with or without crowns to adorn our brows.”

Findaráto said nothing, but after a few seconds, a gentle smirk appeared on his lips. “I do not forget it Curufinwë. Nonetheless, in this kingdom I am the one wearing a crown. And there is nothing you can do about it.”

Taken aback by the boldness of his cousin’s statement, the Fëanorion held his breath. And clenched his fist. A fist which he would have had gladly driven into the lovely face in front of him. “What do you infer?” He managed to whisper under his breath.

“Well, you are my allies indeed I respect you as such, and far be it from me the will to deny your lordship. But you are not me equal, Curufinwë. You and your line, no matter how grand your exploits have been, and might be, have forfeited your privileges… and you cannot pretend to be surprised, not after what you did. In fact, I believe that you should have expected it the day you sworn this loathsome oath…. You, your father and your brothers are way too smart to not have expected it.”

The king was purposely provoking him, this Curufinwë knew. What he didn’t know was the reasons behind these provocations.

“The dispossessed you are, the dispossessed you shall ever be. You can no longer pretend to be astounded by this new title of yours… and of this one, at least, you are worthy.” The sigh which had punctuated the king’s sentence conveyed both irony and affliction in the most confusing way.

Curufinwë did not reply as yet, and instead he tried to catch his breath, to soothe the blazing ire which threatened to erupt, but before he could pull himself together, another voice roared behind the king.

“Shut up, Felagund!” Both Curufinwë and the king froze, taken aback by the unexpected intruder. “And step away from my brother.”  

Tyelkormo was now walking towards them, and with a few slow movements, Findaráto turned towards him, obviously unimpressed as the Fëanorian went on. “Is that a proper behaviour for a king? Provocation and humiliation? And you dare speak of respect, compassion and worth?”

Curufinwë was speechless. His brother’s intervention was the last thing he had expected. And probably the last thing he wanted. “You stay away from this, brother.” He said, yet the look of surprise was still clouding his face. “It is between Findaráto and I.”

“Allow me to disagree, Curvo.” Tyelkormo spat, but his anger was not for his brother. “This is between the elder son of Finarfinwë and the sons of Fëanáro. What is it that you implied, Findaráto, when you talked about equality and worth, hm? Do you really believe that this circlet of gold on your brow gives you the right to judge us? Do you really believe it to be a token of your worth?” A spiteful laughter left Tyelkormo’s lips, and with a cunning glint in his eyes, he turned towards Curufinwë. “Do you mark that, brother? Our cousin values his worth more than ours!”

Curufinwë could but smirk, encouraged by his sibling’s high spirits. “Indeed. And tell us Findaráto, what have you accomplished so far which could override our value?”

Felagund’s eyes travelled from one Fëanorion to the other, but his face remained expressionless, safe for the glint of everlasting pride in his eyes. After a short moment which seemed to last forever, he gave a soft smile, a short bow, and a few words. “That is yet to be revealed, cousins.”

And with his usual slow footsteps and the soft sound of creased silk, he walked away and left the two Fëanorions alone in the room.  He had taken the lampstone with him, and so the two brothers found themselves in the dark, which, all things considered, was probably for the better. Indeed, the silence that followed Felagund’s departure was heavy with uneasiness, until Curufinwë’s pride finally overtook him. “You did not have to step between us, Turco. I could have managed it. I was actually doing very well on my own.”

Tyelkormo’s answer started with another fit of laughter. “Really, Curvo? From where I stood, it did not seem so. In fact, you looked rather pathetic, holding back your fists while our cousin humiliated us.”

“I was actually preparing myself to—”

“…Sure.”

With his hands on his hips and a look of heavy disapprobation on his face, Curufinwë stared at his brother silently.

“Do not take me wrong, Curvo. I did not do it for you. I did it for us, for our family.” An odd mischievous smirk was lingering on Tyelkormo’s lips. “Findaráto had to be stopped. And one of us had to do it… do you not agree?”

“Ahaha. Very amusing, Turco.”

“I know. I am hilarious.”

 With a last snort, Tyelkormo headed to the door and Curufinwë was on his heels. He knew it had to happen now… or never. And although his ego anticipated nothing more than this conversation, he had to put his pride aside and to speak to his brother. “Turco?”

“What is it now?”

“Do you still refuse to understand my point?” Curufinwë was surprised by the sound of his own voice, unusually weak, and yet not devoid of confidence.

”which is…?”

“You and me. We are not interchangeable, that is true. Yet, we must back up one another. We are-- ”

“A team. Aye, Curvo. I know.” Tyelkormo answered as he came to halt. He glanced at his brother. “Meaning we must work together. And talked to each other. As we used to do in Himlad.”

Uneasiness washed over him, and Curufinwë looked away. He had changed indeed, but he had thought he had managed to become who Tyelkormo expected him to be. Yet, in that too he had failed, and he could see now that he had mistaken his brother’s expectations. And Curufinwë remained in the dark; whoever Tyelkormo expected him to be was a mystery, and he found himself unable to decipher the hopes of the only person who had so rarely questioned him. Now, what Curufinwë kept on questioning was his own identity.

He gave a slow nod, caring not for the curious look which, he supposed, was on his face.

“You say say yes but your eyes are filled with doubt, Curvo. Stop trying to deceive me. You know it is not in your power. You may have changed, but I can still smell it when you lie.”

“I do not lie to you.”

“Indeed, you first lie to yourself. And that is worse. But you can no longer fool anyone. Even your son is aware of your tendency to lure yourself. It must stop. Why do you think Felagund took the upper hand so easily?”

Although he had asked for this conversation, Curufinwë didn’t like the way it was taking, and he loathed to go any further on this gruesome path. “I will think about it.”

“And there you go again.”

“Shut up Turco.”

Turcafinwë rolled his eyes, but the sigh he gave appeared like an agreement. He understood. He would wait, until his brother felt ready. Or so Curufinwë hoped. And despite the prickly frustration that floated between them, Tyelkormo wrapped one strong arm around his brother’s shoulders. Nothing else needed to be said. Nothing else really mattered.

---

 

A few days later, as he and Tyelkormo greeted Canyorë and the riders which were coming back to the Caves, Curufinwë saw the King observing them. Felagund was standing alone in one of the empty corridors that left to main halls, and from the gates where Curufinwë stood, Finrod looked like a shining sentinel clad with gold and pearls entwined with the blond strands that were hiding half of his face.  Yet, Curufinwë could tell the king was watching him. He could also tell there was a smile on his face. A smile which conveyed nothing but a blazing pride.

And suddenly he understood.

After a quick but genuine pat on Canyorë’s back, he walked towards his cousin. Quicks steps, and a face which was much more severe and confident than during their last meeting. He stopped right in front of the king and looked into his eyes.  “Are you happy with yourself, cousin?”

“No more than you, I presume, Curufinwë “

“If you expected me to thank you, you can as well kiss my feet.”

The Finarfinwëon gave a curious smile before turning over.

“Do not try to escape, Findaráto!”

“We both had what we wished for, cousin. You had your brother back, and I, my allies reunited and strong again. Why would you complain?”

Grabbing the king by one shoulder, Curufinwë forced his cousin to face him. the Fëanorion was impressed, and quite in spite of himself, he found himself respecting Felagund for this ingenious scheme. But he would neither admit it, nor forgive him. After, Felagund had manipulated them. And this curious cocktail of emotions only increased his indignation. “Who do you take me for, Findaráto? A common pawn with which you can play?”

Felagund did not struggle, but he was staring at Curufinwë’s hand on his gown, surely anxious to see the Fëanorian’s grip damage the precious fabric. Curufinwë let go of him.

“Curufinwë,” the king said with a kind smile. “One day soon, you will thank me for what I did. I know it. And so do you.”

The Fëanorion snorted and slowly he stepped back, yet keeping his eyes on his cousin. “No Findaráto. I will not give you this satisfaction. But if you insist, I could very well give you a taste of your own medicine.”

“Oh, I would expect no less from you, Curufinwë.”