Anathema by Harnatano - Lithenna

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New Strings

The Fëanorian lords shamelessly play with their influence in Nargothrond… Finrod, and to a lesser extent, Celebrimbor, are confused.

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He could already hear the echoes of their cheering.

Already the smell of mirth and relief. Of gratitude and of something that resembled hope.

And he knew it was real, not the fruit of his delusional dreams.

“Hurray ! Hurray! May the glory of the Sons of Fëanor shine !”

And as they got closer, their horses’ hooves carefully and slowly finding their way between the heaps of grass that stood between them and the Gates of Nargothrond, Curufinwë glanced at his brother beside him. There was a wide smile on Tyelkormo’s face, and on his cheeks, wrinkles of pride seemed to merge with the spots of dry blood. A thick, black blood which was not his own.

“Are you ready, brother?” asked Tyelkormo as soon as he caught his little brother’s gaze on him.

Curufinwë turned his head to look in front of him again, his eyes falling on the crowd standing in the pale daylight. His fingers tightened on the reins, his mare slew down and came to a halt.

“Not now, Curvo…” mumbled his brother, and the few steps between them couldn't keep Curufinwë from catching the slight irritation in his voice.

He tightened his thighs, and the mare instantly set forth, a slow trot to catch up with Tyelkormo, who whistled a couple of times. The hounds, who had been lazily following them since they had left the fields of Tumhalad and the tinkling melody of the waters of Ginglith, gathered around them. All but one. Huan, at his master’s demand, was taking a few steps ahead, running happily towards the gates and barking loudly as to announce the arrival of the lords.

Useless, as the people in front of the Caves had caught the sight of them many miles before, and since then, the crowd had never stopped growing, bringing together both dignitaries and servants, Ñoldor and Sindar. And amongst them, standing proudly at the midst of this joyful group, his son.

Tyelperinquar moved forwards to welcome the giant hound, patted his huge head with a smile, and when his eyes moved back on his approaching father, this same smile hadn’t left his lips.

There was a pang in Curufinwë’s chest. His lips trembled a little, but he couldn’t keep his own smile hidden any longer.

“What a glorious idea you had Curvo, to send Tyelperinquar ahead so he could tell them what happened and announce our return.”

“Not my idea, Turco. His.”

The only idea he could be praised for was that of this hunting party. His primary feat had been to convince his son to join them. Yet now that he looked back on it, he wondered if Tyelperinquar had really needed to be convinced in the first place.

Beneath the leather of his gloves, his own skin was burning. Thousands of needles piercing the severed flesh as he tightly held the reins.

But he was used to it now.

“Hurray! May the light of Arda shine upon our lords !”

The cries of bliss didn’t dwindle, and the excitement and relief in their eyes was becoming clearer as the two brothers got closer.

They dismounted, and Tyelperinquar walked up to them, closely followed by two of their people who immediately caught the reins of their horses and took them to the stables for a few well deserved cares.

“You are late”, laughed Tyelperinquar. “The whole of Nargothrond has been expecting you since last night.”

“Your uncle needed his ankle to be tended”, answered Curufinwë. “We had to make one last halt before we left Tumhalad for good.”

“My ankle is perfectly fine!” retorted Tyelkormo, circling them with a few strides. “See? not a single limp.”

Curufinwë and his son shared a conniving look.

“I am glad to see you, father.”

A slight bow of his head, that was the only answer he managed to give. And already, the people of Nargothrond were gathering around them, their cries of joy turning into songs.

O fell wolves who roam the wood

Beware the blow of their mighty blade

Doomed demons see their dark mood

For their fiery force shall never fade.

No fiend the kin of Fëanor shall fear,

Lords of light in wrath shall lead

A hopeful hunt in a haunted sphere,

For their famous feat we pour some mead !

“I could do with some mead, indeed!” cried Tyelkormo who seemed to delight in the praises.

And as he stepped amongst them, accepting the grateful pats on his back with loud laughter, Curufinwë stepped aside the euphoria, although he too could feel the waves of a new warmth caressing the edges of his heart.

Tyelperinquar hadn’t left his side, nor had his smile left his face.

“Where is the king? ”Curufinwë asked quietly.

The only answer he received was a questioning look, followed by a shrug. But Curufinwë barely noticed it, his mind already picturing the frustrating face of his noble cousin. His jaw relaxed and the severity of his face decreased, giving way to a peaceful lustre as he joined his brother amidst the crowd.

---

“I really do not understand what all this fuss is about”, said Tyelkormo, raising a brow between two sips, “after all, we simply slay a dozen of beasts, which had not even reached the neighbouring lands…. Nothing exceptional.”

Curufinwë was watching him, fingers dancing on the edge of his goblet. And so his brother continued:

“Mind you, Curvo, I am not complaining about the praises and whatnot, a well-deserved acknowledgement of our strains, at last ! But, still…can we call that our greatest feat… ? besides, it is not like we never hunted down those fiends before…”

Cooped in a small and comfortable room, happily away from the blissful agitation that reigned in the caves, the three Ñoldor were enjoying the evening. After a long bath and a longer moment of deep meditation, alone in front of his mirror, Curufinwë had eventually joined the festivities of the main hall where he had vainly expected to see the king. Without the satisfaction of seeing his reaction, there had been nothing much tot do but to find a quiet place where he, his brother and hi son would be able to put the situation into perspective.

“They do not care,” he answered, resting his elbows on the table. “They only want to know they are safe, nothing more. How we keep them safe, the dangers we face, or even the true nature of the threats… it interests them little. They just need to know they can breathe light-heartedly. And I cannot blame them… most of this people has already seen too much–”

“And have we not seen too much as well…?” asked Tyelperinquar hastily, cutting off his father’s speech.

The young Ñoldo had been quiet the whole evening, and although he was still bearing a genuine smile each time his gaze met that of his father, there has been something in his eyes which Curufinwë couldn’t decipher. The shadow of a doubt, perhaps, the distant echo of suspicion.

“Indeed”, his father replied, “yet we are their lords, and as such we are expected to shield them against such evils.”

“But most of them are warriors too, most of them can fight.”

“Tyelperinquar is right, Curvo.” Tyelkormo had finally put down his cup, obviously decided to take part in the discussion. “The people of Nargothrond fought before, they can – they will – do it again.”

Curufinwë’s eyes travelled from his brother to his son for a moment. He had a head start on them, but they didn’t know it. And that was for the best.

“They do not want to,” he simply said, rubbing his palms together. “And that is precisely where we step in, for their unwillingness to fight is both our chance and our bane.”

“What do you mean, father?”

The cloud in Tyelperinquar’s eyes seemed to thicken, and Curufinwë looked away. He laid back in his chair and managed to smile. A trembling smile, but a sympathetic one.

“Nothing. At least, for now. There is a lot of work to do.”

Tyelperinquar frowned a little, but he said nothing more. As for Tyelkormo he seemed lost in his own thoughts, eyes fixed on his goblet.

The light around them flickered a bit, as a deep and strangely peaceful silence fell over the room. They could hear the voices behind the door, the singing and hand-clapping. The caves felt warmer than ever, at least since the Fëanorians had settled in, more than eight years before.

“How is Huan?” Suddenly asked Tyelperinquar. “I did not see him tonight.”

“My boy is resting, too content with the large leg of lamb he had for dinner to bother himself with us.” Pride was cheerfully dancing on Tyelkormo’s eyes as he answered. “The hounds are exhausted, but none of them is seriously hurt.”

“Thank Eru,” smiled Tyelperinquar.

“Tyelko,” called Curufinwë with a gentle voice, “do you remember that hunt with Tauros’ host, when Huan called you on your eagerness ?”

A loud laughter escaped his brother’s lips, and he tossed his head backward and shifted on his seat.

“If I remember it? He would not let me go after that boar!”

“You lacked precision, and patience.”

“Huan taught me patience.”

“Did he really?” Asked Curufinwë, raising a sceptical brow.

“Oh come on, brother! I was still young; don’t you tell me I have not learned from those mistakes!”

Tyelperinquar was eagerly listening to the joyful recollection. His father was watching him from the corner of his eyes when he saw his son’s smile getting wider and the clouds in his eyes getting thinner. He carried on with the easing memories.

“Even Irissë would blame you for losing tracks of the beast.”

“Irissë would have blamed her own mother if only to avoid questioning her own skills.”

“There was not much to question about her skills.”

A pause. The two bothers looked into each other eyes, nostalgia, affection, and playfulness mingling in their gaze And suddenly this acrid pang again, right in his plexus, like a harsh blow in his chest. Curufinwë held his breath.

“She used to be a mighty hunter,” said Tyelkormo after a moment. “She would always manage to get the better of me.”

Finally, Curufinwë took a deep breath. It was painful, the air running through the tensed throat and reaching his stiff chest.

Tyelperinquar had lowered his head, and from where he stood, Curufinwë could only see his frowning brow behind the dark curtain of his hair.

He couldn’t let this happen. Not now. Not when all seemed to go so well.

“Tyelperinquar, you know this lovely necklace you made for the celebration of her begetting day?”

“What about it ?“ he whispered, slowly raising up his gaze. “I was but a child then, there was nothing lovely about it…”

Curufinwë gave a gentle smile. “It was one of the first pieces you actually completed. And she loved it.”

“Did she?”

“Oh yes!” barked Tyelkormo excitedly. “Even your mother was jealous for not getting a similar gift.”

Curufinwë winced. Why?

He closed his eyes a few seconds, and this time, the silence that swallowed the room was painfully awkward. When he looked again, Tyelperinquar had lowered his head, hiding again behind the thick, dark threads.

“I know for sure that Aulë himself was impressed,” tried Curufinwë, his voice but a soft and quiet murmur.

No reaction from either side. He sighed.

Tyelkormo picked up his glass and hide his nose into it as long as he could.

I meant not to mention her, Curvo… forgive me.

The thought was coming from Tyelkormo. Curufinwë did not even begin to give the semblance of an answer, but he didn’t want to believe that all that he was building would eventually crumble like this. His life couldn’t become a mere heap of ruins. Not yet.

“May I go, father? I… am exhausted.”

Curufinwë gave a slow nod, and soon after his son had left the room. Now, he could see his brother was avoiding meeting his gaze, although he had lost nothing of his confident countenance.

Any reproach would be useless, Curufinwë knew that; a dirty compress on an infected wound.

“Curvo…”

“Not now.”

“No, I mean… you did a great job.”

He froze, unsure and confused. His questioning look didn’t bring any answer; no matter what Tyelkormo was referring to, he seemingly had no intention to make it clear.

Curufinwë grasped his own goblet and emptied it with one quick sip, the warmth of the mead softly tickling his stomach.

“I did my best.”

---

“Good day, my lord.”

“The light of Varda be with you, lord Curufin.”

“Please my lord Curufin, take this with you, it will bring you much luck and happiness.”

“Enjoy your day, lord Curufin.”

So many bows, so many praises and respectful acknowledgements. Just like before, in Himlad. Just like it should have always been here, in Nargothrond.

His fingers toying with the trinket received from the hands of this young Elda with the lovely dress and the kind smile, he kept walking along the main corridor of the caves, and the shadow of a smile was floating on his lips. His chin was high, his eyes scanning the faces around, his senses sharpened by the lack of sleep. Only an occasional twitch of his left eye. Nothing to worry about. Nothing that would betray him.

As he opened the large door of the King’s office, he knew what to expect. And he was not disappointed.

Felagund was sitting behind his desk, aloof and grave, both of his hands resting flat in front of him. As soon as Curufinwë stepped in, a pinched smile appeared on his lips, but his eyes said nothing.

“Good morning, king Felagund… cousin,” said Curufinwë spiritedly.

“Curufinwë… I was not expecting you so early. Good morning to you.”

“I was told you expected to see me.”

“Indeed, indeed. I… I just believed you would have preferred to rest this morning, after those straining adventures of yours… about which must have been said since your return.”

Curufinwë sat down in the chair appointed for visitors, and relaxed a little, his eyes never living the king’s face.

“Oh, really?” he breathed. “And may I ask what was said.”

The king gestured vaguely, shaking his hand as to discard the question. “Mostly rumours, I guess. I would prefer to have first-hand information… from you. What news from the North, cousin?”

“Have you got no scouts to bring you this sort of information?” asked Curufinwë, arms now crossed over his chest.

“My scouts do not cross the limits of the realm, and I was told you fought in the fields far beyond the crossing of Narog and Ginglith. Is that true?”

Curufinwë didn’t bother answering. He took a deep breath and smiled. And so the king continued:

“I suppose I should thank you. This is why you came here so early… am I wrong, cousin?”

“Who am I to tell the king what to do?” Answered Curufinwë with a playful smirk.

The king gave out a loud sigh, in which Curufinwë could detect both frustration and confusion. “Listen, Curufinwë, I appreciate your effort to keep the realm safe, but there was no need to hunt beyond those borders… the beasts of the North never cross the fields of Tumhalad, and there is a good reason for that: they know my people would greet them with as so many arrows. Your feat may be impressive, and admirable… but I am afraid it was useless, cousin.”

A sharp laugh broke through Curufinwë’s lips. He would have clapped his hands if decency wasn’t keeping him from such sarcasm.

“Ooh, Findaráto… I greatly doubt your people is of the same mind. To be fair, O royal cousin, they all look profoundly relieved, and grateful to us for having rid the realm of those threats… at last!”

“Be careful, Curufinwë,” said the king quietly, looking down at his own fingers dancing slowly on his desk. “You are still a guest here, no matter how potent your words might ring over the council table.”

“A guest, indeed,” nodded Curufinwë gleefully, “but one who is not afraid to execute a duty the king should have contemplated long ago. And your people know that.”

“Did you not listen to me? “ Spat the king, suddenly standing up. “There was no real threat in Tumhalad!”

The shot had reached its target. Curufinwë was delighted.

“How do you explain then, the sudden contentment of your people, and the new lightness of their heart ?” he asked slowly, gently even, plainly enjoying the situation.

“They know nothing of what happens beyond the limits of their eyesight.”

Curufinwë gave a loud hiss, accompanied by a slight wince. “That is not a way to talk about one’s own people, O king.”

Felagund looked confused. He was obviously straining to pull himself together, but Curufinwë could not tell if his cousin had been expected the conversation to take this turn. The Fëanorian at least, was prepared.

Bringing his hands together, Felagund walked around his desk to stand behind his cousin’s chair, looking down at him as he would have done with a mongrel. “You can enjoy your fame while it lasts, Curufinwë, and delight in the little influence it will grant you. But do not expect much of it, for this will not endure. I know those lands, my lands, and I know our enemies. You have challenged the power of the north by trespassing those limits...”

“Do you really believe the enemy cares about your limits?” retorted Curufinwë, now serious again, a new severity imbuing his voice.

The king looked away, obviously pondering those words.

“Listen, Findaráto, all I wish for is the safety of this realm, and the happiness of our – your people. And what do you think they want?"

Felagund, it seemed, had noticed his cousin’s slip of tongue. Curufinwë could tell from the sharp light that sparkled for a second in his eyes.

“They want to protect their home….” mused the king, slowly walking back to his ornate chair and sitting down.

“And they already know about the fell beasts roaming around the borders of those lands, Findaráto. They know some actions must be taken; they know we cannot hide forever. They want to protect their home, instead of watching us blatantly lazing around in our gold.”

This was going too well. Much too well. Unless it was but another of Felagund’s tricks. Curufinwë was on guard, but showed nothing of it. His hand instinctively reached his pocket where he found that trinket again, and he fingered it absent-mindedly, waiting for the king to make up his mind.

“What are you really suggesting here, Curufinwë?”

“Nothing you cannot do, King Felagund,” he asserted with a smile which he kept as friendly as possible. “Give them a reason to believe that the king is ready to fight, that he will not hide any longer. That he would sacrifice anything to defeat their fears.”

Felagund was watching intently into his cousin’s eyes, his own fingers toying with his rings, mirroring Curufinwë’s movement.

“Do you really believe they no longer count on discretion? That they would actually fight again?

“Discretion is crucial, but what happened yesterday proved that they expect a more active involvement in this war… And in the meanwhile,” continued Curufinwë, preparing his last blow, “my brother, my son and I will keep on enjoying that little fame you mentioned earlier. That fame that stemmed from the acknowledgement of those who really wish and actually try to protect those lands.”

On that, he stood up, leaving the king at a loss (that he knew) and caring little for the silent resentment which had invaded the room.

“Curufinwë, wait,” came the king’s voice as he was opening the door, and there was nothing but silence and stillness for a moment. “Perhaps… you may be right.”

Curufinwë turned around and their eyes met again, intense and stern from both sides.

“Perhaps it has to do with… that foresight, the powerful feeling I had that I would…”

Curufinwë was all ears, still and waiting eagerly.

“I only told my sister about it, but now… I feel it is getting closer.”

He let Felagund talk, he had to let him reveal what was in his mind, what he had been hiding for so long. He could see the words dancing silently on his cousin’s lips, hesitating. But Felagund swallowed them back.

Curufinwë sighed.

“Thank you for your advices, cousin, be they genuine or not,” said the king, taking a deep breath. “I will think about it. You may go.”

Curufinwë closed the heavy doors behind him and waited a few seconds, if only to make sure no more words would escape the king’s study.

A foresight?

---

“Look father, a young child put this lovely drawing on the threshold of you study. They did very well with that portrait of you. Do you see? They even included your sword here, and… is that a smile on your face ? how creative!

Curufinwë chuckled, and peaked at the child’s drawing. There was indeed a smile on his face.

“Be not so sarcastic, my son.”

“You are right, I am unfair; you have been smiling a lot more lately.”

“Have I?”

Tyelperinquar sat down beside his father, and he silently watched him rummage through the many scrolls covering the desk.

“You should take a break, father. It seems like you have not stepped out of this room for a whole week.”

Finally finding the parchment he was looking for, Curufinwë unrolled it, picked up a quill and started to amend it carefully.

“People are looking up to me. This is not the moment to disappoint them.”

“Perhaps”, answered Tyelperinquar thoughtfully, “but it does not mean you ought to accept duties which are not supposed to be yours. You do not need more influence in here, and you already have enough responsibilities.”

“You do not understand, Tyelperinquar.”

“Explain me then. Tell me why it is so important for you to control everything.”

Curufinwë froze, the tension in his shoulders waking up and sending flashes of pain along his back.

“Who talked of control?” he asked quietly, putting down the parchment. “I am barely trying to carry out all the things the king has been ignoring in the past few years.”

His son shook his head but gave no reply.

“Listen Tyelperinquar, I am covering ourselves here, that is all.”

“Stop treating me like a child!” he finally exploded, his fist hitting his father’s desk. “Artaresto is younger than I, and he has been appointed vice regent of this realm! why can you not trust me? Why can you not let me know about your plans?”

“Is that what you want ? To become the vice regent of Nargothrond?” asked Curufinwë, an eyebrow raised, midway between sarcasm and sheer interest.

“I do not fancy this sort of power, father. You, more than anyone else, should know that by now.”

“What power do you fancy then, my child.”

“Enough, father!”

Curufinwë bent forward, moving slightly closer to his son, who would not look at him.

“I am serious, Tyelperinquar. You used the word power, and I would very much like to know what you put behind it.”

“This is not the point.”

“Knowledge.”

“What?”

“The power you seek. It is knowledge, is it not?”, asked Curufinwë, as in confidence.

There was a short silence, only troubled by the song of the fountain that adorned and refreshed the room.

“And you will not let me have it,” said Tyelperinquar, now looking straight into his father’s eyes.

“It is a dangerous power, son. Cruel even, to those who yearn for it.”

“How cruel was it to you?”

Curufinwë leaned back, and looked up at the ceiling, thoughtful. There was so much to say, and yet there was nothing he would say.

“Father, you always tell me I have much more to learn, but you keep on refusing to teach me more… pretending some sort of danger. Why? What do you fear? Tell me please!”

Caught by the trembling of Tyelperinquar’s voice, his gaze left the ceiling to fall back on his son’s pleading eyes. He was right: he was no longer a child. There was strength, cunning and wisdom in him, and nothing in Arda would ever match the power of his fëa. Bright and fierce, a crystal piercing the darkness crawling around. Too bright maybe, for his father to behold.

What did he fear… ?

“Son of mine, I…” he marked a pause to take his breath, and at this very moment, Tyelkormo burst into the room, caring little for the interruption.

“Excellent news, Curvo !” he cried joyfully, striding to his brother’s desk. “Oh hello, dear nephew, how are you doing ? haven’t seen you for a while.”

“I am… fine”, answered Tyelperinquar. “Father and I were discussing his responsibilities.”

Curufinwë relaxed a little. Not enough, apparently.

“I see”, mused Tyelkormo, giving his brother a questioning look which Curufinwë preferred to ignore. “Well, I guess this is a perfect timing to tell you what I have just learned, since it might eventually affect our responsibilities.”

Curufinwë suddenly sat up, all ears. “Did Canyorë learn anything?”

Tyelkormo answered with a nod, and a smile which was more meaningful than it looked.

“Wait… what has Canyorë got to do with all this?”, asked Tylperinquar.

Catching a chair and hastily straddling it, Tyelkormo started to speak with a low voice, but excitement sparkled within each words.

“There has been rumours among the people, Curvo...” he said, ‘rumours about the king and ooooh, I would not like to walk in his shoes right now.”

“Father, are you using Canyorë to spy on the people? Uncle, is that it? ”

“He is part of our people, Tyelperinquar. This is no spying…” answered Curvo calmly, slowly.

“Indeed”, Tyelkormo added, “he is just like any of them, like any inhabitant of Nargothrond listening to his neighbours, exchanging thoughts and opinions about…”

“He is one of your must trusted henchmen, uncle. Your friend.”

“And so what?” grumbled Tyelkormo. “What does it exactly change.”

“Everything!”

“Tyelperinquar, please,” called Curufinwë, now tired of the continuous interruption. “Your uncle has something to say.”

No reaction from his son, not even a frustrated sigh. Only this cloud, back in his eyes.

“Rumour has it,” whispered Tyelkormo, apparently glad to deliver the information at last, “that the king is hiding shamefully in his chambers, cowardly sneaking away from his people as to not face a truth he would be unwilling to face. Not my words, of course.”

The tension in Curufinwë’s shoulders vanished. Not that he was truly surprised, but he would not deny himself the warmth of a certain relief. He gazed at his son: still no reaction, but Curufinwë could tell he was listening carefully.

“Besides”, continued Tyelkormo, “our names might have been floating on many lips lately: comparisons might have been made between our reactivity, and the king’s…how did they say again? oh yes, his lethargic handling of the situation.”

Curufinwë managed to keep a neutral expression, but the flame of victory was already bubbling in his stomach.

“Well,” murmured Tyelperinquar after a moment, “I suppose it secures our presence here, which is… good. Although, it is all but fair for King Felagund. He did nothing wrong.”

“Did he not, really?” chuckled Tyelkormo.

Curufinwë didn’t say anything, but he noticed the confusion on his son’s face.

“It also means more work for you, father… you must be glad.”

“I shall do what I have to do.”

His answer didn’t seem to satisfy his son, but Tyelkormo looked delighted:

“Felagund had it coming, had he not, Curvo? One only reaps what ones sows. ”There was confidence and determination in his voice, and pride too. “As for ourselves we have nothing to be ashamed of; we took actions, we were successful, and that was exactly what they all expected.”

Curufinwë gave a nod, followed by a discreet but no less confident smile.

“I wonder yet,” began Tyelperinquar, his hand rubbing the tip of his chin, “Those rumours… where are they coming from ?”

“From the people, I suppose,” answered Tyelkormo genuinely. “I mean, they must have stemmed from their weariness, their worries, and were comforted by what we did in Tumhalad.”

Curufinwë kept silent. He grabbed a few scrolls in front of him and started to tidy up his desk. But Tyelperinquar wasn’t done with the subject.

“Those words they say about the king… they ring so harshly… too harshly maybe for a people who had so strongly believed in him. The flame of their angst must have been kindled somehow… by someone.”

Busy with his documents, inks, quills, and files, Curufinwë pretended not to notice the severe gaze that fell upon him.

“Who ever did this”, said Tyelkormo standing up and stretching his arms, “they surely had legit reasons. They were dissatisfied, and they spoke their mind.”

“Did they, really?” insisted the youngest Ñoldo, still staring at his father.

Curufinwë closed the box containing his favourites quills and stood up as well. He would not look at his son, not now, but he couldn’t keep on ignoring the tension. He smiled.

“Alright, let us see if there is anything we can do to assuage this imminent uproar“, he said. “We do not want those rumours to go gangrenous, do we?”

On that, he picked up his cloak and headed to the door, well-aware of his son’s intense glare upon his shoulder. They left.

“How did you do that, Curvo?” Asked Tyelkormo eventually as the two brothers were walking down the aisle that opened on the main hall, followed and greeted by kind and respectful faces, by words of trust and admiration.

“Do what?”

And Curufinwë smiled.