Anathema by Harnatano - Lithenna

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A challenging reunion

The time has come for Celegorm and Curufin to convince Finrod and his people to offer them a shelter, and to accept their offer.

update: Sept 03 2017

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A cold silence was floating in the Caves when the Ñoldorin lords, accompanied by Orodreth and followed by Huan penetrated Felagund's domain. The place was impressive, to say the least; corridors and rooms dug in the earth, stairs of stones which seemed to lead them always deeper, and in the distance, soft voices were singing quietly.

The Ñoldorin warriors had watched their lords leave, and patiently they would be waiting for them outside, sorrowfully, for dread and weariness were over them. Scattered through the woods which surrounded the impressive gates of Nargothrond, they would not be allowed to step into the caves yet, and all would anxiously wait for their lords to return from the meeting with the king.

As they walked through the corridors, led by Felagund's guards, Curufinwë kept his eyes in front of him, avoiding getting distracted by the beauty of the place, nor by the temptation to tarry here, in this safe and warm and vast realm, where his people would be able to heal and to dwell in peace for a while. Already the smell of food and mead was floating in the air, and the sweet light of the lamps seemed to invite them to rest and enjoy the peaceful atmosphere of Nargothrond. But Curufinwë had to remain focused, for he would talk to the king, and it was he who would have to be convincing enough to help their cause. Beside him, Celebrimbor was agape, fascinated by the architecture of the underground realm, and Celegorm was still wearing a grim mask upon his fair and determined features. All were silent.

After a few minutes, Curufinwë realized that the songs in the distance, which he had mistaken for some sort of welcoming melodies, were in fact mourning poems. The realm was grieving, and now Curufinwë expected to find his cousin in the same state.

“It could have been worse.” Whispered Celegorm, as if he had sensed his brother's thoughts. “They could be singing war songs and poems about revenge. At least we shall not be disturbed by any sort of accusation.”

“Do not speak so hastily, brother.” Curufinwë replied. “We know nothing of our cousin's intents, and I will not make any assumption ere I can speak to him.” Celegorm snorted, and still clad in silence, Celebrimbor gave his father a worried look, to which Curufinwë replied with a soft smile. “Yet, I doubt that his intents are ill.” He continued, willing to soothe his son's troubles. “We are not here as enemies of the realm.”

Celebrimbor and Celegorm nodded and remained silent until they reached the throne room. Except for the three of them, Orodreth and the two guards who were leading them, the corridors were all empty, and this dark emptiness, where the mournful songs were still echoing, gave the place an odd atmosphere. And if Curufinwë didn't mind the deep and close appearance of the caves (and neither did Celebrimbor), Celegorm was already stirring beside him, revealing a discomfort and unease which Curufinwë instantly connected to some sort of claustrophobia.

Finally, they reached two massive doors; the guards opened them and stood on each side, waiting for Orodreth and the three guests to step into the room. From the threshold, Curufinwë instantly understood they had reached the throne room, and it was full of gracious figures, all clad in delicate garments and many a jewel, gemstone and gold. At regular intervals stood fountains sculpted directly in the walls, and from the cracks in the stone, a clear and fresh water was flowing peacefully, filling the room with its sweet melody. Lamps were on the walls, but not enough to completely illuminate the cave, and here and there, instead of the dim light, a sweet obscurity floated. It didn't take long before the Ñoldor’s eyes get used to the dark, but already Curufinwë's eyesight had been caught by the most ostentatious figure in the room; the king himself, his cousin, whom he hadn't seen for the past centuries. Sitting in a throne carved in the stone, Arafinwë's first son was covered with silk and gold, bracelets covering his pale arms, rings and gems around slender fingers, and around his neck, the Nauglamír, which Curufin had longed to see.

The dwarves had surpassed themselves when they had crafted the masterpieces which were covering Felagund's tall frame, and although the king's face was grievous, the sparks and the beauty of his garments shone with such an intensity that it gave his sadness the most inappropriate charm, along with a radiance worthy of Tirion's most important ceremonies. It was misplaced, and perfectly improper, judged Curufinwë, who found in this display the most tasteless way to grieve and to welcome the victims of war. But there was an odd fascination too, for the king's finery had been made by hands which Curufin knew not, and which displayed a knowledge which he craved.

Orodreth walked to the throne, and all the eyes of the court were on him, some sad and benevolent, some still burning with anger and frustration. Many steps behind him, the Fëanorians lords followed until Curufinwë intimated his brother and his son to stop ere they reached the royal dais - rocks decorated by the richness of the hands of Nargothrond's best sculptors. Orodreth bowed, the king stood up and the court held its breath. Even the mourning song had stopped, leaving the room in a heavy silence, save for the song of the waters which danced in the fountains. Grave was Felagund's face, and Curufinwë couldn't help wondering if he had ever seen him so serious before. In any case, Curufinwë thought that grief didn't suit his cousin’s delicate face, and behind the luxury of his finery, the tired and anguished features seemed more than inappropriate. Or the jewels were; it was hard to say.

No word was exchanged between Orodreth and his uncle, but everybody in the room knew that many things had been shared through their silence, looks and thoughts, a painful heartbreak about a chance to survive for a purpose which was not clear yet. Thus, Felagund rested a gentle hand on his nephew's head, comforting and apologetic, and Orodreth accepted it with a sad smile. Nothing more happened, much to the Fëanorions’ relief. Curufinwë indeed, didn't feel at ease in front of this display of affection, among a family which was not totally his, and amid a folk which was so different from their followers. This reunion between the Arafinwëan king and his nephew was not something they should have witnessed, and Curufinwë could not understand why the audience and their presence had been requested for such an intimate meeting.

“No, indeed, you have not your place here.” Curufinwë tensed and looked at the king, whose quiet and unexpected words had rolled melodiously through the room. “And yet here you are, welcomed by my will in my kingdom, beyond all reason and wisdom which the past has taught me.”

Celegorm squinted at his brother, but Curufinwë ignored him and with a cold and imperious face, he stepped toward the dais. Careless he had been, and forgetful of his cousin's talent to sneak through people's minds and thoughts, to steal the information he needed and to grasp every movement of a soul through an infuriating gift of foresight. The Fëanoarion would have to be more careful, and keep his own thoughts locked behind the walls of his will. A wall which he had already started to reinforce.

Propriety demanded him to bow before the king, and although Curufinwë had no will to do so, he nonetheless gave a quick nod, midway between a slight bow and a silent approval. It would be enough for now, and since Felagund replied to his nod with a smile – a dim one – Curufin judged his own behavior appropriate regarding the conflicting circumstances. Surely Felagund hadn't expected much more from his cousins.

Many eyes were on him, and all the court seemed to be waiting for his reply, but Curufinwë took his time, looking into his cousin's face as to emphasize the speech which he was about to speak. He had thought about it since they had met Felagund's scouts, and through secret paths, and thick woods, at the feet of the hills and the hidden towers, he had prepared them, the words which would hopefully bring his cousin to accept a truce, and to welcome their people in his caves. When they had crossed the Narog where Ginglith joined it, Curufinwë had felt ready, and as the scouts had led them amid the farms of Nargothrond, he had started to feel confident. But now that he could witness the depths of Felagund's grief, and observe how suspicion and mistrust floated in his eyes, his confidence was slowly fading away; he would have to use all the strings of his cunning rhetoric ere he could convince the audience of their good intents. It wasn't impossible, and challenge enticed him, but it would not be easy. Especially with this heavy reluctance to show any sign of weakness, and the impossibility to let humility overtake him. Curufinwë’s pride would not be tamed.

“The past has taught us many lessons, King Felagund.” He began, his voice resonating calmly in the room. “And none of us shall pretend to forget the lessons learned through light and joy, through pain and blood and--

“And treachery.” Finrod had deliberately cut off Curufinwë's sentence, preventing him from finishing it, and punctuating it with a word which the Fëanorion had preferred not to utter. Irritation bubbled in Curufinwë’s stomach, but he gave no sign of it, save a bitter rictus. For Curufinwë hated to be interrupted while speaking, especially when it was for his cousin an opportunity to use arguments which would surely not serve him.

After one cold glance toward Felagund's pompous frame, Curufinwë turned to face the crowd; if he could gain the people's trust and approval, Finrod's benevolence would be easier to awake. “Mistakes had been made in the past; this we cannot deny, and for our deeds we ask no redemption.” The audience was listening with interest, but among them some Ñoldor were wincing and frowning, obviously disappointed by the presence of the Fëanorions within the realm. “I am aware that the reunion made centuries ago, ere Nargothrond was built, did not convince every Ñoldo, and that resentment cannot be erased by a joyful feast and a few promises. Grudge tarries, and against the house of Fëanor many words have been spoken. But who, among you, brave people of Nargothrond, would ignore that against the Dark Foe, we are all alike; So many fëar filled with hopes and dreams of a land made free from darkness and threats and wars, so many fëar longing for victory and light, fëar filled with the anger kindled by our common enemy. Far be it from me to ignore the reasons of your mistrust, but if we do not work together for the protection of our lands, the dark lord shall have no trouble erasing us. That is why my brother and I did not turn back when we learned about the assault on Tol-Sirion. That is why our warriors reacted and fought, despite their wounds and exhaustion, to protect what remained of your king's northern lands. For we are allies in this nightmare, and if this power is given to me, I would do anything to prevent any Elda from being slain by the hand of our foe, be they from my house, or from my cousin's house.” With these last words upon his lips, Curufinwë turned toward Felagund, and stretched his hand in a sign of peace. “Let us not be devoured by old rancor, King Felagund, for we are, after all, of the house of Finwë, and our kinship shall not be forgotten.”

There was a slight wince upon Celegorm's face, a wince which informed Curufinwë about his brother’s disapproval, probably related to the last words spoken, but Celebrimbor was presenting all the signs of pride and admiration, a smile accompanied by an encouraging nod. The faces which CurufinwË could see in the room kept on displaying various sort of emotions, but some of them nodded, grave and serious, obviously giving reason to the Fëanorian lord.

“Our kinship shall not be forgotten indeed. But in this dark time, what is kinship?” Said the king with the same dim smile. “Now I have lost my brothers and my father's house grows thinner.”

“Thinner maybe.” Continued Curufinwë with a revival of confidence, and he glanced at Orodreth. “But it is not lost and shall grow again.”

Following Curufinwë's eyes, Felagund looked at his nephew and in silence they seemed to exchange a few thoughts, meanwhile the crowd started to express its approval, kindled by the hope tangled with Curufin's words.

“I am most grateful, Lord Curufin, Lord Celegorm, for the help of the House of Fëanor. You saved my nephew, and although Tol-Sirion is lost, I acknowledge your will and attempt to save it. It was unexpected, but your valiance and the help you provided for my house is deeply appreciated.”

“Is it not what allies to do for each other?” There was cunning smile now, on Curufinwë's lips, and if his voice was devoid of authority, pride was still covering it.

“Allies.” Finrod repeated softly, looking away, as if entangled in his own thoughts. But soon his eyes fell upon Curufinwë again. “Then, I suppose you expect me to forget the past and to welcome you in this realm, in the name of this alliance which you claim.”

Curufinwë quickly noticed the defiance in Finrod's voice, a defiance which the king didn't really try to hide, and the Fëanorion's smile grew wider. “No forgiveness nor oblivion is expected, king Felagund. But a peaceful agreement, at least, between our houses, could be considered.” He paused and turned again toward the crowd, taking a few steps and looking patiently at the numerous faces before him. They seemed fascinated by the discussion, and no word was spoken save a few shy whispers. “After all, have we not, my brothers and I, protected the lands which ran in the south of your own lands. Have we not reinforced the walls of Ladros and created with your brothers a fence against the eastern and southern faces of Angband? Ere your brothers were slain, we did work together for the safety of East Beleriand, for four hundred years. The flames which assaulted the North this winter devoured your lands and crept through Aglon with a fierce intensity which none could have imagined. But all these years we fought and protected, and the relations with your brothers were cordial. Allies we were, and on your own lands, king Felgund, we accepted each other's assistance. Shall you now deny these years of good entente?”

“What do you offer, Lord Curufin?” It seemed obvious now that Finrod was losing his patience, but CurufinwË doubted that anyone in the crowd could detect it. It was a faint and almost imperceptible change in Finrod's gaze, and his voice was slightly lower. The Fëanorion knew he had hit a sensitive point while talking about the king’s brothers and his lost lands, but the audience, it seemed, had be conquered by the argument.

“We have thousands of warriors waiting for a shelter. Thousand warriors who would fight for the protection of your lands if they ever receive help from you. Nargothrond would receive the protection Aglon had received during the Siege, a wall which only fire and lava could break.”

The crowd reacted, and just like Curufinwë expected, a few voices, wrapped in their awe, were expressing their approval. “Nargothrond is not easily expansible.” Said the king, unwilling to drop his guard. “How do you expect me to welcome so many people in the Caves.”

Celegorm chose this moment to step between his brother and his cousin, and ere CurufinwË could react he was standing before the king with a sharp smile. “We heard tidings of your own courage, cousin.” He began, forgetting - willingly - all the codes dictated by the royal etiquette. “Did you not ride into battle in the North, and fought valiantly against the troops of the Enemy?”

“I did.” Finrod seemed even more defiant than before, and to Celegorm he gave a look filled with a heavy distrust. “It was my duty to protect my lands, even though the cause was lost ere I arrived.”

“I daresay you did not leave Nargothrond to fight alone. Your own warriors from this very land came with you, did they not?”

“Indeed.”

Now Curufinwë could see clearly his brother's goal, and in spite of himself, he smiled. It was a smart move, and a bold one, but it was risky and without his brother, Curufinwë didn't know if he had had the boldness to make such an attempt. Surely, Finrod himself could see where the discussion was going, and he turned away from his cousins, sighing as he rubbed his fingers against his forehead. But Celegorm continued, determined to get what he wanted. “How many warriors left with you? How many, among them, came back?”

There was silence in the room, deep and gloomy. Some faces turned away, some eyes were filled with new tears, and Curufinwë, now cold as marble again, observed his cousin.

“We left with nearly thirty thousand men.” Sorrow had penetrated the room, as if slipping through the walls, summoned by Celegorm's questioning. “Less than the half of them came back, scattered; More might come back later.”

Curufinwë could imagine the massacre, terrible and heartbreaking, and the survivors, caught by the enemy or hiding between the Fen of Serech and Ered Wethrin. If they were lucky, they would have been able to reach Hithlum ere Tol-Sirion was attacked. “Now that the Pass of Sirion is under the Enemy's watch, I doubt anyone would be able to use this road to come back.” CurufinwË stated darkly, in order to emphasize the argument his brother was about to speak.

“Then, cousin, your caves are nearly empty, are they not? And your defense reduced to... nothing.”

Curufinwë noticed the way the king pinched his lips; obviously the truth was hard to admit, and to say that his cousins' help would be welcome didn't seem to please him.

How dare you?

Finrod's thoughts were breaking the walls of Curufinwë's mind, sneaking into it to share an offense which he didn't wish to display in public view; And the youngest Fëanorian was certain that his brother had to suffer the same intrusion. Curufinwë managed to chase him away from his mind, and he stepped between Celegorm and Finrod, resting a peaceful hand on his brother's forearm.

“What my brother said is that your troops have grown thinner, and that you might have some troubles protecting your lands with such a small number of warriors. Let us help you; when our troops will be healed from their wounds, they shall make the best protection for your realm. We all suffered from this war, and all have wounds which need to be healed. Let us not die alone. Let us keep the old resentment away, while we support each other.” The audience approved loudly, and Curufinwë's fingers tightened around Celegorm's arm.

As for Finrod, so bravely he managed to remain the patient king whom his people loved. “Our strength is now little, indeed. But my troops are valiant and well-trained, and our lands are safe.”

“For now.” Celegorm added, glancing at his brother. “But for how long? It will take a few years ere you can constitute your troops again,. What if the enemy attacks in the meanwhile?”

Orodreth, who had been quiet during the whole discussion, but whose eyes had never left the Fëanorions, finally intervened. “And for how long do you plan to stay in Nargothrond, my lords? You offer your help, but shall you not leave when you will not need the protection of the Caves anymore?”

“Everything needs to be decided.” Stated Curufin. “And I shall not make such an important decision without a long and calm discussion with you and your councilors. But until your own army grows strong again, our men can help.”

Finrod stared at the crowd, a crowd which was - Curufinwë could feel it – enthusiastic, for a new hope had been kindled by the Fëanorians' offer. But the king seemed not to share this enthusiasm, and suspicion obviously, was still holding him back. “Everything must be decided.” He repeated, glancing at Curufinwë. “And this decision I cannot make alone. I shall meet my councilors tonight, and give you an answer at dawn. In the meanwhile, you and your men can abide in Nargothrond; but not in the Caves.”

“Shall the king leave his own cousins to camp and sleep on his doorstep?” Celegorm was offended, and his voice was growing louder. But CurufinwË kept his hold on him, quietly intimating him to stay calm.

“My cousins, and my cousin's son, can stay in the guest rooms.” Finrod replied calmly, his eyes getting sharper and his words more abrupt. “Their people shall indeed camp on the hills which surround the gates of Nargothrond. There they shall enjoy the protection of the woods, and of the hill towers.”

Displeased, Celegorm shrugged his brother's hand off and after a dark glance toward the king, he turned on his heels, heading to the door. “Then, I prefer to sleep outside with my people.” He mumbled, yet loud enough for the crowd to hear him. Huan, who had been strangely silent and calm, proudly followed him.

Curufinwë was annoyed, and he would have followed his brother if the situation didn't request his presence. “What my brother wanted to say is that our people have been the most faithful during the tragedies which we faced, and we wish not to forsake them now. We shall all camp outside and meet you tomorrow, when your decision will be made.”

His speech over, Curufinwë gave a sharp bow, and lengthily his eyes scanned the crowd, silent and filled with new expectations. He had done all that he could do, and more than that since Felagund's people had witnessed the Fëanorion's loyalty toward their own people, and their determination to keep them safe. He doubted that the king could shamelessly send them away now.

---

“Reminding him of his loss; a terrific idea brother, even I would not have dared.”

The lords of Himlad had joined their troops, and led by a few scouts they had dispatched the hundreds of riders and horses among the hills that surrounded the Caves. It was the best way, the only way, to minimize the impact of their presence on the lands, and to not catch the attention of ill-intentioned eyes; and hiding so many Ñoldor – even in a forest land – remained an exploit, unfortunately forgotten by the lore.

Now Curufinwë had found his brother in the corner of the camp which would be theirs for the night, slightly isolated from the rest of their warriors. Curufinwë had no wish to sleep anyway, and he was determined to have with his brother a long discussion about the situation.

“I had to do something.” Replied Celegorm. “I could not let you make a fool of yourself any longer.”

“I was actually convincing his people, and it happened to be a success.”

Celegorm replied with a soft laughter, mingled with a snarl. “You were all about him, kissing his feet, sitting up and begging through rhetorical speeches.” There was disdain in the oldest brother's voice, but his eyes hadn't meet Curufinwë's yet.

“I was using and pulling the strings of diplomacy to make him go where I wanted him to go.”

“King Felagund, king Felagund, let us be your friends, let us show everyone how much we love each other.” Now Celegorm was badly mimicking his brother's voice, giving it a foolish tone and the most disgraceful diction. “A king? He? Nay, a lord maybe, but no king he is.”

“Firstly, I do not speak like this.” Curufinwë said, slightly offended. “Secondly, it is not what I said. And thirdly, I forbid you to lecture me about it, especially when you were the one talking about his courage and the way he valiantly rode into battle.”

“I was being genuine.” Celegorm took a sip of mead, from one of the many bottles graciously offered by their cousin. “His actions during the war were valiant. But you, brother, all you were doing was to try to seduce him and this foolish crowd, with a faked admiration and dishonest praises.”

Curufinwë had heard enough, and he hastily snapped the bottle away from Celegorm's hand, keeping it in his own with a frown on his forehead and a dark glint in his eyes. “I spoke for our people, and if I did not speak an absolute truth, I said what was required for their safety.”

Celegorm gave another snarl, and shook his head in a way which made Curufin's anger stir up.

“Listen, Tyelkormo. Felagund is dearly loved by his people, and shall we show any sort of animosity toward him, they would beg him for us to leave. But now his people have their own opinion about us, a good opinion since I proved us to be respectful. That is why the etiquette is for. Your move was risky, and luckily it succeeded, but had I not been there, you and our people would already be crossing the Narog. Homeless and hopeless”

Celegorm was listening intently to his brother, and the way he arched his eyebrows sufficed to let Curufinwë know that he had successfully brought his brother to understand. And indeed, after a short silence, and a glance toward the bottle that Curufinwë was still holding, Celegorm replied. “Perhaps. But without me you would still be begging him to help you, or to let us help him, and he would be feeding his pride with your unsuccessful attempts to seduce him.”

“I care not about what Felagund might be thinking of me; ‘tis his people that I want to seduce. And you should keep it in mind if he ever allows us to stay. We are doomed if his people begins to suspect us. There are Ñoldor and Thindar among them; both kindred have some reasons not to trust us.”

“Convince and seduce.” Celegorm said quietly, his thoughts obviously busy with the challenge to come. “I shall leave it to you; I am in no mood for such games.”

A sharp sigh left Curufinwë's lips, and after he had himself took a sip of mead, he glanced at his brother and said something which he would seldom say, to anyone. “I will need you, brother. I do need you.”

It was hard to say if Celegorm was actually touched by his brother's confession, or simply annoyed by a request which he could not ignore, but he held his brother's look for a long while, and eventually he nodded, resting a hand on Curufinwë's shoulder. “Do you think he will accept?” He asked after a moment of quiet humility.

“I am hopeful.” Curufinwë replied softly, looking away now, almost ashamed by his previous words, and carefully he gave the bottle back to his brother, who hastily grasped it and brought it to his lips. “But I would not gamble on it.”

“... Contrary to some of your people.” It was Celebrimbor, who had just sneaked behind his father and uncle. The two Fëanorions stared at him confusingly, silently asking him to say more, and with a wince Celebrimbor indulged. “The rumors run fast; everybody knows, or pretend to know, what happened in the throne room. Now there are bets among them. Some are convinced that Felagund will accept your offer, some – most of them – think we will have to leave this place ere dawn comes.”

Curufinwë welcomed the words with another sigh, and Celegorm rolled his eyes dramatically. “Well, at least Curvo, this should remind you of something you might have forgotten; Keep the trust of your own people ere you try to seduce Felagund's sheeps.”