Anathema by Harnatano - Lithenna

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A bitter sip

Curufin and Celegorm finally meet King Felagund privately, hoping to agree with him about their roles and places in the kingdom, but their expectations won't exactly be fulfilled.

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“I know these cups.” Celegorm was holding one of the beautiful cups, decorated with golden filigrees and delicately shaped in the most typical Ñoldorin manner, and a slight frown was on his brow as he stared at it.

“Of course, you know them.” Curufinwë replied grumpily, taking the cup from his brother's hands and putting it down on the table. “This set was one of those that could be seen in Tirion's court. It seems that our cousin did not leave Aman empty-handed.”

“I suppose he needed a souvenir.” There was a caustic smile on Celegorm's face, but his eyes hadn't left the cup, and beside him Curufinwë sighed with disdain.

They were in one of the rooms the king used for the official (and less official) meetings; a rather small room in comparison to the impressive throne room and the royal hall, but it was tastefully decorated, and more than comfortable. One heavy table had been placed in the center, but all around, under the lamps and the tapestries, were large armchairs and sofas on which laid warm and colorful plaids. Matching their colors, the rugs on the floor gave the entire room a very cozy atmosphere.

“How dare he make us wait?” Curufin wawës irritated. Although he was usually patient, he took Felagund’s behavior, his delay, as an insult, an obvious lack of respect accompanied by a hidden message from the king to the Fëanorions, maybe to remind them of their place, maybe worse. And even though Curufinwë knew it would do no good to think about it, he couldn't get rid of the intrusive thoughts. Whatever his cousin's intents were, the Fëanorion was displeased and he would make sure to let Finrod know about it.

“He is shy, perhaps, and fears a direct confrontation with us.” Considered Celegorm as he sat down in one of the chairs, making himself rather comfortable as was his habit.

“Do not be foolish, brother.” Curufinwë's irritation was growing with each new second, and Celegorm's attempts to amuse him happened to be vain.

In fact, Curufinwë barely noticed them. “We both know that Felagund is all but shy and I--”

He was interrupted in the middle of his sentence by the sound of footsteps in the corridor; someone was coming, and Curufinwë gave his brother a meaningful look, quietly enjoining him to wait and see if this person was the king.

And the king was indeed coming.

The room was silent when Finrod stepped in, closing the door behind him and leaving the guards outside. 'Then he really wants a private meeting' thought Curufinwë, rather impressed and no less curious. The king first looked at Celegorm, who was comfortably resting in his chair, and quite surprisingly, he smiled to him, benevolent and amused. But Celegorm didn't smile back, which seemed to amuse the king even more. After a quick glance to Curufinwë, Finrod enjoined him to sit down with an elegant movement of his hand, and he himself chose the largest chair, right in front of his cousins.

Finrod looked confident and at ease; if he was impressed by his cousins' presence and the seriousness of their features, he displayed no sign of it. On the contrary, the king seemed in a rather good mood, and one could have easily thought that he was glad to spend a moment in his cousins' company. And that is why mistrust quickly started to bubble in Curufinwë's heart, for he could only take this apparent casualness for the deepest hypocrisy; a pretty veil beyond which something else, something menacing was waiting.

“May you forgive my delay, cousins.” Finrod began, ignoring Curufinwë's sharp look and pouring himself a cup of wine. “As you must know, duties and responsibilities are too often overwhelming when one has to take care of a land... I see you did not touch the wine in my absence - may I offer you a glass?”

Celegorm nodded, almost too eagerly according to Curufinwë's expectations, but the youngest Fëanorion remained impassive.

“Nothing for you, Curufinwë? I thought you to be a connoisseur and lover of great vintages, and this one is particularly tasteful.”

Still cold and silent, Curufinwë bit back the harsh words which were rolling in his mind. It was impossible for him to consider such a lightness after the horrors they had all been through, and the current circumstances didn't invite him to rejoice either. He saw in the king's behavior no more than foolishness and thoughtlessness, and it was slowly but certainly getting on his nerves.

“Not even a drop, Curufinwë? A pity, really...”

“You miss something, brother!” Added Celegorm who was now eagerly sipping the wine. “It is actually good – though not as good as the wine from Thargelion.”

Curufinwë replied to his brother's commentary with an icy, angry look, which meant no more than 'Stop', but Celegorm didn't seem to catch the message and he poured himself another glass.

“I would rather keep my mind clear.” Curufinwë finally said, glancing disapprovingly at his brother.

“And I would really want you to try the wine, Curufinwë.” The tone of Finrod's voice was surprisingly peremptory, and his eyes, which he kept on Curufinwë's face, were shining with a severity he had seldom witnessed in his cousin before. “I want you to try it now.”

Confused and slightly impressed, Curufinwë gave a chuckle and glanced again at his brother, who had suddenly stopped drinking. “May I ask why, cousin?” Curufinwë asked, his smirk imbued with suspicion. “Would there be anything else than wine in these cups...? We barely arrived here, you could at least wait a few weeks before trying to poison us.”

Celegorm was now staring at his cup with the deepest suspicion and a wince on his face, and lost in his dismay, Tyelkormo let his eyes find Finrod's face, when suddenly, the kind laughed. It was a discreet, polite laughter, but when it vanished, a new seriousness was covering his features.

“Please Curufinwë, try the wine.”

Curufinwë and Finrod stared at each other for a long while, silently, while Celegorm still didn't know what do with his own glass. At last, he sniffed it lengthily, shrugged, and swallowed the rest of the wine. “If it is poisoned, it would already be too late anyway.” He said with another shrug as Curufinwë looked at him. “And it would be too bad to waste it, would it not, cousin?” The grin Celegorm gave to the king was not only caustic, but also slightly menacing.

“If I wanted you dead,” The king started calmly. “I would have indeed waited a few more weeks. And I would definitely not use poison.”

“Why? Is poison too violent for your delicate customs?” Asked Celegorm.

“Too violent perhaps, but surely hypocritical enough.” Added Curufinwë.

“Too easy.” The king replied with a new smile, his gaze travelling from Celegorm to CurufinwË with an infuriating calm. “Now could you please try the wine, Curufinwë?”

If it was a foolish game, Curufinwë wasn't amused, and he was even less interested in the prospect of indulging the king's wish. But it seemed that their meeting wouldn't get any further if he stood his ground, and he had other things to do than to tarry face to face with his cousin, arguing over a glass of wine. Finally, he picked up the cup and brought it to his lips, smelling it first, slowly, before sipping it carefully. It was actually good, but the taste seemed spoiled by the whole situation.

“So, how do you find it, cousin?” 

Purposely, the nod Curufin gave wasn't as enthusiastic as Finrod had probably expected, and when he replied, his voice was deprived of any sort of emotion. “Not too bad, indeed.”

“I am glad.” Finrod stood up, placing both of his hands in front of him, rubbing them together thoughtfully. “For it comes from Dorthonion. My brothers sent me a few bottles of this vintage last summer. I still have a few of them, I wish not too share them with just anyone.”

The Fëonorions froze and Curufin wondered if Finrod's determination to make him drink the wine was no more than a dishonest way to remind them of the tragedy which had overwhelmed the Ñoldor and the northern realms during the previous weeks, like a hammer of guilt and shame striking their heads and their tongue as the images of the flames that ravaged Dorthonion flew through their mind. Curufinwë kept his eyes on the red of the wine; it looked almost black in the cup, black as the clouds over Aglon, and red as the lava which devoured the northern lands.

“What are you trying to do, Findaráto?” Curufinwë finally asked, his gaze falling on the king again. “What are you implying?”

“I am nothing like you, Curufinwë, I do not imply anything. When I speak, I say exactly what I mean.” Finrod stated calmly, though Curufinwë couldn't help noticing the dismissive glint in his eyes, and he silently grinded his teeth. “This wine is precious to me for the reasons you surely understand. And you are not just anyone; Thus, I share this wine with you.”

I think he is making fun of us.

The thought was coming from Celegorm, who, behind his glass, was staring intensely at the king.

It was never wise to use ósanwe in Finrod's presence, for the king's talent for it was beyond any sort of ordinariness. And indeed, Finrod caught the thought even before it reached Curufinwë's mind. “I am making fun of no one.” Said he, not losing his smile.

“Then why are you talking to us as if we were idiots?” Obviously Celegorm was bitter; whether it was precisely about Finrod's behavior, or about the reminder of the war, Curufinwë knew not, but he could taste the same irritation.

“I believe you misunderstand me, Tyelkormo. Or you think what you desire to think without taking into account my every word.”

Finrod's calmness was really intolerable, and if Celegorm was shamelessly reacting to it, Curufinwë was holding back, keeping under control his frustration. With a careful movement of his hands, he enjoined his brother to mimic him, and to keep quiet his harshness. To the order, Celegorm replied with a deep, loud growl and he laid back into his chair, nervous fingers rubbing his chin angrily. 

“What exactly do you want?” Curufinwë asked again, standing up, his calm features matching Finrod's, although there was no smile on the Fëanorion's lips.

“I remember you talk about a sort of truce, Curufinwë... You said we were allies, did you not?” A few steps only were lying between Curufinwë and Finrod, but none of them dared to move, even though they were both carried by their determination and their will to break each other's mask. “What happened to these beautiful promises, cousin? I refuse to believe they were only empty words used into order to serve your purpose; I refuse to believe you would actually go this far.”

A slight smirk appeared on the Fëanorion's lips as his understanding of the situation became clearer. Finrod was testing them. Once again, a challenge had arisen between them, and now it was Curufinwë's turn to play his part. “Findaráto, you should know that a son of Fëanáro never speaks with empty words; our promises shall always be honored.”

Beside him, Celegorm was listening with a sharp expression upon his face, but apparently he had decided to let the speaking to his brother and to react only if necessary. The words started to flow through Curufinwë's lips with a brilliant intensity, and the melody of his voice was deliciously honeyed, and yet imbued with a slight scorn which, obviously, Finrod would not be able to miss. “My brother and I expect to keep you as an ally, and to establish this truce between our houses. It is a question of necessity, of survival... and of victory. I do believe that your people and your lands represent a great force and a mighty rampart against the enemy, even now, even after the loss and the chaos which have weakened you.” His hands moving slowly in front of him while he spoke, Curufinwë kept an eye on the king and on his reactions to his words, adapting his speech to each new hint, to each new glint in his cousin's eyes or wince upon his lips. “Our message was clear from the beginning, and our wishes are still the same. Whereas you should admit that your methods are rather unusual, and that they can only put us in the most uncomfortable position.”

“My methods?” Finrod let out another melodious laughter.  “I was simply offering my cousins to try a delicious wine.”

“You need not to be reminded of our own loss, cousin, do you?” Now, Curufinwë's voice was cold, sharp, and it cut off Finrod's laughter like a cold blade against the warmth of a throat.

“No, indeed.” With a new seriousness, and in his eyes a slight spark of grief which, Curufinwë thought, Finrod was trying to hide, the king walked to his cousin, finally breaking the invisible wall that seemed to be standing between them. “That is why this moment of sharing seemed important to me; for we have all suffered from the horrors of the winter.”

Curufinwë was furious, and although his face betrayed not this anger, the need to slap his cousin was excruciating. He felt manipulated, as if Finrod had played with them since the moment he had stepped into the room, using this meaningless wine to put them in a situation of suspicion and grief, to force them to reveal their own wounds which they had not finished licking. His voice was still colder than ice when he replied, but the light in his eyes was proud. “We need not to share our sufferings with you, Findaráto. You shall have the strength of our warriors and the skills of our people to repay for the shelter you offer us, and that is all.”

“No family sharing, hm? Pity....” It was hard to say if Finrod's words were genuine in their new lightness or if he was actually mocking his cousins, and this confusion was driving Curufinwë mad, but the king kept on smiling, and as he turned away from his cousins, he continued. “What a fool I was to expect a strengthening of the family bonds.”

“Indeed.” Replied Celegorm as he left his chair. “We are here as allies, not as family.”

“And you would so easily erase our kinship? This very kinship you highlighted during your speeches to my people.” Finrod replied with a glint of surprise in his eyes, thought it was impossible to know if this surprise was honest or fake. “Cousins, if the cracks of the past can be mended and the injuries soothed, the past itself, and all it contains, cannot be ignored nor forgotten. Our grandfather—”

”We do not wish to hear you talk about King Finwë.” Curufinwë stated before Finrod could finish his sentence. He was boiling from inside, his indignation slowly taking the best of him, but he knew he wouldn't let the mask fall before his cousin. Curufinwë would show no weakness and if he had indulged for the wine, it would not happen again; it was determinant if they wanted to have a bit of peace and respect during the months and years to come. “I thought you had the decency and the wisdom to organize a meeting in order to let us talk about our future position within your realm, and to establish a few conditions. Obviously, I was wrong, King Finrod.”

“Conditions?” This time, Finrod seemed to be really surprised, but he ignored the insult. “Pray tell me, Curufinwë, what sort of conditions are you thinking about?”

“Our position beside your councilors, the independence of our lordship and authority upon our people, which, as I believe, have not became your subjects the moment they stepped into your caves, our decision-making power; all these details a wise king should think about.”

“All these decisions a wise king should not take on his own.” Replied Finrod. “All will be discussed in good time, but you should know that nothing will be decided without the agreement of my councilors, captains and liegemen. Today's meeting was but a friendly and unofficial invitation to my cousins, my kin, far from the political decisions which shall be taken later. I am sorry you did not consider it this way.”

“We are not here to play your games, Findaráto.” Said Celegorm, and clad in a deep gloom he headed to the door, already preparing himself to leave the room. Finrod didn't reply to the provocation, and after a glance toward Celegorm, his eyes returned to Curufinwë.

“Convoke us when you will feel ready to take these political decisions; meanwhile, do not make us waste our time.” Added the youngest Fëanorion, relieved to see the end of this meeting approach.

A smile on his lips, Finrod gave a slow nod. He still seemed amused, which was still infuriating to Curufinwë, but the Fëanorion kept on holding back his irritation, and without any further word he followed his brother.

And before he closed the door behind him, Curufinwë could hear the king's last words, words which didn't help him calm his exasperation. “We shall meet again at the feast this evening, cousins. And hopefully you shall have a more pleasant composure to display.”  

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Chapter End Notes

I know it took me a while to write this chapter, and to be fair I'm not very happy with it. But, I hope you enjoyed it anyway.

As you can guess I needed to establish the dynamics between Celegorm, Curufin and Finrod, and I like the idea of Finrod being rather mysterious about his intents and his sincerity.

Thank you for your attention and patience :)