Anathema by Harnatano - Lithenna

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Unspoken reality

Orodreth and Finrod have something important to ask, and an opportunity to give to Celebrimbor... And Curufin is not sure what to think of it, and he certainly doesn't know how to deal with it.
{Feat. Young Gil-Galad}

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The luxurious display of wealth in the King’s quarters seemed particularly strange and ostentatious to Curufinwë after these long weeks of seclusion, and his eyes needed a few minutes to get used to the light coming from the lampstones, and its reflection in the flamboyant materials of the furniture and dishes.

After a long bath and a quick but necessary visit to his wardrobe, Curufinwë had acceded to his cousin’s insistent request and followed his servant to a private chamber in the depths of the caves. There waited the king, two advisors whom Curufinwë knew to be close to Felagund, but also, and much to Curufinwë’s surprise, Orodreth, his wife and his children. Finduilas he had already met once, and in her he had seen the features of her forefathers, but Ereinion he knew not well. Therefore, his eyes lingered on the face of the young Elf. Contrary to his sister whose lovely complexion was that of the House of Finarfin, his features seemed to be a perfect merging of Ñoldorin and Sindarin particularities, and in his eyes, one could already see the iron will of Finwë’s blood. Ereinion was not yet what the Eldar considered an adult, but surely, he would soon leave childhood behind him, although innocence lingered on his serious face.

“I believe you sent for me, Findaráto…” Curufinwë said after a quick but elegant bow. “Yet… Need I remind our agreement about family reunions….?”

“It is not exactly what it looks like, Curufinwë;” Replied Felagund with a gentle smile, hiding not his amusement. “Yet, we are waiting for one last person and we shall not begin before his arrival. It should not be long now.” Frowning, Curufinwë looked around him, and vainly he tried to figure out the identity of the latecomer. “It was complicated to convince him to come.” The king continued, his smile still bright and friendly. “I daresay he is as stubborn as his father.”

The questioning look on Curufinwë’s face was welcomed by a quiet chuckle of the court, but before the Ñoldo could argue, the doors behind him opened again, and Tyelperinquar stepped in. His face was stern and he passed by his father without a look for him, ignoring Curufinwë as he if he was nothing more than a part of the furniture. The young Ñoldo bowed lengthily before the king and smiled at the court, under the bewildered gaze of his father. Their last argument had left deep scars on Curufinwë’s soul, and now he could easily guess that his son had not been left unhurt either. Obviously, Tyelperinquar was still angry, and Curufinwë did not need him to look at him to feel his resentment. It was plain, as it almost exuded from every pore of Tyelperinquar’s skin. And he did not even try to hide it.

“Since I have already been told of the matter you wish to discuss, King Felagund, I can but wonder why my presence was requested.” Tyelperinquar’s voice was oddly cold, a coldness which Curufinwë had never associated with his son before, and a ball of confused anxiety rolled in the pit of stomach.

“Celebrimbor,” Began Finrod. “you stand at the core of the matter which we shall discuss, thus your presence seems to us fundamental.”

“I do not see why, my king.” Continued Tyelperinquar with the same voice. “I can already foretell my father’s answers and reactions regarding your offer, and I assure you that he neither need nor want me in this room.”

Now Curufinwë was offended, and the fact that he alone knew not the matter at stake began to infuriate him. He nonetheless managed to stay calm, through a deep and quiet breath, and a silent reminder that his own emotions had to be kept under control. The frown which accompanied the look he gave Tyelperinquar was full of quiet reproaches, but his next words were not for his son. “I would really like to learn more about this particular matter, for if my son can predict my reaction, then it must be serious.” Curufinwë explained, looking suspiciously at his cousin. “Must I worry?”

“You alone can answer this question, Curufinwë.” Replied Felagund. “As for the matter at stake, I shall let my nephew explain.”

Orodreth stood up slowly and took a step forward, while Tyelperinquar’s eyes fell on his father, as to witness every single reaction which the offer would draw from him.

“Lord Curufinwë,” Orodreth began slowly, and the Ñoldo could see that he was carefully choosing his words. “As you said a little time ago, there might soon be no safe place in Beleriand, and Nargothrond itself might eventually be threatened by the Enemy. It is surely not a place where a child can grow up and receive the education and joy which young souls crave. Therefore, while my duties keep me here with my uncle, my son and my wife shall soon be sent to Brithombar in the Falas, where Círdan our friend shall receive them.”

At this point, Orodreth marked a pause and exchanged an affectionate smile with his son, while Curufinwë stood confused; there was no reason for Orodreth to tell him about this decision with such great pomp, and the request for his son’s presence was still enigmatic.

“As for my daughter,” Orodreth continued. “She has decided to stay here with me despite the dangers, for she has grown fond of Nargothrond.”

“I wish not to leave my friends.” Finduilas stated firmly, a determined and dim smile on her lips, and the interruption brought another soft but sad smile to Orodreth’s lips.

“Thus, the convoy which will leave Nargothrond is not full yet, and one person could still join it.”

The hole room went silent, and suddenly Curufinwë understood what stood behind the official display; They were all staring at Tyelperinquar, who was still staring at his father, and the painful hunch in Curufinwë’s heart grew heavier.

“Your son shall be safe in the Havens, Curufinwë. And Círdan can be trusted.” It was Finrod’s voice, but in the midst of his confusion and his dread, Curufinwë barely heeded it. The silhouettes around him, the voices, the light, everything seemed so far away as he tried to keep his eyes on Tyelperinquar’s impassive face.

No, they could not take his son away from him. Despite their recent arguments, despite his fears and his distance, he could not imagine his life without Tyelperinquar beside him. A deep feeling of revolt, as a fierce gale, passed through his mind, sweeping away his fundamental wariness, and again, Curufinwë could feel his hands shake at his side. Clenching his fists in a clumsy attempt to hide his trouble, he managed to keep the strong wind of his emotions in bonds a bit longer, although he was almost swaying, sweating under the delicate fabric of his tunic, as a web of anxiety was woven around his heart.

What did Tyelperinquar expect? What had he foretold? How could he know about Curufinwë’s reaction when Curufinwë himself did not know how to react? The more he considered his son’s eyes, the less he could decipher them, and when Tyelperinquar talked, Curufinwë almost jumped with surprise.

“We are all waiting, father.” He said coldly. “What is your decision?”

He shuddered as he watched the eyes of the court turn to him, and the muscles of Tyelperinquar’s face tense.

“My decision?” Curufinwë had to force himself not to stammer, but his voice was not as firm as he had wished it to be. He tried to find solace in his son’s face, but the latter remained distant, as unreachable as his mind. “’Tis not… the offer has been made to you, Tyelperinquar. And it is too decisive for me to stand between you and your choice.”

Finally, Tyelperinquar dropped his gaze and a wave of sorrow crossed his face. But before Curufinwë could say more, the young Ñoldo was hastily leaving the room, discarding the usual property.

It was not only confusion but also dismay which brought the dizziness that assaulted Curufinwë, and for a long moment he stood blind and deaf to the outside world. When he eventually pulled himself together, everyone save the king had left the room, and Finrod was standing quietly a few steps away from his cousin. Patience and kindness illuminated his face, and in his eyes was floating an odd spark of sadness.

“You confused him.” Felagund whispered, and a stinging headache was now spreading through Curufinwë’s forehead.

“Am I not the one who should be confused?” He too was whispering, a bit in spite of himself. “Was not this surprise aimed at me?”

Felagund chuckled, but there was no acrimony in his laughter, only a dim derision. “I apologise. I wish it could have been done differently but as I said, your son is stubborn; he would not talk to you about this offer, unless we mentioned it first. He expected a different reaction from you.”

It was purely and sorely infuriating to realize that Finrod seemed to know more about Tyelperinquar than Curufinwë did. His retreat in the forge had lasted indeed, but Curufinwë had never imagined that it would be enough to deepen the gap between them.

“Do not worry cousin.” Said Felagund, who had surely caught the essence of the Fëanorian’s thoughts. “I shall never be a substitute for your son, and I wish not to step between the two of you. But he needed solace, and advises, and I could not leave him at the mercy of his troubling meditations while you remained hidden.”

Curufinwë stayed utterly quiet, but his face was not deprived of hints regarding his feelings; tensed and cold. He felt betrayed, stolen and evicted from what was most precious to him; his son’s life.

“Tyelperinquar was bitter because he thought he knew you. And he was confused because he believed you would take the decision for him…”

“This is ridiculous!” Curufinwë hammered with a loud voice, suddenly recovering his wits as he unbounded the revolt which would not leave his heart. “He knows I would never deprive him of such rights! He knows he has always been free to choose his path!”

Finrod nodded slowly, pondering the words. “He told me you have been different lately, that you have been treating him differently… his expectation might come from it.”

“From it , you said, from me , you mean; from my mistakes and failures…. that is what you mean, is it not?” Curufinwë’s tone was turning sharper. “If you have something to tell about my behaviour, if you have any remonstrances against me, I prithee, Findaráto, stop beating around the bush and speak them aloud. Your delicate hypocrisy is getting on my nerves and you need not to pretend to help me when you only wish to rebuke me.”

“I am sorry, Curufinwë, I did not wish to mislead you.” Finrod’s voice was still calm and this odd softness of his had not left his face. “I am sorry you take it this way, I reckon you shall not accept my apology, shall you? Methinks there is no way for me to make amends.” Straightening up, Felagund nodded and headed to the door. “Keep us informed and let us know when the choice shall be made. Ereinion and his mother leave in five days.”

“Findaráto?” Curufinwë called sternly before Finrod left the room. “You might be king here, but I am still Tyelperinquar’s father and I want you to stay away from him.”

“As you wish, cousin.”

---

“I never thought I would say this one day, but I agree with Artaresto on one point.” Tyelkormo’s voice was imbued with a queer softness to which Curufinwë was not used, and the sound of it surprised him more than the declaration itself. “The Havens might be safer, and if he leaves, your son shall fall under a strong protection, whereas if he stays here… Well… Who knows what shall befall us.”

Curufinwë did not reply; of course, he had pondered the options, and dived into the different possibilities, trying fruitlessly to discern the best one. He wanted his son to be safe indeed, and to know peace and bliss, two things which his father could not grant him anymore. Moreover, if he left he would be able to strengthen the bonds with the House of Finarfin, through Ereinion and Orodreth’s people. Perhaps could he become the young prince’s tutor… More than a truce, the two Ñoldorin houses would be bound by friendship and the alliance would hardly be broken afterwards. Tyelperinquar would not be just a dull diplomatic tool, for he would himself forge the chain of this union; He was totally capable of it, Curufinwë had no doubt.

On the other hand, sending his son to the Falas implied a dreadful heartbreak, and if Curufinwë knew that he, himself, would hardly recover from it, he was ignorant of his son feelings about such a wrench. And although Tyelperinquar was smart, witty, crafty and resourceful, his father could not help thinking that he still had many things to learn. Besides, as the heir of the House of Fëanor, Tyelperinquar should dwell with his closest kin, should he not?

“No matter what option I favour, brother, the decision belongs to my son. And he shall have the last word.” The statement was definitive, and in this moment, Curufinwë silently pledged not to try to influence his son in any way.

Tyelkormo chose this moment to step closer, and his strong hand he rested on his brother’s shoulder. “In any case, Curvo, I shall never leave you.” He whispered, and despite his dismay, Curufinwë nodded gratefully, seizing this thread of comfort and holding it tightly as to not drown into his own affliction.

When Tyelkormo left him, he knew what he had to do, but he was fearful, unwisely anxious and the uncommon tension which he felt seemed to increase as he walked through the Caves. Tyelperinquar had not returned to the smithy, and their chambers were empty; which could only mean that he was purposely avoiding his father. Curufinwë too would have preferred to hide; Running away from what frightened him most – his son’s acrimony and his own weakness – had been easily convenient lately, and although he was not particularly proud of it, he could still pretend that he did not mean to do it. This instinctive withdrawing from life and responsibilities, from duties and care, had brought no real solace, but at least it had let him forget, for a while, and insidiously it had enhanced his capacity to pretend and deny. But now, he could not back up anymore and he had to pull himself and his son away from this dull regression. The vegetative state did not suit the House of Fëanor, did it?

He eventually found him, sitting on the ledge of a fountain carved directly into the wall of stone. The water flowed abundantly, springs of freshness fed by the blissful rains of a young summer and feeling the room with its songs. Tyelperinquar was carefully cleaning a tiara, polishing the gems with a passionate delicacy which his father could not stop admire, and when he sat next to him, avoiding his look, his own voice was feeble.

“You would be more comfortable in the workshop.”

His son ignored him, focusing on his task, his ears barely trembling under his father’s tensed tone. For Curufinwë’s attempt to remain firm and impassive had not been as successful as he had wished, and everything in his behaviour seemed ready to betray his anxiety. Strengthening his controlling will, he went on sternly, although his heart was crying for his son to forgive him. Had he not been so stubborn in his pride, Curufinwë would have beseech him not to hate him for what would ultimately follow.

“You must decide quickly now, you must let me know of your choice.”

Suddenly, Tyelperinquar froze and remained still a few seconds before turning to his father. “What would you do, father?” He asked, and finally Curufinwë was able to see the distress which had been haunting his son.

It took him aback, like a spear piercing straight into his heart, but he locked the wave of his emotions deep inside of him. “I do not wish to influence you. You have always been free to decide who you would follow.”

Tyelperinquar gave a gloomy nod, his gaze falling on the floor, and a long minute passed ere he spoke again. “I know. Yet, there is something you need to tell me before I can make up my mind…. Do you still want me beside you?”

A cold hand seemed to come and grasp Curufinwë’s heart, and while all his being craved to answer, to tell him how much he needed him, to express his affection and devotion, his guilt and remorse, Curufinwë wrapped his heart in the veil of denial; He had made a promise to himself, and all the treasures of Arda would not make him talk. For the most precious of these treasures was not his to hoard. “My answer, no matter what it is, would weight on your decision.” He said, trying to remain as cold as possible. “Thus, I cannot reply.”

With a weary hand, Tyelperinquar brushed back his raven hair and drew a deep breath in which his father could hear not only fatigue, but also anguish and sorrow. “Why must you make it even more difficult?”

“You are mistaking, my child. Had I answered you, the dilemma would have worsened.”

“That is not true.” Tyelperinquar answered hastily, yet his voice was still veiled by sorrow. “You only have to say one thing to make me stay. One word, and the dilemma would disappear.”

Curufinwë needed a little moment to internalize the revelation, and indeed, he began to see it. Plainly and painfully. If he had thought that his silence would not influence his son, he now understood that it was this silence which would ultimately draw Tyelperinquar away. Yet, since his words could hinder his son, who would collect the benefits? To keep Tyelperinquar beside him was obviously all that he wished for, but already Curufinwë started to acknowledge that it was the most egoistical and selfish thing he could do. Favouring his comfort and pride in spite of the dangers, keeping the source of solace and salvation that was his son would thus sentence the young Ñoldo and expose him to the worse. Whereas, If Curufinwë could discard his selfishness and let him go, Tyelperinquar would be protected, not only from the terrors of the North but also from Curufinwë himself. For, if he had long thought that he was the best shield for his son, the only one who knew how to protect him, this shield was now cloven, and its edges sharp and dangerous.

Now the dilemma was falling on Curufinwë’s shoulders again, and he knew that in his words stood his son’s fate, whether he wanted it or not.

And Tyelperinquar was waiting eagerly for these words, for an avowal which would not come. “Father…?”

Curufinwë only shook his head, his gaze firm as he stared at an invisible point in front of him. He simply could not.

Obviously upset, and no less tormented, Tyelperinquar stood up urgently, his chaotic movements reflecting an inner panic which he did not try to hinder nor to hide anymore. “Please father! Say it! I beseech you! Tell me you want me to stay, tell me you need me, please !

And still, Curufinwë remained impassive, and as he forced himself not to look at his son, as he forced his features to keep their coldness and as he held on to his distant determination, something broke within him. He could almost hear the crack of it, a wrench in his soul, a deep and incurable wound in the depths of his core.

“Talk to me, father, tell me how you feel about my departure, how you feel about me!” There were tears in Tyelperinquar’s eyes, tears which Curufinwë refused to see although he could almost feel them flowing down into his own heart. If only they could wash the poison away. “Atya! Please!”

And still he was locked in his silence, ignorant and dumb; he tried to hide behind his lies, to pretend that he would not influence his son, yet he was perfectly aware that that was precisely what he was doing through his silence. And still his son was begging for a response.

“Say something! Anything! You cannot let me go like this!”

All Tyelperinquar wanted was love from a father who looked indifferent, this Curufinwë knew; but if he did not reassert his love, it was precisely because he loved him too much to hold him back; Tyelperinquar had, at last, an opportunity to run away from war, death, but also from the Oath, and his father would not thwart this chance. But it also meant one horrible thing: his son would probably come to hate him. It was the price to pay for his life.

“Oh, father, why?! You used to--” Stammering, Tyelperinquar seemed uncappable of holding back his anguish, but there was rage too, in his voice. And as he hid his face in his palms, fingers thrusting into his skin, Curufinwë grasped the ledge on which he was sitting as to prevent his body from moving. He was in pain, and the aching wound in his heart kept on bleeding, deepening with each of Tyelperinquar’s prayer. To see his son so distressed was insufferable. And the fact that he was the reason behind those tears was simply excruciating. But his face remained blank as death.

A long moment passed as Tyelperinquar wept silently in front of a father whose stoicism was but a grim, broken mask. Between the young Ñoldo’s sobs, the music of the water rang peacefully, but the Ñoldor’s grief was too deep to be soothed by the gentle melody. When Tyelperinquar removed his hands from his face, his eyes were still red but the tears were dry. And his father was still here, a cloud of misery on his shoulders. “Why do you not leave me alone, father? Why are you even here?”

Although the reason was obvious to Curufinwë, he found not the words to express it; and if it was impossible to talk, leaving was simply inconceivable.

This silence, along with his father’s immobility, did not remain unnoticed by Tyelperinquar, and for an another long while he seemed to study Curufinwë, his countenance and the meaning of it. ”I am mad at you.” His son said in sad whisper, pulling Curufinwë out of hi distressing contemplation. “But not mad enough to not see what you are trying to do. It hurts, yet I shall not be blinded by your stratagem. And indeed, it hurts… so much, although it helped me decide.”

Now Curufinwë was confused, and although he tarried in the same silence, his face betrayed his disarray, and he waited anxiously for the blow.

“You were right, father; I have always been free to choose, and I have always chosen you. It is you whom I followed in exile – not your father, not a fragile hope, not even revenge, but you. Because I wanted to. It is still you I followed when you chose Himlad as your lands, and although I had many opportunities to leave and live a life on my own, I stayed with you. It is you I followed when the siege was broken, although it meant leaving behind me everything I lived for. And it was you again whom I followed here, in Nargothrond, not Orodreth, not even Tyelkormo, nor our people.” He paused, and stared at his father for a little while, as if he was still hesitating between the two options. “How can you expect me to leave you now?”

Curufinwë looked up at his son’s face and dared stare at him for the first time since the beginning of the argument, but he was unable to actually grasp what had just been said.

“You are terrible, father, stubborn and proud and cold and lately you have been exceptionally infuriating and hurtful.” Curufinwë’s eyebrows raised, but the shock was too intense for him to react. “But I know these adjectives do not wholly describe you.” Tyelperinquar kneeled right in front of his father and with shaking hands, he took hold of his fingers. When he resumed, the murmur of his voice was even softer. “I know the Ñoldo who is hiding behind these dreadful masks. I know he is my father, and I know that I love him.”

There was no word in any language of elves, men or dwarves to describe the intensity of the emotions which crossed Curufinwë’s heart in this very moment. Had he been standing, he would have probably collapsed. “Would it not be wiser to hate me.” He heard himself whisper, and Tyelperinquar shook his head.

“I am still mad at you, but I cannot hate you. I wish you could tell me what I need to hear, but your silence shall not drive me away. Besides, you do not want me to leave, for if you did, you would have simply accepted Artaresto’s offer and sent me away. You would not even be here right now, would you?”

“And when did you understand that?”

“Just now.”

Although his son’s words had had the effect of a balm upon his sore soul, Curufinwë did not feel utterly relieved. He still carried the responsibility of his son’s fate, not matter what it was, and he was, willy-nilly, the motive behind Tyelperinquar’s decision to stay in Nargothrond. Even his stupid attempt to make his son despise him had drove him closer.

With his feverish hands which, luckily, were not yet shaking, Curufinwë picked up the tiara which his son had dropped in his dismay. It was an exceptional piece, following a fashion which Tyelperinquar had been devising by himself. After a long inspection, the Ñoldo carefully put the jewel on his son’s head, and in this gentle and simple movement, he poured all his affection, his concern and all the tenderness which laid hidden in his heart. Staring at his son, a satisfied sigh left his lips, and pride glimmered in the dim smile that he gave. “Am I to lose all sort of credibility in your eyes, my child?” he asked quietly, gentleness covering each syllable.

“Never, father. But keep in mind that you cannot get rid of me so easily.”

“Good.”

---

The whole court was gathered in front of the Caves, and a major part of the people of Nargothrond had come too, in order to say a last farewell to the young prince. Despite the majesty of his suite, and the elegance of his figure, a shadow was covering Ereinion’s face. Curufinwë saw him struggle to fight the tears which filled his eyes as he embraced his father one last time, and the veil on Orodreth’s face was the veil of grief. He held his wife a long time too, kissing and embracing her shamelessly in front of the crowd, forcing others to step away if only in the name of courtesy. After a long embrace with his sister, Ereinion walked to Celebrimbor and they talked quietly for a little while. Driven by curiosity, Curufinwë carefully approached the two young Eldar, just enough to hear their words, all the while pretending not to heed them.

“You shall be missed in the Caves, young Ereinion” Tyelperinquar stated with a genuine smile. “I wish we had had more time to learn about each other.”

“And I wish you would come with us.” Replied the younger one, not losing his wit despite his sorrow. “I like you well enough.”

Tyelperinquar smiled, and as he put a hand on Gil-Galad’s shoulder and moved closer to whisper, Curufinwë realised that his son was looking straight into his eyes, with a wry smile. “I would have loved to, young Ereinion, but my father still needs me; I cannot leave him helplessly alone.”

---

Chapter End Notes

Why do I hurt myself like this?

You can complete this chapter with a short glimpse at Curvo's favourite (and most hurtful now?) memory, here.