A troubling epiphany by Harnatano - Lithenna

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Chapter 2

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Curufinwë barely took the time to groom his horse, leaving the duty to his brother who accepted, rather reluctantly and with a snarl, when Curufinwë had laid a hand on his shoulder. With a great haste, the young Ñoldo had sent a messenger to his wife, informing her and apologizing for the delay, and whilst striding across the streets of Tirion, he could already imagine the disapproving look she would give him when he would return.

She would be right, of course; their son was still young and both parents he needed around him, no matter the urgency of each parent's troubles. But deep in his heart, Curufinwë was certain that his reasons were good, for the threat, the anxiety which he had felt on the high hill, was serious, and something had to be done ere it could touch his child.

His mind was filled with various thoughts and dreadful expectations when he reached his father's house, and so deep was his reflection that he didn't notice the few guards posted in the courtyard. Guards whom he knew not, and whom his father would usually refuse to see on his property save for some serious matters. But Curufinwë was now bursting into the house, and the hasty nod which he gave to his mother barely stopped his footsteps. “Where is father?”

Nerdanel, obviously, hadn't expected the sudden entrance, but her agile fingers didn't slip on the clay which was being turned into a something new; statue or pottery, or something unseen before. She stared at her son, and whilst her hands still manipulated the material – for her hands didn't need her eyes – she tilted her head, and on her face many questions could be seen. “In his office, but if I were you, I would not bother him now. What brings you here, dearest?”

“I must talk to him.” Curufinwë was already leaving the room, leaving his mother alone with her astonishment, although Nerdanel had known, as soon as she had seen him stepped in, that wherever his determination was leading him, her words woudn't stop him. “Atarincë.” She murmued to herself, shaking her head slowly as her eyes returned to the clay. Despite the soft murmur which had been her voice, Curufinwë had heard his name spoken so softly by his mother's voice, but it hadn't been enough to stop him, nor to distract him from the deep state of reflection in which he was drowning. Already he was climbing up the stairs, and when he arrived in front of the door of his father's office, he stopped, caught his breath, and knocked. The reply came a few long seconds later, and as soon as he heard his father's voice, Curufinwë remembered his mother's words. 'I would not bother him'. Considering the tone used for the reply, that was true.

Curufinwë stepped into the office nonetheless, and with a great haste, but this very haste was stopped by the sight; his father was on a seat, plunging into a deep reflection, and he had left his old armchair to the king who was looking intently at his son, a sad smile on his lips. Stuck by astonishment and surprise, Curufinwë was speechless for a while, at least until Finwë turned to him, until his smile windened and his eyes sparkled with a new joy. A joy apparently rekindled by the presence of his grandson. “Curvo, what a pleasant surprise!” The king said, standing up to greet his grandson, and Fëanáro looked at them both, his face serious and pale.

Curufinwë bowed deeply for his grandfather, surprise soon replaced by embarrassment. “My king; I am unforgivable, I sought my father but I did not know about your visit. I did not mean to interrupt you.” Curufinwë glanced quickly at his father, and the look he saw in his father's eyes didn't soothe his shame.

“Did you not see the king's guards in the courtyard ?” Fëanáro asked, and a new kind of exhaustion was floating in his voice, an exhaustion Curufinwë had never heard before, save ere the silmarilli were created, when Fëanáro was still burying himself under the amount of work which the Jewels required.

“I did.” Curufinwë replied shamefully. “But in my haste, I paid no heed to them.” Once again, Curufinwë wistnessed a spark of disapproval in his father's eyes, and that was something he could not ignore. “Forgive me; I have no excuse. “

After another bow, Curufinwë headed to the door, but Finwë's voice was already stopping him. “There is no shame to have for your impatience to speak to your father.” The king declared with a cunning smile. “How many times do you think your father interrupted an official meeting to see me?”

Curufinwë smiled back, though he was now trying to avoid to meet his father's eyes, and Finwë continued. “'Tis always a great joy for me to see my grandchildren, even in the most unexpected moments.”

Curufinwë could feel his father's tension now, and heavy it was, and it seemed obvious that Finwë was trying to lighten the atmosphear of the room. “Tell me Curvo, how is little Tyelperinquar growing.”

Usually, he would not be tired of praising his son's qualities, and this sort of question was always an excuse to talk for hours about the young child. But on this day, Curufinwë would easily resist the temptation, and only a few words he gave, locked in his embrassment. “His talking skills improve everyday, and already he asks questions about the old tongue, among other things. He grows in strength and beauty, and he already shows a great interest in the crafting of jewels.”

"Very well!" Finwë seemed delighted. "You should bring him to the court next week; too many weeks have passed since our last meeting."

Curufinwë bowed, and soon after Fëanáro was leaving his seat. “Father.” he said. “We still have many serious matters to discuss.” 

“And I will not delay you any longer." Curufinwë said. “Father, shall we speak later?” Fëanáro gave a quick nod which satistifed his son, and quickly he left the room. Once the door closed, Curufinwë silently cursed himself for his mistake, and walked back to the main room where his mother was still modeling the clay.

“You cannot say I did not warn you.” She declared, keeping her eyes on her work. “Your father has been in a terrible mood lately, and the presence of the guards around the house does not sooth it.” 

Curufinwë said naught, and with a slow nod he leaned against the wall behind his mother, watching her work; since his childhood, he had always been fascinated and intimidated by the agility of her hands, and the material she was using mattered little. Her skills, her vision, could go beyond the material, and each of her movement, more than a worker's movements, seemed like a lover's movements; for Nerdanel could feel the matter, this Curufnwë had guessed, she could speak to it and listen to it. But what secrets did it tell her? This he would never know. And yet, many decades later, the same fascination burnt within him each time he could watch her work, and never did he get tired of the performance.

“The king's visit was as unexpected as yours.” She said after a moment of silence. “Apparently he does not ignore your father's troubles, and the contents of his latest thoughts.”

“Father did not keep the contents of his thoughts quiet, and the city has its own ears. The king cannot know naught of them.”

Nerdanel sighed, and this very sigh was more meaningful than any speech. “Indeed. What troubles me is that it might only bring your father to hide his secrets even deeper.”

“He shall not hide them from you.”

“Really?” At last, Nerdanel's fingers left the clay, and she turned to meet her son's eyes. “I would not be too sure.”

Curufinwë heard in this reply a new threat, and a cold chill climbed up his spine as he stared into the depths of his mother's eyes. There was something which he could see but couldn't grasp, a truth which he was not aware of, and which he was not hasty to discover. And yet the question was inevitable, and it left his lips before he could stop it. “What makes you think so, mother?”

Nerdanel's smile was soft, and no sadness could be seen upon her face, but still a unpleasant sensation was creeping under Curfinwë's skin. She turned away again, and eluded the interrogation, chasing a question with another one. “How is your lovely family, dear? Should you not be with them now?”

“I should.” His reply was cold, and he did his best to chase away the shame which could have followed it. “I told them not to wait for me. I really must talk to father.”

“May I ask why ?”

This time, it was Curufinwë's turn to elude the question, and he looked away with a sigh. If Fëanáro did not speak with him soon, Curufinwë would start to grow impatient, for the anxiety he had felt upon that hill would not leave him, at least, not ere he could speak about it with the person he trusted the most in all Arda. Lost in his thoughts and troubled by this flow of unpleasant sensations, he didn't notice that his mother had stepped closer, and when she laid a hand on his arm, he tensed a little.

“You see, you too hide your secrets from me, and I am convinced that you keep them from your wife too. Atarincë, ask me not about the motives behind your father's acts, when you and he share the same motives. You are too much alike, and already I feel that you know him better than I do.”

The speech, although tender and affectionate, brought a smile to Curufinwë's lips, but there was behind this smile a certain bitterness which he could not totally hide. Slowly he rested a hand on his morher's, and he shook his head. “That is not totally true, mother. All my attempts to become like him are doomed to failure. I can get close, but I cannot reach him.”

“Mayhaps the best would be to stop trying.”

Curufinwë tilted his head, and a throughtful look was floating upon his face as he pondered his mother's words. “What do you mean?”

“You already have everything in you; Your attemps fail, for you do not need any attempt.”

Curufinwë would have asked for a clarification but the footsteps upstairs informed him that the king was leaving Fëanáro's office. Nerdanel's hand upon Curufinwë's arm was firm and it tightened slightly for a second ere she let go of him.

After a few gentle and respectuous words to Nerdanel and his grandson, the king left, and in the last smile that he gave to his son, Curufinwë read a mystery which he didn't manage to understand. A riddle it was, an enigma, and the solution was known by Fëanáro only.

“You wished to speak to me, Curvo?”

Whilst watching the king leave, Curufinwë had lost contact with his parents, and only now he realised that his mother was taking her material and leaving the room. Forcing himself to not watch her, he walked to his father, only to request the privacy of his office. The words which he would speak should not be heard by anyone but Fëanáro, and Curufinwë still feared the ears of the city. The resquest seemed not to surprise Fëanáro, and a new light appeared in his eyes when his son mentioned the necessity of discretion. Curufinwë tried to read through this light; if it was fear or excitment, anticipation or astonishment, the young Ñoldo knew not, but his father's interest had been kindled, and he couldn't hope for a better chance to speak his mind.

Silence was floating in the house when they both climbed the stairs and walked to the office. The room was not as big as one could have thought, but it was filled with documents, parchments, tools, ink. It was a mess, but it was an ordered mess, and Fëanáro only knew its secrets. And the smell, hot and dusty, the smell of work, of the embers in the fireplace, of parchments, it was a smell which reminded Curufinwë of his childhood, of the long hours he had spent sitting in the corner of the room, silently watching his father work with a burning fascination.

“What is it, my child?” Fëanáro's voice was serious, but not as stern as Curufinwë had expected after the disapproval which he had awoken not so long before. And the memory of his embarassment came back, like an arrow in his guts.

“Firstly, I desire to apologise again, father, for my sudden interruption. I should have been more careful.”

Fëanáro waved his hand, as to blow away the memory of the incident. “'Tis already forgotten. But it seems to me that more serious matters brought you here. Speak to me.”

He struggled to hide his relief, even though his father's reaction was to be expected, and calmly – as calmly as he could – Curufinwë sat in front of his father. Fëanáro seemed in a better mood than before, maybe not more joyful, but surely less tensed than he had been when Curufinwë had first stepped into the house. He still looked tired, but there was a new serenity on his face, a new peace; and Curufinwë wondered what sort of magic word Finwë had used to appease him. Now he feared that his words would awake, again, a new tension, but he spoke nonetheless, carefully and slowly. “I have felt it, father, the weight of this golden cage you have spoken of.” Curufinwë's voice was low and stern, almost a whisper in the silence of the room. “I saw it, how trapped we were on these lands, and how blinded we were by its beauty.”

Fëanáro's attention was all for his son, and Curufinwë was unable to tell what sort of thought was running in his father's mind, what sort of sentiment his own words would awake. but he continued. “The Pelóri are high, and stuck behind them we have no way to know the world, to experience it. I saw – I felt – the lie which his hidden behind the so called freedom offered by the Valar. 'Tis no freedom, father, is it?”

Fëanáro didn't reply, but his eyes were still on his son, and the intensity of his gaze would have disheartened the most valiant guards of the court. But to his son, this intensity didn't kindle fear, it kindled awe and expectation, hopes and admiration. Without a word, Fëanáro left his chair and he paced slowly in the room until he reached the window; far away, Telperion was exuding its light, revealing the peaceful glim of its fruits. For a second, Curufinwë wondered if he had to say more, to explain more, but through his father's silence he eventually understood that there was no need for it. Fëanáro had understood, and not only because the same sentiment was dwelling within him. Curufinwë had purposely brought with his words the images of the hill, the sight he had observed in silence and the memory which he had kept from his intence emotion. And his father had received these images, if not the emotion itself. No other word was needed, for those spoken by Curufinwë had been strong enough and Fëanáro's mind cunning enough.

“Thus, you understand, my son.” Fëanáro's voice was stern now, but it had lost nothing of its strength, even through a whisper.

“Better than I did before, but not enough yet.” Came Curufinwë's reply. “It seemed so clear, and yet so dim. Like a long forgotten dream.”

“You spoke of blindness, Curvo, and rightly did you spoke so." Fëanáro's gaze left the horizon to return to his son. “It takes time for our eyes and minds to recover for the dark slumber in which they had been dwelling and nurtured. Now we must look, now we must understand, and accept the situation for what it is.”

“A web of lies. That is what it is.” Curufinwë's tone matched his father's, but soon he dropped his gaze, invaded by a melancholy which he hadn't expected. Anger too, was now slowly awaking within him, but he mistook it for fear, and ashamed of himself he kept his gaze on the floor. “I should have understood it long ago.”

“Surely not.”

Surprised by his father's reply, Curufinwë's frowned and dared to looking at him again. And Fëanáro went on. “You learned what you had to learn by yourself, and in good time. The revelation came to you, for you were ready to accept it. A mind as sharp as yours could not miss it, and I could only expect it to happen without my help.”

The words sounded like a compliment, and surely it was a compliment, and though Curufinwë would usually dwell in the delight of such praises, in this very moment he could only kept them secretly in his heart. If needed, he would remember them later. “As sharp as my mind can be, I do not know what to do with this revelation. For now, I have a better understanding of the speeches you spoke, I have an total understing of them – or so I dare to think – but what am I supposed to do with this new knowedge? What path should we follow, with this dreadful conviction weighting our shoulders?”

A proud but discreet smile appeared on Fëanáro's lips, and Curufinwë could only wondered where it was coming from. His own pride wanted to think that he had kindled it, and lighted up his father's satisficion, but his mind was now too troubled to have any certainty, nor about his father, nor about anyone in Aman.

“I shall find the path.” Fëanaro stated. “I will light the way, and those who dare shall follow.”

Instantly, Curufinwë stood up and walked to his father, serious and filled with trust; for these few words were enough to tickle his hope. His father's hopes were his own, and thus he undertood that the reason of his presence in his father's office at this hour, and his eagerness to speak to him, all of it had been driven by his need to hear Fëanáro speak of hope. All he needed to know, was that his father had not despaired, and that there was in him enough strength and power to find a new way.

“I shall follow you.” Curufinwë said, staring into his father's eyes.

“'Tis no time for promises, Curvo. Not yet. You and I have much work to do ere we can light up the way.”

No time for promises maybe, but to Curufinwë nothing was meaningless, and if his father could allow him to join him in his work, in his fight, then he would receive it as the greatest praise. Trust was a reward, and to the young Ñoldo it was worth more than any compliment. “you and I.” Curufinwë repeated, more to himself than to his father, but Fëanáro heard the whisper and rested a firm hand on his son's shoulder.

“Go back to your wife and son; they need you as much as you need them, and you must stand beside them, now more than ever.”

Curufinwë pondered the words, and accepted them as an irrevocable truth, and yet he could not prevent an addition. “I shall stand beside you too, and the reasons are similar.”

The smile on Fëanáro's lips was soft and discreet, but Curufinwë barely saw it ere his father's brought him closer, pressing a gentle kiss upon his forehead. “Go, my son.” He whispered. “We shall meet again very soon, for I know your words to be true.”

And after a deep bow and a few words to his mother, Curufinwë left his parent's house, leaving behind him the fears which had polluted his mind during the past hours, and taking with him his father's trust, his father' hopes, and a few promises.

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Chapter End Notes

Thank you very much for reading this fic! This chapter should be the last one, unless inspiration returns ;)