A Different Kind Of Peace by Tyelca

Declaration in Nargothrond

Celebrimbor denounces his family.

The bright light of torches cast vast shadows on the marble halls as Telpërinquar hurried to the throne room. He had avoided it for the last weeks, for he did not agree with what happened there, but was loath to openly announce his sentiments. Family was always a matter of delicacy, he reflected bitterly. He had not spoken out when the Human sought Findaráto’s aid, but his heart had clenched in fear at the gleam in his father’s eyes at the mention of a Silmaril.

Findaráto had gone despite the protests from all parties involved and now he was dead, Artaresto was grieved and in his grief, acted out in anger and his father and uncle had imprisoned Thingol’s daughter.

Telpërinquar wondered if he was the only one who could see where this was going. Ironically enough, that seemed to be the case. He didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry, so he did neither.

It seemed he was one of the last Eldar to arrive in the throne room; the enormous cavern was packed and it took some time to skirt around the edges closer towards the center of the room, where King Artaresto was holding a speech. Telpërinquar did not care to listen to his words; he had heard them often enough in private conversations. His father was made out a thief and a murderer, and what they said about uncle Tyelcormo was best not repeated. It did not surprise him to see his father and uncle were not present.

Telpërinquar was not stupid. He knew his family had made many mistakes - whenever he closed his eyes, he still saw an ocean of floating corpses - and the Doom that Mandos had proclaimed would ensure there were even more to come. Telpërinquar knew all this. The Star of Fëanáro had fallen from the sky and was now burning away all that stood in its path of self-destruction. There was nothing he could do to save the tarnished family reputation, and yet, even though he saw it happen right before his eyes, he hoped that somehow they could escape the Doom. It was a hope that was crushed again and again, but Telpërinquar’s disposition was unable to take a stance so pessimistic.

He was shocked out of his thoughts when he felt the sudden gaze of thousands rest upon him, and he realized a question or statement must have been directed his way. He looked up into Artaresto’s dark eyes that stared him down with an intensity usually only reserved for the House of Fëanáro.

“Excuse me?” Telpërinquar said after a short while. “Can you repeat what you said?”

Artaresto turned away and loud whispers went up out the crowd. Impertinent, Telpërinquar was able to make out, and Arrogant, just like the rest of them, and he realized his words, meant as a polite inquiry, could also all too easily be interpreted as rude indifference, or even cruelty. He should have remained quiet, not draw more attention to himself than was wise, but Artaresto’s easy dismissal, as if whatever he’d asked had only been a formality and he’d already known what Telpërinquar would answer, sparked something in him.

“Artaresto!” he called out. “Do not assume parentage determines merit and morality of character, for they are entities that are developed by oneself.” With a firm step he marched forward and the crowd parted to allow him through. He saw Artaresto turn back, and Telpërinquar imagined he saw something like interest in the cold stare. “I am not my father,” he said - not particularly loud, but his voice nonetheless carried to all corners of the cavern. The promise he made himself so long ago flitted through his mind. But unlike his father, he was able to break it.

Artaresto had an unreadable look on his face, but Telpërinquar was not impressed. “I denounce the deeds my family performed under influence of their Oath,” he continued and everyone looked at him. Could he take that next step? Would he?

Telpërinquar closed his eyes for a moment and remembered all the happy times with his father, from his very first memory to the fierce warrior that was always near and protected him on the battlefield. He felt tears burn in his eyes, but blinked them away. He would not turn back now. “I’m sorry, father,” he whispered, and only those standing closest to him could hear it.

Telpërinquar took a breath. “I denounce my father, my uncles, my grandfather. I denounce their quest, their Oath and I denounce their heirlooms. I denounce the name Curufinwion, and thereby I denounce my family!”

Telpërinquar looked straight in Artaresto’s face, who inclined his head as a sign of respect. Aware of the thousands of people looking at him, he turned on his heel left the throne room in a stunned silence.