The Eight-Pointed Star by Tyelca

Day 5 - Curufin

Day five of the Fëanorian Week is dedicated to Curufin, with the following prompts: Childhood, Fëanor, Forge work, Celebrimbor, Manipulation, and Ruling of Nargothrond.

Summary: In the final moments before his death, Curufin reminisces.

Characters: Curufin, Celebrimbor, Fëanor, Sons of Fëanor

Warnings: Canon character death

Curufin looks at the ceiling. It is made from stone and very high, and carved in such a way that he can almost imagine he is under the thick canopy of a forest. Silver and gold are parts of the palette that has colored the leaves and in the flickering light of the torches they shine brightly. He thinks he can almost see some stars peeking through, but he knows he is mistaken. Still, the work is magnificent in its own way and Curufin wishes he had time to study it in detail. Alas, he will have to contend himself with the view he has. It is more intricate than the carvings of Nargothrond, Curufin reflects aimlessly, but then again, Findaráto had copied Menegroth when redesigning the caves of the Narog.

In the distance he hears the sounds of metal upon metal, and now and then a cry when metal meets flesh. The battle has moved away from him, and he lays amongst the dying and the corpses. There is a deep gash in his stomach where his armor is broken and there is blood in his mouth. He turns his head and spits it out, but it is a matter of seconds before the warm liquid fills it again.

He looks at the ceiling again and imagines what efforts he would have to exert to create something like it. Perhaps, with his father and son working at his side, they can finish within twenty-five years of the Sun; but his son is estranged from him and his father is dead and soon he will be dead too. The worst thing is that it is all his own fault, for he could have talked to Fëanáro, maybe changed his mind, or at least limit the damage that was done. But he is too much like his father and did not wish to see fault where he also carries blame. And his son, his most beloved Tyelpë, would be with him in his final moments if he had set aside his pride and ambition in Nargothrond, if he had addressed the folly that was his brother’s infatuation with Lúthien, if he had only not schemed against Artaresto’s ascension to the throne of Nargothrond…

But he had, and now he has to live with the consequences. Or rather, die with them; he has already lost feeling in his fingers and lower legs and Curufin imagines it won’t be long until he shall see his father again. Around him it has grown silent as the dying precede him to Mandos and the hallways and caverns have grow deserted. Curufin wonders where his brothers are now, if they shall reclaim the Silmaril and win this battle; will they find his body in this labyrinth of death? And if they lose, will the surviving Sindar comb through their precious halls an bury their fallen comrades? What would they do with the Noldor that lay scattered here and there between the silver-golden heads?

Curufin sighs and chokes on the blood. It stains his face and hair and soon grows cold and hard, and it itches. He wants to raise his hand to scratch but finds he is no longer able to move his limbs. It is close, then, he whispers, and the sound echoes to the ceiling before returning to his ears. He is glad for it, for the pain in his abdomen is fading quickly and he closes his eyes in relief. He has heard that people see their life slip by before their eyes in the moments before death, but he has always discredited such rumors, for how would they know? As far as Curufin is aware, no one is yet released from Mandos and returned to Beleriand. He is however forced to admit the truth as he sees his life as in birdflight, from his earliest memories throughout his youth to his life as an adult in Valinor, marrying and getting a son, and Tyelpë growing from infant to adolescent and beyond. Fëanáro’s exile, grandfather Finwë’s murder and then the Oath. From that moment on it seems to Curufin he has made all the wrong decisions, yet he knows that should he live his life anew he would make those same decisions again.
It all ends here, in some random hall in Menegroth, after initiating a second Kinslaying, and not even knowing if they succeeded or not, or if his brothers too have fallen in battle. He shall know the answer to the latter question soon enough, he supposes, when he arrives in Mandos. Any moment now his fëa will leave his body and instantly cross the enormous distance to Namo’s Halls. He cannot feel his face anymore and he only notices when the itch disappears. Only his eyes are still able to move, but at the edges his sight begins to darken.

Curufin looks at the ceiling again, at those wonderfully detailed leaves, for it is the only place he can look. The gold and silver are far away and their shine dims with the torches. The darkness is not solely due to his failing sight and for some reason that thought comforts Curufin in these final moments. He thinks of his father, of his mother, of his wife, of his brothers, and finally of his son, and imagines he can see Tyelpë’s face reflected in the metal. I am sorry, my son, he tries to whisper but the sounds do not leave his mind. He smiles and hopes it will somehow reach his lips.
Tyelpë’s sweet face smiles back at him, before that too fades into black.

Chapter End Notes

Tyelpë = Telpërinquar = Celebrimbor; Fëanaro = Fëanor