Fëanorians in 600 Words or Less by eris_of_imladris

Oath

Curufin Headcanon: Curufin finds the Oath a way to earn his father’s favor, even after his death.

The Oath, to Curufin, is a comfort, something to base his actions on, something concrete to focus on. As a child, he shared his father’s name, and often his favor, but Maitimo was his heir, and his older brothers were so talented, and the twins were so fragile, that Curufin scarcely knew where he fit in outside of the forge. And so he made it his home, working just like his father, straining past his endurance every day, paid in a clap on the back and a word of praise. He studied the reactions, trying to get the highest honor, to earn the most he possibly could. The work of his hands became the work of his heart, and when his mother caught him at it, she would nudge his father with a knowing smile.

The Oath is Fëanor’s warm hands atop his, showing him how to hold the hammer, giving him control over a small project that he slaves over, tempted to sneak out at night like his father does so he can finish it faster, better, worthier of Fëanor. It comes out lopsided and he is disappointed until he sees that great big smile, and feels so much pride that he could parade his meager project through Tirion and not feel ashamed.

The Oath is his pride at every “you look like your father,” even when he moves to Formenos and it is no longer meant as a compliment, even when Finwë is dead and the ships are burning and no one looks to Fëanor with respect anymore even though he is the High King. He persists in his pride, and he hopes his father notices before that first big battle where Curufin never doubts that Morgoth will fall to the raw determination that he so admires.

The Oath is the great hole left behind by Fëanor’s unexpected death, nothing to even bury, and a secret relief that Maedhros will take the kingship because he is so empty inside, he wonders if he is ashes inside too. The last words he spoke to his father was the Oath, and Fëanor had tried to smile, that little twitch of the lips and a brief meeting of eyes making his vow more solemn than any promise of everlasting darkness.

The Oath is his relief. He understands the words, every line a directive, a blueprint to making his father proud even in the Halls of Mandos. He knows what he must do, and he does not hesitate to bind himself to the words again. It is something tangible, a set of rules that will win him what he has desired all of his life. He will find a way to be the greatest son, the most like his father, refusing to play by any rules other than what Fëanor himself had set.

In his Oath, Curufin finds the answers to questions he asked for so long, and he clings to it. It is never a burden to him, he says, and most of the time he means it. How could this map, so carefully constructed by his father who had glowed like the new sun, ever lead him astray?