13th birthday insta-drabbles! by RaisingCaiin

Chapter 4

Tremble, silks, courage, answer (my own prompt!)

“These are not your halls, Curufinwë, but mine.”

No, Edrahil had always known that Findaráto was not the type to tremble before a challenge. After all, the Arafinwëan prince had been the one to accept Ulmo’s command to build a hidden city, to build good relations with the Khazad, to discover and guide the Secondborn the remainder of the way out of the Moringotto’s fell darkness.

To accept Edrahil himself, strange and odd-made as he was.  

And now, too, to stand and rebuke the two sons of Fëanor whom he had also sheltered, when the younger found the misbegotten courage to threaten Nargothrond with their re-awakened Oath after Beren’s plea.

 “It is not your oath, Curufinwë, but mine.”

 His opponents tended to forget that just because Findaráto favored silks and diplomatic words in his day to day life as king, that he was also just as formidable with sharper tools – armor, blade, and lordly rebuke.

 “And most certainly is not your choice, Curufinwë, but mine!”

Findaráto was incandescent.

“No answer, cousin? Perhaps that is because you have none.”  

And though this must certainly mean war within Nargothrond – or else exile, and death – Edrahil had never been prouder of his lord and king as he was now.