And I'll Bloody Up My Hands (As Long As You Don't Have To) by electroniccollectiondonut

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Chapter 2

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Celegorm knows all the corridors and rooms of Nargothrond, better even than Finrod does. But he’s conspicuous now, scarred and in just a nightshirt, and Finrod has the authority to demand information. He can’t hide, not for long, but he ducks into a dimly lit side corridor, waiting for Finrod and Maedhros to pass him. They do, running feet loud on stone.

Celegorm waits a few moments more, then heads for the block of guest rooms where he knows his brothers have to be staying. Ambarussa are in the corridor when he gets there, outwardly silent but more than likely conversing in osanwe. Amras catches his eye with a smile, and Celegorm keeps his breath steady in an attempt to slow his racing heart as they approach.

“Are you finally allowed to be up and about, then?” Amrod asks.

“I am,” Celegorm lies. He gestures to the doors lining either side of the hallway. “Which one is Curufin’s?” They point him to the last door on the left side wall and he nods his thanks as they walk away in the other direction, as eerily in sync as they’ve always been.

He misses the doorknob twice, and frowns. He can see it just fine, why can’t he grab it? It brings to mind lessons back in Tirion, listening to an old tutor drone on and on about healing. The particular lesson he’s thinking of was about depth perception, and he curses himself as an idiot. Of course. One eye can’t see now. He’ll have to adjust before he can function normally again. He tries again, putting his hand where he thinks the knob should be, then moving it a little farther forward, and grins to himself when it’s right.

He slips into Curufin’s room without any fanfare and finds that his brother is too engrossed in his latest project to notice him coming in. Eventually, Curufin turns around. He startles and drops his pen, half out of his chair with a blade in hand before he realizes who it is.

“You scared me,” he accuses, sitting back down.

Celegorm snorts. “I can tell.” He waits a moment for Curufin to relax, then asks, “Where are my clothes?”

Curufin tosses him a travel bag out of a chest and the foot of his bed. He pulls out a plain tunic and leggings and his brother asks, “What’s going on?”

Celegorm is silent for a few moments as he dresses, wondering how much to say. Finally, he settles on, “Meet me at the stables in half an hour. We’re going to Hithlum.”

Curufin doesn’t press the issue. He just hands Celegorm his sword and knives when he’s finished fastening his belt and starts to pack up his things. Celegorm quickly runs a comb through the side of his hair that’s still long, then puts on a muted dark red cloak and pulls the hood low over his face. The burn scars, he knows, are very conspicuous, but he wears green far more often than red, so it should give him a chance to avoid being recognised and reported to their eldest brother.

Curufin glances up from his packing for a moment, his lips pursed in an expression that makes his resemblance to their father all the more obvious. “You look suspicious.”

“But I don’t look like me ,” Celegorm says, and Curufin doesn’t dispute that as Celegorm turns and heads out the door.

He doesn’t get very far. When he turns a corner, he runs into someone. The someone grabs his wrist before he can hit the floor and when he gets back to his feet, thanks on his lips, he’s face to face with the same eldest brother he’s trying to avoid.

“What are you doing?” Maedhros demands, folding his arms over his chest.

“Taking a walk,” Celegorm says, but he’s not really trying very hard to lie because Maedhros can always tell anyway.

Maedhros frowns and he sighs heavily, running his hand over his face. “I only want you to be safe. Why are you acting like this?”

Celegorm doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know what to say. But Maedhros is just standing there, looking a little angry and a lot worried, and he has to say something.

“I-” Celegorm shakes his head. “Just trust me. Please.”

“With what?” Maedhros pushes.

“ Please .”

They stand there for a long time, Maedhros just looking at Celegorm and Celegorm doing his best to show Maedhros whatever it is he wants to see. Finally Maedhros sighs and the stiff set to his shoulders drops.

“Fine,” he says, and Celegorm lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “But,” he continues, “you’re going to tell me where you’re going, and when, and you aren’t going alone.”

Maedhros looks like he expects his conditions to be refused. Celegorm thinks about Doriath, about Caranthir and his wife fighting back to back against too many soldiers to have any hope of winning, about Curufin clutching at a would that had already bled too much to be survived, and nods.

“I can do that. Right now I’m going to Hithlum with Curufin and we’re going to try to leave within the hour.”

Maedhros looks surprised for a moment, but he covers it quickly. “How long are you going to stay?”

Celegorm frowns. He hadn’t thought about it that far. “It depends, what’s the date? Who’s king?”

The worry once more dominates Maedhros’s expression. “Uncle Fingolfin is king. He has been for several centuries. Are you sure you’re well enough for this trip?”

Celegorm nods distractedly. “I’m fine. Fingolfin is still king? And the date is…?”

“A week until the New Year. It’s going to be the four hundred fifty sixth year of the sun.”

Celegorm realizes that he’d slept for far longer than he’d thought. If he has any intention of being in Hithlum in time to stop their half-uncle from getting himself killed, he has to hurry. He wouldn’t even bother, but if Fingolfin dies, then Fingon will end up king and he and Maedhros will try to make a stand against Melkor. And if that happens and Fingon dies, Maedhros will blame himself, even if it was a pitched battle from the start and no one should expect to survive fighting all the forces of Angband.

So. Stop Fingolfin from going on a suicide mission so that Maedhros won’t get his best friend killed.

“Celegorm?”

Celegorm jolts out of his reverie when Maedhros’s hand comes to rest on his shoulder. Maedhros looks worried again and really, this is all going to be for naught if he can’t stop making Maedhros worry.

“I’m fine.”

“You said that before and then you stared at nothing for nearly a full minute after I told you the date,” Maedhros says skeptically.

“I really am fine. But I should get going if I want to make it to Hithlum before the New Year’s celebrations.”

Maedhros reluctantly steps aside so he can walk past, and Celegorm starts toward the busier, more public parts of Nargothrond. The market smells of sweet pastries and a plume of smoke wafts up from where a trio of dwarves are roasting a great boar, their fire pit surrounded by eager customers. Celegorm guesses it’s about mid-day, or perhaps very late in the morning. A few people wave as he passes by on his way to the stables. Others gawk at the extent of the scarring on his face, but most are too engrossed in going about their daily errands to pay him any mind, which suits him just fine. He’s not some insect to be ogled by everyone in the city just because he has scars.

He’s perhaps a dozen yards from the stable when he’s bowled over by a dog three times his size. In all the confusion, he’d entirely forgotten about Huan. Huan sniffs at the burn scars and whines, and Celegorm notices that the tips of the dog’s right ear is gone, the hair a little singed.

“Oh,” he mutters, reaching up to pull it close enough for him to examine. It’s not bad, but… “I’m sorry.” He buries his hands in the grey fur on Huan’s neck and lets himself be hauled back to his feet. He runs a brush through Huan’s fur until Curufin arrives, wearing riding leathers and grumbling under his breath. Celebrimbor isn’t with him.

“Where’s Tyelpe?” Celegorm asks.

“He’s staying here. Finduilas adores him and Orodreth and Siraye can definitely use the help. You remember how it was with me and Caranthir, born one right after the other. Having a new baby while your other child is still so young is just asking for a hard time.”

Celegorm groans and pulls himself up onto Huan’s back. “Ugh, don’t remind me. No one got any decent sleep for ages. And then we realized that we could send you to Grandfather Mahtan for an apprenticeship.”

“Hey!” Curufin snaps, offended, as they ride out the city gate.

“It’s true!”