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

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Chapter 4

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Celegorm just shakes his head and flops back onto the bed. “Later,” he mutters, kicking off his boots and turning over so that his back is to Curufin.

“Now,” Curufin growls. Celegorm hears his brother’s boots click on the polished stone of the floor, and then the bedding is ripped out from under him and he’s dragged out of the bed. Curufin looks entirely unsympathetic as he gets up, glaring daggers.

“What was all that about Fingolfin getting himself killed?” he demands, tossing the bunch of blankets back onto the bed.

Celegorm debates over what to tell him for a long while. Curufin doesn’t move the entire time, his foot beating out a steady tap, tap, tap on the marble tile. Finally, he decides to just say everything.

He takes a deep breath. “Fifty years ago Morgoth broke the peace and the only injury I got getting our people out of Himlad was a twisted ankle.”

Curufin snorts and rolls his eyes, annoyed and disbelieving, but he thankfully doesn’t interrupt. Celegorm isn’t sure he’ll be able to get it all out if he has to stop.

“Fingolfin died trying to fight Morgoth on his own. We went to Nargothrond and lived there for a while, then Luthien of Doriath showed up with her human lover. They were on a quest to get a Silmaril from Morgoth’s crown so Thingol would let them get married.”

Curufin’s eyes widen by a tiny fraction and he presses his lips together. The tap, tap, tap of his boot on the floor ceases.

“We kidnapped her and held her for a while. Finrod went with her human and got killed by Sauron, then Huan let her escape and she went to get her human. They snuck into Angband and she put Morgoth to sleep and they used a knife they stole from you to pry a Silmaril out of his crown.”

Curufin mouths a correction: Thauron . Celegorm has never done what their father wanted and isn’t about to start now, so he ignores it. His brother is beginning to look pale and his fingers are digging into his arms where they’re crossed over his chest, but Celegorm has to keep going or he’ll never get the rest of the words out.

“They left and the human got his hand bitten off by a wolf, and they both died. Then Luthien convinced Mandos to send them both back as mortals. They got the Silmaril back from the wolf because Huan had killed it and they had a son and Thingol got killed by some dwarves because he cheated them. Nargothrond fell somewhere in there and Gil-galad ended up with Cirdan.

“Also, before Nargothrond fell, Fingon and Maedhros put together an army against Morgoth. They lost and Fingon got killed, but they did some damage. Then Luthien’s son became king of Doriath and he had some kids of his own and eventually Maedhros tried convincing him to give up the Silmaril.”

Curufin is positively grey-faced now, and his hands are hanging limp at his sides. He’s probably thinking the same thing Celegorm is: a descendant of Thingol would never listen to a son of Feanor.

“He wouldn’t, and we went in and sacked Menegroth. I’m not sure how that turned out, but last I saw, Cananthir and Herenyanel were surrounded and you were bleeding out on the floor. I don’t know where Maedhros or Maglor or the twins were. I fought with Luthien’s son. I killed him but I was stupid and didn’t dodge and I was dying and I chased after the girl who had the Silmaril but I died and I don’t know if we won or lost and-”

Celegorm breaks off when he realizes that there’s a lump in his throat and he’s talking too fast, and Curufin sinks to his knees beside him. He’s worryingly pale and he’s staring at empty air like he can’t be bothered to focus.

“Then- I woke up in Nargothrond a week ago,” Celegorm finishes, in a high, choked whisper.

“Tyelpe?” Curufin asks thickly, his voice heavy with dread.

Oh. That’s why his normally unflappable brother seems so upset. Celegorm shakes his head. “I don’t- We got kicked out of Nargothrond after the Luthien Incident, but Tyelpe stayed. I- there weren’t a lot of people who survived the fall, and he’d disowned us already, and getting information wasn’t easy...”

Curufin looks hopeful for a moment, and Celegorm hates himself for what he has to say. “I died before I could find out what happened to him.”

Curufin gasps like he can’t breathe and curls in on himself, his hair falling forward to obscure his face. Celegorm doesn’t know what to do, Curufin hasn’t cried since he was an elfling and even then he was mostly just angry, not sad.

He doesn’t know what to do, so he only sits there and runs his hand up and down Curufin’s back in a way that he hopes is soothing. After a bit, there’s a light knock at the door and an unfamiliar female voice, likely a servant, says that they’re expected at dinner with the king in a few minutes.

“Alright,” Celegorm calls back, then listens to soft footsteps retreating down the hall.

They’re going to be late, if they make it at all, because Curufin is still doubled over on the floor, his silence broken up only by desperate gasps. To his credit, he pulls himself together remarkably quickly after the servant’s announcement. He’s still too pale and his eyes are shining, but he does an excellent job of hiding the tear tracks and redness with the makeup he finds in a drawer of the vanity mirror in one corner of the room and he pulls his hair up into his usual simply braided style while Celegorm puts his boots back on.

To Celegorm’s eyes, he still looks like he might shatter at any moment, but he pulls his features into an annoyed scowl and holds his head high as he walks out the door and toward the little private dining room where they’ll be eating with Fingon and Fingolfin.

They’re late, as Celegorm expected, but it looks like not too late. Fingon is making idle chatter with his father as the two of them wait, and neither of them have anything on their plates yet. Both look up as they enter. Fingolfin’s eyes go wide when he sees the scarring on Celegorm’s face, but Fingon’s already seen that. And since he’s more perceptive than people give him credit for and his father is distracted, his eyes jump to Curufin, pleasant expression crinkling with concern.

He opens his mouth to speak, but Curufin shakes his head minutely and he closes it again.

Fingolfin coughs lightly and quits staring. “Sit,” he invites, gesturing at the table.

The entire meal is awkward. Fingolfin is genuinely trying to draw them into conversation, and Fingon makes more slightly strained small talk to fill the silence when it doesn’t work, but Curufin hasn’t said a word since he asked about Tyelpe’s fate and Celegorm is really more concerned with the fact that Curufin is barely eating anything—again—than talking with relatives he only marginally likes on a good day.

Eventually, a few servants whisk the platters away. They’ll be back in a few minutes with dessert, but in the meantime, they’re left in silence.

“Are you alright?” Fingon asks after several tense seconds, directing the question at Curufin, who’s still frighteningly pale and quiet. Fingon sounds genuinely concerned, and he doesn’t follow it up with something silly to diffuse the tension like he usually would. “You don’t look well,” he says instead.

“I’m fine,” Curufin says flatly.

Fingon shakes his head. “You didn’t eat and you haven’t said a thing since dinner started.”

“I’m fine,” Curufin repeats, and there’s a little more force behind it this time. “Leave me be.”

Fingon looks uncertain, but he nods, and a moment later the servants return and set out dessert. Dessert stays just as awkward as it’s been throughout the entire meal, but at least Curufin eats it, though from his expression, it’s mostly done to prove Fingon wrong.

Fingon walks them back to their rooms when dessert is over, seeming uneasy in the quiet hallways. “If you need anything,” he says when they reach the door, meeting Curufin’s eyes as he speaks, “just say so.”

Curufin scowls. “I told you, I’m fine.”

“No,” Fingon snaps, “you aren’t. Obviously. I wouldn’t even care since you’re being such a bastard about it, but you’re here to make sure my father doesn’t get killed. If you mess up because your pride won’t let you ask for help, I’m not going to be happy about it.”

The sharp beratement reminds Celegorm of Maedhros, and he’s abruptly reminded that Fingon is older than either of them. And if nothing else, their father succeeded in drilling such Noldorin values as respect for one’s elders into his head.

Curufin doesn’t seem to care. He scoffs. “You wouldn’t hurt us.”

Fingon meets his eyes steadily, no longer their happy-go-lucky cousin but the Crown Prince of the Noldor who crossed the Helcaraxe and survived. “If your father’s death had been my fault, you’d have killed me. No doubts, no hesitation. I’d hate myself, and Maedhros would hate me, but you’re only two people, and we’re already barred from ever going back to Aman. Isn’t revenge what this family is all about?”

He turns on his heel and walks away without giving them a chance to respond.

“I’m sorry,” Celegorm blurts before he can get all the way down the corridor.

Fingon stops. “Prove it. Figure out what’s wrong with him and fix it so that you can save my father.” And then he keeps walking.

Curufin is looking at him, in the way he does whenever Celegorm takes someone else’s side against him. Celegorm hates that look, but the worst part is that he can’t even blame Fingon for the threat. If their positions were reversed, he doesn’t think he’d be nearly so accommodating.

Celegorm unlocks the door and waits for Curufin to go ahead of him, then follows him inside and shuts the door, resting his forehead on the wood and taking a deep breath. When he turns around, Curufin is standing in the middle of the room, expression inscrutable.

“Diplomacy,” Celegorm growls, and starts pacing because this guest room is incredibly austere and there’s nothing to throw.

Curufin sneers. “You’re the last one who should be advocating for diplomacy.”

Celegorm stops pacing and faces Curufin. “I don’t think you realize the stakes here,” he says shortly, not quite loud enough to be shouting. “Treat this like we only have one chance. Because if Fingolfin gets killed, a lot of bad things are going to happen. And I’m pretty sure it was just a fluke I ended up here anyway, so we probably really do only have one chance at fixing things.”

Curufin, surprisingly, looks contrite. He sits down on the bed, staring at the floor. “Sorry,” he mutters. “Tyelpe’s in Nargothrond and you said it’s going to fall and…” He drops his head into his hands, and Celegorm instantly feels bad about scolding him.

He goes to sit beside him and puts an arm across his back. “Not yet,” he says. “Not at all if I can do anything about it. I know you’re worried, but Tyelpe’s in one of the safest places in all of Beleriand right now. The only place safer would be Doriath or wherever Turgon is.”

Curufin takes a deep breath that shakes a little and straightens up, erasing every trace of upset from his expression. “Where is Turgon? Did you ever find that out before you died?”

Celegorm shakes his head and lets the obvious change of subject go. “No, I don’t think anyone did. The only one who ever left was Aredhel, and she disappeared years ago.”

Curufin nods. “I remember.” They’d missed her departure from Himlad by a matter of days, and Celegorm has wondered ever since where she went. Of course, he’s never been able to find out, or else he’d tell someone so that Turgon can be pestered into joining the fight against Morgoth. Some of the little lordlings he had with him when he came off the Ice were better than decent with a sword.

Curufin yawns, and Celegorm doesn’t have to look out the window to know that it’s well past dark. He wonders if it’s Curufin’s turn to have the strange nightmares, then feels like a horrible person for even thinking it. He stands up and fixes the bedding, then strips down to his undershirt and goes to lie down on the side of the bed Curufin isn’t sitting on, because there aren’t any candles lit to blow out to signal Curufin that he needs to go to bed.

Curufin sits there for a few more minutes before he changes into a nightshirt. When he comes back to the bed, Celegorm holds the covers open in invitation. Curufin slides in, buries his face in Celegorm’s chest, and sobs.