The Deeds of His Father by Zdenka

Chapter 1

“Father?”

Orodreth slowly raised his head at hearing his daughter’s soft voice from behind him. He turned around. Her face still bore the tracks of tears; she had loved her uncle dearly. He gave her a look of inquiry.

“Celebrimbor is here. He says it’s urgent that he speak with you.”

“Celebrimbor?” Orodreth frowned. He would have to deal with the Fëanorians before too long, but he hoped they would leave him in peace during the first rush of his grief.

“He’s alone.” Finduilas hesitated a moment. “I think you should hear him.”

Orodreth found himself reluctant to see any of the Fëanorians yet; he did not entirely trust himself to restrain his anger. But he trusted his daughter’s judgement. “Very well,” he said at last. “Send him in.”

Finduilas turned towards the door, but before she could summon him, Celebrimbor himself came hastily into the room. He was hardly dressed for a formal audience, in simple workman’s clothes as if he had come directly from the forge. Most likely he had. He had a smudge of soot on one sleeve and didn’t seem to have noticed.

Celebrimbor gave them both a distracted nod. “Cousin,” he said to Orodreth, “you have to go out there.”

Orodreth frowned. “Does the House of Fëanor give orders here?” he asked stiffly.

Celebrimbor shook his head. “I’m not here on behalf of the House of Fëanor. No, I suppose I am . . . But not for my father or my uncle.” Various emotions flashed across his face: shame, sorrow, determination. He fixed an intent gaze on Orodreth. “If you go out there now, the people will make you king of Nargothrond. In fact as well as in name, I mean.”

“You will forgive me,” Orodreth said carefully, “if I am hesitant to take counsel on kingship at this time . . .”

Celebrimbor shook his head again. “That isn’t how I meant it.” He drew in a breath and let it out again. “I didn’t want this,” he said quietly. “I loved Finrod also, and I grieve for him. I’ll kneel and beg for pardon at your feet if you like, but please listen to me.”

“What is it you would say?” Orodreth asked slowly.

“Your brother left you as ruler of Nargothrond,” Celebrimbor said at once. “And my father and uncle--” He hesitated a moment. “They have been ruling all things as they would. It wasn’t right,” he said very stiffly. “I can’t do anything for Finrod now—I can’t truly make up for it—but the rule of Nargothrond is rightfully yours. The people are stirred up, in grief and anger. Go out there now and speak to them—and Nargothrond will be yours again. As it always should have been,” he added with a hint of shame.

“Where are Celegorm and Curufin now?”

Celebrimbor gave a brief bitter smile. “Taking counsel,” he said. “And persuading themselves that they only acted as they must. If you asked my father, he would say that all of this happened exactly as he planned and that he regrets nothing. But Finrod was dear to him once. He is not as unmoved as he believes. He is thinking, and planning, and convincing himself that he feels no grief. When he appears again, he will be ice-cold, without a trace of pity. But you have time. A little time, if you go now.” He turned abruptly and began to pace, as if he couldn’t keep still. “I’ll keep our people—the Fëanorians—from interfering. Do what you must.”

“I understand,” Orodreth said after a moment. Celegorm and Curufin had borne themselves proudly these months of Finrod’s absence, as if they were kings in truth. But Celebrimbor had not. He had seemed ashamed, unwilling to meet Orodreth’s eyes. Perhaps it was not so surprising after all. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask: What will your father do, if you do this? But Celebrimbor was surely aware of how his father would view his actions. Orodreth would accept the gift for what it was.

Orodreth stood. “Finduilas, help me to dress.”

Celebrimbor bowed solemnly. “I will see you in the great hall—King of Nargothrond.”