The Election Farce of Nargothrond: Of Dumbness, Treachery, and Brotherly Love by Dawn Felagund

Chapter 2: Celegorm and Curufin Lounge in Nargothrond

Chapter 2: Celegorm and Curufin Lounge in Nargothrond

“This is quite nice.”

Curufin looked at his brother, sprawled across one of Cousin Finrod’s couches with the lazy grace of a hunter. Like a lion, he was, stretched out in the sun, eyes half closed in contentment, tossing his blond mane of hair back from his shoulders every now and then, a spray of gold against the deep blue brocade of Finrod’s furniture.

They had had baths and Finrod had managed to find some clothes that would fit them, even though the people of Nargothrond were of the lesser, mixed-breed stock and did not have the long limbs and broad shoulders of Celegorm and Curufin. They waited in his rooms for him now, Celegorm lying in easy serenity and Curufin perching on the edge of the couch, slightly more alert, tapping his fingers and his toes in restless rhythms. They both had the marble smiles of one of their mother’s statues and shrewd eyes that pierced the darkness like the light of their father’s gemstones. Celegorm was tall and golden, all long, muscled legs like a god and Curufin was dark-haired and pointy-faced, of a sturdy build, with eyes and hands that never stopped moving.

Handmaidens kept coming in to offer them sustenance: food, water, wine, blankets to take the chill of rain from their bones. Their eyes always lingered upon Celegorm and they fired eager, twitchy smiles in his direction: “More wine, my lord? Another apple, my lord? More wood on the fire, my lord?”

Curufin was married and thus ignored, but he was used to the looks given to his older brother. And even more so, the look his brother gave back: the confident stare, the smug smile, the way he shifted his head to make his hair shimmer in the firelight. Vicious rumors had gone around Valinor that his brother had been rejected in his proposal of marriage to their half-cousin Aredhel, but Curufin knew that no such proposal had ever occurred. Celegorm regarded his choice in women as he might regard a box of chocolates, his fingers dancing indecisively over each piece, occasionally prodding one hard enough to elicit a squirt of filling that upon licking never proved entirely satisfactory. And, in Beleriand, it was worse. Here, he had many colors of chocolate, many flavors and fillings, and his fingers skipped too impatiently across them to ever make a commitment to consummation.

Cousin Finrod entered the room in a blond flurry. “Sorry to keep you waiting, cousins mine,” he said, and they knew that he had been consulting with his lords, lords who--if the brothers moved their game pieces with their characteristic precision--would soon count Celegorm and Curufin among their numbers.

“No worry, Finrod,” Celegorm said languidly.

“What happened to you?” Finrod couldn’t even wait until his backside had entirely touched the chair opposite them before asking.

“Himlad was overrun by Orcs.” Curufin spoke, not trusting Celegorm’s meandering way with tales and tendency to exaggerate his own part until a five-minute episode took an hour to recount. “We fled; they pursued. For many nights, we engaged in battles in the wild, always outnumbered, our host falling one by one to their crude weapons--”

“Curufin took a strong blow to the head,” Celegorm said, and Curufin rubbed his scalp.

“Yes, and Celegorm was ensnared in a trap and nearly ravaged.”

“Always have I suffered as the pretty one,” Celegorm pouted.

“It sounds terrible!” Finrod exclaimed.

“It was,” the brothers said in unison.

“But now,” said Curufin, “we have come to the secret safety of your halls, good Finrod, and we have no cause to fear to sleep any longer.”

“You are welcome to stay, for always I welcome kin,” said Finrod. “I assume you will eventually wish to go to your brother Maedhros in Himring?”

The brothers did not exchange a look but the air between them sizzled as though they had.

“Such a passage would prove dangerous at this time,” Curufin said carefully.

“And we know not if Maedhros even lives!” wailed Celegorm before sniffling and collecting his poise as though with great effort. Curufin gave him two quick pats on the shoulder.

“It is sad but true. Himring was the first to receive the onslaught; both Maedhros and Maglor could have perished for all we know. In futile defense of us, their younger brothers.”

“Never did I wish to be the head of my House,” Celegorm said tearfully, “but it seems that I may be.”

Finrod looked at the brothers sympathetically. Yes, they may have teased him in Valinor. Yes, Celegorm may have held him by his toes over a pond full of alligators and Curufin may have made him drink a compound that turned his lips a bright blue for several days before abruptly fading, but their eyes were brighter than usual, and Finrod realized that they glimmered with unshed tears. He remembered his own loss of his brothers Angrod and Aegnor and his heart sunk a bit in his chest. He reached out and took one each of their cold hands in his and, looking them in the eyes with sincerity overwhelming his voice, said, “You know that I will have you, cousins mine, for as long as you need or want to stay. In Nargothrond, you shall always have a home.”

The brothers smiled and the air between them sizzled.