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atlantablack) wrote2025-02-06 10:29 pm
part 2: the lullaby i wrote on your throat
Rating: T+
Relationship: Celegorm & Finrod
Word Count: 3,560
Content Warnings:
Summary:
He doesn’t need to stay but he knows, that buried in his heart is that same little desire that had sometimes had him looking over his shoulder after he’d left Nargothrond. That little thought that he’d turn to look and find Curufin and Celegorm riding up behind them because they’d realized they didn’t want him to go into danger alone. He just wants his friend back really. Doesn’t know if that’s possible. Especially if Celegorm isn’t willing to even try to apologize.Or: Finrod just wanted to retrieve his niece and return to Tirion so he didn’t have to explain to his sister why he let her daughter come to even more harm. He absolutely did not want to deal with all the old hurts that seeing Celegorm brought back up. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem like he's going to get much of a choice in the matter. Everything is going totally fine.
He’s just hurt. He’s never handled that as gracefully as he should.
The lullaby I wrote on your throat about the stained
hilt of the knife in my hand begins - Whisper, or snow
will come and make its sadness famous in your mouth.
[…]
And Abraham said, This is how much I love you, and measured
Isaac from ankle to scalp. Love will gut you and then ask
you to carry on singing with light on your tongue
lullaby on mount moriah | Traci Brimhall
☀︎
Finrod is aware, on a coldly practical level, that he is being unreasonable. He had, in theory, forgiven Curufin and Celegorm for what they did in Nargothrond. Knows, that in all likelihood it’s for the best that less people had followed him as he went with Beren. It meant he had to listen to less of his people die while he was unable to do anything at all to stop it. It meant he had less blood on his hands than he otherwise could have.
But, for all that he has supposedly forgiven them, he hadn’t quite factored in the sheer amount of hurt that would go pouring through him when he’d finally set eyes on Celegorm again. He had thought, that if anything, Celegorm would be the easy one to forgive. Curufin was where the host of the hurt lay. Was where all his feelings were a tangled up ball of fuck you, how could you, I hate you, I miss you. Celegorm had simply been there, following in his brother’s footsteps as he always was. So yes, he’s being unfair. And he knows it, okay. He doesn’t really think Celegorm is going to hurt Celebrían. Yes, in part, because as she had said, if he wanted to he certainly would have done it long before Finrod got there. But also because, even in the little bit of conversation he’d eavesdropped on, it was abundantly clear that Celegorm was treating her closer to how he’d treated Tyelpe than anything else.
Finrod is sure that Celegorm is capable of being kinder than he is to most people but he’s never bothered. Not as children, not during the peace of Aman, and certainly not when they reached Beleriand. He’d always been sharp edges and a wild heart. The closest he’d ever gotten to anything resembling kind was when Atarinkë had dropped his child into Tyelkormo’s arms. He still wasn’t kind but he was gentler, suddenly in possession of more patience, suddenly a little more willing to slow down and listen. Finrod thinks he’s always been capable of that, he’d just never cared to show it until Tyelpe.
He’s being unfair but he also doesn’t think it’s totally unreasonable to want an apology. Even if it had been for the best in the end, that doesn’t erase the fact that they had turned his own people against him and watched him walk off to what they’d all known was likely his death. He’s not sure they even cared. Isn’t sure what’s worse really. That they hadn’t cared if he died or if they had and they’d done it anyway. Has been trying so very hard to not think on it since there were no answers to be had. But now, here is Celegorm, with the answers lying somewhere inside of him.
Curufin maybe he could have expected if he’d expected treachery from anyone. If his own heart hadn’t blinded him to any webs of treachery being woven around him. But he’d spent much of his childhood roaming the forests with Tyelko and Írissë. Never quite able to match their wild but back then it hadn’t seemed to matter. They were friends was the point and he truly just hadn’t thought Celegorm would turn on him. Stupid of him really. But there had been no second or third kinslaying then and he’d still thought they cared about people as more than just obstacles to climb to reach the silmarils.
He really doesn’t need to stay out here, he knows that. Watches Celebrían walk into the forest with Celegorm despite how pale she’d been and knows that she’d be perfectly fine if he left. Or, well, as fine as she can be when she’s trying to cauterize a wound instead of letting it properly heal. But he has been terribly worried about her. Had wanted so badly to help his sister’s daughter and couldn’t figure out how. Is so terribly relieved to see her doing better now no matter how it’s come about, no matter how little he thinks this is not the best way for her to go about healing.
He doesn’t need to stay but he knows, that buried in his heart is that same little desire that had sometimes had him looking over his shoulder after he’d left Nargothrond. That little thought that he’d turn to look and find Curufin and Celegorm riding up behind them because they’d realized they didn’t want him to go into danger alone. He just wants his friend back really. Doesn’t know if that’s possible. Especially if Celegorm isn’t willing to even try to apologize.
He’s just hurt. He’s never handled that as gracefully as he should.
☀︎
Celebrían does not handle skinning rabbits well, as it turns out. To be more specific, she was supposedly mostly fine watching Celegorm skin them, a bit nauseous she says, but it would have passed. She does not, however, handle trying to skin them herself well at all. Had place the blade against the soft skin, made one smooth cut, and promptly broken down.
He doesn’t think that should be all that surprising really. Isn’t sure why either of them had expected anything else. Thinks maybe she had expected it but had been hoping for something else anyway. Regardless, she stays incredibly pale for the rest of the day. Shudders away from anyone touching her even as she sits as close to Celegorm as she can get without them touching.
He takes out his harp and sings. Finds himself singing about the light of the two trees and the way they’d coated Aman in a haze of comfort. Sings about Tyelko and Írissë racing through the forests, crashing through bushes, and racing their way up trees, laughing when one of them slipped and Finrod had to catch them. Sings about the light of Laurelin shimmering against the river and how very cold the water had been when Celegorm had pushed him in. Sings about sleeping beneath the light of Telperion, the way the dirt had gotten in his hair, and the way they all knew their parents would be furious, but they’d done it anyway.
He sings and sings of innocent happiness, focuses on the way Celebrían relaxes in increments and ignores Celegorm’s burning eyes that haven’t left him since he began. If the song is part comfort-all pleading then that’s no one’s business but his own.
☀︎
The next day he follows Celegorm and Celebrían into the forest. Ignores the look Celegorm shoots him, something between startled and annoyed.
Celegorm ends up ignoring him. Celebrían will smile if they meet eyes but otherwise simply listens to Celegorm prattle on about tracking and hunting. It’s nothing like when he’d raced after Írissë and Tyelko when they were young. It’s simply a lot of walking, a lot of listening. And then at some invisible signal Finrod cannot see Celegorm simply stops talking and starts hunting. If it weren’t for the savage grin that flashes onto Celegorm’s face when the true hunt begins he’d wonder at the near calmness of it all.
He watches Celebrían’s jaw clench at that grin and wonders if he should say something. Doesn’t know what he’d say. Is struck with the very abrupt knowledge that he has no place in whatever is going on here. He is not going to get what he needs or wants from this forest nor from listening to Celegorm teach Celebrían how to love a thing she is terrified of.
He slips away, goes back to the camp, grabs his pack, and sets off for Tirion. He’s seen Celegorm and it's fixed nothing, only re-opened wounds he’d thought were healed. But he has assured himself of Celebrían’s safety, so he must say that the trip was still worth it. He will be able to assuage any fears from others when she doesn’t show back up soon. Perhaps if she is still gone in a week he’ll go back to check on her but for now he has to get away from this fucking forest and all the things he wants to say and can’t.
The walk back to Tirion is not so long in truth, he will make it back before nightfall, but it is quiet and he is very alone in a way he isn’t often these days. It makes it very easy for the memories to begin stirring in the back of his mind once more.
Here is the thing Finrod never tells anyone —
— he still wakes up from dreams of glowing, sickly yellow eyes and screams almost loud enough to cover the sound of cracking bones. Had walked into that forest looking for Celebrían and for a moment had tasted iron, thick and heavy on the back of his tongue. Had thought to himself, very quietly, that if given a good enough reason, he could find it in himself to set his teeth to another throat as well. But of course there ends up being no reason and the anger is exhausting and thus the hurt comes crawling back in. The hurt always comes fucking crawling back in.
He is going to have bad dreams tonight he knows. When he’d come back from the halls he’d heard people whisper, well Námo released him, so he must be healed, and he hadn’t seen the point of correcting them. He turned it into a bit of a game really, it was easier to bear that way. To try and look at life as a chessboard, try to understand the way people move like pieces on a board as he thinks maybe Curufin once had. But instead of using it for cruel ends he’d only wanted to find a way to make the dreams go away. If he smiles exactly this much and talks to these people and spends this much time in the sun and stays up from the crack of dawn till the moment the moon is highest in the sky — then, then, then he can sleep and not dream of terrible things.
He is sure that he cannot be the only one of the returned to have these problems. But he also does not think it is the done thing to pick a person at random and begin asking if they also still wake up from dreams thinking the sweat on their body is blood. If they sometimes feel phantom aches even though their body bears no true memories of any injuries. At worst, they would say no and rumors about him would spread through Tirion like wildfire. At worst, they would say yes and he would be forced to actually talk about his issues rather than confine them to the darkest corners of his mind.
He stops in the middle of the road, stares up at the sun until his eyes burn and then goes and collapses on the side of the road in the shade. Tips his head back against the tree and just breathes. Shuts out all thoughts of blood and ripped fingernails and a throat stripped raw from screaming. Shuts it out. Shuts it all out. He wishes, sometimes, that Maedhros was here. He thinks Maedhros is the only one he would be able to walk up to and ask, did he do the same things to you? Is there a way to stop remembering the way it all burned? He wouldn’t have to explain what he meant, Maedhros would know.
He loses time sitting under the sun. Counts his breaths and then, inevitably he supposes, his thoughts turn to Nargothrond, to Curufin. To all the ways he wants his thoughts to stop turning to Curufin. He is so tired of missing someone he cannot believe ever truly cared about him.
Curufin had been. Had been. Knife sharp, words said only for the pleasure of watching them hurt. Had been rough hands and a warm mouth and on occasion, was being held softly enough he could convince himself Curufin actually cared. Had sometimes, in the middle of the night when Curufin thought he was asleep, been words he couldn't understand mouthed against his skin. It was enough to keep him going back over and over again. Enough to blind him to anything sinister hiding beneath the surface. He still has no idea how much of it was lies and how much was just Curufin being opportunistic because he never let himself have less than three back-up plans.
And if Celegorm is back, that means Curufin will be back soon. May already be back for all he knows. What is he supposed to do with that? Avoid him until Arda is re-made? That certainly seems like the easiest option.
But when has Finrod ever chosen the easy option. When has he ever wanted the easy option. Fingolfin's people were not the only ones to cross the helcaraxë. Were not the only ones too stubborn for their own damn good. He wants, he thinks, to rip his way into Curufin's ribcage and find out exactly how much of his heart belonged to Finrod, if any at all. Wants to get the answers to his questions even if they leave his heart carved open.
He wants. His greatest vice, his greatest strength, his greatest weakness. The depth of his want is never-ending.
"What are you doing all the way out here brooding?"
Finrod does not scream in surprise, even when he opens his eyes to find Celegorm inches from his face, watching him very judgmentally. "Make some fucking noise when you walk, for the love Arda!"
"Not my fault you're too distracted to notice anything happening around you," he says with a smirk. He crosses his legs and sits down in front of Finrod, right up in his space, their legs touching.
"Have you ever heard of personal space? What are you even doing here!" He looks toward the forest and finds Celebrían sitting on the side of the road a bit farther down.
Celegorm shrugs. "Came to see what made you leave in such a rush. So, go on, tell me what's got you in such a snit."
Finrod stares at him. Feels that hard lump of hurt lodge itself in his throat again. "You— why must you be so— why even bother following me? You made it clear you didn't want me there."
"Last time I didn't follow you it ended up with you dead," Celegorm says with a shrug, as if he hasn't taken the dagger in Finrod's chest and twisted. "Figured I should follow you this time and check on things.”
"If that was supposed to be an apology—"
"It wasn't. I'm not going to apologize." There's not even an ounce of remorse in his voice and Finrod has to dig the heels of his hands into his eyes so he doesn't start screaming.
"Just, go away," he grits out. Tries to focus on taking deep, slow breaths and fails.
"I'm not fucking apologizing to anyone," Celegorm scoffs. "Don't take it so personally. I did what I did and I'm not going to fucking apologize for what’s already done.” A brief pause, and then in a slightly quieter voice, "No, that's not entirely true. There are two people I'll apologize to. But you're not one of them."
Finrod really cannot be blamed for throwing a punch at Celegorm's face. Although, he does find himself surprised when the punch lands. Celegorm falls backwards with a wild laugh and then lunges for Finrod in the next breath. Finrod definitely takes an elbow to the eye at one point during the ensuing fight, which is going to bruise like hell and cause questions. But neither of them are fighting to truly kill and after he gets one more hard, incredibly satisfying punch in, he stops really trying, his anger already burning out.
"You fucking bastard," he mutters afterward while they lay next to each other in the grass. "Why can't you just apologize like a normal person?"
Celegorm laughs, a sharp wild sound. Finrod thinks that no matter how much others want to ignore it, all the doomed and forgiven brought Beleriand back to Aman with them. He can hear the echoes of it in Celegorm’s laugh. It sounds a little like a nightmare, a little like home. “Like an apology would make you feel any fucking better,” Celegorm says. Finrod thinks an apology would make him feel much better actually and says so. Celegorm doesn't even respond, just makes a derisive noise.
"Why did you really follow me?" He asks, counts his breaths and matches them to Celegorm's, tries to bring them into sync once more.
"I told you already, last time I didn't you died." He says it so lightly, like it's a funny joke, but Finrod thinks, hopes, that maybe there's something serious hiding beneath the facade.
"I died," he echoes. "Figured that was what you both wanted after everything."
"Don't be fucking stupid," he says, leaning over Finrod to glare at him. "I never wanted you to die. I didn't. I wanted you to stay in Nargothrond instead of running off on stupid, suicidal adventures."
"I swore an oath," he says, the same argument as before. There had been no choice for him. Even if it hadn’t been one of Bëor’s line, he had still sworn an oath.
"Yeah," Celegorm snorts, lying back down. "Oaths. Always comes back to that doesn't it. How many of our choices were because of an oath and how much was just us."
"You always made it sound like a living thing when you mentioned it,” he says carefully. "Like something compelling that you couldn't fight."
"We all tell lies to help ourselves sleep don't we?" He makes another half-choked derisive noise. "It was…heavy and oppressive, sure. And I guess by the end, with all their guilt, it was wearing worse on Maedhros and Maglor. But of course we could fight it if we cared too. You really think any of us couldn’t?”
“And yet you’re still not going to apologize. All the stuff you did and you’re just going to ignore it.”
“Apologies are a waste of time. I could go apologize to every person I’ve killed and it wouldn’t do shit. They’d still hate me and I’d still have done it. I’ll find something useful to do with myself eventually.”
“That isn’t really the point,” he says with a sigh. He isn’t really sure why he’d expected anything better from Celegorm honestly. It isn’t even that he doesn’t understand the reasoning but still, you’re supposed to apologize when you do something horrific like kill people.
Celegorm doesn’t answer and Finrod doesn’t push. This isn’t an apology but it’s certainly something. The fact that Celegorm followed him is something. He’s still going to go back to Tirion, still isn’t needed in the forest, but it’s very much something that Celegorm came after him. He can work with that.
“Curvo didn’t want you dead either,” Celegorm says later, right as Finrod is beginning to doze in the afternoon heat. “He was a fucking nightmare after you left. Not going to pretend I know what you two were—”
“Don’t.” He sits up, stares at the light playing off his rings. He wants to hit something again. Cannot bear hearing anything about how Curufin had acted after he left. What does it matter when he'd still let Finrod leave with all that poisonous vitrol between them. “Don’t talk for him. If he cares he can talk to me himself when he comes back.”
“Yeah, whatever. But,” he pauses, sits up as well and knocks his shoulder against Finrod’s, “it was a really badass way to die. Out of all our cousins, you definitely had the most song-worthy death.”
Finrod is so fucking taken aback by that all he can do is stare, mouth agape at the sheer audacity of such a statement. Celegorm grins at him, bright eyed and fond in a way Finrod hasn’t seen from him since before the trees went out. “That’s an awful thing to say,” he finally says, laughing despite himself. If he ignores the nightmares and the guilt and the, well everything of it, then yes, he supposes it was objectively a “badass” death.
It’s the most flippant thing anyone has dared to say to him about his death since he came back and it’s as hilarious as it is awful. But it helps. He heads back to Tirion feeling far lighter than when he’d left it. Maybe there’s no healing for him in the forest but that doesn’t mean there isn’t still healing to be found. He thinks, maybe, he actually believes that this time.
His father, when Finrod tells him that Celebrían is doing better and doesn’t wish to be bothered, stares pointedly at the black eye he's sporting and does not look as if he believes him in the slightest. He's sure that'll be a problem later.
Originally posted on AO3