The first refugees came to Nargothrond in small groups; displaced, frightened people with the remnants of their possessions on their backs and tales of fire and dread on their tongues. Ard-Galen and Dorthonion were lost to the fell fires of Thangorodrim. Maedhros' valiant defence of the Pass of Aglon hadn't stopped Morgoth's filth from spreading further into Beleriand. Maglor's Gap was ravaged, Thargelion defiled beyond healing. The losses were countless. Finrod knew he had two brothers to mourn, but the onslaught had been such that he hadn't had a single moment to grieve. He tried not to think about it. Yet as the tidings of battle that trickled in along with the refugees became bleaker by the day, it became harder and harder not to give in to despair. He knew not what realms still stood against the Black Foe, nor how many still lived outside of Nargothrond. For all he knew the few scattered survivors he had welcomed past his gates were all what remained of their people...

When word came of the first truly large groups of refugees on their way to Nargothrond, he dared to let himself to hope. Reports had been made of several thousands of people. If that many had made it out of the ruins of the east, perhaps not all was lost. It was said the groups bore the silver star of Fëanor on their shredded banners, but if and if so which sons of Fëanor were among them was as of yet uncertain. Only when they arrived at the gates Finrod found that not one but two Fëanorian cousins had made it to his realm. He could immediately tell they hadn't made it unscathed though... Celegorm and Curufin shared a horse, the blond holding the reins in one hand and his younger brother against his chest with the other. Curufin's right arm was held in a makeshift sling, and when they dismounted it was obvious he could barely stand. The brothers only just made it to the entrance before his legs gave way and sent him to his knees. Having been a healer for longer than he had been a King, Finrod wasted no time on pleasantries. His training kicked in, and in a moment he sat before the wounded Fëanorian, making note of his flushed skin, ragged breathing and dilated pupils, along with the nasty smell of the haphazardly bandaged wound on his arm. He looked up at Celegorm. The blond was pale.

"We were ambushed, a half a day from here. He took an arrow to the arm, but we were in the thick of the fight and the wound seemed minor. By… By the time we could remove the head the damage was done."

"Poison."

Celegorm nodded weakly.

"We tried to draw it from the wound, but…"

He didn't have to say any more. A roadside refugee camp hardly lent itself to any medical treatment more extensive than bandaging cuts; so close to Nargothrond they would have just tried to make way quickly, hoping the more severely wounded would survive until arrival. As Curufin was hastily carried off to the healing halls, Finrod read the unspoken question in the elder Fëanorian's eyes.

"He'll make it."

They both knew it was an empty reassurance. Poison was tricky, especially if it hadn't been timely treated, and his healers were still trying to figure out antidotes to most of the new poisons this disastrous battle had confronted them with. In the past days, Finrod had seen people enter his realm with barely a scratch from an orcish sword or arrow, and die in agony mere hours later. With the state Curufin was in already, the odds were hardly in his favour…

… … … … … …

Many of the new arrivals had been wounded in some way or other, and the healers had called upon every pair of capable hands to help take care of the injured. Finrod too helped wherever he could. His advisers could arrange the logistic side of the sudden population increase perfectly well without him for now; he was of greater use in the healing halls. He had just cleaned out and stitched a dangerously infected gash in one warrior's leg when commotion sounded on the other end of the halls.

"Keep him down!"

"NO! LET ME GO! Let me go you spawns of Morgoth! NO!"

"Brother, you have to calm down, we are only trying to help you!"

In the secluded corner where they had put Curufin, two healers were trying their best to subdue the now violently trashing Fëanorian, but even with Celegorm's help the more slightly built healers had trouble keeping the tall, forge-trained elf on the bed. The tangled sheets were stained with blood from the reopened arrow wound, and when Finrod approached he could feel panic radiate from the hysterically fighting ellon, along with the heat of fever.

"What is going on here?"

The healer closest to the door barely escaped a kick in the face when he turned to see who had entered.

"My King!" The elf ducked for a flailing arm. "He seemed calm enough at first, until we tried to redress the wound. It's the poison. He couldn't…" The healer made another evasive manoeuvre to avoid getting punched, "He couldn't even stand at first and now he's… Lord Celegorm, hold down his legs!" Slightly out of breath his colleague finished for him, "Now he's like this."

Curufin's gaze was wild and frightened, like a rabid animal. The fever and poison had clouded his mind to the point where he no longer understood what was happening to him, and every touch was perceived as an attack. As Finrod approached the bed, one of the healers moved to stop him.

"My Lord, he is uncontrollable, you…"

He shook his head.

"Let me near him."

Feeling his cousin's mind struggle and lash out blindly through a haze of pain and confusion, he gently pressed his own mind against Curufin's, Though at first it seemed to frighten him more, the soft mental touch soothed the Fëanorian's overheated thoughts like a cold compress, and soon enough he stopped fighting against the healers. Finrod carefully came closer.

"Sssh… That's it. You're safe. You don't need to fight. Sssh..."

Curufin didn't recoil when Finrod's fingers softly stroked the clammy skin of his face, and when the king reached for the wound in his arm, the only reaction was a weak wail of pain. He sent the older elf a wave of reassurance.

"Don't be afraid. Hold on to me. Sssh… Forget the pain. Just hold on to me."

The healers looked on in wonder, Celegorm in suspicion, as Finrod removed the filthy bandages and skilfully disinfected and redressed the wound with minimal resistance from his patient. All the while, he felt his cousin's mind brokenly cling to his own, desperate for comfort. As soon as the wound was dressed again, he gently nudged him to sleep. Then he politely dismissed the other healers.

"He is all right for now. Go. There are many more wounded who need your attentions."

They left with a small bow. Celegorm frowned.

"What did you do to him?"

"I calmed his mind. He will sleep for now." Finrod looked over the dishevelled blond before him. "And so should you. There is nothing more you can do for him, and you look like you haven't even washed since you arrived."

"I won't leave him."

Other words remained unspoken, but Celegorm did no effort to shield his thoughts.

I will not leave him defenceless. There are those here that would see him dead.

He sighed.

"Very well. I will have food and fresh clothes brought to you here then."

He wished he could honestly say that Celegorm was wrong, that none of his people would do harm on the sons of Fëanor… but he knew the truth was different. Even in the face of their current misery the Helcaraxë was all but forgotten. While he dearly hoped that none of his subjects would outright commit kinslaying, nothing prevented them from giving the wounded Fëanorian just a little less care. With Curufin's present condition, that could be enough to do the trick.

As he pensively looked at the still form of his cousin, Celegorm followed his eyes.

"Findarato. Please be honest to me. What are the chances he'll survive?"

His face was impassive, but the slight tremor in his voice betrayed his worry. Finrod sighed again.

"I don't know. The wound is clean; what is left of the poison is already in his system. There is no antidote. We can only try to keep the fever down and hope he is strong enough to metabolize it."

Some poisons killed in minutes. Some killed in hours. And some drew death out so long it was a relief when the victim finally passed on. Curufin was strong… but only time would tell if he stood any chance of living through this.

… … … … … …

Accompanied by Huan, Celegorm held vigil at Curufin's bedside. This much to the healers' displeasure, who complained about being glared, yelled and growled at whenever they weren't fast or careful enough for his lordship's taste, about the enormous dog being in their way, and even about having to care for the younger Fëanorian in the first place. Most had seen too many succumb to poison to think it anything but a lost cause. Meanwhile, Curufin's son Celebrimbor had rather admirably taken charge of the newly settled refugees, negotiating the terms and conditions for their stay with the council of advisers. The youngest member of the Fëanorian line certainly knew how to hold his own against the politicians of Nargothrond… but Finrod could tell it weighed on him. When he found the young smith in the healing halls, standing hesitantly at his father's door, he kindly put a hand on his shoulder.

"Tyelpë."

Celebrimbor startled.

"My Lord!"

Finrod shook his head.

"None of that, we are not in the council here. Just call me Findarato. I don't insist on formality with my own family."

"O-Of course."

He nodded at the door.

"Why don't you go inside? Maybe you could convince your uncle to take a rest, the healers would be grateful for the reprieve."

"I…" Celebrimbor hesitated. After a stretch of silence he finally he said, "That arrow was meant for me. It would have hit me straight in the chest if… if he hadn't pushed me out of the way."

Finrod tightened his grip on the younger elf's shoulder.

"It was not your fault."

Celebrimbor shook his head.

"I know that. It's just…" He looked at Finrod with sorrowful eyes. "I never thought he would do that. Not for me. I didn't think he cared that much. Isn't that a terrible thing to think, as a son?" He took a shaky breath. "He… He might die because he had my back, and all this time I thought he couldn't care less what happened to me."

"Oh Tyelpë…" Finrod softly shook his head. "I know your father can be a difficult man, but you must never doubt he loves you. He would have taken far more than that arrow to protect you."

A tear ran down Celebrimbor's cheek.

"I know that, now. But…"

The guilt in his eyes was almost like pain. Instinctively, Finrod drew him into an embrace. Stroking the younger one's dark tresses, he whispered.

"Go inside, Tyelpë. Don't wait. Take every moment you can and pray to the Valar that none is the last."

"The Valar have forgotten about us."

"Don't say that. You are all still alive. You made it here against all odds. The Valar have not forgotten about us, Tyelpë. I refuse to believe it."

"Sometimes I fear good things only come to us to lead us to greater evil."

"No. You must not think like that. Good things come to us to make the evil bearable." He smiled weakly. "Now go inside. And do try to get your uncle to rest, lack of sleep makes him paranoid."

As Celebrimbor cautiously opened the door, Finrod thought about the smith's words. The prophecy of Mandos echoed in his thoughts. To evil end shall all things turn they begin well… Walking back to his own chambers, he suppressed the sense of premonition that niggled on the edge of his mind. The Sight was a treacherous thing when one was haunted by melancholy. In times as dark as these, it was often better not to know too much.

… … … … … …

Later that day, Finrod got a visit in his quarters from Huan, who seemed very adamant that he followed him. So adamant in fact, that when he didn't get the hint after a couple gentle nudges, the huge dog resorted to other means of achieving compliance. After multiple failed attempts at freeing his robes from the huge dog's jaws, the king just went with it. Huan led him to Curufin's chamber in the healing halls, where Celegorm had apparently succumbed to sleep at last. The blond Fëanorian hung half out of his chair, neck and limbs uncomfortably bent, eyes half-lidded in total exhaustion. Finrod winced at the sight. His cousin was going to be in serious pain when he woke up… He looked at his canine companion.

"Is that why you came for me? Do you want me to put him in bed?"

Huan nodded his head. Finrod smiled.

"That can be arranged, I think. Give me just a moment." After retrieving a couple things from the apothecary, he carefully shook the blond awake.

"Tyelkormo… Tyelkormo, wake up…"

"Hmmn…" His cousin groaned, blearily blinking up at him. "Findarato…? I… I fell asleep… I m-must…" He moved to sit up straight again, wiping the hair from his face. "Thank you for waking me, I can't… can't sleep now…"

Finrod sent him a winning smile.

"Of course, cousin. Here, drink something."

Celegorm gratefully accepted the glass offered and downed it in one go. A moment later he blinked in confusion, his gaze rather unfocused all of a sudden.

"F-Findarato… W-What did you…"

"You need to rest now. Sleep will do you good."

Understanding what had happened, Celegorm managed to look deeply betrayed before the sleeping draught took full effect and his eyes hazed over in unconsciousness. As he slumped forward, Finrod comfortingly patted his head.

"Sweet dreams, cousin. And I'm sorry. I hope you'll forgive me after a nice stretch of bed rest."

He called for a couple servants, who carried the unconscious Fëanorian to bed accompanied by a very satisfied Huan. With how completely at his end Celegorm had been, physically as well as mentally, Finrod estimated he'd be out cold for at least a day, if not longer. He doubted the blond had rested much on the way to Nargothrond, and he had definitely not slept since he was here. Looking at Curufin, whose condition was still worryingly unchanged, he sadly smiled.

"Your brother is taking a nap, I'm afraid. Healer's orders. You'll have to make do with me for now."

(Author's Apologies)

This is the Nargothrond sick!fic nobody asked for.

I'm not sure where this fic came from, my Finrod muse just suddenly asserted itself and demanded to be given a story. However, you may all blame my significant other for the pairing, as I had him choose between Finrod/Turgon and Finrod/Curufin and he went with the latter.

Apparently some people don't headcanon Finrod as a healer, but I can't help it. He just always seemed like the caring sort to me. This is my first time writing him (this is actually true, in all of my Silmarillion fics he made a grand total of zero appearances, not even a single cameo) and I can only hope and pray I do him justice.

Please let me know what you think? I'm in the middle of the exam period, and I can use every bit of encouragement. Reviews are love!

PS: For those of you who read A Borrowed Voice, I have NOT given that up. This story is just a bit of practice to keep writer's block at a distance during the exam period. Hopefully it's not too terrible.

PPS: I dedicate this story to Snow Glows Blue. They asked me for a fic with incestuous Fëanorians about an age ago but I never managed to write anything fitting the criteria. (They asked like… some time last year. And only now I managed to write something. Yes I'm terrible.) Now this story may not have incestuous Fëanorians, but it has Fëanorians and incest. And it will be a multi chapter. Does that make up a little bit for the long wait and the not properly meeting the request?