Culwen is actually happy for once, Aredhel becomes a plot point in someone else's story, and things begin to go seriously downhill as Morgoth manipulates everything in the background.
As an apology for forgetting to post for like, a month (I'm studying abroad for a semester in my defense), I will give you the reasoning behind the title of this story. About a year ago, I was in an English class (very important for my Spanish and Biochemistry degrees) and we were reading Hamlet. At some point, the teacher pointed out the title and said that it was often misused. I don't remember exactly and my book is not abroad with me, but it was definitely some form of irony about how none of us are really true to our own selves. I immediately thought of this story and it became the title. This was a fun story by Ordinary Men, I'll hopefully see you soon.
Culwen had expected three things to happen when she woke up in the morning.
A shipment of dyes had arrived from Caranthir's powerful trade deals. There would be colors she had not seen in years, not since Valinor; blue, yellow, a gorgeous light green, and a purple so deep it almost looked black (there was no red of any shade, not after the kinslaying).
It had been back in Valinor when she had last had time to weave tapestries. Only in the Himlad could there be peace, enough to engage in her craft. After its fall there would only be chaos and confusion, even in what seemed to be days of peace. She intended to take full advantage of the respite and hone her skills as much as she could.
The second event of the day was more tedious work, though still enjoyable. Celebrimbor had finally stopped growing (although like both of his parents, he was still rather short for one of the Quendi) and thus was ready to get some nice formal robes.
So, before she would be able to return to her weaving, that was her task. She had convinced her quiet son to spend the day with her instead of the sanctuary of the forge. Every moment, despite his protests, would be enjoyable in spite of, or perhaps because of, what she knew would happen in the end.
Finally, there was that which brought her no pleasure or joy, but rather a sense of miserable inevitability. Sometime today, although she did not know when, Curufin would return from the Arossiach to bring news of his meeting with Eöl. Aredhel was to die.
In the future that was her past, Aredhel had seemed foolish to stray so far from safety and find her own death. After meeting her, though, Culwen recognized a restless energy in Aredhel that she had seen also in all of her cousins. To them, security was a cage as tangible as one of iron and steel and no love or duty was worth confinement, whether fair or foul. Was Aredhel a fool for wanting to be free? Culwen sighed. Some questions have no right answers.
"I heard that Aredhel was seen again." She jumped as Celebrimbor entered the room, looking curiously at her. "I don't suppose that you know anything about it, mother."
"I do," She said stiffly, "But we will all find out soon enough. There will be plenty of grief after, without dwelling on it before."
He flinched. "I'm sorry. I know that good news is unlikely after her disappearance, but I guess I just hoped—" Culwen smiled sympathetically as her son's voice trailed into silence.
"All will turn out as it should in the end," She said, "Although we may wish that it had been otherwise. Everything happens for a reason. Aredhel's fate will affect far more than just her."
Celebrimbor stood silent for a long moment. "Do you think that Himlóm is alive?" He asked softly. "I know that father, and Galadriel, and you have all said that she is, but that could be because it's what you want to believe."
"Sometimes the best case scenario is what we have to believe in, so that we can keep fighting." She told him, her voice gentle. "We all tell ourselves these lies knowingly. When all else is falling apart, it is hope, even false hope, that helps us gather the pieces."
"I fear to trust in hope," He said, "For I feel like it will betray me."
Culwen looked at her son in surprise. "You are already so wise," She commented regretfully, "But such is the fate of the young in times of strife."
"Mother!" Celebrimbor said. "Both you and father are the same, always changing the subject with philosophical musing. Is my cousin alive or not?"
"Yes," Culwen whispered, "But tell no one that I told you. The two of you will meet many times before your deaths." They stood silent for a moment and she wondered briefly if he would feel as relieved if she mentioned that they would be the only descendents of Fёanor by blood on Middle-earth, save wandering Maglor.
She had only just turned away to get fabric when there was a disturbance outside of the room. "Did you notice anything when you came here?" She said, turning to her son. He wordlessly shook his head. Culwen started for the door when it burst open.
Behind it stood Menenil, Curufin's most trusted advisor. "My lady," He gasped and her heart froze. Something had happened, something not entered into the annals of history, but still enough to put an ice cold fear in the heart of brave Menenil.
"We met Eöl near the Arossiach where he pursued Aredhel and her," Menenil paused, "Apparently she has a son? And he's the father? It was all very strange. I must confess that I don't understand all of it."
"Quit chattering, Menenil." Culwen snapped. "I understand it. Mostly. You did not run here to gossip about Aredhel's love life."
Menenil winced. "I'm sorry, my lady." The ellon stammered. "When we brought Eöl to our camp, there was a small fight. It looked like the worst injury was a scrape Curufin got from one of his weapons. We gave him permission to continue his pursuit, as we did not have the right to detain him, and were on our way back when—"
"When what?" She said as he drifted into an uneasy silence. "What could happen after your meeting? Did you meet orcs or—" Her eyes widened and the color drained from her face. "Eöl is an expert in poisons."
He nodded solemnly. A small tremor in his voice revealed his fear. "The healers do not think that he will last until dawn." Menenil whispered.
Culwen faintly recognized Celebrimbor's horrified gasp and Menenil's near hysterical sob as his grief got the better of him. Her ears began to ring as an unfamiliar fire rang surging through her veins. Everything seemed to slow down as her thoughts raced. All she knew was that he would not die today, even if she had to make it so.
"Do not weep today," She said with anger in her voice, "Though in later days you may never cease. He will not die. Not now. Not because of a cowardly attack from an ellon blind with an unrighteous fury."
Menenil let out a sigh. "My lady," His voice quavered, "You cannot prevent his death by pure will. There are some things that no one can stop, terrible as they are."
"We can change nothing by giving up." She snapped. "Complacency and denial are the cause of all strife. I will not remain here if there is anything that can be done, even if it is just to stay by his side."
"I think that you're in denial," Menenil scoffed, "But that is to be expected, since your husband is about to die." The ellon let out a deep sigh. "We can go to the healing halls, at the very least."
So the three left as swift as they could. Culwen led the way, her confident yet urgent footsteps echoing through the halls. Next followed Menenil, whose doubt and fear caused his steps to falter. Celebrimbor was last, filled with hesitation and a deep and piercing grief.
Celegorm met them outside the halls, scowling. "Sister," He growled, "You certainly took your time."
"This is neither the time, nor the place for this." She snapped. "For once in your life, have some dignity."
"Dignity?" He said. "Who are you to—" The ellon broke off into an irritated silence as his nephew appeared. "We will continue this later, not now when there is death in the air."
Culwen laughed. "So, you also have given up. How odd it is, to see the great Celegorm surrender not to a hopeless war or an ill-sworn oath, but rather to the subtle art of poison."
"Grief has driven you mad," He said, "Unless you always were and it was cleverly hidden. You know as much about healing as I do, which is almost nothing. The healers have not seen this poison before. It is best to accept the inevitable."
"You underestimate me again," She said with a smile, "At least that has not changed. For the record, I am more skilled in the art of healing than you. My father and uncle taught me about the only kind of healing that they had needed in their youth; the kind for emergencies and for curing poisons."
"Curing poisons?" The healer, Aew, appeared from the room. "Do you know what poison Eöl used?"
Culwen narrowed her eyes, thinking. "Have you heard of Bragolasea?" He shook his head. "I thought not. It is a poison that the dark lord never used extensively. The Avari know of it, but they rarely passed it on to others. I wonder how Eöl found out about it; it seems unlikely that the Avari would give their secrets to a kinsman of Thingol."
"I don't care about its origins." Celegorm growled. "Do you know the cure?"
"Why would I mention the poison if I didn't know the cure?" She snapped. "Sometimes I wonder if you ever think."
"My lady," Aew interrupted, "There are more pressing problems that Lord Celegorm's antagonizing." Celegorm glared at the healer. Culwen shook her head, clearing it.
"I'm sorry." She whispered, grief saturating her voice. "Come quickly, I'm not sure how much more time we have." Aew nodded sympathetically. "You must do exactly as I say."
"Perhaps," Aew suggested with a sly smile, "It would be wise to remember, should a similar situation present itself later, to listen to the person from the future." Menenil nodded sheepishly and Celebrimbor laughed, while Celegorm scowled.
Culwen gave a tired smile as she tightened her grip on her husband's hand. He lay still as death, with only a faint rise and fall of his chest testifying to his continued survival. His coal-black hair only highlighted the paleness of his face as it twined around him. "I think that I am not the only one," She said gently, "Who hopes that this is never repeated."
Her son walked to her side and pulled her into an affectionate hug. "It's going to be fine, mother," Celebrimbor said, "As you've been saying this whole incident, it will not end in death."
Curufin will live today," She conceded, "But it is too late for this tale to not end in tragedy."
Celebrimbor's hands slipped from her shoulders. "When you speak of tragedy," He said with a shaking voice, "Do you speak of this incident with Eöl or of the fate of those who have left Valinor?"
She didn't respond, turning away with a sigh. Celegorm opened his mouth to complain about the non-answer, his face thunderous, but Menenil put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Are we not the thrice-cursed? The curse on the Noldor and those on the houses of Finwё and Fёanor all lie on us. Is not our doom inevitable?" She said.
"I will not yield to ill-fated curses," Celegorm said, "Nor the words of those who spread words of dread and despair. Fate shall not take me in the end."
"No, brother, you shall walk willingly to your fate." The ellon winced at the sharp words and piercing gaze of Curufin, then his eyes widened. "Why so surprised?" Curufin continued. "Did you think that the Valar would let us suffer so little?"
Celegorm's face softened softly. "Even so, we are all glad to see you alive." Curufin let out an exasperated sigh at his brother's dismissal, but smiled weakly when he saw the concern clearly written on Celegorm's face.
"You made us very nervous." Menenil said, as Aew stepped forward and shoved Celegorm out of the way so the healer could examine Curufin better. The rest of them ignored the ensuing commotion and Menenil leaned closer to his friend. "I was terrified at the thought of being left alone with Celegorm and Culwen's bickering."
"I'm sure that was the reason that Eöl left so quickly." Curufin said with a laugh. He turned to his wife. "It looks like another of your strange and seemingly unrelated talents has come in handy."
She laughed. "I suppose it did," The elleth agreed, "Though I would like to point out that however strange it was to know Sindarin on Valinor, it was normal when I was raised."
"Please, stop talking about the future in the past tense." Celegorm said with a groan. "It gives me a headache."
Celebrimbor shook his head at his uncle, smiling. "You don't understand the grammatical implications of time travel?" He teased. "Shame on you." Celegorm replied with an amused huff and his nephew laughed.
"But seriously," Aew said, "How did you know what kind of poison Eöl used? Surely something this minor was not remembered in history."
Culwen looked down. "It was not," She muttered, "I figured that he would use the same poison, which my grandfather identified based on a list of symptoms."
"Eöl would use the same poison?" Her son said, his eyes wide. "As when? What else has happened?" The elleth didn't say a word, looking at her hands instead of her companions.
Celegorm let out a strangled gasp. "He said he was Aredhel's husband and they had a son. He was after blood. She, Aredhel—"
"Is dead." Curufin said bluntly. "Eöl was executed by the laws of Gondolin. I warned him 'if you now pursue those who love you no more, never will you return thither'. Now both he and Aredhel are dead and some things are broken that can never be repaired."
Culwen laid a gentle hand on Celegorm's shoulder. "Brother," She said, "Do not despair. Aredhel now rests in a place where there is no war or pain, only a long wait until you are once more surrounded by all you love."
"I wish that she was here," Celegorm growled, "In this world of pain. Does that make me selfish?"
"That makes you good." Her voice rose as tears filled her eyes. "It is only Morgoth and his servants that grieve not when death reaches them."
He scoffed. "Even men, who face death so often?"
"Even them." She said softly. "My youngest cousin was well versed in the customs of men and often spoke of the care and sadness with which they treated their dead. And remember, you will see Aredhel again in the halls of Námo."
"There is no hope for us in the halls of Mandos." He stood up abruptly and stormed out of the room. Curufin sighed as the door slammed behind him. The ellon bit his lip as his face blanched suddenly.
Culwen leaned close. "A vision?" She said gently. "Do not dwell now on the future; you are still too weakened by the poison to weather your headaches. The present is not yet so dark that we must seek comfort in what will come."
"That is good," Curufin responded, "For the future brings no comfort. In one thing is Celegorm correct: we will linger long in Mandos with no hope for release."
"But one day that release will come, unlooked for," She argued, "There will be an end to this pain and grief, even if we do have to wait for countless ages. We cannot abandon hope, for even in the end it will remain with us." Curufin laid back on the bed and closed his eyes.
As the others rushed to her husband's side, Culwen twined their fingers and prayed to Eru to have mercy (and thought that, if not for his breathing, she would think he was dead).
The feast had been a splendid affair, filled with laughter and joy that almost reminded Culwen of the festivals in Valinor. The food was perfect, the wine abundant, and her tapestries adorned the walls. "I could get used to this." She remarked to Curufin with a laugh.
He raised his glass. "I'll second that one, love." They both winced as Celegorm, having taken full advantage of the dwarven ale, began loudly accosting single elleths.
Culwen swept to her feet with an annoyed huff, but Curufin stopped her with a gentle hand. "The elleths of the Himlad know better than to believe the promises of a drunk Celegorm."
"When sober, perhaps," She replied, "But I'd wager that everyone here has had more than a few drinks."
"No one, save my brother, is drunk enough to lose their senses." He insisted. She raised an eyebrow and he gave a sheepish smile. "If you start a fight now, then I won't get my dance with the lady of the Himlad."
She laughed, despite herself. "A battle is a dance of a different sort," She teased, "Both require two parties and careful planning. The only difference is the magnitude of the event."
"I thought that difference was the bloodshed and death of war." Curufin remarked as he pulled her to her feet and the two glided to the center of the room. "There are not as many casualties involved in dancing."
"Have you not seen Caranthir dance?" She said, "He is a skilled banker, but his dancing leads to the trodding on of many toes. His dancing has broken the foot of many a lovely elleth."
Her husband laughed. "No wonder he has been courting the winemaker, Miruvor. Her concern at feasts is ensuring that others are happy, not in finding her own joy." He looked at her as his smile faded. "How much longer will our joy last?"
"All that matters is that we had joy," She said gently, "Not what becomes our end."
He shook his head. "Is this joy worth the life of Finrod?" Culwen sighed at his words and turned to return to her seat, but Curufin stopped her. "Love," He begged, "I see his death both in my nightmares and in the terrors that come through my Sight with unceasing pain. Why does he die, no, why do we send him to his death?"
"That question has often dwelt in my heart," She said, "I know only what history says and that is not always the truth. In later days they say that Fёanor hated his half-siblings, but how would you cousins be so close if that were so? We both know that the hate only came after—"
"The cursed silmarils," Curufin said with a groan, "That is a bitter truth. Cursed are the silmarils and cursed are all who pursue them. The call of the silmarils is a cage that none can escape, a siren song leading all to their deaths. Why does no one see that they bring only death?"
"Why do you ask that, love?" She asked, her voice tired. "Surely you and your brothers are as bound to the silmarils as any who covet them, and I bound to you. We are like moths drawn to a fire, who will die if we ever touch it. I told you not to swear the oath. If you are so wise, then you tell me why we betray Finrod?"
"Was I to defy my father in front of those crowds? Surely there is nothing worse than facing the wrath of my father?"
"I would dispute that point."
"Still, I will attempt to See what will happen to Finrod."
"We will happen." She grumbled as he closed his eyes. "Why do I feel," She whispered to herself, "Like we have been here before? Galadir will not come to offer speculations on your pain today." Only her quick reflexes stopped Curufin from falling to the floor as his eyes flicked open, wide with horror.
He clutched her arm as a wave of pain swept through him. "We are both distracted, love," He said, gasping, "We are ignoring a more pressing issue. In order to betray Finrod, we must be in Nargothrond, but in order to get to Nargothrond, the Himlad must fall."
Her eyes widened. "Dagor Bragollach." She looked away, turning to watch an angry elleth argue with Celegorm. "My people rarely spoke of it. The Nandor and Avari knew it only as a time of darkness and fear, the Sindar were ashamed that they did not fight, and the Noldor knew that it was the beginning of the end."
"They are all correct." Curufin said, getting back to his feet. "And one thing is for sure: our glory is coming to an end."
"And it shall not be regained until every curse on the Noldor is lifted." Her face paled and she whipped around to look at him. "'There came a time of winter, when night was dark and without moon'. So one of the greatest historians of the race of man once wrote."
He nodded. "On this mid-winter night, under a new moon, Morgoth will launch a new attack. Even as we speak his forces approach."
The music and talking came to an abrupt end as the warning bells began tolling their mournful song to the night. She looked once more at her lovely tapestries and at tables laden with food and drink. "To arms." She said.
"What?" Celegorm asked, the haze of alcohol banished by the alarm.
"To arms!" The people jumped to attention as her voice rang through the halls. "Let all those who are able come to the defence of the Himlad! The rest should prepare to flee at a moment's notice."
"Is it that bad?" Celebrimbor asked. "Could it not just be another of his scouting parties?"
Culwen sighed. "I wish," She said, "But this is reality. Never before have his scouts crossed so far. It is war. If the Himlad falls, Beleriand will be besieged by enemies. If we are to fail, let our sacrifice be known through the ages."
"Today," Celegorm said, "And today only do I agree with you. If these curses will kill me, it is better to die in such a way that will never be forgotten."
"Your death will be remembered." She said (and remembered the fall of both her brother-in-law and the ill-fated Dior).
