Category: Tolkien-Universe

Rating: M

Couples: -

Warnings: AU, blood, mentions of torture, character death, Loss of bodily autonomy (no Non-con)

Chapter: 35

Copyright: Characters & places © By Tolkien Estate, Plot & OC´s © by me

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Conversation had broken down rather quickly after that, and the elves had retreated to the inn, though he didn't like to think of it as one. Once there, their uncle had suffered something of a breakdown and their father had politely but firmly kicked them out.

Huan was still napping at the top of the stairs, and Maedhros and Maglor decided to cross the bridge outside to visit the village to get some intel.

Which left Celegorm floundering alone. These last few years, he'd have spend the time going on a hunt or scouting-mission, but hunting was forbidden so near the mansion and there was hardly any need to scout now that they'd arrived.

So he was left without supervision, and without anything to do. A dangerous combination by any metric.

Arien was already well overhead, making it so that practically everything had retreated indoors from the heat. He lingered at the water's edge, before deciding to take a stroll around the large black building. After all, they had been allowed free movement, 'save Zwarte Donjon' which he choose to interpret as the inside.

He dipped around the white-walled wing, managing to peek through one of the small windows up the hill. A swimming-pool, the Maia had build a swimming-pool in the desert. Though the river a stone's throw away made it easy, if it kept these levels even in summer.

He looked up at the top floor, the only floor that had windows on this side, but couldn't spot anything. His ears twitched when he heard something.

"Hammer?" After one more glance up, he followed the sound. Was that...? That sounded like...

He crouched low as he swept to the back, creeping along the wall while huddling himself in the cloak he'd received long ago from Oromë. It was far too warm for the wolves to be out and about, but he still didn't want to be noticed by anyone.

There was a set of slits just above ground-level which were the source of the hammering. After two centuries of living with him, even the son of Fëanor the least craft-like in such manners, knew the style of smithing that produced the sound.

Fëanor's third son scurried along the wall as fast as he dared, briefly freezing in the corner to make sure he hadn't been noticed.

When he couldn't detect anyone, he slid over to the wall-openings - they were far too small to even count as windows by anyone's standards.

He nearly bit his lip bloody to keep from crying out when he peeked inside and indeed spotted Curufin at work. He had to take several deep breaths to steady himself.

Reaching into the slit he'd ended up in front, he gently rapped his fingers against the stone when the smith briefly interrupted his hammering to inspect something.

Curufin nearly dropped what was going to become a goblet when he looked up and spotted him.

"Sshh..." The elder of the two softly shushed his brother. Neither of them were very skilled at it, but making any sound would prove dangerous so he reached across their eye-contact. 'Little brother.'

'Tyelko.' Tears shot into his brother's eyes, as he reached with his free hand up to the slit. They had to break eye-contact - and therefor osanwë-contact - but he could get his arm in just far enough that their fingers could touch. They only held on briefly, before the hammering started again.

'He can listen all the way down.' Curufin ducked his head some, as if trying to hide in his tunic. He was probably ruining the goblet, hammering it while looking elsewhere, but clearly he didn't care. 'You're here.'

Their weak connection was filled with a torrent of emotion, nearly enough to break it.

'Of course, little brother.' Celegorm tucked himself down, hiding himself as best he could with the use of the cloak. 'And we're not leaving without you.'

'He won't let us.' There were some tears that trailed down his brother's face and he wanted little more than to get in and assure him all would be alright. 'He'd never give them that chance.'

'Well, we'll make sure he does.' He didn't want to bring up the price they'd have to pay for that. Three Silmarils, an Oath of Everlasting Dark and every grand- and beyond-that-child of Finu were steep sells.

'Will you?' Suddenly, to his mind's eye, the brother he was looking at looked so much smaller, so much younger.

'I promise we will.'

'Take Moryo.' He blinked a few times at that. 'If you do... if you can only get one of us, take Moryo.' Curufin trembled, hammer faltering, but he kept his gaze. 'Promise me, promise me that you take Moryo!'

"Curvo..." He whispered, hand clawing at the thick stone of the wall separating them.

'He's breaking, Tyelko. He can't handle this place. It...' The copy of their father bit his own lip. 'He'll break for sure if he stays here longer. You must make sure to take him first, or only.' Fëanor's vaunted favorite gasped for breath. "Promise me." He demanded out loud. "Promise me, Tyelko."

Somewhere in the building, a door opened. His brother's eyes shifted, from desperation to panic. "Go. Go. Don't let them find you here!"

"I will." And Celegorm could only hope his sibling knew he'd meant that for both.