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silwritersguildThis is the last chapter of an ongoing WIP. The story is now complete.
STORY TITLE: THE MARRING OF BLISS
AUTHOR:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
digdigil
RATING: NC-17 (This chapter: PG13)
CHARACTERS: (This chapter: Curufin, Maglor, Celebrimbor, Aredhel, Ëol.)
UNBETA'D
Curufin sat, a solitary figure upon a stone, his child in his arms, rocking him as he watched his brothers erect a marker for their fallen father. There was nothing to bury; Fëanor’s body had turned to ash and flown away, leaving nothing behind but his armor. There, near Eithel Sirion, the sky was dark and the light from the stars was not enough to pierce the gloom. The brothers lit torches and stuck them in the ground all around the perimeter of their camp.
Aredhel had taken her leave of Curufin after handing him the child. In his shocked state of mind, he had not understood what she said. Was this her child? Or that of Poldanis? He preferred to think that Poldanis had perished with her own baby, though he grieved for them both and thought of them with regret. But he could not comprehend why Aredhel did not stay with him and their child.
Celebrimbor was the babe’s Sindarin name. “Silver hand” was its meaning. ‘An apt name,’ Curufin supposed. He bent and kissed Celebrimbor’s forehead, eliciting a coo from the baby. When he raised his head again, Maglor was standing beside them, looking down upon father and son. Curufin’s older brother placed a hand upon his shoulder.
“Shall I sing for him?” the minstrel asked, pulling his harp from beneath his arm.
Curufin nodded. Maglor took a seat on a tree stump and faced his brother. He began to strum his harp and croon a tune, while Curufin fed the child from a skin full of milk that Aredhel had left for him. ‘Why did she abandon our baby?’ he thought again. The constant ruminating over this single thought had left Curufin’s mind numb to all else but that and the care of the infant. He listed to Maglor’s music and pondered Aredhel’s last words.
“Goodbye, Curufin. We shall not meet again,” she had said. Why did she say that, as if it were true? He would see her again. But she had stormed off, and now he was here alone, one by one losing his loved ones. Except that now he had gained a son. He vowed that he would never let Celebrimbor be parted from him. He hugged his son close to his chest, and his tears began to fall.
Many years later, Aredhel, who had gone to live in Gondolin with Turgon, grew tired of that city. The passing years had tempered her feelings and she missed Curufin greatly and thought of him often. She set out from her home, and rode to seek the brothers. Her heart was full of the remembrance of the love she and Curufin had shared, recalling how it had felt to lie in the arms of her beloved, and later, to bear his child. She wept as she rode onward, and thought of their baby, now dead and lying at the bottom of the strait between Araman and Middle-earth.
At the marches of Doriath she was turned away from her destination, and was forced to enter Himlad between the rivers Aros and Celon. The way was treacherous but Aredhel was fearless, and arrived unharmed in the lands of her cousins. Eager she was by this time for the ever hoped-for reunion with her lover, and she wept tears of joy when she was welcomed into his lands. Some of his people led her to his house and took her horse to be stabled. “Where is Lord Curufin?” she had asked. Tragically, Curufin was away. He and Celegorm had gone to visit their brother Caranthir in Thargelion, and Aredhel waited long in vain for them. She was happy to stay with Celegorm’s people, who asked her to remain there until their master returned. But she happened to wander into the woods of Nan Elmoth one day, where she met the Dark Elf Ëol, who captured her and forced her to become his wife.
Unlucky Dark Elf Eöl stared mournfully at his captor. The smell of stale sweat emanated from him as Curufin approached and wrinkled his fine nose in disgust.
“Gods, I wish that I could kill you”, swore Curufin softly, holding his sharp knife Angrist beneath Eöl’s chin. With a quick thrust he jerked the chin upward, causing the back of Eöl’s neck to click painfully as he was forced to look above him. The sky was clear and blue but terrible to him. He preferred the forest’s dark canopy.
“No, my Lord, stay your hand as you promised”, cried Curufin’s bodyguard, placing a firm grip on his master’s tautly muscled shoulder. Curufin turned to him and his dark eyes flashed.
“Leave me. I want to talk to this bastard alone”, he said, and the servant, after exchanging a glance with his master that satisfied him that he spoke the truth, withdrew into a nearby tent.
Eöl had been captured at the Fords of Aros as he chased his wife and son in their flight from him and was bound and taken to Lord Curufin of Himlad, whom he knew hated him since he had dared to take Aredhel as his wife. There, in the bright light of the summer day the river water sparkled and sang merrily as it splashed over the smooth rocks. Curufin waded in to wash himself, giving himself time to cool down before speaking with Eöl. He cupped his hands and let them fill and dashed his face and eyes with the clear, cold water.
Eöl regarded his captor carefully. Curufin was tanned and fit. He was as opposite to Eöl as any Elf could be. The Dark Elf was white of skin and thin as a bone and hated the sunlight. Curufin most closely of all Fëanor’s sons resembled his father; gleaming of skin and handsome of face, dark of hair and eyes, and of the same fierce, proud spirit. After bathing and wading in the water for a while, Curufin came plunging out like a wild animal. Unashamed, as if taunting Eöl with his good looks and fine form, he stripped off his wet clothing and dried himself with a towel. Shaking his head so that his wet hair fell full and loose around his shoulders, he turned his baleful gaze upon his captive.
“What should I do with you?” he asked. Eöl did not know if he were meant to answer. He drew in a sharp breath and shifted his position. His hands were bound and as if that weren’t uncomfortable enough, Curufin had now the audacity to stride forward and stand before him, naked and intimidating. “That she would choose such as you is unthinkable”, he growled. The contrast between himself and this strong, virile son of Fëanor was not lost on Eöl. He realized the danger he was in and vowed to say nothing that would worsen the situation. Curufin strode to where his dry clothing had been left by his manservant, and quickly dressed.
“I want you gone and out of my lands”, he said, “but I wish to curse you first. I may not kill you, but you are to know that from this day forth your wife is gone from you. Go home or you will regret that you have not obeyed my command. That you dared to take a lady of the Noldor to wife and that lady in particular is an unforgivable sin. You know not what you did at the time, but you took one that was dear to me, such that you have made me your worst enemy”. Curufin’s voice was full of emotion. “If you enter these lands again, I will kill you”.
Eöl bit his lip as he could not allow himself to answer in fear for his life. He looked down at the ground, at the grass green and fragrant, full of the hope and promise of summer, but not for Eöl nor for Curufin either.
The son of Fëanor approached him and grabbed his hands, twisting them until Ëol cried out in pain, and he cut the bonds, setting the Dark Elf’s hands free. He set Angrist again at Eöl’s throat and said through clenched teeth, as the bodyguard quickly led Eöl’s horse toward them, “Part of me hopes that you will make a move now to strike me, and that will give me reason to kill you right here”, he hissed.
But without further word, for Eöl feared to mention his wife again, and now understanding that Curufin had borne great love for her and held great bitterness at having thus been thwarted, rode quickly away before the fearsome Noldo could change his mind about letting him go.
When Eöl was out of sight, Curufin uttered a howl of rage and threw his knife with one mighty thrust of his arm into a tree where it stuck, its blade gleaming in the sunshine. The son of Fëanor sunk to his knees, put his face in his hands and wept. “Oh, Aredhel, that you should forsake me for one such as him is cruel punishment,” he sobbed in anguish. It is cruel fate that this should be how my love for you must end”.
At that moment Celebrimbor appeared at his father’s side. The bodyguard had told him of Curufin’s encounter with the Dark Elf, afraid that Curufin might kill Ëol in his rage. The younger silversmith came running, his sword drawn, but was relieved to see that Ëol had gone. He sat beside his father. “Ada,” he said, “why do you upset yourself so over what Aunt Aredhel has done?”
Curufin turned to his son. “A long time ago,” he said, “she made a choice. It does not matter now.” He patted his son’s hand. “It is too late to try to regain what was lost. I am willing to let fate take its course, though my heart is broken.”
“Can I help you, Ada?” Celebrimbor asked.
“You already have,” Curufin replied, giving his son a loving glance, stroking the side of his face with a tender hand. “Now go back to the tent and prepare to leave. We are going hunting. I will join you in a moment.”
Curufin stayed sitting a while longer and sobbed until he had no tears left. Then, when his sorrow was spent, he stood and went to meet his son.
THE END
STORY TITLE: THE MARRING OF BLISS
AUTHOR:
digdigilRATING: NC-17 (This chapter: PG13)
CHARACTERS: (This chapter: Curufin, Maglor, Celebrimbor, Aredhel, Ëol.)
UNBETA'D
Curufin sat, a solitary figure upon a stone, his child in his arms, rocking him as he watched his brothers erect a marker for their fallen father. There was nothing to bury; Fëanor’s body had turned to ash and flown away, leaving nothing behind but his armor. There, near Eithel Sirion, the sky was dark and the light from the stars was not enough to pierce the gloom. The brothers lit torches and stuck them in the ground all around the perimeter of their camp.
Aredhel had taken her leave of Curufin after handing him the child. In his shocked state of mind, he had not understood what she said. Was this her child? Or that of Poldanis? He preferred to think that Poldanis had perished with her own baby, though he grieved for them both and thought of them with regret. But he could not comprehend why Aredhel did not stay with him and their child.
Celebrimbor was the babe’s Sindarin name. “Silver hand” was its meaning. ‘An apt name,’ Curufin supposed. He bent and kissed Celebrimbor’s forehead, eliciting a coo from the baby. When he raised his head again, Maglor was standing beside them, looking down upon father and son. Curufin’s older brother placed a hand upon his shoulder.
“Shall I sing for him?” the minstrel asked, pulling his harp from beneath his arm.
Curufin nodded. Maglor took a seat on a tree stump and faced his brother. He began to strum his harp and croon a tune, while Curufin fed the child from a skin full of milk that Aredhel had left for him. ‘Why did she abandon our baby?’ he thought again. The constant ruminating over this single thought had left Curufin’s mind numb to all else but that and the care of the infant. He listed to Maglor’s music and pondered Aredhel’s last words.
“Goodbye, Curufin. We shall not meet again,” she had said. Why did she say that, as if it were true? He would see her again. But she had stormed off, and now he was here alone, one by one losing his loved ones. Except that now he had gained a son. He vowed that he would never let Celebrimbor be parted from him. He hugged his son close to his chest, and his tears began to fall.
Many years later, Aredhel, who had gone to live in Gondolin with Turgon, grew tired of that city. The passing years had tempered her feelings and she missed Curufin greatly and thought of him often. She set out from her home, and rode to seek the brothers. Her heart was full of the remembrance of the love she and Curufin had shared, recalling how it had felt to lie in the arms of her beloved, and later, to bear his child. She wept as she rode onward, and thought of their baby, now dead and lying at the bottom of the strait between Araman and Middle-earth.
At the marches of Doriath she was turned away from her destination, and was forced to enter Himlad between the rivers Aros and Celon. The way was treacherous but Aredhel was fearless, and arrived unharmed in the lands of her cousins. Eager she was by this time for the ever hoped-for reunion with her lover, and she wept tears of joy when she was welcomed into his lands. Some of his people led her to his house and took her horse to be stabled. “Where is Lord Curufin?” she had asked. Tragically, Curufin was away. He and Celegorm had gone to visit their brother Caranthir in Thargelion, and Aredhel waited long in vain for them. She was happy to stay with Celegorm’s people, who asked her to remain there until their master returned. But she happened to wander into the woods of Nan Elmoth one day, where she met the Dark Elf Ëol, who captured her and forced her to become his wife.
Unlucky Dark Elf Eöl stared mournfully at his captor. The smell of stale sweat emanated from him as Curufin approached and wrinkled his fine nose in disgust.
“Gods, I wish that I could kill you”, swore Curufin softly, holding his sharp knife Angrist beneath Eöl’s chin. With a quick thrust he jerked the chin upward, causing the back of Eöl’s neck to click painfully as he was forced to look above him. The sky was clear and blue but terrible to him. He preferred the forest’s dark canopy.
“No, my Lord, stay your hand as you promised”, cried Curufin’s bodyguard, placing a firm grip on his master’s tautly muscled shoulder. Curufin turned to him and his dark eyes flashed.
“Leave me. I want to talk to this bastard alone”, he said, and the servant, after exchanging a glance with his master that satisfied him that he spoke the truth, withdrew into a nearby tent.
Eöl had been captured at the Fords of Aros as he chased his wife and son in their flight from him and was bound and taken to Lord Curufin of Himlad, whom he knew hated him since he had dared to take Aredhel as his wife. There, in the bright light of the summer day the river water sparkled and sang merrily as it splashed over the smooth rocks. Curufin waded in to wash himself, giving himself time to cool down before speaking with Eöl. He cupped his hands and let them fill and dashed his face and eyes with the clear, cold water.
Eöl regarded his captor carefully. Curufin was tanned and fit. He was as opposite to Eöl as any Elf could be. The Dark Elf was white of skin and thin as a bone and hated the sunlight. Curufin most closely of all Fëanor’s sons resembled his father; gleaming of skin and handsome of face, dark of hair and eyes, and of the same fierce, proud spirit. After bathing and wading in the water for a while, Curufin came plunging out like a wild animal. Unashamed, as if taunting Eöl with his good looks and fine form, he stripped off his wet clothing and dried himself with a towel. Shaking his head so that his wet hair fell full and loose around his shoulders, he turned his baleful gaze upon his captive.
“What should I do with you?” he asked. Eöl did not know if he were meant to answer. He drew in a sharp breath and shifted his position. His hands were bound and as if that weren’t uncomfortable enough, Curufin had now the audacity to stride forward and stand before him, naked and intimidating. “That she would choose such as you is unthinkable”, he growled. The contrast between himself and this strong, virile son of Fëanor was not lost on Eöl. He realized the danger he was in and vowed to say nothing that would worsen the situation. Curufin strode to where his dry clothing had been left by his manservant, and quickly dressed.
“I want you gone and out of my lands”, he said, “but I wish to curse you first. I may not kill you, but you are to know that from this day forth your wife is gone from you. Go home or you will regret that you have not obeyed my command. That you dared to take a lady of the Noldor to wife and that lady in particular is an unforgivable sin. You know not what you did at the time, but you took one that was dear to me, such that you have made me your worst enemy”. Curufin’s voice was full of emotion. “If you enter these lands again, I will kill you”.
Eöl bit his lip as he could not allow himself to answer in fear for his life. He looked down at the ground, at the grass green and fragrant, full of the hope and promise of summer, but not for Eöl nor for Curufin either.
The son of Fëanor approached him and grabbed his hands, twisting them until Ëol cried out in pain, and he cut the bonds, setting the Dark Elf’s hands free. He set Angrist again at Eöl’s throat and said through clenched teeth, as the bodyguard quickly led Eöl’s horse toward them, “Part of me hopes that you will make a move now to strike me, and that will give me reason to kill you right here”, he hissed.
But without further word, for Eöl feared to mention his wife again, and now understanding that Curufin had borne great love for her and held great bitterness at having thus been thwarted, rode quickly away before the fearsome Noldo could change his mind about letting him go.
When Eöl was out of sight, Curufin uttered a howl of rage and threw his knife with one mighty thrust of his arm into a tree where it stuck, its blade gleaming in the sunshine. The son of Fëanor sunk to his knees, put his face in his hands and wept. “Oh, Aredhel, that you should forsake me for one such as him is cruel punishment,” he sobbed in anguish. It is cruel fate that this should be how my love for you must end”.
At that moment Celebrimbor appeared at his father’s side. The bodyguard had told him of Curufin’s encounter with the Dark Elf, afraid that Curufin might kill Ëol in his rage. The younger silversmith came running, his sword drawn, but was relieved to see that Ëol had gone. He sat beside his father. “Ada,” he said, “why do you upset yourself so over what Aunt Aredhel has done?”
Curufin turned to his son. “A long time ago,” he said, “she made a choice. It does not matter now.” He patted his son’s hand. “It is too late to try to regain what was lost. I am willing to let fate take its course, though my heart is broken.”
“Can I help you, Ada?” Celebrimbor asked.
“You already have,” Curufin replied, giving his son a loving glance, stroking the side of his face with a tender hand. “Now go back to the tent and prepare to leave. We are going hunting. I will join you in a moment.”
Curufin stayed sitting a while longer and sobbed until he had no tears left. Then, when his sorrow was spent, he stood and went to meet his son.
THE END
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