When Curufin remembers his wife.
1. Chapter 1 by Harnatano
He looks down at his own hands. There is a ring on each finger, except the index of the right hand. That is where his wedding ring was for many years. Now, he does not wear it anymore. It would be inappropriate. Disgraceful. Although the memory of his wife is still dear to him, although resentment mingles with affection when he thinks of her, although he cherishes memories of these years of wedlock, he would not wear the thin golden ring. Precisely because he has too much respect for his wife, for these years now lost, for himself. Wearing it would be an offense to all of this. Yet he keeps it with him, always. In a pocket. And still sometimes, he finds himself touching it, unconsciously caressing the smooth gold of the jewel. He remembers the day he took if off his finger, shamelessly, furiously. And in spite of the frustration, in spite of the agonizing disappointment which accompanied this gesture, he does not regret it. He never did. He regrets nothing. It had to be done, and to do that, he had had to keep his own heart locked, to keep remorse and shame at a distance through the prism of his so-called duties.
Duties. How strange it is, the way duties could replace one another at an given moment.
He used to be the dutiful husband, who held his role dear, taking so much pride in it while enjoying the bliss that wedlock could convey. But he had found himself obliged to discard it, to stripped himself of this title, and to get rid of this costume to put on another one, to play another role.
The responsibility of the husband was thrown away so he could fulfill these other responsibilities which stemmed from the unforeseen terrible events. These events which induced new roles, news parts to play, and they were not compatible with the previous one…
… but it was not his fault.
They could have been compatible, had she made a different choice. She put an end to it. She betrayed his trust.
Perhaps, he should have expected it… Was it affection that kept him blind?
It is very odd, how one could be misled by sentiments… Curufinwë used to think himself above such deceits, above such a foolish blindness.
His indignation has never disappeared. The wound is still sore in his heart, and his trust - especially in women - would not be restored so easily, if it could ever be restored.
He still cannot bring himself to understand. Why did she not follow him? Why did she desert them? After all, he did not deserve this defection, this disavowal… this abandonment.
Yes, she abandoned them. Just like his mother.
He remembers the comforting words he gave to his son: “Your mother will always love you, Tyelperinquar. Her choice has nothing to do with the way she feels about you.”
As for himself, he does not expect their affection anymore. No. He does not believe that his own wife, and his own mother, would still cherish him, Curufinwë, oath-keeper and kinslayer.
He smirks, and his smirk is as bitter as the taste in the back of his mouth.
(To be continued...?)
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