Behind the mask of bitterness by Harnatano - Lithenna

---

Chapter 1

Illustrations by the talented Soraniizu

 

---

With another annoying report before his eyes, Curufin was sighing lengthily while reading it, his fingers rubbing absent-mindedly the soft fur of the big yellow cat that was lying on his lap. Not his cat - his cats had been lost with Himlad - but one of the numerous cats who dwelt in Nargothrond and who seemed to enjoy the Fëanorian's company, or at least, the treats and head rubs Curufin gladly offered them.

There was nothing to do with the informations given by the document; Curufin had no trust in Felagund and his guards, and very often he sent his own scouts on patrol around the realm, boldly challenging his cousin who, if he knew about it, had never expressed any protestation. But on this night, if Curufin trusted this report – and he did – it seemed pointless. Everything seemed so very pointless, and although the Enemy wasn't asleep, although the terrible calm in the northern borders could only be hiding an insidious threat, boredom seemed to be the only word that could be used to describe the current situation. They were locked in the caves, hiding with their people, hiding from the flames which had already taken too much.

It would not last, this Curufin knew, but in this very moment he felt powerless. Powerless and useless; a fallen lord with only a fragil hope to cling to. A hope for another chance, a better opportunity, something which would actually save them.

His tongue rolling nervoulsy behind his teeth, Curufin barely noticed the entrance of his son in the study, and yet, as he caught the sight of the silver eyes on him, he couldn't help but smile soflty.

“So many effusions of joy this evening, father.” Celebrimbor began, willfully mimicking his father's sarcastic tone with an obvious amusement. “You should warn me when you plan to celebrate with such decadent manners, The excitement is almost unbearable.”

Of course Celebrimbor had noticed the boredom in his father's eyes, the lingering gloom and the surly expression. They were becoming his normality, but remained a source of mockery for Celebrimbor. A gentle mockery, and Curufin wondered if it was another way for his son to hide his worry, just like he did; A shield behind which he could pretend not to care.

But they both cared. Probably too much.

Curufin nonetheless, decided to play the game his son had joyfully started. “I would not disturb you in your work, dear son, by revealing these so festive plans of mine. You need to focus, and not to be distracted by the merrymaker you call father.”

The father and the son stared at each other, both of them wearing the same caustic smile, until Celebrimbor broke the silence with a soft chuckle. He had grown so much, Curufin thought, still unable to get rid of the image of the little boy, running to his father and reaching for a hug. Celebrimbor's childhood seemed so far away now, and yet the memories were still so very present in his mind, so close. “Allow your old father a few hours of sheer entertainment and carelessness.” Curufin concluded, his smile still present on his face.

“Carelessness?” Celebrimbor repeated, frowning as he stepped towards his father. He knelt down next to Curufin's chair, and started to pet the cat who was now stretching, treating The Noldo’s lap as his new favorite place. “This word does not sound quite right in your mouth, father. You always care too much. Even when you pretend not to."

“Can you blame me?” Curufin asked, tilting his head slightly as he realized how clearly Celebrimbor could see through him.

“It used to annoy me.” Celebrimbor mused, silver eyes looking into the cat's golden ones, fingers sinking into the fluff. “It still does... sometimes. Especially when you pretend not to care.” Celebrimbor was still looking at the cat, and Curufin didn't need any more hint to see the discomfort in his son's attitude. He said nothing, nodding thoughtfully instead and trying, once again, not to care.

But it was pointless of course, for Celebrimbor's words were now spinning through his mind and eating it, invading each part of it. Curufin had never been annoyed by his father's attention, by the way he cared, sometimes obsessively, whether it was for his family, his works or his ideas. Curufin had always admired it in Fëanor, this passion, the way he could manfully toss himself into something and bathe himself in it until he had totally absorb it. Fëanor had cared about everything, every single details, and nothing had ever been left aside. Curufin had always tried to adopt this technique and to use it in his life and work, but for some mysterious reasons, there was something wrong with it – or with the way he was doing it.

Lost in the mess of his thoughts, he didn't notice that his son's gaze had left the cat and that he was now looking at him. The smile on Celebrilmbor's face had faded, but his eyes weren't devoid of kindness. “I have learned to live with it... It is not so bad after all.”

Not so bad and yet already too bad, for the Fëanorian could only take it as a failure, as something he was doing wrong and which would eventually be used against him. But this wouldn't be confessed to Celebrimbor, and Curufin kept on nodding slowly, ignoring the cat's tail which was brushing lazily against his chin.

Celebrimbor's laughters pulled him away from the shadows of his throughts, and Curufin looked down at his son's, whose nose was being sniffed by the animal. “This cat reminds me of the soft toy you gave me when I was a child. Do you remember? It was fat and fluffy, just like this one.”

“If I remember?” How could Curufin forget? The smile on the child's face when he had seen it for the first time, his cries when he had lost it, and the crisis when the toy had been broken, ripped apart by a hound that had mistaken it for its own toy. Oh no, he couldn't forget. “It was always with you; when you played, when you studied, when you slept, when you ate... and the day I insisted to wash it, you were so mad at me that I thought you would never talk to me again. You sulked during two days.”

“And then you gave it back, clean, soft and fluffier than ever.”

They shared a smile, a smile which was more meaningful than any word in Arda, and which revealed the true affection and tenderness that lied between them. But it didn't last, and soon after, Celebrimbor was standing up. “Speaking of cats, father, I heard the king talk of yours.”

“I have no cat here. These are not mine. They are free, but they enjoy my company better than Felagund's.” The Fëanorian lord protested, though he managed to pour into his voice all the innocence he could gather.

“He was complaining, father.”

“Who? The king?” Curufin asked with a deep frown, determined to play the game of innocence until the end. “Tyelpe, there is something you must understand about Felagund: He does not complain, he whines. He whines, he whines and whines, all day long and for the most futile reasons.”

Wincing slightly, Celebrimbor turned away and headed to the table, where he poured himself a glass of wine; if Curufin had looked closer, he would have noticed the confusion in Celebrimbor's look, and understood that his son's movement was only a way to hide his embarrassment. “Actually father, most of the time I agree with him, and if I was in his place, I would whine just like he does.”

"But you are not in his place, Tyelperinquar." Curufin cut off firmly, annoyed by the path this conversation had taken. "You are my son."

The silence which followed Curufin's statement was only distrubed by the cat's soft cries as he left Curufin's lap, annoyed by the sharpness which was infiltrating the Noldo's voice.

"Father." Celebrimbor continued, his back still turned to Curufin. "Have you told your cats to sneak into the royal chambers?"

"Do not be ridiculous, Tyelpe. You know that I do not talk to cats... Your uncle does." Celebrimbor was about to reply when Celegorm's loud voice echoed in the room, making both his brother and his nephew jump. "Talking of me?" After all this time, Celegorm still managed to creep behind them with no warning and to surprise them during the most inappropriate moments, like this one. "What have I done this time?" He said, lying down on the sofa with grin. "Something terrible, I hope."

"The king said--" Celebrimbor began, but his father stopped him before he could finish his sentence.

"Felagund is whining. Again."

"How surprising." Celegorm commented with smirk, silver locks falling messily around his face. Curufin hadn't left his chair, but from where he sat, he gazed cunningly at his brother, for he knew they both shared the same spiteful sentiment towards Finrod. Celebrimbor though, didn't seem impressed, and after a sip of wine, he stepped between his father and his uncle, willing to continue. "Some of his most precious attires had been torn up, and it was clearly the work of a cat. Or many."

Celegorm bit back a laugh, and Curufin saw him try to force himself to stay quiet. A brave but yet unsuccessful attempt. "It seems our cousin will have to chair the next official council in his birthday suit. A pity I will not have the chance to witness it."

Curufin couldn't prevent a smirk, shamelessly amused by his brother's words despite the disapproving look displayed by Celebrimbor. "Have you no shame? Father, uncle... He is your cousin."

"He is an idiot." Celegorm corrected. "And the colors of his robes usually irritate my sensitive eyes, so the loss of his wardrobe is surely not a bad thing."

"Spare us your comments about fashion, brother." With a chuckle, Curufin left his seat and casually walked to his desk, putting down the report and trying to ignore the anger which was now floating in Celebrimbor's eyes. Celegorm replied to his brother's comment with a loud groan, but Curufin paid no attention to it, accepting willfully the consequences of his own words. Only an innocent game the two brothers played when they were together. "You have not enough sophistication to criticize our cousin's garments, Tyelkormo."

The groan that followed was louder than the first one, but Celebrimbor, who was still standing beside the sofa, ignored his uncle and stared at his father, apparently waiting for a confession.

"I did not send any cat to any royal chamber, Tyelpe." And it was not a lie. He might have mentioned the idea once, and his brother might have heard it, but in no case Curufin felt responsible for what had happened to Finrod's attires. And yet, Celebrimbor was still staring at him sternly, not amused nor convinced by his father's words.

On the sofa, Celegorm was absent-mindedly looking at the yellow cat who had joined him, and it was clear now that the Fëanorian and the cat were absorbed in some kind of conversation only the two of them could understand. As usual when it happened, Curufin rolled his eyes, frustration rolling in his stomach, and Celebrimbor slowly turned to his uncle. He stared at him silently, until, at last, Celegorm noticed him. "It was your father's idea."

Eyes widening with surprise, Curufin froze as a sentiment of sheer betrayal arose within him. "How dare you? I never told you to do anything."

"You did."  Celegorm had sat on the sofa, and the cat had left, scared by the voices which were getting louder with each new sentence. "Oh Tyelkormo." Celegorm continued, mimicking his brother's voice and exaggerating his manners. “Would it not be amusing if one of them could actually sneak into Felagund's chamber and rip his robes up? Should we not ask one of those adorable creatures to do it for us?”

“I do not talk like that.”

Celebrimbor gazed at his father, lifting one eyebrow to,approve his uncle's imitiation, but also to warn his father against his disappointment.

“It was just an idea. Not an actual plan, brother.” Curufin explained, trying to stay calm, to keep his voice low, though his tone was firmer and slightly menacing now. He would not bear the guilt for his brother's foolish behavior, even though he was rather pleased with Celegorm's initiative. And Celegorm, obviously, was not particularly annoyed by the incident, and he lied back on the sofa, shrugging. “It was still your idea."

“It is always your idea, father, is it not?”

Curufin simply turned away, the first sparks of shame dancing in his stomach. Or at least, what seemed to be shame, for it was a feeling only his son could awake in him. It came from this disappointment, the terrible disappointment which echoed in Celebrimbor's voice. It was awful, reminding Curufin of his failure; the model he had wanted to become for Celebrimbor was slowly falling apart, and thus revealed the differences between he and his son, as much as the differences between he and his father. Oh no Curufin wasn't Fëanor, not even as a father, and this truth was more aching that he would have ever admitted.

Celebrimbor shook his head, and Curufin couldn’t ignore his son's frustration anymore. "Father, do you even realize--”

“Tyelperinquar enough.” He stated, unwilling to hear more, unwilling to witness Celebrimbor's anger and what seemed to be disgust. “I have no lesson to take from you. I am your father.”

Stoical, Celebrimbor didn't back, facing his father with all the authority he had won during the past decades. “My father would not act like this, nor would he react like this.” He said calmly. “And speaking of lessons, need I remind you that you are the one who taught me that one should treat their host as well as they would treat their guest? With the same respect and courtesy.”

Curufin didn’t reply; no matter what he would say, it would be a lie, a way to escape the trap which he had built himself. And he didn’t wish to lie to Celebrimbor. He never did.

Instead the Fëanorian pretended to look for something and he rummaged angrily through the drawers of the desk; a trick which was already well known by Celegorm and Celebrimbor; and if Celegorm decided to ignore his brother’s attitude, Celebrimbor wouldn’t let his father hide from his responsibilities. “What are you running away from, father? From me? From your duty?”

Curufin remained silent, though he had heard the questions, and was fiercely despising them. Celebrimbor was only speaking the truth, and this truth he couldn’t stand. But apparently, Celebrimbor wasn’t in the mood to spare his father, and bluntly he continued. “From your father?”

Time seemed to freeze, Celebrimbor standing in the middle of the room and Curufin behind his desk, a sharp expression on his face. From where he was, he saw his brother holding his breath, and slowly, carefully and as descreetly as he could, Celegorm stood up and prepared to leave the room. “You stay here.” Curufin spat, and it was an order which his brother had to follow. Curufin knew Celegorm prefered to be anywhere but here, and yet he wouldn’t let him escape, he wouldn’t allow him to abandon the ship now.

Wincing, Celegorm indulged, and sat back, waiting for the storm which was about to blow up, and Curufin saw him adopt the most nonchalant expression; Irritating, but quite fair.

Leaving his desk, Curufin walked slowly to his son, and in his mind were rolling all the words which could be said, which needed to be said; reproaches, apologies and confessions, but he opted for bitterness. A bitterness which would be nothing more than another shield to avoid facing the truth his son was displaying before him. Standing coldly in front of Celebrimbor, Curufin spoke slowly, with all the confidence he could still pretend to have. “I forbid you to talk about your grandfather in such a way. You knew nothing of him.”

“I knew him well enough to guess that he would not approve your behavior.” Celebrimbor said, and on the sofa, Celegorm winced again.

If his son wasn’t his son, Curufin would have probably hit him. But never had he raised a hand on Celebrimbor, and he wouldn’t change this fact. He was genuinely uncapable of hurting him. Instead, his fists clenched, followed by his jaw, and in his sharp voice floated the clouds of his excruciating bitterness. “I forbid you to say any more word about your grandfather, Tyelperinquar. And I forbid you to lecture me about my choices.” He would also forbid him to analyse him and to try to understand him if he could; Celebrimbor’s mind had become too cunning, his vision too sharp and he could so easily see behind his father’s mask. And obviously, he had no intent to follow his father's orders anymore.

“You will not bring him back, father. You know that, right?” Curufin fell silent, shocked by the statement and the unexpected softness in Celebrimbor’s voice. “Whether you decide to mimic him, to become like him, as you did for so long, or to follow an opposite path, as you are doing now, it will not bring him back.”

Curufin wasn’t sure of what his son was implying yet, but he already knew these words would haunt him, he already knew that a truth could be found in Celebrimbor’s speech. But this truth he was too blind to see.

"Why don't you stop pretending, father, for once? If only for me, your son. Why don't you try to be honest with yourself and with me? Why don't you leave your father where he is and exist for yourself... and for me?"

“Enough”. Curufin repeated coldly, and with a sharp sigh, Celebrimbor headed to the door.

Speechless and clearly impressed, Celegorm watched his nephew leave, but Curufin, still prideful despite the new ache which was now filling his heart, let out his bitterness before Celebrimbor could reach the door. “Did you not want me to celebrate, to entertain myself, Tyelperinquar? Did you not wish a merrier father? Be glad, for it is exactly what I am doing; I am playing.”

Glancing at Curufin over his shoulder, Celebrimbor seemed to hesitate, and when he finally talked, a strange sadness was covering his voice. “That is not what I was talking about. I hoped you would understand, but I was too hopeful.”

This reaction, this calm and the harrowing echo in Celebrimbor’s tone sufficed to make Curufin regret his words, his sharpness and his sarcasm, which was famous for its hidden aggressivity. But he would not say it, nor would he admit or face the deep abyss which was being dug within him. A pit of pain in his Fëa, burrowed by his own poison.

And as Celebrimbor closed the door behind him, Celegorm turned to his brother, thoughtfully contemplating his next words. But it was pointless, for Curufin stopped him before he could talk and the movement of his hand sufficed to let Celegorm know that any comment would be a mistake. “Not a word, Tyelkormo.”

A long moment passed in silence. Curufin knew that his brother was used to his terrible mood, and that he needed more than this sharpness to be impressed. And yet, Celegorm’s next move appeared as quite surprising; He picked up the cat hidden under the sofa and walked to Curufin, only to carefully put the animal between his arms. “Practice with the cat, and then talk to your son. Talk to him for real. You used to be quite good at it.” He simply stated before leaving his brother alone in the study.

Holding the animal tightly and strocking the long fur, Curufin gave a sigh, thoughts and questions and a few regrets buzzing in his mind with a painful intensity. His gaze fell on the animal, and in this very moment, Curufin understood that there would be no soft toys to soothe his son's anger this time; only words. But these words he couldn't find yet, and shall he find them, Curufin would still lack something: the courage to speak them with all the sincerity of a father’s heart.