turning back from the wrong north by atlantablack  

[…] and once his hand around my arm
like a snake circling a branch in Eden.

Not all secrets are shames, and this one isn't either. 
It's the pale green of healing.

It's my lips opening like parentheses
and his name inside, it's turning back from the wrong
north, the moon like a slice of raw onion, my skin
weeping like a fever, closing the question with my hand
around my other arm so I'll match, so I'll burn.

Dear Eros | Traci Brimhall

☀︎

“We are going with you,” Curufin announces without preamble as he barges into the room where Finrod and Beren are speaking together. Celegorm is right on his heels, still in the middle of a hissed-out question about what exactly Curufin is doing. Finrod and Beren both look up, but Curufin only has eyes for Finrod.

“Excuse me?” Finrod asks flatly. “I must have misheard you. Surely those who had so much to say against this quest would not say such absurd things to me.” 

“Unfortunately, it would seem we cannot stay behind. Our oath will not allow us to let you go after what is ours without us accompanying you as well." It is a weak argument, he knows this, and behind him, he can feel Celegorm's eyes burning into his skin at the blatant lie. Thankfully, his brother keeps his mouth shut, but that does not change that they are all perfectly aware that, if Curufin’s words are true, the easier option would be to prevent the quest entirely.

Finrod makes a furious noise, standing and gesturing sharply at them. “Get out. You are not going with us. I do not care about your foolish oath.” 

“Will you kill me then?” he asks, stepping forward and smiling slightly at the way Finrod pales. “It was not a request, and how else will you stop me?”

“You simply are not imaginative enough,” Finrod returns, though the tension shot through his body draws tighter and tighter with every step forward Curufin takes. “There are other ways I can stop you.” 

"We are going with you," he repeats, being sure to scrape all of the worry and anxiety from his voice. "Come, it will be helpful, will it not? Having us with you?" He smiles sardonically, knowing well that if they make it to Angband as the idiot mortal wants to, then it will not matter who is with them at all. They will all be doomed. This should deter him from making such foolish decisions, should make it easier to wash his hands of Finrod and call what's done, done.

If he had not woken twice now from a gut-wrenchingly vivid dream of Finrod covered in gore, throat a weeping gash, then perhaps it would be. As it is, Curufin only wants to lock Finrod in his bedroom until he promises to stay in Nargothrond and not go off on any stupid fucking quests. Since he cannot get away with doing that, he will simply have to settle for going along and trying to keep Finrod from getting himself killed.

It is a terrible plan. A plan that borders on treacherous and has caused the oath to string itself taught in his chest—a warning that he treads a dangerous line.

It is a terrible plan, but Curufin cannot let Finrod just leave. He should. He wants to.

He cannot.

"Get out," Finrod says again, so furious his voice is shaking, knuckles white with how hard he has clenched his fists. "We do not need your help. I do not need anything from you." Below the fury, there is the barest hint of hurt, and Curufin's stomach turns over.

"There is no point in attempting to convince us otherwise—" he starts, but Finrod cuts him off, his facade of civility hanging on by a thread.

"If you wish to go after the silmarils so badly, then you may go try your luck on your own," Finrod says, mouth twisting unpleasantly. "You have not had the guts to do so before, but I suppose doing it simply to spite me would not be terribly surprising."

Is it better or worse, that in the end, this is only partly about the silmarils? Curufin has no faith in Finrod's chances of retrieving them. Even if all of Nargothrond had gone to Angband, he does not believe they would succeed. They are going off on a quest already fated to end in death. It must make him the most foolish of all his brothers to be so stubbornly set then on going as well.

With any luck, he will simply be able to keep Finrod alive until Beren gets himself killed as he is destined to do, and then he can drag Finrod back to Nargothrond alive and well. It will not be an end that leaves Finrod once more in Curufin’s bed, but it will be an end that he can live with. Curufin needs Finrod to live, every other ending leaving him with bile on his tongue and nausea haunting him. He knows this is foolish. He knows he is ruining the carefully crafted plans he’s been building for years, cutting all the strings he’d been ready to carefully pull, but when he closes his eyes—

When he closes his eyes, he sees blood caught in the dulled yellow of Finrod’s hair, blood on his mouth, his cheeks, blood weeping from his throat. Curufin closes his eyes and cannot bear to keep them closed.

“We are going with you,” he says simply, the words like ash in his mouth.

Finrod makes a terrible face, all teeth and fury. “You will not. I do not take commands from you, Curufinwë. You can take your utter disregard—”

“Ingoldo,” Curufin snaps again, cutting Finrod off and crowding him up against a wall before he can blink. He dimly hears Beren exclaim and stand, Celegorm replying sharply, but he ignores them. “We are coming with you.” 

"No," Finrod says again, eyes creased with distress. "Why would I wish such a thing after all you have done so far? You will come with us, and then what? Slay us in our sleep?"

He clenches his jaw so tightly that it hurts. “I would not slay you,” he grits out, bile sharp on his tongue. 

Finrod smiles mirthlessly. “No, only one I’ve sworn to help. You are not coming.” 

“We are—”

“Why, Curufinwë?” Finrod demands, cutting him off. “Why? Let us live in a world where this is not all doomed to darkness, what is the purpose of your coming? Say we do manage to lay hands upon a silmaril and escape with our lives. What then? Will you force me to turn my sword upon you when you turn yours upon Beren?"

There are angry tears clinging to Finrod's lashes, and Curufin hates Beren with fury so bright it aches. Hates the oath nearly as much. “We will figure it out,” he says quietly, shaking his head sharply when Finrod opens his mouth to argue again. “Look at me, Ingoldo. We will figure it out.” 

"I do not believe you," Finrod says just as quietly, even as he reaches out and very gently grasps the edge of Curufin's sleeve.

Curufin draws in a breath, ribs creaking beneath the force of his fury; the weight of his grief; his awful, disgusting need. “I know. You will simply have to put some faith in me that we will figure it out.” 

Finrod makes a low noise, all dark amusement and scorn. "Always you ask me for impossible things." He pauses, studying Curufin's face and pressing his fingertips lightly against Curufin's mouth before sighing. "And always I wish to give them to you."

He does not realize how close they've pressed themselves together until Celegorm clears his throat loudly behind them. "If you could both be bothered to remember that you're not alone, that would be fantastic,” he snarls, snark and bitterness twined through the words. “And if my dear brother could remember that I did not agree to this, that would also be fucking brilliant.” 

Curufin closes his eyes in annoyance as Finrod's go wide and questioning. He ignores Celegorm for another moment, ignores everything that is not Finrod pressed against him. Finrod is still staring at him with wide eyes when he meets them once more, and he cannot help but smirk just a bit. "I can still surprise you then, see?" he murmurs, leaning in and brushing a kiss across Finrod's mouth. Something in his chest shivers and draws tight when Finrod's mouth parts and chases after his. He does not allow himself to take the opening, instead stepping back and resolving to wait until they are alone so that he can take Finrod to bed.

“We are coming with you,” he says once more, ignoring Celegorm’s agitated snarl. 

Finrod stares at him for a long time, eyes darting to Beren, to Celegorm, and then lingering on Curufin’s face. “Well, I suppose I will have to find a way to stop Edrahil from attempting to slay you in your sleep. I am certain this will be an all-around very awkward trip." His tone is carefully light, but his eyes are burning as he continues staring at Curufin. If they had been alone, Curufin would have already gone to his knees in place of an apology he cannot speak.

As it is, he only inclines his head slightly, and in the back of his mind, where he hides his thoughts on how brutally he wishes for Finrod to live, he begins turning the problem over and over, looking for a loophole, a crack to dig his fingers into. In the back of his head, he is looking for a way to keep Finrod alive, even if it means a betrayal he doesn't dare acknowledge, even in the deepest depths of his own mind. His father would not approve, which sends a shiver of discontent down his spine, but his father is not here. It is only Curufin watching Finrod, his palms burning with how terribly he wants to keep Finrod alive.

Later, after the yelling and snarled threats from Celegorm, after Beren pushing his luck and ending up with Celegorm’s fist to his face, after the terse agreement from them all that Celegorm and Curufin would be going on the quest, after—it is only Curufin and Finrod left in the room.

"If I didn't know better," Finrod says softly, pouring himself a glass of wine with shaking hands, "I would almost think that you care about my well-being."

Curufin swallows hard as he watches Finrod knock the wine back. "I am not sorry for speaking against you," he says, keeping his voice carefully even. "This is a foolish quest, and you know it."

Finrod doesn’t look at him, staring down into his now empty goblet. “Your oath is also foolish. I do not believe you have any room to talk,” Finrod says finally, pouring himself another glass of wine even as he continues not looking at Curufin. “And you did not refute my statement.”

He moves across the room, sliding his fingers into Finrod’s hair and pulling him into a kiss. Finrod does not fight it, his mouth opening easily beneath Curufin’s, all wine-soaked decadence that Curufin eagerly drinks down. When he pulls back Finrod does not open his eyes, swallowing hard as he licks his lips and sways toward Curufin. He plucks the goblet from Finrod’s hand, downing the remaining wine himself, before pulling Finrod in close and back into a kiss.

They kiss until Curufin finds the willpower to pull away and murmur, “Let me show you.”

“Show me what?” Finrod asks, watching him through half-lidded eyes, his fingers clenched tight in the fabric of Curufin’s robes.

He shakes his head, only murmurs again, “Let me show you,” and then goes to his knees. He blinks up at Finrod, who stares back, mouth parted slightly as understanding washes over his face.

Finrod cradles his face between both hands, studying him with an intent expression that does not waver even when Curufin’s hands begin to slide up his thighs. “You are coming on this quest because you want to keep me safe,” Finrod says slowly, each word rolling off his tongue with great care.

Curufin tries to jerk his face from Finrod’s hands, disliking the words being said so plainly, but Finrod holds tight, digging his nails into the sides of Curufin’s face.

“Tell me I am wrong,” Finrod demands, eyes dark with hunger. “Tell me, Curufinwë, tell me that is not why you are doing all this? Why you are trying to lie about your oath compelling you. Why you are on your knees now. Tell me.”

His fingers find the bare heat of Finrod's hip, and he digs his nails into soft skin as he holds his silence. Watches Finrod watch him and wonders how it is possible for him to care so deeply when by all rights he should want Finrod dead. “Let me show you,” he says again and hates the pleading note wound through his words.

Finrod makes a sound like a sob, though his eyes are dry, and bends to kiss Curufin, biting harshly at his mouth. “Fine,” Finrod says, voice rough and wounded. “Fine, show me, Curvo, make it count.”

Curufin reaches for Finrod’s laces and knows he will.

☀︎

Chapter End Notes

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