Accidently on Purpose

by waitingfover

Summary:

What really happened in the Nargothrond incident

Or

How Curufin and Celegorm came into the possession of a tiny Finrod, why magic rings are never a good idea and why Gil-Galad is not who you think he is.

Chapter 1: The tricky thing is...

Notes:

Unrelated headcanon: Celebrimbor’s father name is Curufinwë, just like his father and grandfather. His mother name was Telperinquar. He originally chose to use the Sindarin version of his mother name so as not to have the same name as his father. He also used it to distance himself from his family’s deeds later in the first age.

"Curufinwë Atarinkë, leave the room!" Finrod’s Song infused voice broke no argument. Curufin found his body standing and heading for the door on it’s own accord. It wasn’t until the door slammed behind him that the power wrapped around his body ceased. Curufin clenched his hands into fists. He had been so close to convincing the council to granting him the right as Finrod’s heir. Then Orodreth had whispered something to Finrod and this had happened.

As much as he wanted to charge back into the room and beat the shit out of Orodreth for this, Curufin restrained himself. He chose instead to storm to the forges. The forges were located on the other end of Nargothrond, near the gates so that their smoke could filter to the outside world and not remain trapped underground. During the long walk, Curufin piloted his revenge. If Finrod would rather listen to Orodreth, then Curufin would need to find another way to gain his ear.

He threw the doors to the forge open and stormed inside. The walk had not cooled his temper, rather it had stoked the flames to new heights.

"Ah, Atya! That was fast. How is Uncle Finrod?" Came the entirely too cheerful voice of his son.

"Firstly, Felagund is not your uncle, he’s your half-cousin once removed. And secondly, ALL OF YOU, GET OUT!" Curufin yelled the last words, temper well passed boiling point by now. The other smiths scurried out of the building, not wanting to face Curufin’s wrath. Celebrimbor, used to his father’s temper tantrums, calmly set down his tools before settling down on one of the un-used anvils.

"That bad, huh?" He hummed pleasantly, trying to soothe his father’s anger.

"I said get out Tyelpe," Curufin growled.

"I know, but you’re liable to hurt yourself doing something stupid, so I’ll stay," Celebrimbor didn’t blink as he calmly met his father’s eyes. Curufin sneered, but didn’t move to force his son to leave. He instead set about his plan.

On his way to the forge, Curufin had dreamed up a way to accomplish his plans here in Nargothrond. He would make Finrod a ring, but not just any ring. This ring, Curufin decided, would be respelled and bend Finrod to his will. Curufin selected gold as it absorbed magic the best out of the available metals and cut rubies as they would amplified magic the best. Materials chosen, Curufin started on his project.

In his anger, he made more mistakes than he would have liked. It took him three tries before he got passed the initial stages of twisting the metal and imbuing his intentions. On the fourth try, the ring began to take shape. It was not nearly as twisting and ornate as his normal work, but he didn’t care. He just needed it on Finrod’s hand, sooner rather than later.

"Atya, may I ask what you are doing? These Spells are strong," Celebrimbor commented with a frown. He was right. The air in the forge was heavy with magic.

"Stop interrupting," Curufin grunted, his attention momentarily slipping. His jeweling hammer struck off and whole thing glowed blue for a second. Curufin inspected his work. The metal looked the same and the magic that flowed out of it seemed unchanged. Curufin glared at his son.

"That could have ruined my work. I’m making a ring, if you must know. If you’re going to insist on staying, make yourself useful; the fire needs a good billowing."

Celebrimbor shrugged before doing as his father commanded. For a brief moment, Curufin was grateful that he had never taught Celebrimbor how to warp metal with so much magic. That skill would only serve his son ill.

The ring was finally complete. It was heavier than it should have been and Curufin wondered if Finrod would notice the Spells that clung to it. He grimaced. It was a little late to think about subtlety now.

It took him nearly a week before Curufin found an opportunity to gain an audience with Finrod alone.

"If this is about Beren and his quest or my younger brother, I don’t want to here it," Finrod firmly informed him before the door was even closed. That was the crux of the arguments of late.

"It’s not," Curufin lied smoothly. He had to bite is tongue to keep himself from flying off on a long winded rant about both of those topics.

"Then what is it that you need this time?" Finrod looked decidedly weary. His golden braids were fraying and his robes were wrinkled. After eyeing his cousin, Curufin launched into his well rehearsed speech about about penance, the force of strong wills and the nature of familial bonds. He only got about half way through his lengthy monologue before Finrod interrupted him.

"Curufinwë, do not test my patients! What is your point?” Finrod growled. Much like Angrod and Galadriel, he had inherited less of his father’s mild manners and more of Finwë’s fire. While his temper was much slower than any of the Fëanorion’s, it was just as fierce and hot. Coupled with his uncanny ability to control Song like Maglor, Finrod was one of the few that Curufin truly feared. Cowed into submission, Curufin stopped talking and presented the ring to his cousin. Finrod raised an eyebrow before excepting the gift from his younger cousin.

"Not one of your finer works, cousin, especially as gifts of penance go," he commented, examining it in the light. Curufin grit his teeth and accepted the criticism. Finrod slid it experimentally onto his finger. He looked at over once more before going to remove it. He was unable to, per the design.

"The band is a little tight, Curvo. It might prove difficult to remove," Finrod grunted giving the ring a tug. Curufin held his breath, mentally counting the seconds until the Spells would take their hold. At first nothing happened, then Finrod’s whole figure began to glow brightly.

Then something entirely unexpected happened. Finrod’s body began to morph. It was like watching time flow backwards. The battle scars on Finrod skin grew smaller before disappearing altogether. Then Finrod was shrinking, his hair growing shorter and baby fat slowly appearing on his trim figure. Curufin gaped in horror. He lunged for his cousin, yanking the ring off of FInrod’s finger. Curufin had expected more resistance, but the ring slipped free easily. Curufin had over compensated and that threw him off balance. He landed on his back, striking his head on the stone floor.

With a groan he sat up. He rubbed his eyes. There, sitting in a pile of clothes that were now much to big for him, was a child version of his cousin. The elfling was playing the jewels that his older self had worn.

"Finrod?" Curufin croaked in disbelief.

Chapter 2: Why bribery is always an option

"Finrod?" Curufin tried again. 

The child didn’t react to his Sindarin name. 

"Finderáto?"

This got the child’s attention. He looked up from his pile jewels and looked around more than a little startled. Upon not recognizing where he was, he began to cry.

"Ada! Want Ada!" The elfling wailed.

Curufin panicked. He clamped his hand over Finrod’s mouth. The elfling gave him an offended look though his tears. Curufin grimaced as he felt small teeth sink into his palm.

"Listen here, Finderáto. If I move my hand, you have to be quite. If you make a lot of sound, people might die. Do you understand?"

Finrod slowly shook his head. Curufin glowered.

"If you make any noise, you’ll never see your Ada again," Curufin hissed, trying a different tactic.

That got Finrod’s attention. His eyes went very big and he stopped fidgeting. Once he was certain the his message had sunk in, Curufin removed his hand, rubbing at the teeth marks.

"But why, Uncle Fë-nar-oh?" Finrod whispered.

Curufin froze. It had been a very, very long time since anyone had made that mistake. The last time it had happened in publicly was when the Noldor were rejoined at Lake Mithrim. Fingolfin had punched Curufin in the face before he had realized that it wasn't Fëanor standing in front of him. 

"N-not Fëanor," Curufin finally managed to stutter.

"Who are you?" Finrod crawled into Curufin's lap to peer closer at his face. Then it dawned of Curufin. He was much younger than Finrod. He hadn’t even be born when Finrod was that young.

"I…erm… I’m a cousin of yours," Curufin responded as he shoved the elfling off his lap. Finrod landed with a plop on the floor. 

"Oh," Finrod sounded mildly disappointed.

"Alright, we have to get out of here," Curufin eyed Finrod and making a plan, "Finderáto, we are going to play a game of hide and seek."

"Don’t wanna play," Finrod pouted, crossing his small arms.

"If you do, I’lll… uh…" Curufin floundered for a second (what where child appropriate bribes?), "I’ll get you a snack?"

"Snack?" Finrod cocked his head and smiled tentatively.

"That’s right," Curufin smiled encouragingly, "And if you do everything I say, I’ll get you two snacks."

"M’kay!" Finrod chirped.

And so it was a few minutes later that Curufin stole out of Finrod’s office with his cousin carefully bundled under his arm in a cloak that Curufin had hastily wrapped around him. This was not what he had been wanting to do with his afternoon. They made it back to Curufin’s rooms without incident. Once he was there, Curufin firmly locked the door behind him.

At some point on the way over, Finrod had fallen asleep. Curufin deposited the elfling on the bed. Once he was certain that Finrod was comfortable, Curufin sank down in the chair from the drawing room. The shock was wearing off, leaving him quite shaky. He watched currently younger cousin sleep as he pondered what to do. He was finally roused from his revere by three sharp raps on the door followed by a pause then two more.

The coded knocks told him that Celegorm was at the door. With shaking hands, Curufin unbolted heavy duty lock he had promptly installed when they had moved in two years ago after the Pass of Aglon had fallen. Celegorm slipped in and Curufin immediately re-bolted the door.

"Curvo? What’s going on?" Celegorm looked concerned, "Tyelpe said you’ve been locked in here for hours."

"I may have done a thing…" Curufin trailed off, tugging on one of his braids in agitation.

"What do you need me to fix now?" Celegorm sighed.

"Well…" Curufin gestured helpless to the bed.

Celegorm looked in the direction indicated. He gave a groan. There, snuggled in a nest of blankets and cloak, was a very small, very nude elfling who was sound asleep. Celegorm rubbed his forehead in exasperation, thinking over his next words. This was not what he had come prepared to deal with. An announcement that Curufin had politically destabilized Nargothrond or accidentally cut off a limb, sure. Small children that weren’t supposed to be there… not so much.

The only bright side was that the child looked nothing like Curvo, so it couldn’t be his. The down side was Curvo had obtained a child from somewhere, no doubt via some dubious or illegal means (not betting, that was Caranthir; not straight up kidnapping, that was Maedhros; and certainly not spiriting them away for misguided reason, that was both Maglor and the Ambarussa… so bribery maybe? That seemed right up Curufin’s alley).

"Curvo, why is there a child in your bed? Further more, where did you get him? Because he needs to be returned to his parents. I thought that we had established that children are not allowed as test subjects," Celegorm scolded softly so as not to waken the elfling. 

"It’s Finrod," Curufin slowly admitted.

"I’m sorry, what?!?" Celegorm was really hoping that he had heard wrong. The out of character concern knotting Curufin’s brow told him otherwise.

Chapter 3: Lots and none at all

"I honestly didn’t mean for that to happen!" Curufin protested. 

"Well then what did you mean to happen?" Celegorm demanded wearily. 

"Not that," Curufin made a very offensive hand gesture at the bed where tiny Finrod was still fast asleep. 

"Curvo," Celegorm’s tone was dangerous. The unspoken threat was clear, Curufin would give him answers or Celegorm would wring his neck. 

"Fine, I might have made a ring that was supposed to make him listen to us. When I gave it to him, that may or may not have happened. I possibly got the spells wrong somewhere." 

Celegorm pinched the bridge of his nose, a gesture he had learned from Maedhros. He drew several deep breaths before speaking again.

"So, what are you going to do with him now?"

"I…erm… keep him, I guess?" Curufin shrugged. He had been trying to figure that out ever since he returned to his room.  

"Keep him?"

"What else would you suggest? We can’t exactly return him to Orodreth," Curufin snapped. He felt like tearing his hair out. 

"You could reverse you spells," Celegorm pointed out. 

"I don’t know how," Curufin admitted with grit teeth. 

"You don’t know how to?" Celegrom repeated skeptically, "Or you don’t want to?"

It was a well known fact among the brothers that Curufin would claim ignorance when he didn’t want to comply. 

"I don’t know how to," Curufin growled as he felt himself becoming increasingly upset, "Do you really think I want to be stuck with him?"

"No, probably not," Celegorm replied. He chewed on his lip. 

The brothers stared in silence at their much smaller cousin. 

"I’m taking him to Maglor," Curufin finally announced. 

"You’re what?" Celegorm was startled out of his train of thought. 

"Reverse engineering, I’m taking him to Maglor. He’s good with magic," Curufin explained. 

"I guess that works," Celegorm sighed, he didn't seem pleased, but he also didn't protest Curufin's plan, "Also, for the record, you do know that you’re supposed to be the smart one. Crazy shit like this is supposed to be my thing."

"You could take him Maglor if you want," Curufin shrugged. He didn’t particularly want to find Maglor because he was up at Himring with Maedhros. Curufin shivered, already feeling the redhead’s intimidating, less-than-impressed glare on him. 

"Nope. That is you problem, little brother." Celegorm clapped Curufin on the shoulder, "When are you going?"

"Not yet. If I leave now, everyone will assume that I killed him or some other nonsense. I’ll wait a week or so and then leave."

"That'll probably be best." 

<><><><><><><><><><><>

It quickly became apparent that there was one very big problem neither of them had thought about. It wasn't Finrod's picky appetite as Celegorm feared nor Celegorm's complete inability to keep a secret as Curufin feared. It was Orodreth's hypervigilance. 

After no one had seen the king for a few days, Orodreth quietly took control of the situation. It wasn't long before the blond cornered the brothers in Curufin's room. Celegorm had come over to help Curufin pack for his flight north. Celebrimbor had taken Finrod outside to enjoy the sunshine. Originally Curufin's son had been resistant, but once Curufin explained what had happened, he was willing to occasionally babysit the elfling. 

Curufin had just finished shoving a few spare tunics into a a rucksack, when there was a firm knock on the door. 

"Open this door in the name of the king!" Orodeth's voice was muffled through the thick wood. Curufin watched in horror as Celegorm did just that. Orodreth pushed pasted Celegorm into the room. The door was left ajar, and through the crack, Curufin could see armed guards. This was an impromptu interrogation.  

"Is there a-?" Celegorm was quickly interrupted. 

"The king had been missing for five days," Orodreth’s voice was stiff as he glared accusingly at Curufin and Celegorm, "I know one of you have something to do with that."

"You ask if we have something to do with it? What are you accusing us of cousin?" Curufin snorted, returning the blond's glare. 

"I-" Orodreth hesitated. 

"Are you sure he didn’t wander off? He is prone to doing that, you know," Curufin pressed his advantage. The lie felt like ash on his tongue. Despite his inner turmoil, he kept his face passive. For a moment, it looked like Orodreth was going to believe him. Then his face hardened once more. 

"You killed him didn’t you?" Orodreth’s voice was harsh. 

"What?!?" Curufin choked indignantly. 

"You killed my brother." 

"I would never!" Curufin protested. Not now, at least… 

"I will be watching you, Atarinkë." 

Curufin bristled. 

"You don’t have the power to do-"

"I do," Orodreth looked entirely too smug.  

"Curvo, Orodreth is acting regent until Finrod is found," Celegorm wearily reminded his younger brother. 

"If he’s found," Curufin mumbled, forcing himself not to look at the nest of blankets where Finrod slept at night. He hadn't meant for anyone to hear his mutterings. Unfortunately, Orodreth did. 

"So you did have a hand in his disappearance," Orodreth accused, "Guards! Arrest the Fëanorions! I suspect that they have slain my brother."

The guards burst into the room before Orodreth had finished. Curufin didn't have a chance to protest before he was forced onto the floor and his arms were twisted behind him. 

Chapter 4: Loyal to the end

Curufin gave his chains another experimental tug. The cold metal cuffs held fast, biting into his skin. His hands had long since gone numb from being restrained above his head. His butt was cold and his legs were stiff from the solid stone floor that he was seated upon. 

He had no idea how long he had been locked in the this cell with Celegorm, but it was long enough that he vowed he would never again call a cave his home. 

Orodreth commanded several interrogation sessions for each of the brothers. Thus far, the interrogators had nothing to show for their efforts. Curufin was just grateful that the physical abuse had been limited. 

"Well, Timo didn’t have to deal with both his hands being cut off," Celegorm groused. His silvery blond hair hung ragged and mottled bruises stood out starkly on his skin. Curufin imagined that he didn't look much better. 

"What?" Curufin didn't follow what point his brother was trying make. 

"When Finno rescued him, he only lost one hand. If someone came for us now, we would loose both of our hands." Celegorm nodded to his cuffed wrists above his head.

"Or our rescuer could pick the locks," Curufin pointed out wearily. He was in no mood to joke around at the moment.  

"Or we might get unlucky and have Finno show up again." 

Before Curufin could think of a sharp retort, the door to their cell clanged open and Orodreth stalked in. This was the first time the regent king had visited their cell. He preferred not spend his time in the dungeons. 

"Orotondur tells me that you have been less than cooperative," the blond sounded vaguely disappointed, "So I’m giving you one last chance to tell the truth, how did you kill my brother and where is his body?"

"We didn’t kill you brother!" Celegorm snapped. In the torch light, Curufin though that he looked rather like a rabid dog with his disheveled hair and wild eyes. 

"Then what are you hiding Turco? Because I know that you're hiding something." Orodreth leaned down into his older cousin's face.

"We…" Celegorm hesitated and his eyes darted over to Curufin, looking at him for a lead. Thus far neither had mentioned anything about magic rings, small Finrod or Celebrimbor’s housing of the former king. Curufin gave a slight shake of his head. He didn’t want to accidentally implicate his son's involvement.

"We don't know anything," Celegorm finished lamely. 

"But clearly you do," Orodreth stated. He had seen the exchange between the brothers. 

"You don’t have any real proof of that we did anything to Finrod," Curufin sighed. His cousins could be so illogical sometimes. 

"Don't I? I have various reports that you-" Orodreth turned to jab a finger in Curufin's face "-were the last person to see Finrod alive. I know for a fact that while you are the brains, he-" Orodreth turned back to Celegorm "-is the brawn. You clearly poisoned him or something like that before he disposed of the body." 

The brothers went still, not sure what to make of this latest accusation. Orodreth took several deep breaths to calm his anger. 

"Since you still have decided not to confess, I figure that you would rather take your secrets to your graves. You both will be executed at high noon tomorrow," Orodreth announced softly. His voice carried none of the volume that Finrod’s had, but it was no less commanding.

"WHAT?" Celegorm spat, "How DARE you? Our brothers will hear of this!" 

"What exactly do you hope to gain from killing us?" Curufin narrowed his eyes.

"You are an infestation in this kingdom. You will not willingly admit to slaying my brother, but the truth is too obvious. I do not wish this, but I can see no other option. I do apologize."

Then, Orodreth left them to sit in the dark.

Celegorm spent a good hour yelling all sorts of curses after Orodreth. Curufin didn’t know what worried him more: the impressive vocabulary of vulgar words that Celegorm had collected or the fact that he continued to scream long after their cousin had left.

"Tyelko, shut up!" Curufin finally yelled back at his brother, unable to take the noise much longer. 

"You don’t get to tell me what do to," Celegorm hissed, his litany of cussing ceasing for the moment, "This is all your fault."

"Yeah, I know," Curufin hung his head, very deflated. Celegorm blinked. Curufin never admitted that he was in the wrong.

"Curvo, I didn’t mean it like that." Celegorm's anger was gone just as quick as it had appeared. 

"Yes, you did. You think I can only mess things up, and you’re right."

"No… that’s not… you just have a talent for... making things more complicated than they need to be," Celegorm tried to console Curufin.

"And that’s better?"

"Yes?"

"I don’t believe you," Curufin snorted.

Celegorm didn’t respond and the brothers lapsed into silence. Curufin slumped back against the wall. As his doom hung over his head, he kept mulling over all of the wrongs he had done in his life. His biggest regret was not spending enough time with his son. If only he had been a better father.

It was sometime in the night when Curufin was startled from his regret filled stupor. Someone was unlocking the door. It wasn’t time for their execution yet and Orodreth had commanded that they receive no visitors. A moment later the door swung open to reveal Celebrimbor. The young elf slunk into the room over to Celegorm who was closer to the door and pulled out a lock picking kit.

"What are you doing?" Curufin hissed, terrified for his son. Who knew where the guards were. If one of them walked in now, Celebrimbor would no double be sentence to death tomorrow with his father and uncle.

"Breaking you out," Celebrimbor grunted as the cuff on Celegorm’s right wrist popped open.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed yonya?"

"I’m trying to make sure that you don’t make your execution."

Celegorm’s other wrist dropped free. Celebrimbor turned to Curufin. 

"Tyelpe-"

"No, don’t patronize me. I’m old enough to make own decisions," Celebrimbor huffed into his father’s ear as he started picking the lock on the first cuff.

Curufin studied his son in the dim light. Celebrimbor was the perfect picture of determination. His brow was drawn in concentration, his lips chewed raw, his hair hung a limp mess that told Curufin his son hadn’t slept in Valar knew how long. He felt a sting of worry. He had gotten them all in this mess.

"I’m sorry," he murmured.

"I know," Celebrimbor gave him a sad look and gave his pick a hard twist. Curufin’s arms dropped into his lap. Curufin couldn’t hold back a groan as he gingerly massaged the chaffed skin.

Celebrimbor didn’t give them any chance to rest, ushering them out into the empty corridor. He led them through the twisting maze of passages that made up the servant’s hallways until they reached a little used door just inside the great gates. It was the time between watches, so the wall was unguarded. Because it was high summer, the gates stood open to catch the breeze and funnel it into the city. In other words, everything was just begging them to escape.

"Come on," Curufin grabbed Celebrimbor’s hand and started towards the gate.

"I’m not going," Celebrimbor pulled his hand out of his father’s.

"Why not?" Curufin asked sharply.

"Because I am not a wanted criminal," Celebrimbor snapped. Curufin flinched.

"Sorry, Atto. That was uncalled for on my part," Celebrimbor mumbled, "But if I run now,  I will never be able to stop running. Besides, someone needs to watch out for our people and keep Orodreth on track."

The way Celebrimbor's jaw was set told Curufin he had no chance of convincing his son otherwise. 

"Fine, but please be safe," Curufin begged.

"I’m not the one you should be worried about," Celebrimbor snorted, "Oh! I almost forgot. You’ll need this."

Celebrimbor thrust the large pack from his back into Curufin’s hands. The pack was surprisingly heavy for its size. Curufin peered inside. There, fast asleep in a nest of blankets, was Finrod.

"I drugged him. He shouldn’t wake until dawn," Celebrimbor informed the two of them. Curufin nodded stiffly in acknowledgement. He and Celegorm turned to leave, but Celebrimbor had one last thing.

"Wait, before you go, I need you to knock me out," Celebrimbor commanded.

"What? Why?" Curufin drew back appalled. He had never hit his son and the thought made him feel sick.

"So that your escape looks more convincing. If you don’t Orodreth might think that I freed you."

"But you did," Celegorm snorted.

"Just do it," Celebrimbor sighed.

Celegorm gave Curufin a scrutinizing glance. When he saw the look of horror on Curufin’s face, he groaned and rubbed a hand over his eyes. 

"You’re sure?" He asked, sizing Celebrimbor up. Like Curufin, he had never hit Celebrimbor and the idea was not appealing. 

"Yes, very."

"Alight, if you say so," Celegorm swung an unforgiving blow into his nephew’s temple. Celebrimbor crumpled silently to the ground, out cold. Curufin made an aborted choking noise as he watched. 

"You couldn’t have been gentle?" Curufin murmured as he knelt by his son’s prone body.

"If I was gentle, I wouldn’t have been able to give him a real concussion. It looks convincing this way," Despite his harsh words, Celegorm’s face was full of regret. He hooked his arms under Celebrimbor’s armpits and dragged him back a little way so that he wouldn’t be stepped on by accident. Curufin couldn’t argue with that. He simply shouldered the pack.

"To Himring?" Celegorm asked.

"To Himring," Curufin confirmed.

Then, with nothing more than the clothes on their backs and their tiny cousin, Celegorm and Curufin slipped out of the gate and stole off into the night.

Chapter 5: Valiant like the stories

"So it should only take us another week and half or so to reach Himring," Curufin murmured, mentally plotting their course.

"Where the whole family will want to kills us. Yay. I’m so excited," Celegorm deadpanned. He had just returned from helping Finrod with his morning needs and overheard his brother.

"Shut up. You could have bailed out already," Curufin snapped. He was tired. They had walked all night and day before making camp. To top it off, Curufin never slept well on the ground. It left him aching and grouchy.

"And let you make all the horrible decisions? I don’t think so." Celegorm smiled his wolfish smile.

"Then stop complaining," Curufin huffed, his tone lacking any real heat. He was just glad that he wasn’t alone.

"That’s the spirit!" Celegorm slapped Curufin on the back. Finrod, who had watched the whole exchange, copied Celegorm with his tiny hand before giggling excitedly as Curufin turned to glare at him 

"You," Curufin shook a finger in Celegorm’s face, "Are a horrible influence."

"I know," Celegorm's joking tone turned serious, "Now come on, we need to put some more distance between us and Orodreth."

Their pace was a little slower than the previous day, but they still couldn’t afford to relax yet. During these forced marches, Finrod was fairly well behaved. One of the brothers carried him at all times as his legs were too short to keep up with the Fëanorions. Finrod would sit on their shoulders and tell them everything that he could see from his vantage point. Curufin would never admit it, but he found it kind of cute.

It was around this time that Huan had rejoined his master. Curufin had no idea where the dog had been and he felt fairly certain he didn’t want to know.

The next day they ran into a surprise. Ahead of them, a human was following their same course. The brothers approached cautiously. From behind, the human didn’t look threatening.

"Hail and well met!" Celegorm called, despite Curufin trying to drag him away.

"Well met indeed!" The human answered as he turned in surprise.

Curufin had to keep himself from gagging as he recognized the mortal. It was the root of his problems in Nargothrond: Beren.

Curufin had only met the human once and that was more than enough for him. As a whole, he found the After Comers to be smelly, weirdly hairy and more than a tad dense. Talking with one, in his opinion, was like trying to talk with a drunken dwarrow.

In other words, infuriating and useless.

Celegorm seemed to find them fascinating. Curufin supposed that was because he always understood the speech of animals better than the intelligent speech of the Eldar.

"Where do you fare?" Celegorm asked easily. Based off the glint in his eye, Curufin suspected that his brother knew who this was.

"I seek to bring a dowry to the father of the one that I love, though the road be hard," Beren answered. Curufin smirked at his overly formal way of speaking. The man clearly didn’t know Sindarin all that well.

"But you knew that already, didn’t you my lords?" Now it was Beren's turn to smirk, "Art thou not Celegorm and Curufin, the deranged cousins and killers of king Finrod?"

Curufin bristled at the insult. No one did that and got away unscathed. He looked at his brother, excepting him to be just as wounded. Celegorm, however, had an amused looked on his face.

"I like this one. Let’s keep him," Celegorm smiled.

"Keep him?" Curufin grabbed Celegorm’s collar and yanked the taller elf down to his level, "Are you insane?"

"Probably," Celegorm easily free himself before walking over to talk with Beren.

Curufin fumed. For the first time that he could remember, Celegorm had chosen someone outside of the family over him. He was still stewing in anger as they marched the rest of the day and made camp for the night. Celegorm and Beren kept up a steady stream of idle chatter the whole way, mostly ignoring Curufin and Finrod. 

It wasn’t until the next morning that Celegorm came over to him. The blond dropped a small foraging bag in Curufin’s lap.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" Curufin examined the supply of edible plants and nuts. As a rule, he tried to avoid cooking. His cooking tended to be a bit... experimental? (Celebrimbor and Maedhros both claimed it was health hazard and had banned him from any and all kitchens). 

"Because I don’t trust you to provide for yourself after I go with Beren."

"You're doing what?!?" Curufin hissed, nearly dropping the bag in surprise. His anger noe mixing with shock and fear.

"I’m going with him to aid his quest." Celegorm was decidedly looking anywhere but his younger brother.

"You and the mortal are going to steal the Silmarils from the most powerful being in Arda that Tulkas had trouble taking down?"

"Sure. Why not?" Celegorm shrugged carelessly.

"Because you will end up dead, that’s why." Curufin felt panic beginning to flair up in his chest.

"You don’t know that."

"No, but I know numbers and the odds are heavily staked against you."

"Not if I take Huan." Celegorm’s giant dog was currently holding Finrod by the scruff to keep the tiny elfling from squirreling his way into any tall trees. 

"That really doesn’t change your chances."

"Have a little faith, Curvo." Celegorm squeezed Curufin's shoulder, "Besides, it was boring spending all that time in one place."

"Tyelko, we were in Nargothrond for less than five years."

"Yes, quite a long time."

"Please don’t do this," Curufin pleaded.

"Don’t worry. I’ll be careful. It will be good for me to be out on a quest. And, if I do something rash, Nelyo won’t be quite as hard on you."

"I just don’t want to loose you too," Curufin choked. Valar above, he hated emotions he couldn’t control.

"Hey, look at me," Celegorm gently shook Curufin to get his attention, "That’s it. Think of it this way, you’re not loosing me, just temporarily misplacing me."

"That’s better?"

"Yes, because it is only temporary."

Curufin tried over the next two days to convince Celegorm to follow a different path, but the blond was very stubborn in his resolve. Finally, their paths diverged near the boarders of Doriath. Curufin was going to skirt the southern edge while Celegorm and Beren were going straight north.

"May the road be easy for you," Curufin could hardly bring himself to choke out the farewell.

"I imagine it will be easier than yours. Have fun with Maedhros," Celegorm ruffled Curufin’s hair. Curufin’s eyes were very prickly with decidedly not tears. With one more jaunty waive of his hand, Celegorm and his new companion disappeared into the shadows.

Just like that, Curufin was alone in the forest with his toddler cousin. 

Chapter 6: A long road to purgatory

Curufin hated nature.

It was fine when he was within a day’s march of civilization or if the nature in question was in one of Maglor’s songs. Out in the wilds, unaided, with a small child in unfamiliar territory away from everyone he knew, Curufin was very temped to throw a tantrum.

Furthering his discomfort, was his lack of outdoor skills. He knew how to build a fire, but that was it. He cringed as he realized that even Caranthir knew how to do more than that. 

Three days after parting ways with Celegorm, Curufin stumbled too close to the Girdle and boarder of Doriath. The March Wardens who had caught him were… not exactly the friendly type. The first that Curufin was aware of their presence was the arrow that he found sticking out of his calf. 

The March Wardens had snarled insults before chasing Curufin off. He suspected the only reason that they didn’t kill him was because he was carrying a small elfling on his shoulders. Curufin stumbled for a little ways before sinking down next to a small brook. He plopped Finrod on the bank and set about binding his leg. The arrow had gone clean through his leg, the head sticking out one side, the fletching on the other. Curufin felt nauseous just looking at it. It took him quite some time before he had the courage to cut the fletching off and pull the shaft out.  

"Owie," Finrod commented as he poked at the raw flesh. The pain made Curufin’s vision go white for a second. He bit back several choice cuss words that were unfit for someone so young to hear. 

"Keep your fingers to yourself," Curufin hissed. Finrod shrank back in fear. 

"Sorry?" he whimpered, tears welling up in his impossibly blue eyes. 

Curufin felt very much like crying himself. Instead he forced himself to do the ‘grown up’ thing. 

"Sit," Curufin tugged Finrod’s legs out from under him so that he landed on his bottom with a pathetic oof, "Stay." 

Then, gritting his teeth, Curufin scooted over to the clear water in the stream. He scooped up some with his hand and started to wash out the wound. The cold water felt like burned. Curufin groaned, clenching his jaw, but he continued to wash his wound. Once he was done, he took a good look at his wound. If he was being realistic, it required stitches, but he didn’t have the equipment or stomach for that. Instead, he tore the bottom half of his cloak into strips to bind his leg. By the time he was finished, he was a shaking mess. He barely had enough energy to crawl back up the bank to where Finrod obediently sat. He flopped down and willed his ragged breathing to calm.

At some point he must have passed out, for the next thing he knew it was the dark of pre-dawn. Curufin groaned as the wound in his leg made itself known with a throb. He went to sit up, but he hissed in pain as something pulled his hair. Craning his neck to the side, he found that a snoozing Finrod was snuggled to his chest, his small fingers tangled in Curufin’s hair. For all intents and purposes, he looked perfectly angelic. It had been centuries since Celebrimbor was this young. Curufin didn’t realize how much he missed having a small child around all to himself.

Curufin could almost hear Celegorm’s mocking voice in his ear: Aw, it’s cute. You DO love him. 

At the imaginary voice, Curufin hastily detangled himself from his small cousin. Finrod stirred, but didn’t waken. As the sun rose above the horizon, Curufin consulted his small map. To the best of his knowledge, they were only two thirds of the way to Himring (and his likely death, if he was being honest). Curufin glanced at the elfling, pondering how he would inform his brothers. 

"It wasn't technically illegal," Curufin murmured reassuringly to himself, "I sure stuff like this happens all the time."

He woke Finrod with a shake. The elfling mewled until sleep cleared from his eyes. Then he noticed that Curufin was standing. 

"All better?" He asked, cocking his head. 

"Sure kid," Curufin grumbled without heat. It wasn’t really Finrod’s fault that he had been injured. He had been careless and not kept watch. 

Finrod peered at his leg and the hasty bandage that was wrapped around it. He then did the most bizarre thing. He crept up to Curufin’s leg and kissed the bandage. 

"All better!" he informed Curufin with the cheeky grin his older self was well known for, "I seen Uncle Cel-Gorm do it."

Curufin shook his head in fond exasperation and ruffled Finrod’s curls. Finrod giggled happily at the gesture of affection. Despite himself, Curufin found that he was smiling. 

Both of their spirits were high that day of travel. Despite his throbbing leg, Curufin kept up a pretty good pace while Finrod was extra chatty. During his ramblings, whenever the older elf clearly didn’t believe him, Finrod would huff: 

"I seen Uncle Cel-Gorm do it."

Curufin didn’t know if he should feel delighted to have blackmail material against his older brother or aghast that Finrod was looking to the other blond as a role model. He settled on locking the feelings away to process latter. 

That moral didn't last long as they ran out of rations the next day.

Curufin knew that they had been low, but he hadn’t realized how low. Staying with in sight of the sleeping Finrod, Curufin tired to forage. After an hour, Curufin was forced to admit he had no idea if the plants he was looking at were, in form or fashion, edible. He finally gave up and returned to Finrod. Finrod was now sitting on the cold ground next to the empty rations bag, making small whining noises. 

"What?" Curufin snapped, his empty stomach making him more irritable than normal. 

"Hungry," the elfling pouted. He looked at Curufin and let his mouth hang open rather like a baby bird waiting to be fed. 

"Well, you’re just going to have to stay like that for now."

"Your meanie," Finrod glared at him. 

"Yeah, well it’s not like you can do anything about it."

Finrod scrunched up his face and screamed at Curufin in frustration. Curufin clamped his hand over the elfling’s mouth. Curufin closed his eyes and corrected his earlier thinking. Having a small child around was irritating. 

"You will behave or I will leave you here for the Orcs," Curufin growled before thinking better of it. The threat held little weight as Finrod had never seen an Orc when he was this young and they hadn’t met any in their journey. 

Finrod shrugged and Curufin released his cousin. Thoroughly fed up with the whole situation, Curufin packed their meager supplies and readied for the day. Once he was done, he turned to find Finrod plucking leaves off of a small, sickly plant. Before he could do anything, Finrod popped the leaves into his mouth and ate them. Curufin groaned. Finrod noted Curufin’s attention. He glared up at the older elf. 

"I seen Uncle Cel-Gorm do it," he growled in a manner that he must have though was threatening. It come across as cranky. 

Curufin shook his head with groan. Finrod was going to be the death of him. Hoping Finrod hadn’t just poisoned himself, he hoisted the elfling onto his shoulders and started the day’s trek. 

The weather worsened as they crept north. Along with the bitter cold and lack of rations, Curufin’s leg was killing him, literally. The arrow wound continued to leak blood as well as a yellowish fluid that indicated a worsening infection. He knew enough that it was bad, but he didn’t know how to fix it. Still he forced himself to trudge onwards. 

He was rewarded a few days later as Himring came into view. It was a torrential rain storm. Curufin could just make out the blocky fortress that towered threatening in the distance. He had never felt so glad to see this unwelcoming corner of hell. He bundled Finrod up in what was left of his cloak at went forward with all the speed his still possessed. 

It took him all day to cross the open landscape to Himring. The rain and wind made walking miserable. Ideally, Curufin would have waited until the weather cleared, but between his waning strength and the threat of lurking Orcs, Curufin pushed on. 

Finrod was shivering violently, his lips slowly turning blue and his limbs were very cold. The elfling had fallen into a sort of fugue state, his body shutting down as he fought against the cold. Curufin didn’t feel much better. By the time he stumbled up to the gates of Himring it was dark and they were closed fast against the night and the horrors that lurked there. He beat futility on the heavy oak with his fists for several hours. No one heard him above the storm. 

With a choked sob, Curufin collapsed against the gates. It was so cold and he was so tired. Hugging Finrod to his chest, Curufin tried to keep the elfling out of the driving rain. The wind howled over the barren landscape and cut straight through Curufin’s clothing. With a shiver, Curufin gave up the pointless fight and let the darkness claim him. 

Chapter 7: Of kidnapping, lies and heritage

Curufin woke to find that he was pleasantly warm and laying on a bed. He stretched like a cat and wondered how much longer until Ammë sent the twins or Celegorm to call him down for breakfast. He rolled over, blinking sleep from his eyes. Cruel memory returned with brute force at the sight of a blond elfling snuggled next to him. 

Right. 

He was at Himring. 

He closed his eyes with a groan. 

"My lord? Are you in pain?" A soft voice asked. 

Curufin pried open one eye. A petite Laiquendi was standing by the bedside. She must be a healer of some sort. He pondered her words. His leg felt like it was disconnected, save for the occasional throbbing. He frowned. That was often how Maedhros had described the phantom pain in his wrist. Had they taken his leg off? 

Curufin sat bolt upright. 

That was a mistake. The world spun viciously. Curufin barely managed to turn his head away from the bed before he became sick. He gagged as bile dripped from his mouth to the stone floor. The healer gently wiped his lips once he was done. 

"Well, that was the truly dramatic way to wake, Curvo," a familiar voice snickered. 

Curufin noted that Maglor was sitting by the fire, no doubt waiting for him to wake up. 

"Leg. Leg. Leg," Curufin moaned clutching at his missing limb, "They took it off. I didn’t want them to!"

"Calm down Curvo. They didn’t amputate your leg. You had a pretty nasty stab wound there and the infection nearly took your life. Lissë has already had to lance and drain it twice. I suspect that she will have to do so a third time," Maglor grimaced, "You should have got help sooner."

"W-wasn’t anyone else." 

"So Tyelko isn’t injured and laying in a ditch somewhere?" Maglor’s tone was light and teasing, but Curufin could see the very really worry on his face. 

"No. Tyelko’s fine. Are you sure I still have my leg?" Curufin pleaded. 

"Very sure," Maglor soothed. 

"Then why can’t I feel it?" Curufin wailed. 

"Because they’ve got you doped up on the good shit," Maglor smiled softly, "Rest, little brother, Russ wants to speak with you when you feel up to it." 

Curufin rolled onto his back. Now that Maglor mentioned it, he could feel the way the powerful pain killers make his head feel heavy and his thoughts slow. Before he was pulled back to sleep, Curufin pulled Finrod close and nuzzled his blond curls, much he had done with Celebrimbor when he was young. 

The second time Curufin awoke he almost wished that he was doped up on the pain killers again. The leg throbbed and every little move send waives of pain shooting through his body. The healer took one look at him before fetching something from a table on the far side of the sparsely decorated room. 

"Drink this," she commanded. Curufin did as he was told. Whatever it was, it was foul tasting. Curufin pulled a face. A few moments later the pain subsided to a more manageable level. He let his body relax. 

"Better?" The healer gently asked once he was comfortable.

"Much, thank you," Curufin mumbled.

"M'lord, who is the child?" The healer asked. Curufin followed her gaze to where Finrod was snuggled against his side.  

"That is… um… Gil-Galad," Curufin floundered for answer. He knew that he couldn’t give away Finrod’s identity. Not yet and certainly not to just a healer. He would consult Maglor first about reversing the Spells. 

"Is his yours?" The healer asked, eyeing them and finding no shared traits save for the narrow jaw line that all of Finwë’s line possessed.  

"He’s… erm…. It’s complicated."

The healer raised her eyebrow skeptically. 

"He’s Orodreth’s. There was a plot against his life and he sent his son with me," Curufin made up the story as he went along. 

"Oh, you poor thing," the healer cooed, her suspicions, for now, thrown out the window. She stroked the elfling's back. Finrod squeaked as he slowly woke. He looked around in confusion as his mind tried to create a narrative as to where he was and how he got there. Upon not recognizing any thing and having an unfamiliar elf so close in his personal bubble, Finrod pressed next to Curufin and began to cry. The healer withdrew with a concerned sigh. 

"I’ll fetch some food. That may make him feel better," she excused herself. As she left, she shot Curufin a pointed look. She clearly wanted Curufin to used the opportunity to calm Finrod down and explain to the elfing where he was. Then the door closed behind her. 

Curufin let out a sigh of relief. He was in the clear for now. 

"Hey," Curufin gently pried Finrod away from his side, "I need to tell you a few things."

Finrod sniffled in response and popped his thumb into his mouth. His eyes were still teary and Curufin noted with disgust that there was a string of snot trailing out of his nose and down his cheek. 

"We are in Himring. This is the place where my brother lives."

"Uncle Cel-Gorm?"

"No, my oldest brother, Mae-Russo." Curufin switched to Maedhros’ Quenya nickname in an attempt to calm the elfling with a familiar name. 

"Not Uncle Cel-Gorm?" Finrod sounded mildly disappointed. 

"No, not Celegorm. Also, your name is Gil-Galad for right now, ok?" Curufin locked eyes with his small cousin, "Don’t tell anyone what your real name is. If you do, really bad things will happen." 

"M’Kay," Finrod mumbled from around his thumb. He had learned from their time on the road that is was in his best interests to do what Curufin commanded. He snuggled back into Curufin's side as the healer returned with food. Curufin could only cross his fingers that everything would be alright. 

A a few days later and Curufin was able to bear weight on his injured leg. Due to the repeated lancing and draining of the wounds, it scarred horribly. Curufin found that he didn’t care. It was at this time that Maedhros decided to summon Curufin for an interrogation. Curufin tried his best to squash any shred of fear that wormed up as he made his way to his brother’s office. Maedhros was like a lie detector. He knew exactly when someone wasn’t telling the truth. 

Curufin took a deep breath and knocked on the heavy door. There was a moment of silence before there was a muffled ‘Enter’ from the other side. Curufin let himself into his brother’s office. Maedhros was seated at his tall desk, making marks on a large map. 

"Who is the child?" Maedhros grunted without looking up. 

"What, no ‘hello, good to see you’ or ‘how are you doing’?" Curufin scoffed with cocky bravado. 

"Hello, good to see you. Now answer the question," Maedhros set his pen down and turned his gaze to Curufin with deliberate slowness. That, in and of itself, should have set off warning bells in Curufin’s head. 

"That is Gil-Galad,” Curufin confidently answered. 

Maedhros looked far from impressed. 

"Atarinkë, you may have pulled the wool over everyone else’s eyes, but you can’t fool me. You seem to forget that I very clearly remember all of the births in our family that came after me, save Kano’s. I know who that is."

Curufin forced his body not to fidget. 

"So, I will give you one chance to explain yourself, or so help me I will drag the answers out of you," Maedhros’ voice was deadly calm. 

"Ididn’tmeantodothisitjustOrodrethwasinfuriatingmeandthenImadethisringbutTyelpedistractedmeandnowhe’sstuck," Curufin stammered all in one breath. 

Maedhros sat back in his chair, blinking stupidly at his younger brother. 

"What?" He finally asked. 

"That’s what happened," Curufin shrugged evasively. He turned to leave, but was stopped when a dagger came flying through the air and split the air right in front of his face. Curufin slowly turned back to his clearly irate older brother. 

"Let’s do that once more, but this time slow down," Maedhros growled, his eyes narrowed. 

Curufin internally groaned. There would be no escape. 

"Orodreth and Finrod were being stubborn, so I made a ring for Finrod. But while I was making it, Tyelpe distracted me and I got all the spells wrong. I though it was fine, but then that happened to him and I need to talk with Maglor to see about reversing it," he mumbled.  

"Let me get this straight, you were frustrated, so you gave our cousin a cursed ring that turned him into a child?" Maedhros asked with a deceptively calm voice. 

"Well, not cursed. The wrong enchantments maybe? And trust me, I didn't mean to turn him into a child," Curufin said defensively. 

“Semantics. My point remains," Maedhros waived his stump to emphasize his words, "I thought that you were more mature than that."

Curufin bristled. 

"I’m mature," he protested sulkily, "I have a grown child."

"Mmmh, right…" Maedhros drawled, "And just why did you show up here, with out an entourage, your son or even a horse?"

"Orodreth has lost his mind. He tried to kill Tyelko and I without any evidence."

"Orodreth might be Arafinwëon, but he is not that irrational," Maedhros muttered.  

"He is. He made threats and then planed an execution, but Tyelpe helped us escape."

"Valar above, Curvo! Why would you involve your son?"

"He involved himself. I told him not to, but he’s stubborn."

"Like father, like son," Maedhros’ quipped, his expression was unreadable. 

"Listen here, carrot top," Curufin snapped, "I didn’t come to get lectured. I came to get my mistakes un-done."

"Let’s suppose Maglor can reverse whatever curse you put on our cousin. What do you plan to do next?"

"Clear my name, I guess," Curufin shrugged. In all honesty, he hadn’t planed that far ahead. He had been more worried about not being killed in Nargothrond and then not being killed in the forest. 

"Is your reputation all you can think about?"

"With family full of sniveling wimps like Orodreth, yes, it is a valid worry," Curufin sniffed. 

"Orodreth had his own strengths. Restraining himself and not killing you instantly like Turgon or Celegorm would have done is one."

"Yeah, well, he can rot in Angband, for all I care," Curufin said flippantly. He regretted it the moment he saw the dark look on his older brother’s face.  

"Do NOT wish that on anyone, especially another of our family," Maedhros snarled, rising to his full, towering height. 

Curufin shrunk back in fear. Not for the first time did he wonder what Maedhros had gone through while he was a captive. They only ones privy to that information were Fingolfin, Fingon and Maglor. 

After a moment, Maedhros seemed to realize that he was scaring his brother. His slowly deflated, his anger replaced with a weariness. 

"What I’m trying to say Curvo, is you can’t just go around destabilizing the precarious political balance of one of our only allies."

"But I didn’t…" Curufin trailed off as he realized that is precisely what he had done. His shoulders slumped a bit. 

"Is there anything else that I should know? Any ‘accidental’ murders, death threats or missing limbs we need to look for?" Maedhros sighed. 

"Well…" Curufin rubbed the back of his neck, debating if and how to tell his older brother the next bit of information, "Celegorm might be on a suicide mission with a mortal to steal the Silmarils?"

"You let Tyelko do what?" Maedhros exploded. 

Curufin wondered if it was too late to make it back to Nargothrond for his execution. 

Chapter 8: Caution: Contains Small Child

Notes:

Non-cannon names:
Tinweriel - maiden crowned with stars
Laurealasse - Golden joy

Curufin had been on the receiving end of several severe dressing-downs. This one had been the worst by far. Maedhros had lectured him for a solid two hours. By the time he was allowed to leave, Curufin’s ego was in shambles. He felt like the worst brother ever. Refusing to let Maedhros see that he had won, Curufin scurried back to the room he was staying in and locked the door behind him. Once the solid wood stood between him and the rest of the garrison, Curufin slid down the door and sat propped against it. Drawing his knees to his chest, Curufin gave into his baser instincts and began to cry. 

He wept because he hated Arda and felt overwhelmingly homesick. He wept because he knew he had messed up royally, on many different fronts. He wept because life was so unfair and none of his brothers seemed to realize that. He wept until he had no more tears left. Once he found that he could cry no more, Curufin sat in a miserable huddle internally ranting. The sun eventually set and the fire burned low. 

It wasn’t until morning that Curufin’s angry thoughts were interrupted by a tug on his sleeve. Curufin swatted the annoyance away. He was left in peace for a few minutes before the incessant tugging returned.

"What do you want?" Curufin snapped, turning to the culprit. 

"Want food," Finrod complained with a whine, "Want food for hungry." 

"Why do you have to be so needy?" Curufin grumbled. He found that his jaw hurt because he had been clenching it so hard. 

"Because hungry and I needs potty now," Finrod shrugged. He was tugging at the front of his trousers and crossing his legs, an indication that he to go badly. 

"There’s a chamber pot under the bed," Curufin responded without thinking. Despite his desperate attempt to cling to his loathing and hate, the feelings were quickly evaporating with Finrod’s inadvertent intervention. 

"No, there aren’t any bushes. Uncle Cel-Gorm says I can only go in a bushes."

"You’re not a dog. You can and will use the chamber pot."

"Want a bushes," Finrod griped. 

"You used a chamber pot back in Nargothrond," Curufin pointed out. 

"No, I use the bed and then Celm-bor says I can’t and then he gave me a bucket and then he says I use bucket and then I use bucket and then Uncle Cel-Gorm says buckets are not natur-al and then he says a bushes are better and then he teaches me to use a bushes and then I needs to go potty NOW," Finrod innocently explained, resuming his frantic tugging on Curufin. 

"Ulmo’s beard, you are feral, child," Curufin sighed, allowing himself to be dragged from the door. 

Curufin showed Finrod the chamber pot and how to use it. The small elfling was disturbingly enamored with the shiny porcelain. He was so upset to get it dirty that Curufin promised that he would find a bucket for next time so that the chamber pot would remain clean. Without the pressing need to relieve himself, Finrod was very bouncy. He had enough energy to drag Curufin out the door and down several corridors to the entrance of the mess hall before the older elf could reign him in. 

Curufin was glad to see that the room was mostly empty. That meant that he could get food and then escape back to his room without anyone intercepting him. Finrod impatiently squirmed in Curufin’s grasp. With a wary glance over his shoulder, Curufin led Finrod to a table in the corner. The food was bland, but it was far better than Celegorm’s collections of green nuts and leaves that Curufin had been gifted. 

"Oh, good, you haven’t forgotten to feed him or yourself," someone behind Curufin spoke. 

Curufin groan. 

"Shut up Kana," Curufin grumbled. 

"Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t accidentally kill him on the way over," Maglor plopped down next to Curufin. 

"Do you have that little faith in me and my abilities?" Curufin snorted, though he too was more a little surprised himself that neither of them had perished in the wilds as well. 

"Well… let me put it this way, little bother, the only reason Tyelpe made it to adulthood was because you were not a single parent during his childhood," Maglor shrugged. Curufin bristled at the insult. 

"Yeah, well, you don’t get to lecture me about child rearing as you left your bastard child back home," Curufin verbally jabbed. Maglor want very pale. 

Back in Aman, right before their exile to Formenos, Maglor had a bit too much to drink one evening at a party. He and Tinweriel, Amarië’s older sister, had some how ended up in the same bed that night. Neither remembered what had happened, but the result was a child. Both young people were thoroughly scolded and to save face a marriage had been arranged. Maglor and Tinweriel were delighted as they had courted before Fëanor found out that Tinweriel was a Vanya and forced his son to stop seeing her.

Then Fëanor had been exiled and his sons had followed. The wedding was called off and, despite Tinweriel’s vehement protest that the act had been mutual, Maglor had been labeled a rapist. Tinweriel had given birth to a beautiful girl and had named her Laurealasse. Maglor was not allowed to either be at the birth nor see Tinweriel or his daughter afterwards. Further Maglor’s frustration was that Tinweriel wanted to be with him just as much as he wanted to be with her, but her family denied her request. Last Curufin had heard, she and her daughter were living with Nerdanel. 

"Leave my daughter out of this," Maglor snapped. 

"Then don’t judge my parenting." 

Their argument was interrupted by a cut-off shriek. The brothers turned to Finrod with a jolt. The small elfling had his hands clamped over his mouth. His terrified eyes were locked on something behind them. Curufin noted with no small amount of parental worry that the elfling was trembling. He turned to see what was so scary. He quickly spotted what it was. Maedhros had entered the room. 

"What izit?" Finrod breathed, never talking his eyes off of the freakishly tall elf. 

"That’s my oldest brother. The one I was telling you who lives here," Curufin informed the elfling. 

"Tall," Finrod squeaked before ducking under the table. Curufin felt cold hands on his legs a moment later and knew that Finrod had taken refuge in between his legs. 

"Laurë, Curvo," Maedhros nodded to the them before sitting on the bench that Finrod had abandoned just a few moments ago and looking for the elfling, "Where did he go? Wasn’t he just here?"

The two older Fëanorions turned to Curufin. The smith found with horror that he turned bright red with embarrassment. He reached bellow the table to pull out a very startled Finrod. The elfling clutched at Curufin and wriggled until he was on the bench in between Curufin and his cloak. Once he was safely ‘hidden’ there, he peered out at Maedhros. 

The tall elf played it cool, pretending that he didn’t notice the elfling at first. Once he had finished eating, he leaned over the narrow table to peer back at Finrod. Finrod whimpered and tucked himself closer to Curufin’s side. Maedhros slowly held out a hunk of bread from Finrod’s own mostly untouched meal. After a moment of hesitation, a small hand darted out to grab the bread. 

"Hullo there, small one," Maedhros said softly. 

"M not small," Finrod said indigently around a mouthful of bread.

"You are compared to me," Maedhros said with a half smile. He seldom used a full grin as the jagged scars on his face contorted at the motion into a display that terrified most people. 

"No, you are more taller than him or him." A small hand appeared to point at Curufin and Maglor. 

"Well said. Yes, I am taller than my brothers. My name is-"

"Mae-Russo," Finrod interrupted.

"What?"

"You are Mae-Russo and I am Galad not Aráto."

"Yes, that is right, I am… Mae-Russo," Maedhros stumbled over the strange conglomeration of his names. 

"Why can’t you have two hands? And what happen to your face?" Finrod asked shyly, his head emerging from under Curufin’s cloak. 

"That is a very long story," Maedhros responded in a serious, but not unkind tone, "I got taken by a very mean man and he hurt me. Then I got stuck, so my cousin had to cut off my hand to get me not stuck."

"Please don’t take away my hands. I be good like Uncle Cel-Gorm," Finrod wailed and disappeared back under Curufin’s cloak. He clutched at Curufin as though he was afraid that Maedhros try to take him. 

Maglor couldn’t take it any longer. He gave a mirthful chuckle. After a moment, Finrod poked his head out again, this time twisting to look at Maglor.

"You laugh funny," he informed Maglor seriously. 

"You are truly a delight Gil-Galad not Aráto," Maglor smiled down at the elfling before turning to Curufin, "Bring him to my rooms when I send for you. I will see about reversing your curse." 

Curufin murmured his thanks. Then, much Finrod’s disappointment, Maglor left the table. Maedhros rose to leave as well. Before he left, Curufin hesitantly called after him:

"Can I request a bucket for my room?"

"A bucket? Why on earth would you need a bucket?" Maedhros asked in confusion. 

"This one doesn’t want to use the chamber pot," Curufin pointed to the elfling shaped blob under his cloak. 

Maedhros gave Curufin a hard stare.

"If he soils the bed, you have to clean it up," the redhead informed his younger brother. 

"Yeah, yeah. Just get me a bucket, will you?" Curufin grumbled. Vala above, he hated children. 

Chapter 9: If at first you don't succeed...

It was later in the afternoon when Maglor sent for Curufin and Finrod. It took Curufin a good half an hour to find Maglor’s rooms. The Keep was a veritable maze. He finally found the right door and gave a timid knock. The door was quickly opened and Maglor ushered them inside. 

Unlike the artistic disaster of a room back in Tirion, Maglor’s apartment was sparsely decorated. It held exactly two personal items: a lap harp and a journal. That was it. Curufin cringed as he thought of all that his brother had lost when the Gap fell. Maglor seemed to guess his line of thinking and gave him a hard glare as though daring him to comment. The musician then turned to Finrod. 

"Okay, little one, I need you sit here for me," Maglor said gently lifting Finrod up onto the window seat, "I am going to Sing for you and hopefully make you better."

"M’Kay," Finrod chirped, wiggling a bit on the lumpy cushion in an effort to get comfy. 

Maglor place one hand on Finrod’s head and other on Finrod’s chest, above his heart. Then he began to Sing. Maglor’s Song was wordless, but powerful. The whole room seemed to shiver and thrum. The music crescendoed before dropping to a nearly inaudible murmur. Finally, the last note rung through the air, lingering as though it had frozen time itself. 

Nothing happened until...

Finrod sneezed violently. The Song quivered and broke. 

Maglor frowned, taking up the Song once more. The tune was still wordless, but it had more of a desperate edge to it. It set Curufin’s teeth on edge. This Song was longer, but the end result was still the same: Finrod sneezed violently and remained a child. 

Curufin turned to Maglor. The musician didn’t look all the surprised. 

"Well, that answers that," Maglor sighed morosely, letting his hands drop into his lap. 

"What answers what?"

"The Spell is irreversible."

"That’s it? Only two tries? Don’t you want him back to normal?" Curufin asked in a panic. This was not part of his plan. Maglor was supposed to fix everything, just like he always did. 

Maglor’s face turned cold and hard. 

"Didn’t you hear what I said? That little Spell you used is irreversible. Now he’ll be forced to grow up again, but this time without his parents and in a war-torn country. Maybe you should have thought of that before you turned our cousin into a child!" Maglor snapped. 

"Kana, I swear, I didn’t mean for any of this to happen," Curufin growled. 

Before Maglor could snap back at his younger brother, Finrod invited himself to sit of Maglor’s lap. The elfling snuggled himself securely against the musician. At the warm weight of the child in his lap, Maglor deflated a bit. 

"I know," he said softly, "It’s just Russo already has so much on his plate. I keep trying to help, but he doesn’t let me. I feel so useless. There always is a part of me that wonders if it had been better if I burned with the Gap." 

Curufin was horrified. 

"NO! You’re probably the only thing keeping Russo sane."

"That’s Finno’s job," Maglor turned away to face out of the grimy window, "The only reason Timo lets me stay is because he wanted to save face. If I stay, he doesn't have another homeless brother."

"I doubt that’s why he lets you stay."

"Please stop being sad," Finrod dramatically sighed as he twirled one of Maglor’s longer braids, "All sad is not good. You need a dog. Dogs is not sad."

Curufin couldn’t keep back a laugh. Maglor detested most animals, but dogs were especially high on the list (that was one of the main reasons Maglor had never gotten along well with Celegorm). The thought of him own anything other than a horse for transportation was hilarious (Or possibly a cat, he had never chased away Caranthir's cat when it snuggled on his lap). Finrod turned to glare at Curufin. 

"You’re meanie," the tiny blond reminded him before snuggling back into Maglor’s side.

"Well, Curvo, you’ve made quite the impression, that’s for sure," Maglor snorted. 

"It’s not my fault he’s blond."

"It’s not my fault you’re short."

"I’m as tall as you and way more talented!" Curufin protested without any heat. It was an old argument that they always had. 

"And yet somehow you still suck ass when it comes to most things," Maglor grumbled, right on cue. 

"Uncle Mag-ror? What does ass taste like? Is it good to suck?" Finrod murmured sleepily. Maglor went bright red at the question.

"It’s just a phrase people use to insult someone else," he finally responded. 

"Like how Cur-fin says he hates his brothers?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"I don’t want brothers when I get older. I want sisters…" Finrod trailed off into a gentle snore. 

"Is he supposed to be asleep?" Curufin asked with worry. 

"The amount of Song that I poured into him would make anyone tired," Maglor shrugged, making no move to dislodge the snoozing elfling, "I forgot how absolutely cute all the Arafinwëons were when they were this small."

Curufin had to admit that was true. Finrod was comfortably snuggled against Maglor, sucking his thumb. From experience, Curufin knew that Maglor’s front would soon be soaked in drool (The elfling seemed to produce an excessive amount when he sucked his thumb at night). Curufin thought about warning his brother, but on second thought, he decided that Maglor deserved to be soaked with Finrod’s drool. 

<><><><><><><><><><><>

After Maglor reported to him that Finrod was still a child, Maedhros sent for Curufin. Curufin knew exactly what to expect. A slap on the wrist and a lecture about how he was supposed to behave going forward. It had happened before, it would probably happen again. Curufin adopted the appropriate outward penance before he entered. 

"Fingon will be here in a few months. You’re staying put until he gets here,” Maedhros announced without preamble before Curufin had even shut the door behind himself.

"Why? Do you need his advice?" Curufin snarked. He really didn’t like his eldest cousin. It was probably something about the fact that Fingon was closer to Maedhros than he was. 

"No, because technically your punishment falls under his jurisdiction," Maedhros’ face was decidedly blank. 

"P-punishiment?" Curufin stuttered. This is not where he planed the conversation going.

"Yes, Curvo, punishment. Be grateful it is Finno and not Turvo who will met out what will happen."

"You can’t be serious!" Curufin protested. 

"Do I look like I am joking?" Maedhros let his voice drop an octave. 

"No?" Curufin stumbled back. 

"Good. Now scram. You’re on babysitting duty."

Without further ado, Curufin bolted. 

Chapter 10: Death Notice

Finrod easily settled into life at Himring. He quickly wormed his way into everyone’s hearts. He was quick to laugh, and even quicker to smile, both things were sorely lacking in Himring’s depressive atmosphere. Despite being introduced to the garrison as ‘Gil-Galad, a relation of Fingon’ (Orodreth’s name as well as any reference to Finarfin was left out to for the time being incase word got back to Nargothrond), a good fraction guessed who the elfling was really related to.

While Curufin was his minder, Finrod preferred the company of Maglor to anyone else. The small elfling could often been seen toddling after Maglor or atop the older elf’s shoulders. Likewise, Maglor’s mood was less grim with Finrod around. 

After a few months, Finrod’s memories began to return in odd spurts. The first time startled them all. It was at lunch when suddenly Finrod choked on the bone broth he had been slurping. Curufin gently pounded on the small, heaving back while the elfling hacked for breath while Maglor looked on with concern. 

"You okay?" Curufin gruffly asked. 

"I have a sister!" Finrod squealed in disbelief, clapping his tiny hands. His eyes were full of wonder and excitement before the next part struck him. 

"And have three brothers," he groaned sadly, "Don’t want brothers.” 

"I don’t think you have a choice," Curufin snorted. 

"Will you keep for me? If I be good, you can have them," Finrod offered plaintively. 

"That’s not the way that works kiddo."

“Can I trade with Finno for his sister?" Finrod asked seriously. 

"Again, that’s not the way that works." Curufin didn’t know which was more amusing to think about: Fingon stuck with not two, but five brothers, or Finrod trying to get along with Aredhel. 

"Fine! You’re meanie," Finrod huffed. 

Curufin ruffled the blond curls out of the short braids that Maglor had so painstakingly put in this morning. Finrod leaned into the touch, quite pleased. 

"Clingy brat," Curufin grumbled with a smile. 

After that, Finrod’s memories in came irregular chunks, but for the most part they were of his childhood back in Aman. Until, quite suddenly, they weren’t. He would wake in the night, screaming in fear of dragon fire, thought he had no idea what a dragon was, or he would cling to Curufin and tremble before admitting he didn’t like the cold or ice, but he didn’t know why. For the most part, Curufin kept these memory attacks away from his brothers, fearing what would happen if he told them. Maedhros was distant and didn’t notice, but Maglor started to watch them both like a hawk. 

As fate would have it, Finrod had a particularly bad attack one evening when he was running around the Keep. Curufin heard a shriek that could have only come from his ward. He raced off to see what the matter was. He found Finrod crouched in a narrow hallway, whimpering and holding his head in his hands. Maglor was keeling next to him, a comforting hand on the small shoulder. 

"What’s the matter little one?" Maglor asked gently. 

"You left us!" Finrod wailed, shaking with fear and frustration. 

"What do you mean?"

"You all left on boats. T-then you all gone and then not coming back and then Uncle Gol-fin said you not coming b-back and then we have to walk to f-find you," the tiny blond sobbed, "And then you die for shinies.  All d-die because of shinies. I don’t want you to leave and than not coming back. Not in boats ’n caves. I don’t want s-shinies! No, no, no, no, no, no, no!"

Finrod was beyond hysterical by now, his shrill sobs bordering on frantic screams as he tried to comprehend this frightening, new knowledge that he had no context for. As soon as Maglor picked him up, he latched on tightly and hid his face in Maglor’s shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably. Maglor gently shushed him. When that had no effect on the distraught elfling, Maglor Sang a lullaby. His Song was soft but powerful. In a matter of seconds, Finrod was slumped over, fast asleep. 

"What happened?" Curufin was aghast at the whole scene. 

Maglor jerked, having not realized that Curufin had come upon them. 

"I would guess a mixture of memories and foresight," Maglor sighed before kissing the clammy forehead that rested in the crook of his neck, "I should let Maedhros know.” 

"So that he can do what? And why do you always report back like a faithful lapdog?" Curufin narrowed his eyes. He had decided that Maglor’s unwavering loyalty to their oldest brother was not an endearing trait. 

"Maedhros is Lord of Himring. He needs to know everything that goes on under his roof. I owe that to him as first his castellan and second as his brother." 

"Laurë, your devotion to Russo is… um… worrying," Curufin shook his head bitterly, "Why do you insist on trying to earn salvation through servitude? If it is our Oath that troubles you, then you will never be at peace this way. If your worry is our eldest brother, then you are a bigger fool than I thought. He does not hold your actions regarding his capture against you and clearly he does not care about the loss of your lands, though he should. So I ask you again, what are you trying to do? Are you trying to gain political power?"

Maglor refused to answer. Curufin sensed that he had struck a nerve, but he couldn’t figure out what part of his speech had triggered it. Maglor turned heel and marched away before he could figure it out. The musician settled Finrod down in his own room (it was closer than Curufin’s room), before hooking an arm around Curufin and dragged his reluctant younger brother to see Maedhros. 

Their oldest brother was not in his office, as Curufin guessed he would be, but rather in his own personal quarters. These rooms were not quite as sever and bare as Maglor’s rooms. There was a bookcase stuffed full of books and a large tapestry from Caranthir on the wall. The mantel on the fireplace was stacked high with various neat piles of paper, some were tied with bright ribbons, others were pinned in place with various blades. Hanging from a peg in a dusty corner the circlet that Curufin and Celebrimbor had crafted upon Maedhros’ rescue and return. A large bearskin rug covered most of the floor (curtesy of the Ambarussa). In the high-backed chair, next to the fire sat Maedhros, his maimed arm propped up on a pillow. He was so still that for a second, Curufin didn’t even register that he was there. 

Maglor, who had before been so full of dedicated purpose, froze for several long minutes before rushing to Maedhros’ side. Maedhros did not react, not even when Maglor’s cold hand bushed his face. Curufin swallowed thickly.

Something was wrong. 

"Russo?" Maglor’s voice was faint, "What happened?"

Maedhros continued to sit there in a dazed stupor. It eerily reminded Maglor of what had happened when Maedhros had received news of Fingolfin’s death. 

"Russo? Can you answer me?"

Maedhros didn’t respond. 

"Please? You’re scaring me," Maglor pleaded frantically. His gaze held undisguised fear. 

Maedhros finally turned towards his brothers. His gaze remained clouded with memory as he lethargically held a piece of vellum towards his brothers. Maglor snatched it up and quickly read the contents. His face went very pale and, after a few moments, the letter fluttered out of his nerveless finger to the ground. Curufin grabbed it, more than a little worried. As he read, he began to feel sick. 

 

To the Lords of Himring~

I write to you with grave news. Several months ago I set out on a quest to retrieve a Silmaril as the dowry demanded of me by my love’s father. Your brother Celegorm offered to accompany me on my journey. It was an offer I could not refuse, thought now I wish I had. On our way north, the two of us were waylaid by Sauron the deceiver and his befouled followers. We were out numbered and taken captive.

Sauron tortured us for information about our persons and errand in his lands. When we gave him nothing, he was going to have me eaten by his pet wolf in an attempt to get you brother to talk. Celegorm wrestled the wolf that was sent in. It was a narrow contest of strength, but ultimately, your brother was victorious. However, in the process of the fight, he was badly wounded. A little while later, the love of my life rescued us. Celegorm survived to see the sky again, but he perished the next day from blood loss and infection.   

Your brother was a good friend and he fought valiantly. I hope that the news of his death does not burden your spirits. If I could, I would return the Silmaril that we rescued to its rightful owner as a gift of gratitude for your brother’s sacrifice, but Elu Thingol would not allow me both to do so and wed his daughter. I hope that you understand. 

Deepest condolences,

Beren Erchamion

 

Curufin couldn’t stop the cry of grief.

Clutching the letter to his chest, he sunk to his knees. Not for the first time did he wish he could turn back time. 

Chapter 11: Arrival and questions

Much to Curufin’s distress, Fingon arrived three days later. He hadn’t even gotten over the news of Celegorm’s death when Fingon’s banners appeared on the horizon. As though reflecting Curufin’s mood, heavy clouds rolled in from the south and rain began to come down in sheets. The High King’s procession was bedraggled when they finally arrived at Himring’s gates. The Fëanorions were present to greet them, waiting just outside the entrance to the Great Hall. 

"Russo! Good to see you again. And you Laurë -oh and Curvo too. This is quite the welcoming committee. I wasn’t sure if we would make it. Though, as it turns out, my worries were misplaced. Something has cleared up Tol-in-Gaurhoth as well as much of Taur-nu-Fuin and we passed with ease," Fingon announced as he swung free of the saddle and landed lightly on his feet. He didn’t seem bothered by the rain. 

Maglor’s shoulders curled inward and Curufin felt light headed. Maedhros was the only one not outwardly affect by the announcement. 

"We know," he said gruffly. 

"Did you happen to do something with it?"

"Yes and no," Maedhros shrugged evasively. 

"Timo?"

"Tyelko…" the first cracks in Maedhros’ emotionless façade began to appear. 

"What about Teylkormo?" Fingon’s brow creased. His eyes darted to the side to confirm that the blond was not present. 

"He helped a mortal over throw Sauron." 

"Well then, congratulations are in order. I honestly didn’t think he could he could do more than hunt and speak dog," Fingon’s face and posture relaxed.  

"Finno, he…he… he didn’t make it," Maedhros abruptly turned and left. 

The silence after he left was cold and unwelcoming, much like the dumping rain. 

"That was a joke right?" Fingon desperately looked to Maglor. Maglor shook his head, tears leaking from his eyes. 

It was then that the High King took into account the short hair cut that indicated grief. 

"Oh," Fingon murmured softly, coming over to draw his cousins into an embrace.

Curufin stiffened, not liking the touch. Maglor, on the other hand, practically melted. It soon became fairly obvious that Fingon was the only thing holding Maglor up. Fingon just stood stock still, allowing Maglor to rest against him as he wept. Maglor soon recovered his wits enough to mumble an apology and race back to the safety of his room. 

That left Curufin and Fingon standing awkwardly together with Fingon’s arm still draped around Curufin’s shoulder. Curufin shrugged it off and lead his cousin into the Great Hall. Once they were inside, Fingon shed his soaking outer layers and made his way to the large open fire in the middle of the room. Curufin followed aimlessly, seating himself on a bench opposite the fire from his cousin.

"I know that you and I don’t see eye to eye very often," Fingon sighed, "But please know that I am truly am sorry for your loss."

Curufin squared his shoulders. He didn’t do emotions in front of people (or ever if he could help it). So instead of fleeing like Maedhros or going all weepy like Maglor, Curufin did the responsible thing. He grunted, crossed his arms and glared at the fire. 

Fingon sighed again before coming over to sit right next to Curufin. He didn’t touch Curufin (something Curufin was grateful for), instead he just sat there in respectful silence. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" Fingon finally asked. 

"No," Curufin shivered. 

"Well, if you ever do, I’m here," Fingon offered. 

Curufin shrugged. He was fine. He didn’t need to talk to any one, least of all Fingon the Infuriating.

It was at that moment that Finrod decided to make his appearance. He snuck in through a side door and tiptoed over to Curufin. The small elfling knew that something had happened to ‘Uncle Cel-Gorm’ and it was making his guardian sad. He had been trying to figure out how to make Curufin feel better and he had finally figured it out: snuggles. 

He wiggled his way onto the bench next to Curufin. He had brought his favorite blanket which he pulled around himself before settling in Curufin’s lap. Curufin shifted marginally and hooked an arm around the elfling to make sure he didn’t fall. Finrod leaned back against Curufin's stomach and snuggled deeper into the blanket he had brought. The smith slowly relaxed. 

It wasn’t until Fingon turned to say something to Curufin that he even noticed the elfling on his cousin’s lap. He did a double take. 

"Curvo? Did you sire another child?" Fingon choked. Curufin didn’t do children, just like he didn’t do emotions or touching (had take Curufin's wife twenty years to convince him to have a child with her). 

"Most assuredly not," Curufin snorted, stroking Finrod’s curls. 

“Well, if he’s not your’s, who’s is he? Celegorm’s?" Fingon asked, leaning down to get a better look at the child. 

"M Galad!" Finrod chirped before ducking completely under his blanket. 

"It’s complicated," Curufin scrubbed his eyes. 

"I sure hope I get the full story at some point," Fingon took the hint that Curufin didn’t want to talk. 

He leaned back contentedly, glancing frequently towards the elfling on Curufin’s lap. 

"You know," Fingon said after a minute, "I swear he looks just like Ingoldo did at that age." 

"Funny you should mention that…" Curufin trailed off awkwardly. He knew that he was going to have to tell Fingon sooner or later what had happened. 

Fingon gave him a suspicious look. 

"What did you do Atarinkë?"

"Why do you assume that it was my fault?" Curufin spluttered. 

"Do you want me to list the reasons?" Fingon raised an eyebrow. 

Notes:

-I am struggling a bit on the next chapter. Any suggestions as to what Curufin’s punishment should be? 

Chapter 12: Crime and punishment

Fingon’s bow drew into a tight knot as the story progressed. When Curufin was done speaking, he steepled his fingers and pressed his lips into a thin line. 

"You have put me between a rock and a hard place Curvo," the High King sighed, "You have taken quite the blow with the death of Tyelko, but that doesn’t excuse your actions. I will have to think on how to proceed with this matter."

That was not the answer Curufin wanted. He hated waiting almost more than anything else on all of Arda. But, he also knew better than to argue with the high king, so he bowed in deferance. As it turned out, he didn’t have to wait long. He was summoned to Maedhros’ office the next morning. With trepidation, Curufin obeyed the summons. 

Fingon was seated in Maedhros’ chair, while Maedhros and Maglor both stood behind him. The High King look incredibly tired, liked he had stayed up all night. Maedhros’ face showed little emotion, like he always had after his rescue from Angband. Maglor however reflected Curufin’s worries, fidgeting a bit and twisting the hems of his sleeves with anxious hands. Clearly what ever decision had been reached had not included the musician. 

"Curufinwë Atarinkë," Fingon started, "You have sullied the name of your house by committing acts against a family member that are considered treasonous. Though I am willing to take into account that Finderáto still lives and is free of your manipulation, your actions still are deserving of punishment."

Curufin clenched and unclenched his hands, willing Fingon to just hurry up already. He knew his crimes, he didn't need them rehashed.

"In the presence of your brothers, I hereby strip you of your rank as a prince of the Noldor, your command and your station are forfeit. In addition, I require that you write both of Finderáto’s remaining siblings to tell them what occurred," Fingon declared. 

Curufin blanched. Stripping him of his rank was one thing, but forcing him to admit his crimes to those yellow-bellied Arafinwëons was something totally different. He wasn't the only one taken by surprise.

"Finno," Maglor tried to reason, "Don’t you think a little harsh to strip him of...I mean, he is still grieving the lost of Tyelko, like the rest of us." 

"It is for that reason his punishment is so lenient," Fingon said wearily, "If I turn a blind eye to this, then what will the next inexcusable action be?"

"Nolofinwëon, if I have to-" Curufin cut himself off when it noted Maedhros shaking his head. He internally groaned. If Maedhros agreed with Fingon (like he always did) there was no escape. "Fine! If my liege commands it, I will comply."

With grit teeth, Curufin submitted to his punishment. Writing the letters to Galadriel and Orodreth were some of the most humiliating hours of his life. It was made far worse by the fact that Fingon read through the letters after he was done to make sure that he didn’t try to deflect the blame. When the High King was satisfied, the letters were sent off with swift messengers. 

A week later, Fingon left to return to Hithlum. Curufin was more than a little relieved to see his annoying cousin leave (though a traitorous part of him wanted Fingon to stay and keep Maedhros in lighter spirits). With the High King gone, decorum became more relaxed again.

Curufin was allowed to keep his private rooms instead of moving into the barracks with the rest of the soldiers, but he was now required to report for duty everyday in the smithy. It was both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, it gave Curufin something to occupy his restless mind with. On the other hand, Curufin was not allowed to take charge of the forge, having instead to follow the commands of the shift supervisor. That irked him greatly. 

The only truly bright side of his day was when he was able to tiredly drag himself up more flights of stairs than he wanted to count to be greeted by a cuddly Finrod. The small elfling would spend the evenings glued to Curufin, either riding on the smith’s broad shoulders or nestled in his arms. Every night at bed, Curufin would put him down in the small bed across the room and wake to find snoozing Finrod pressed to his side in the morning. More than once, the elfling had tried to follow Curufin into the forge, but after one incident where Finrod almost put his hands in molten iron, Maglor took to watching over him during the day. 

Eventually, the messengers that were sent out with Curufin’s letters of repentance reappeared bearing the responses. The messenger to Galadriel was barred entrance to Doriath and turned away with message unread. He reported back that Thingol would not have a message from the Fëanorions inciting Galadriel to steal the Silmaril.

A week later, the messenger who was sent to Nargothrond finally returned. Orodreth hadn’t believed a word of the letter. His response had been scathing in its wording. Simply put, he thought that Curufin was lying. If he was telling the truth, Orodreth reasoned, why had he run in the first place and why had it taken him so long to ‘confess’? 

"He called me forked tongued and an inciter of riots and disquiet," Curufin furiously informed his older brothers as he finished reading the letter from Orodreth. 

"He’s not wrong," Maedhros didn’t even look up from the letter that he was writing. 

"Russo!" Maglor swatted Maedhros. The quill in Maedhros’ clenched hand went skating across the page, leaving behind a trail of dark ink. 

"This is my garrison Kano, so I will speak my mind," Maedhros glared at the musician, "Those accusations tend to be true about Curvo."

Curufin glowered. Maglor noticed Curufin’s growing anger and decided to steer the conversation away from the topic of Curufin’s obvious faults. 

"So now that we’ve tired to inform Finderáto's siblings what should we do with him now?" Maglor mused, more for the sake of changing the topic and less because he wanted to know the answer. 

"We should send him to Círdan. A war front is no place for an elfling," Maedhros pointed out. 

"No, he’s staying. At least here he’s with family," Curufin protested.  

"Tsk, tsk, What is this, Curvo? Have you become attached?" Maglor teased with a wry smile. It was obvious to all that despite Curufin’s dislike of children, he was very attached to young Finrod.   

"So what if I have," Curufin sniffed, "You’ve practically adopted him. We may as well change his name from Arafinwëon to Kanafinwëon." 

"You will do no such thing as I have not adopted him!" Maglor’s cheeks flushed a deep red at the accusation, "He's much closer with you anyway. If anything it should be Curufinwëon that we change his name to." 

"I will not claim him as my son," Curufin snapped. 

"If you two are going to bicker like washerwomen, do it somewhere else," Maedhros sighed. 

"Not until you promise me that Finrod is staying," Curufin gave his oldest brother a hard look. 

"Fine, we will keep him... for now," Maedhros grunted reluctantly, "Now if you will excuse me, I need to finish this letter to Finno. We are planning an attack on Angband." 

"An attack on Angband?" Curufin choked at this news. 

"Yes, Morgoth has over extended his reach. If a mortal and a maiden can claim a Silmaril, then the combined might of our forces will wipe Morgoth off the map."

Something didn’t sit right with Curufin, but he knew better than to argue with Maedhros when his mind was set on something. He glanced towards Maglor, wondering if maybe he had heard incorrectly. Maglor looked just as shocked as he did. 

"Very well. I hope you’re right," the smith said before leaving the room.

Chapter 13: Innocence lost

Curufin vowed to never again to take Maedhros’ advice.

After months of careful planning, the assault had been less than successful. Curufin was willing to use the word disastrous to describe the slaughter they had barely survived. Even with Turgon’s forces showing up unlooked for, out of mid air, the battle was lost almost before it was started. The only thing they had to show for their attack were the numerous wounded and the uncountable dead. 

Curufin sighed before rewetting the rag on Caranthir’s hot brow. The unfortunate elf had taken an orcish arrow to the chest. The fever from the resulting infection that wracked his body was refusing to abate, instead climbing higher with every passing hour. It left Caranthir conscious enough to be in constant pain, but not lucid enough as to understand why he was in pain. He would alternate between fits of thrashing about and long spans of time where he lay like the dead. The healers had done everything in their power, but Curufin didn’t know if it would be enough to save Caranthir or if it would just prolong his suffering before he inevitably departed to Mandos. All they could do now was hope for the best.

Curufin shifted restlessly. The shoulder of his shield arm ached from being dislocated during the battle. Though the healers had snapped it back into place, it still hurt. He gently massaged it the best he could, glancing over at the other bed. 

Maglor was hardly any better than Caranthir. A deep gash carved its way from under his left arm to just below the knee on the same side. Curufin was uncertain about how his brother had been injured so when he had been wearing armor (Maglor’s banner bearer had said something about dwarvish made swords, but that didn’t make any sense as the dwarves were on their side. He would have to ask Maglor if when he woke up).

The musician had lost a staggering amount of blood during the battle and in their escape to safety. The healers weren’t sure how he was still alive by the time they had a chance to patch him up. He now was laying upon the other bed, hardly breathing and ashen from blood loss. 

Next to Maglor’s bed sat the Ambarussa. Amras had completely shattered his left wrist and forearm when his horse had been shot out from under him and he had been forced to kick clear of the animal or risk getting crushed under it. The limb was splinted and bound to his chest in lieu of a sling. Thanks to a heavy dose of pain relievers, he was more or less able to function.

Amrod had escaped fairly unscathed with only cracked ribs and enough bruises on his torso and legs to make any position painful. He was currently seated on a chair piled high with any cushions that could be spared. 

A subtle shift let Curufin view the opposite corner of the room. There sat Maedhros. The redhead was catatonic, arms wrapped defensively around his rigid torso and locked in place. His eyes were unseeing and he didn’t react to verbal commands or pleas. They were yet to figure out a way to get Maedhros to let them take off his armor. He sat there so still that he may as well have been one of Nerdanel’s statues. 

He had been like this since his lieutenant had brought him back from the front lines. The slender wisp of an elf had said one thing as she handed the lead reign for Maedhros’ horse over to Curufin: 

"Fingon is fallen. Do yourself a favor and do not go looking for his body, there is nothing left to scavenge."

She had then handed Curufin a lock of hair with a dirty gold ribbon wound throughout it before riding off to help organize the retreat. Curufin had recognized the stupid gold ribbon immediately. For some reason, Fingon thought that they looked good in his hair. He never parted with them (Celegorm had once speculated that he slept with them in). There was little more proof that Curufin needed that Fingon had perished. 

More than a bit shaken, Curufin had lead the hasty retreat to Himring, which is where they were currently recuperating. He knew that they could not remain there long. Their forces were too depleted to last a siege; they would have to continue their flight south. In the mean time, they would do what they could to heal and mend their weapons.

It was a hard task to do as their supplies were already dwindling and the threat of an attack was always looming over their head. To make matters worse, Curufin knew that it was likely that he might loose all three of his remaining older brothers in one fell swoop. He turned back to Caranthir, mopping the sweat away and praying to any one who might listen that his brothers would be alright. 

"Curvo?" Amrod’s voice was quite, but in the still room, it seems to echo loudly, "What are we going to do now?"

Curufin looked up, more than a little startled at the question. To his horror, he found that both the Ambarussa were looking to him for answers. 

"I …. I …. I don’t know," Curufin finally admitted in defeat. 

He had always of dreamed of being in charge, but now that he was thrust into the limelight of responsibility, he felt woefully inadequate. 

"How much longer do you think we should risk sitting here?" Amras asked, ever the practical one.

Curufin tried to think of a better response that his previous ‘I don’t know’. 

While he was pondering the question, the door creaked open and Finrod slipped into the room. Curufin frowned, the elfling shouldn’t be here with the wounded. He opened his mouth to reprimand the elfling, but stopped when he noticed that Finrod was making a beeline straight for Maedhros. Curious to see what Finrod intended to do, Curufin let him continue his course. 

The small elfling climbed into Maedhros’ lap with difficulty. On reflex, Maedhros arm’s loosened from around his body and fell limply at his side before they came up to hug the elfling. He clutched Finrod close and buried his nose in the messy curls.

Then and only then, Maedhros did something truly shocking to the others in the room. He began to cry, tears streaming down his face and onto Finrod’s head. The elfling didn’t seem to mind that he was being used as a handkerchief. He merely popped a thumb into his mouth and snuggled against Maedhros, picking at the dried grim of war on Maedhros’ armor. 

Maedhros continued to weep for quite some time. Even once his tears had run out, his breaths still came in shuddering gaps. When he eventually looked up, his eyes were clearer than they had been. 

"So it wasn’t a dream?" His rasped, desperately searching Curufin’s face for answers. 

"No, it wasn’t a dream. It never has been," Curufin answered quietly, though he desperately wished the past few centuries were some horrible, fever fueled nightmare. 

Maedhros went back to stroking Finrod’s curls. For a moment Curufin was worried that his older brother would relapse back to his mindless state. He didn't. His emtionless mask was firmly back in place. Looking like a garrison commander more every minute, Maedhros turned to the Ambarussa.

"How fortified is Amon Ereb?" He asked.

"We strengthen the defending walls and added a deep trench around it," Amrod shrugged, "It's no Himring though."

"We have a large store of supplies set aside there," Amras added.

"Good. We make for Amon Ereb come morning," Maedhros grunted.

The Ambarussa nodded before heading off to spread the word. As soon as they has left, Curufin rounded on his oldest brother.

"What about the wounded?" The smith asked with no small amount of worry. He doubt that either Maglor or Caranthir could survive the journey in their current conditions. There were others too who were grievously injured as well.

"They will ride double with those of able body."

"Russo, you heartless animal! Are you trying to kill our brothers?" Curufin was aghast that they would not even have litters or wagons.

As though sensing the tension in the air, Finrod lifted his head and tugged Maedhros' hair. The red head kissed the small elfling's forehead and took a deep breath.

"We have wasted enough time sitting here. Morgoth will strike a killing blow soon. We must retreat now or risk being wiped out. If I thought we had the time or resources to sit here and let them recover, I would say we could stay," Maedhros' voice was rough with emotion as he surveyed his injured brothers, "If they perish on the road, it would be a far kinder fate than if they were taken to Angband."

Then, with Finrod still nestled in his arms, Maedhros left the room to help with the preparations to leave.

Chapter 14: Fight or flight

Maedhros would not be swayed from his set course and the next morning what was left of their host set out for Amon Ereb 

The retreat to Amon Ereb went as well as could be expected. Curufin had ridden with Finrod clutched in front of him. In an effort to protect Finrod, Curufin had dressed his cousin in a shirt of chainmail. It was the smallest one he could find, but it still hung off of the elfling like an oversized dress. To top of the ridiculous look, Curufin had found a dwarven helmet small enough to fit Finrod and he rode with a large round shield as and added layer of protection. Finrod found the whole thing to be a grand adventure and babbled nonstop as they rode. Curufin didn’t care about the incessant noise, as long as they got to Amon Ereb safely. 

Maedhros had ridden with Maglor cradled in front of him. Every day Maglor’s stitches ripped open from the ridding, and every night at the evening meal, the healers did what they could to re-stitch his gash closed. It wasn’t until the fourth day of their hard week long ride that he regained some semblance of consciousness. He had managed to moan out 'Rus’nd' before the bounce and jostle of the horse sent him back to oblivion. 

Though Amras had trailed as a healer, Amrod had ridden with Caranthir because of his twin's broken arm. Caranthir's fever had stopped rising, but it was still dangerously high and Caranthir could hardly be considered ludic. He moaned and cried in pain the entire ride. Curufin didn’t know how Amrod managed to ride with him. The most frightening thing was Caranthir’s increasingly erratic and shallow breathing. 

After eight harrowing days, Curufin could have sobbed with relief when Amon Ereb’s short, squat outline came into view. Their arrival unfortunately also hailed the point in time in which Caranthir's health took an irreversible turn for the worst. They had barely even settled him into the infirmary when his fever spiked once more and he began to cough up dark clots of blood. The infection had spread to his lungs. The healers had taken one look and shaken their heads. There was nothing they could do. In a matter of hours, Caranthir's spirit slipped away to call of Mandos. 

Despite having never been close to Caranthir, Curufin was devastated. In his grief, he turned on the closest thing and gave it the full furry of his hate. Unfortunately enough, the closest thing happened to be Maedhros. Curufin yelled him for a long while, accusing his oldest brother of making the decision to move south so soon and thus Caranthir’s death was his fault. Maedhros, for his part, offered no defense. He simply sat there, stone still, his hand resting lightly on Caranthir’s still chest as though he was trying to will life back into the empty body. 

When the redhead eventually got up, his face was blank. There was no grief, no regret, no anger, no denial, no emotion what so ever. It was like his mind had completely closed off from his body. He went about his duties, but put little effort into anything beyond sheer necessity. The weight of leadership coupled with his detached grief and overwhelming guilt soon began to crush him. He seldom talked and rarely ate or slept, preferring to stand at the window in his office and gaze north. 

The Ambarussa fled the situation, preferring to deal with their grief out in the forests they loved. Amrod felt guilty at abandoning his brothers, but Amras would not be swayed, so they rode out together every morning and did not return until late in the night. 

Curufin, however, noticed none of this. He had holed himself up in the tiny little forge that Amon Ereb had to offer and was bend on beating his emotions out into the sword blades that need fixing. He spent a week in the forge, foregoing food or sleep, only pausing to gather more supplies. 

He didn’t stop until he felt something tug at his leg. Looking down, Curufin found that it was Finrod. The elfling was clutching a small toy. 

"Can you fixes better?" The elfling asked plaintively, offering up his toy. 

Curufin accepted it with a heavy sigh. It was a well loved wind up top. Upon removing the outer casing, Curufin found that all the springs were misshapen and many of the gears had slipped from their housing. Satisfied to have yet another project, Curufin went to work. It didn’t take him long to fix. He handed the toy back to its owner and found that Finrod was staring at him with large, serious eyes. 

"You are sad," Finrod decided, accepting his toy.

Curufin gave a shrug. He would rather not think about his grief or guilt. It felt better that way. 

"Why?" The elfling continued, tugging on Curufin’s tunic, "Why are sad?"

"Because my brother is dead," Curufin spat a little more harshly than he intended. 

"I has dead brothers too," Finrod offered, "But I also has alives brother and you have alives brothers too. That is better than all dead."

Curufin choked. He didn’t know if it was the shocking wisdom from the tiny elfling or the thought of his remaining brothers that made his throat go all tight. 

"If you are sad together, you can get all better," Finrod proposed thoughtfully, "Also cake." 

"Cake?"

"Yes, I like cake to eat, but not for breakfast. I could make cake! It would not be sad and then you would be happy," Finrod rambled, fingers playing with Curufin’s grimey apron strings, "Then you would feel better. I want you to feel better and not sad."

The innocent admission brought tears to Curufin’s eyes. He abruptly sank to his knees on the floor. He didn’t know why he was crying, all he knew is that it hurt. Finrod climbed into his lap and began dap at his tears like a concerned parent. 

"It is okay to be sad, but not sad forever," the elfling continued, "If all sad forever, not all better, but ouchie."

Curufin snorted. He had detested Finrod when they were growing up. Even in Beleriand, Curufin had hated him. His effortless cheer and easy going nature made him friends everywhere and had brought him good fortune. Now, he was Curufin’s comfort and anchor. In a move that surprised both himself and Finrod, Curufin snatched the elfling up in a tight hug. He buried his face in Finrod shoulder and let himself weep. 

It wasn’t until his tears slowed that Finrod tried to squirm away. Curufin hastily dropped him to the ground, swiping away his tears. He felt ashamed both for crying and for seeing Finrod as comfort, but he had to admit that he did feel a little better now that he had cried. 

"Can we has dinner now?" Finrod asked, cocking his head and hugging his toy to his chest.  

Curufin found that he couldn’t say no. 

It took Maglor a full week and a half before he was recovered enough from blood loss to truly understand what had happened since his collapse during the retreat. News of Caranthir’s death hit him hard (out of all or them, he had been the closest with Caranthir), but Maglor forced himself to put his own grief aside when he saw the state of his other brothers. Determined not to let his family fall apart, he summoned them one by one to his bed. Curufin happened to arrive as Maedhros was leaving. 

The redhead slunk out of the room like a kicked dog, guilt and shame written across his features. When he saw Curufin, remorse joined the other emotions. Maedhros opened and closed his mouth several times as thought he wanted to speak, but he didn’t know what to say. He finally gave Curufin’s shoulder a squeeze and murmured an apology before rapidly continuing on his way. This was by far the most personable conversation they had since before the failed attempt on Angband. Curufin couldn’t help but watch in confusion as his oldest brother disappeared down the hallway. 

More than a little nervous, Curufin let himself into Maglor’s room. The minstrel was laying in much the same position as he had for the past two weeks. At first Curufin thought Maglor was asleep, but then his cracked his eyes open. 

"Curvo!" Maglor’s voice was scratchy from the lack of use. 

"What did you tell Russo?" Curufin dared to ask as he settled on the low stool next to the bed. 

"I told him to stop being an ass," Maglor sighed, letting his eyes drift back closed. 

"That was rude,” Curufin snorted, silently jealous that he hadn’t been the one to tell Maedhros that. 

"And also the truth. I told him he wasn’t allowed to continue to wallow in his guilt. I didn’t get a reaction out of him until I told him he was mentally unfit for duty and therefore I should technically be relieving him as his regent. Now he won’t stop apologizing."

"So why am I here?"

"You need to stop being an ass too." Maglor's voice was going faint. 

"Really? Is that your advice to everyone?" Curufin narrowed his eyes as that insult. 

"No, only to you and Russo," Maglor murmured, "You both need to stop." 

"And what makes me an ass?"

"You keep hiding from everything. Not healthy," Maglor shifted slightly and he went very pale. He groaned, hands pressing to his hip, the spot where the gash was the deepest. 

"Kano? Should I go get someone?" Curufin asked worriedly. 

"No. M’fine. Talk now, pain meds later," Maglor panted. 

"Okay, but talk fast, because you have two minutes before I’m tracking down a healer."

"Not fair!" Maglor protested. 

"One minute and fifty seconds."

"Fine," Maglor huffed in resignation, "You need to stop hiding. Russo thinks you hate him. Told him wasn’t true. You need to apologize for blaming him for Moryo’s death. We knew the risks when we attacked."

"It’s Russo’s fault that we moved so soon after the battle. That’s what lead to Moryo’s death in the first place and nearly killed you too." Curufin didn't want to think of what would have happened if that had been the outcome.

"Not Russo’s fault. He was trying to protect us. Morgoth would have wiped us out or taken us as slaves," Maglor pointed out, "Was the safest option." 

He cracked an eye open again to glare at Curufin. 

"You need to take stop blaming Russo. I know you like to play the victim, but you need to man up. If you keep hiding, we’ll loose Russo." Because he was flat on his back, the scathing observation didn’t carry nearly as much weight has it would have had Maglor been able to sit up without tearing his stitches. "Go find him and apologize."

Curufin was saved from responding when a little blond blur erupted into the room and launched onto Maglor’s bed. Maglor gave a choked cry of pain as his injury was jostled. Finrod recoiled in fright before offering to kiss whatever boo-boo Maglor had. Maglor didn’t answer, teeth still grit against the pain and the desperate urge to scream. After scooping up Finrod, Curufin slipped out of the room to find a healer. 

Finding a healer was not all that difficult and soon was was dispatched off to Maglor’s room. As soon as he knew that his brother was going to be taken care of, Curufin pondered what to do. He didn’t really want to apologize to Maedhros, but he also knew that Maglor was probably right. Taking a deep breath, Curufin went to find his oldest brother. Belatedly, he realized that he was still carrying Finrod. Well, no mater, the elfling could act like a shield to prevent Maedhros from throwing anything at him.

Chapter 15: The day of reckoning

Little changed in the following weeks. It soon was clear that the only thing holding the tenuously bonded brothers together was Finrod. The sweet elfling somehow retained his innocences and remained untouched by the griefs of the world. 

The small elfling would climb up the back of Maedhros’ chair and onto Maedhros’ broad shoulders. He would sit there contentedly, playing with Maedhros’ hair or telling the tall elf exactly what his opinion was about whatever subject came to mind. He would chat endlessly about squirrels, the fact that he didn’t like eat squash, why summer was the "best month", and all manner of other things. Surprisingly enough, Maedhros didn’t seem to mind. Though he would never admit it, he cherished the time with Finrod as it reminded him of home and give him hope to continue, something he had not felt in a very long time.  

Now that he was in a stable environment, Maglor began to make steady progress towards healing, or well, what healing could occur. The gash scarred horribly from the repeated tearing of stitches during their retreat. Furthering the complications was the fact that, due to the injury’s location on his hip (and a lot of other medical terminology that only Amras seemed to understand), Maglor was forced to rely heavily on a crutch when he walked. Most likely, the healers said, it would remain that way and never fully heal. The news that he would basically be crippled for life was devastating and Maglor became reclusive, refusing comfort. 

It was during this time that Finrod became a frequent visitor to his bedside. The elfling would cuddle up next to the older elf and talk with him, on occasion, even coaxing a quiet song from Maglor. Finrod would often bring him little treasures he had found (including but by no means limited to: meadow flowers to decorate the room with, discarded projects from the forge, new quills from Maedhros’ office, interesting sticks, colorful balls of yarn and shiny pebbles from the stream that the elfling hoped looked enough like a Silmaril to make Maglor happy). 

Ambarussa made time to take Finrod on short expeditions in the forest around the fortress. Finrod’s raucous and infectious giggling would ring through the forrest as he climbed trees with Amrod and gathered plants with Amras. Though most of these little outings were less than an hour in length for safety reasons, Finrod always brought a picnic with him. He would often insist on the twins sitting with him and he would watch them until they had eaten as well. While this was hardly a necessary prompt for Amrod, Amras rarely ate in his grief. Getting him to eat was something that, thus far, only Finrod had managed to get him to do. 

No matter the amount of time he spent with the other Fëanorion, Curufin was still his favorite. He would only sleep in Curufin’s room and would often trail the smith, plying him with questions. It was like the small elfling had claimed Curufin as his father, something that Curufin was distinctly uncomfortable with. Despite his protests, Curufin enjoyed having the small elfling around. If nothing else, it made his out look on life less grim. 

That is, until one day when the elfling stormed into the room, slamming the door in anger. More than a bit startled, Curufin looked up from his technical drawings. 

"Ráto?" He asked with worry. He didn’t remember the last time he had seen his cousin so angry. Their meeting at Lake Mithrim, maybe?

"You tried to kill me dead!" Finrod snapped. 

Curufin furrowed his brow. He set down his quill and turned his full attention to Finrod. 

"I have never tired to kill you."

"What was my ring supposed do?" The short elfling asked, more than spitting mad. 

Curufin suddenly felt very cold. 

Oh. 

So that was what this was about. 

"That… um…it wasn’t supposed to kill you or… you know," Curufin waived his hand at Finrod’s young body. 

"What. Was. Supposed. Do?" Finrod spat. 

"It…" Curufin let out a slow breath, "It was supposed to make you listen to me."

Finrod blinked. His anger evaporated into confusion. 

"But I do listens to you. I listens to you all the time, and Mae-Russo and Mag-ror and Amro and Amra."

"No, not like that. The ring was supposed to make you do what I wanted," Curufin slowly admitted. 

"You wants to make me do things I don’t wants to do?" Finrod narrowed his eyes as his anger returned. 

"No! Well, yes, sort of, but not..." Curufin fumbled for words, for once his silver tongue failing him. 

"So yes?" The elfling was practically vibrating with furry now. 

Curufin’s shoulders slumped at the accusation. 

"You are very bad and not nice. I do not forgive you yet," Finrod snapped, "I wants to do what I wants to do."

Before Curufin could respond, Finrod had bolted from the room. The elfling avoided Curufin for several days, not even returning to Curufin’s room at night, choosing rather to sleep with Maglor. As a result, Curufin became quite lonely. Finrod had been his near constant problem responsibility since this whole thing started. As much as he tried not to think about his small cousin, his thoughts keep drifting to Finrod, Celebrimbor and Celegorm. All of the people who brought him comfort were, for one reason or another, unreachable. 

The other Fëanorions quickly noticed his despondency and his shorter than normal temper. Whenever one of them approached him about it, he would chase them off. 

About a week after their fight, Curufin was once again interrupted from his sketches as the door creaked open and Finrod was shoved inside. The door was promptly closed after the elfling. Curufin ignored Finrod. 

"Mae-Russo said I has to ‘pologizes for making you sad, but I’m not sorry ‘cause you made me small," Finrod pouted sourly.  

"That’s fine, because I haven’t forgiven me either," Curufin muttered in irritation. 

He hadn’t meant for the elfling to overhear him, but apparently he did. 

"That’s not fair. I want to be the only one," Finrod crossed his arms, "So you has to forgive you so that I can not forgives you."

"That’s not the way that works."

"Yes it is ‘cause I say so," Finrod jutted out his chin in defiance. 

Curufin glared at the elfling. Finrod glared back. As with any of Finrod’s temper tantrum, it was short lived. He broke eye contact and flopped down on the floor with a dramatic huff. Curufin went back to his work. He was hard pressed not notice the elfling scooting closer and closer. Finally Finrod hauled himself up onto the chair next to Curufin. 

"What are you drawing?" He asked, peering at the paper. 

"Designs for a sword," Curufin replied. 

"Oh. Can I add?" Without waiting for a response, Finrod clumsily grabbed the other quill and began to doodle on the paper. Curufin let him have his way. The sketch was ruined anyway from the number of times he had run calculations and then crossed them out. Finrod’s drawing consisted of an odd collection of squiggles and blobs. 

"That is me," Finrod finally said, pointing to a several stacked ovals. 

"Nice?" Curufin wasn’t sure what else to say. 

"And that’s you," Finrod pointed to a flat blob covered in scribbles. 

"Ok?"

"It is you 'cause you fall over. And that is Mae-Russo," Finrod pointed to a circle with a line coming out the bottom. It was the only thing that look remotely like a figure. 

"What do you mean I fall over?" Curufin was confused and rather annoyed that the elfling would insinuate that he was clumsy. 

"You fall over lots ‘cause you keep mess-essing up."

"What?"

"Like making me small was a messes not on purpose."

"You mean I make mistakes?" Curufin sighed. Great, just what he needed, another critic. 

Finrod hummed an agreement and went back to drawing. Curufin tried to get up and leave, but Finrod grabbed him with one hand and continued to draw with the other. 

"I don’t wants to, but I forgives you," Finrod stated after a little while, setting the quill down on the table and looking up at Curufin. He somehow had gotten ink on his face and now had black smudges everywhere. 

Curufin grunted and put the quill back in it’s holder before it could stain the wood. 

"I makes messess up too and I am sorrys. Will you forgives me?" the elfling continued, "If not, I will cry."

"Yes, yes, I forgive you," Curufin mumbled. He didn’t know why. Finrod didn’t really have anything to apologize for. His answer appeased the elfling. 

Finrod nodded and threw himself onto Curufin’s lap. 

"I wants to give my drawing to Mag-ror. Can you take me?" He asked. 

"You have legs, so you can walk."

"No. Carry me," Finrod paused before adding in hesitantly, "Please?"

Curufin was unable to resist the angelic dimples and big blue eyes. He gathered up the paper before he tossed the elfling over his shoulder and let him hang mostly upside down. It was a position that Clelebrimbor had loved when he was small. Apparently Finrod liked it too as he shrieked with laughter. 

"Again!" He giggled. 

Grumbling half-heartedly, Curufin did as requested before heading out the door to find Maglor. 

Chapter 16: Gil-Galad

Time seemed to fly in Curufin’s opinion. As he put down his hammer to take a rest, he realized that it had been nearly twenty-five years since the disastrous assault on Angband. He rolled his shoulders, relishing when the joints popped. A glance out the window showed Finrod sparring in the courtyard with Amras. Curufin felt a swift pang in his heart. It honestly felt like just yesterday that his cousin was barely a toddler. Now he was a gangly adolescent. 

Finrod’s cheer had been tempered with grief. His memories had returned in full without much trouble (though there were still some times that he mistook the order of events). Much to Curufin’s surprise (and comfort), Finrod had insisted on living with him all these years.

Curufin honestly wasn’t sure what any of them would have done without him. Finrod’s good nature had seen Maedhros through his mood swings. He had been words of encouragement and a shoulder for Maglor to lean on (quite literally sometimes). He had been Amrod's constant support after Amras had been slain in a skirmish five years ago. He had never failed to lighten Curufin’s mood when depression threatened to drown him.  

Curufin almost wished that it would stay like this forever. Something nagging in his gut told him that they were on a path to hell and he cherished every moment that delayed their inevitable doom. One day, however, the dark shadow that haunted him grew so oppressive that Curufin knew something bad was about to happen. He was unsurprised when he was summoned to Maedhros’ office. 

When he arrived, the others were already there. Maehdros looked grim as usual, shuffling through a stack of papers. Maglor was resting in a chair next to the window. Even after all those years, his left hip had regained very little strength. It often pained him merely to walk from his rooms to the mess hall. Amrod was lounging in the one of the other chairs, aimlessly fiddling with a knife. Finrod was seated on the rug next to the fire, watching everything with wide eyes. This was the first time he had been included in the summons to Maedhros’ office. That, in and of itself, worried Curufin. 

Curufin took the last chair and waited to hear why they had been called together. For a long moment, Maedhros didn’t say anything. Then he looked up from the stack of paper, turning his inscrutable gaze to Curufin. 

"Nargothrond was attacked," Maedhros announced quietly, "It has been brutally plundered by Orcs and a dragon. Those who did not die were taken to Angband."

At the news, Curufin felt his heart stop. He distantly recognized Amrod place a comforting hand on him. 

"Tyelpe?" Curufin barely was able to choke out his son’s name, "Oh, Eru, please don’t tell me…"

"I don’t know," Maedhros shook his head, waving his hand at the newly discarded stack of paper that he had been shuffling through, "He wasn’t listed among the slain outside or at Tumhalad and it is too dangerous for scouts to go inside. So either his corpse is in Nargothrond or he was taken prisoner."

"Or he escaped," Maglor pointed out. Besides Maedhros, he alone had been the least shocked. No doubt Maedhros had informed him before the meeting. 

Maedhros opened his mouth to argue how unlikely that was that Celebrimbor was still alive, but stopped when he noticed the tears beginning to gather in Curufin’s eyes. 

"Or he might have escaped," Maedhros grudgingly conceded, though the look on his face said that he found that outcome doubtful. 

Curufin began to pick at his nail, already trying to formulate a way to find his son, even if it was only his body. Maedhros seemed to guess what was running though Curufin’s mind, but before he could derail Curufin’s plan, Amrod spoke up. 

"Timo, what else has happened?" The other redhead asked softly. 

Curufin’s head shot up at the question. Amrod had always been perceptive. If he though that something else was wrong….

"Nargothrond was one of the safest, most secure locations and it has fallen. Who knows where Morgoth will strike next. Because of that, I’m sending Aráto to the Falas to stay with Círdan," Maedhros informed his brothers. 

The Fëanorions sat there in shocked silence. Curufin had known this was always something that Maedhros had threatened to do. He didn’t think that his oldest brother would actually follow through though. 

"What? No! Don’t I get a say?" Finrod jumped up in protest. 

"No, actually you don’t," Maedhros sighed. 

"That’s not fair."

"As you are underage, it is entirely fair."

"Technically, I’m older than him," Finrod pointed accusingly at Curufin. 

"Physically, no. Mentally and emotionally, everyone is, so that doesn’t count," Maedhros snorted. Curufin glared at his oldest brother. 

"When is he leaving?" Maglor finally asked the all important question that Curufin didn’t want to know the answer to. 

"A fortnight from now. I’ve arrange with Círdan to send a guard detail and to meet us halfway down the Gelion."

"What if I refuse to go?" Finrod demanded, clenching and unclenching his fists. Curufin decided that Finrod's second childhood had made him far moodier. 

"I’ll tie you up, put you in a sack and send you anyways," Maedhros returned evenly. 

"I’ll run away and come back here," Finrod jutted his chin out in defiance. 

"Then I will send you back."

"Why are you so set on getting rid of me?"

The briefest shred of emotion passed over Maedhros’ face. It was long gone before Curufin could identify what it was. 

"We can’t loose you too." Maedhros admitted, "If I can get you to Círdan, you will be safe. Morgoth will not attempt a crossing by sea, for I suspect that it would be held against him."

Finrod’s shoulders slumped. 

"You will accept no reason for my staying here?" He pleaded. 

"No, Aráto, though I wish I could."

Without another word, Finrod abruptly left the room. Amrod quickly followed, though whether it was to comfort the blond or to hide his own tears was anyone’s guess. Maglor remained where he was, but he turned to face out of the window. Curufin was devastated by the news that he had not only, more than likely than not, lost his only biological child, but he was on the verge of loosing his semi-adopted son as well. 

"I will do something rash!" Curufin spat. 

"At least you’ve given a warning this time," Maedhros sighed, "I swear, Curvo, I’m not trying to hurt you."

"But you know that you are and you’re going ahead anyway." Curufin refused to look his oldest brother. 

"What would you do if it was Tyelpe who was here?"

"I would protect him!"

"How?"

"I…. I….” Curufin found that he didn’t have a good answer. He knew that they were a target, so more likely than not, Morgoth would seek to destroy them next. When that happened, they would surely all die. If he was being honest, since at this rate they would all end up dead, he was sickenly glad that he wasn’t forced to watch his son die in front of him. At the same time, he didn’t trust anyone else to be as vigilant as he was. 

"He will be safest if he is not with us," Maedhros rose and came over to give Curufin’s shoulder a squeeze. Then the redhead left the room. After a moment Curufin turned to the only other person who remained. 

"Kano? Don’t tell me you agree with his plan."

Maglor didn’t answer for a long moment, he just continued to stare out the window

"Trust me Curvo, I’ve tried to figure out another plan, another way to keep him here," the musician’s voice broke several times, "This is the only one that makes scene for the long term."

Curufin deflated. A great sense of aching loss was already building in his chest despite his very best efforts to keep it down. 

"So I have to lose him to keep him safe?" 

Maglor hunched his shoulders in response. Curufin didn’t find that to be a comforting answer. 

Finrod spent the next several days trying to convince Maedhros not to send him away. When he realized that it was an exercise in futility he glumly gave up trying. It was rather distressing to see lively Finrod so apathetic. Nothing they did would cheer him up.

Amrod took him hunting in an effort to take his mind off of things. Maglor sat with him for hours and let him cry without judgement. Not knowing what else to do, Curufin gifted him with an ornate set of knifes and a (not cursed) ring. Maedhros alone avoided the young elf. Curufin guess that it was because Maedhros wished to spare Finrod a little of the pain at their parting. 

Finally the day had arrived to send off Finrod. Curufin’s heart broke to watch his cousin mount up and ride off without so much as a word of farewell. He locked himself in his forge, determined not to cry (it was just seasonal allergies, he told himself). Finrod was going to be safe, that was all that mattered. Curuin set about burying himself in his work.

He was hit full in the face with emotions when he discovered a letter written by Finrod on his desk. The young elf had expressed his gratitude for everything that Curufin had done for him. The letter also bade him to be safe and that if he ever was anywhere near the Falas, to please, please come and visit. After reading it through, Curufin tucked the letter in the inner pocket of his tunic, wondering when he had become so sentimental. Wiping away not tears, Curufin wondered how long it would be until Maedhros would let him visit. 

Chapter 17: Identity crisis

Finrod’s butt hurt.

There was no other way to put it.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had been in the saddle for so long. The weather reflected his dour mood. There were heavy clouds and a steady drizzle of cold rain. Three days out, they stopped at the pre-arranged meeting spot. Círdan’s people were already there. After hurried words and a break that was entirely too short in Finrod’s opinion, they were off again. This time, he continued alone with strangers while the soldiers he knew rode back to Amon Ereb.

He sulked the whole ride. He sort of understood why Maedhros had sent him away. He also refused to believe that it was for his own good. The rain dumped harder as they rode on. Their last day of travel was truly horrible. The roads were slick with mud and the whole of the company was soaked to the bone. Finrod remembered very little of that day later. He was so tired the world became flashes of disjointed pictures. Falling off his horse into the mud. Cold. A boat. Then back on their horses. A portcullis being opened. Warm. Stumbling to a bed.

He awoke the next morning to find himself laying in a fairly comfortable bed, staring at ceiling he did not recognize. He rolled over and surveyed the room. There were rich tapestries on the wall and a blazing fire in the hearth. On the opposite wall was a half full book shelf next to a small writing desk with a window above it. Padding softly over to the window, Finrod peered into the world beyond. Rain tapped lazily against the glass. In the dreary mist, Finrod could make out very little of what lay outside, save for the top of the large tree that was a stone’s throw away from his window.

He was still looking out the window when someone entered the room. Finrod jerked back with a small shriek. Lessons drilled into his mind by the Fëanorions about how to deal with an intruder flashed through his mind. Wildly casing about, his hand closed on the only weapon within reach. He held it threateningly in front of himas hs spun to face the threat.

"Can I ask what you are planning to do with that book?" The intruder asked calmly.

Finrod blinked and looked down at what he had grabbed in his blind fear. It was a thin volume, a journal maybe, that had been sitting on the writing desk.

"I’ll throw it!" Finrod threatened. Not like it would do much good.

"You’re very flighty."

"You have a sword," Finrod pointed out bluntly.

"Yes, yes I do, but I have never raised it against another of free will," the intruder solemnly promised, "If you're up for introduction, I am Círdan."

Finrod slowly lowered the book and eyed the other elf. Círdan was not what he had been expecting. He was one of the shortest elves Finrod had ever met. His silver hair marked him as a Sinda, though he had a beard to go with his long hair. Based off of Curufin’s stories, he had expected Círdan to be a tubby, sour-mouthed Nandor without a drop of common sense. Looking over this elf, Finrod could see a wizened, calculating gleam in those brown eyes. He gulped.

"I’m not going to hurt you, Gil-Galad," the shipwright sighed seeing the fear flash across Finrod's face.

"That’s not my name," Finrod tersely interrupted. He was fully aware that he probably wasn’t starting things off on a good foot, but then again, he had spent much time with Curufin over the last two and half decades.

"I know, Maedhros wrote and informed me of the situation."

"I don’t like the name Gil-Galad. I wish to be called Finrod," Finrod paused before respectfully adding, "Please?"

He was suddenly realizing that he was only the ripe age of thirty summers and this was a battle hardened warrior older even than Maedhros.

"I do not think that it is wise for you to return as Finrod at the moment," the shipwright shook his head, ignoring the rather rude wording of Finrod’s original request.

"Why not?" Finrod’s shoulders slumped a bit.

"There were a handful of survivor who were able to flee the carnage at Nargothrond and make their way here. They blame your absence and your brother’s rather incompetent rule as the reason for Nargothrond’s fall. If you take on the name Finrod once more, they may seek revenge. Maedhros made it very clear that if you come to harm, he would commit a second kinslaying."

"But I didn’t do anything!"

"No, but politics and rumors do not care." Círdan gave him a sad smile.

Much to Finrod's shame, the lingering exhaustion and overwhelming emotions caught up with him. He began to cry. He was frustrated with Curufin for starting this whole mess. He was tired of hiding his name. He was scared of this new place. He was terrified of what the future would hold. He desperately wished that when he opened his eyes, he would find that he was back in Amon Ereb.

A calloused hand came to rest on the back of his neck. Strong fingers rubbed soothing circles on his tense muscles. Finrod’s tears soon ran dry.

"I’m sorry, small one," Círdan murmured, "It will get better, I promise."

"You don’t know that," Finrod sniffled as he whipped his nose on his sleeve.

"How does this sound: we’ll give it a year for the Nargothrond incident to cool down then we can see about switching back to your old name, hmm?" Círdan offered.

"Promise?"

"As much as I can in uncertain times," the older elf said with a small smile.

It took Finrod a full month to get used to the luxury of living on the Isle of Balar. The food was always good and plentiful. Because he lived with Círdan, he was allowed the freedom to go almost anywhere in the Keep, which meant hours of exploring. He wrote the Fëanorions almost daily to tell of his adventures (and he often included a plea to see them again). He slowly grew to love his new caretaker.

Despite all of that, Finrod was lonely beyond belief. He was the youngest elf by far. Every one else close to his age lived outside the Keep. The elves who did live in the Keep regarded him a bit like a lost puppy with fleas: adorable as long as you didn’t get close. Círdan had quietly announced that he was the Gil-Galad, son of Fingon and Círdan’s foster son for the moment. The announcement was taken skeptically. The courtiers liked to gossip and on more than one occasion, Finrod had heard them speculating that he was actually the son of Angrod or Aegnor (or, on one occasion, the serving girls were sure that he was the bastard child of Celegorm and Lùthien or Galadriel’s son with Thingol).

Finrod’s enjoyment of the Isle took a sharp turn downward not even a few months after he had arrived. Over the harvest festival, a traveling bard regaled the court with the latest songs and tales from Doriath. Finrod took great delight in the music (anything but the terribly repetitive sea chanties this whole island loved). The bard finally reached what he called his "most riveting tale of love and betrayal".

The song told of Beren, a mortal, who fell in love with Lúthiel, an elf maiden. As the song went on, Finrod became more and more uneasy. The bard sang of Beren’s coming to Nargothrond, the Fëanorions’ betrayal and then Finrod’s faithful departure. Finrod’s whole body went tense as the next part was sung about his capture and death. Anger threaten to choke him. Trying not to make a scene, Finrod slipped from the hall.

Once he was out of view, he darted back to his rooms. He threw the windows open in hopes that the cool breeze would calm his frantic heartbeat and burning anger. A little while later, there was a soft knock on his door. Finrod opened the door and Círdan slipped in.

"Are you okay?" The shipwright asked with no small amount of worry.

"That’s not what happened," Finrod spat, "It’s all wrong. How can they say such things against Uncle Celegorm and Curufin? And my own death? Have they done no research? Even a fool would be able to learn that I never departed Nargothrond with Beren!"

"Much what happened has been lost to history. Unfortunately, bards tend to take creative liberties when it comes to creating a good story," Círdan pointed out.

"Not even half of what was sung is true!"

"Thus is the price to gain popularity."

"It’s not fair. The truth has to be told!"

Círdan shook his head.

"I wish, young one. Maybe the course of history could have been different," Círdan sighed heavily, "In the mean while I’ll let your anger cool."

The shipwright turned to leave the room. As his guardian left, a though struck Finrod.

"Wait! How does this effect when I can come back as Finrod?”

Notes:

Apologies if the chapter is a bit rough. If I get a chance, I want to rework it.

Chapter 18: Nightmare or reality?

Notes:

Apologies for (1) the lateness of this chapter and (2) however rough this chapter is. I am still traveling (yay!), and I wrote this on my phone (yuck)...

Much to Finrod's displeasure, Círdan advised against renouncing the name Gil-Galad and retaking his former name. Surely no more than a decade, the Shipwright promised, and the Lay of Lethian would be forgotten. Until then, Finrod should continue to go by the name Gil-Galad. 

As much as he hated to, Finrod yielded to Círdan’s advice, counting the days until the predetermined length of 10 years was reached. 

It was nearly seven years in before Finrod received yet more news that would shake his world.

It first came in the form of a faint column of smoke. The next was a slow and small trickle of worn, injured elves reported nearing the coast. When they were questioned, they revealed a truly horrifying truth. Gondolin, the great and hidden city, had fallen. 

Slowly but surely more news began to trickle in. Each story was more gruesome than the last.

“What of the High King?” Finrod asked after listening to the reports that Círdan got. He had been extremely close with Turgon once and he desperately prayed his cousin had survived the carnage. 

“Turgon fell in battle,” Círdan sighed, giving his ward a sad glance. The shipwright had never met Turgon, but he grieved the loss of his fellow ruler all the same. 

Finrod’s shoulders fell. Tears prickled uncomfortably in his eyes.

“Then...” Fingon tired to grasp for the name of Turgon’s daughter, he came up blank, “Turgon’s daughter is the ruler.” 

“Idril is the ruler of the Gondolindrim, yes; however, she has abdicated title of High King in favor of you.”

“Me?” Finrod’s voice came out in a squeak as the news shocked him from his grief, “But why?” 

“She does not want the title and you are next in line of succession.” 

"But....I...do I....what if I don’t want it?" Finrod finally stammered.

"Your sister has rejected the Noldor and the Fëanorions are dispossessed. You are the only option," Círdan gave him a hard stare. 

"I can't ever come back as Finrod can I?" Finrod’s voice dropped to a whisper. 

He left before Círdan could answer, knowing that he didn't truly want to hear it. For quite sometime, Finrod avoided his guardian. They didn't talk again until news came that the refugees had set up camp by the mouth of the River Sirion. 

Against Círdan’s advice, Finrod decided to visit the camp. Círdan reluctantly let him go. When he arrived, Finrod was rather appalled. The camp was disorganized and most of the survivors were injured to some extent.

As he entered the camp, he was greeted by a tall, worn out Elda. Her formerly regal dress was tattered and stained. Her arm was set in a sling. She had long blonde hair and the striking Finwëon nose.  Finrod recognized her in a heartbeat. It was Idril. Feeling awkward, Finrod bowed. 

"I will accept none of that from you, cousin," Idril laughed softly, coming forward to embrace Finrod, "I gave you my father's illustrious crown, so if anything I should be bowing to you, Findekánoion."

"Findekánoion?" Finrod blinked, more than a bit surprised that Idril spoke not in common Sindarin, but rather in softly lilting Quenya.

"Yes, and I do apologize as I have neglected to learn your given name."

"Gil-Galad," Finrod sighed, cursing every moment that he deepened the ruse.

"Gil-Galad? That is a strange name," Idril cocked her head slightly.

Finrod shrugged uncomfortably before changing the topic, "Is this it? Is this all of you?" 

"Yes," Idril said bitterly, a frown twisting her beautiful face, "What you see is all that is left of Gondolin the Great."

"I am sorry for your loss?"

"I appreciate the sentiment, but I will not accept as you were not at fault," Idril shook her head.

"What do you need help with?" Finrod asked.

Idril chewed on her cheek.

"I am loath to accept charity, but we are sorely in need of anything you have to spared," she admitted.

Finrod hesitated. Technically nothing on the Isle of Balar was his to offer. Idril seemed guess this, giving his arm a pat. 

"We will have to manage," Idril drfted off as someone new came over, "Tuor! How fair the stores?"

Finrod turned to find a tall, rather sruffy Edain standing next to him. In his arms, the man held a toddler. A very grumpy toddler who, as soon as Idril was close enough, tried to grab her with frustrated whines of "Ami, Ami!". Finrod glanced to Idirl for an explanation.

"Oh, yes, this is my husband Tuor and our son Eärendil," Idril accepted the toddler from her husband as she continued the introductions, "Love, this is Ereinion, my cousin."

At the word 'cousin', Tuor gave him a long and scrutinizing look. Finrod had to resist the urge to flinch. 

"What do you want?" Tuor snapped. 

Finrod recoiled at the distrustful tone. Idril sighed. 

"Tuor, he-"

"No, the last cousin of yours tried to murder me and our son. I feel perfectly justified to know what this one wants. It is money? Power? Do you wish her as your wife?"

"I just want to help?" Finrod offered meekly. 

Tuor opened his mouth, no doubt to continue his questioning. Before he could speak, Idril set down Eärendil and grabbed his arm. 

"We will talk privately," Idril hissed before turning back to Finrod, "Please, make yourself at home."

Then she dragged her husband off into a tent. Finrod was left awkwardly alone with Eärendil. He pondered what to do. Eärendil was rather put out about being set down, so he turned his attention to Finrod.

The elfling tried to clamber up Finrod. With a small smile, Finrod hoisted the child up onto his shoulders. Eärendil giggled and played with Finrod’s hair.

Finrid stood there for several long minutes. When Idril did not appear again, Finrod grew bored and wondered off. With Eärendil on his shoulders, he began to explore the camp.

It wasn't long before Finrod was hopelessly lost among the tents. After wandering about aimlessly for an hour or so, Finrod happened upon an unusually large tent. The flaps were tied open to let the breeze pass through. After setting Eärendil down, Finrod took a peak inside. 

In the dim interior, Finrod could make out rows of beds. His curiosity getting the better of him, Finrod ventured closer. It didn't take long to figure out what he was seeing. The rows of makeshift cots that housed the badly wounded who had made this far.

He was about to leave when he caught sight of a familiar face. At first he though it was Curufin, but closer inspection revealed that the nose was smaller and the cheeks had a heavy dusting of freckles. In a flash he knew who this was. 

Celebrimbor. 

Finrod knelt by the cot. The small cup that sat on the ground next to the bed. The green sludge at the bottom marked it as having held a powerful pain relieving drug. Celebrombor’s face had a sheen of sweat and the parlor of his skin spoke to how much blood he had lost.

On impulse, Finrod put a hand on Celebrimbor’s brow. It was far too warm. Adding to Finrod's concern was the blood that occasionally frothed up from Celebrimbor's slightly parted lips. As gently as he could, Finrod pealed back the blanket that covered the injured elf. Celebrimbor only wore a pair of light trousers. His chest was wrapped in layers of blood stained linen. 

“What happened to him?” Finrod faintly asked the attending healer. 

“Him? Orcish sword under the ribs, day before yesterday,” the other elf responded without looking up the patient he was tending to, “Hit the lung. We had to drain it. Now we’re just praying that infection doesn’t take him too.” 

Finrod felt mildly queasy. He tenderly pulled the blanket back up and left the tent. Just outside, he ran into Idril. 

“Ah, I was wondering where you had wondered off to…” She murmured, sad look on her face as she looked to the tent behind Finrod.

“They need medical attention,” Finrod choked out, still reeling in shock of what he had seen in the tent.

“We’ve done everything that we can,” Idril shook her head. 

“What if the the badly injured can come to Balar with us? They would be cared for and could return of their own free will whenever they so desired,” Finrod offered on impulse.

“I do not want to burden your city.” 

“We can handle it.” 

Idril considered her options. 

“If you’re really sure that it won’t be a bother, you can take the wounded, if they wished to be moved,” Idril relented. 

Finrod gave a quick nod before hurrying off to arrange transportation with the steward who had come with him. 

It was an arduous process to move the injured to the Isle of Balar. By some miracle, only two died of their wounds before their destination was reached.

The first thing that Finrod did when he got back home was head to his rooms and pen a letter to Curufin. He excitedly told his cousin that Celebrimbor still lived, though he was injured and his hold on life was tenuous. Finrod could almost picture the passively excited face that Curufin would make when he received this news. Maybe, just maybe, this would be the letter that persuaded Curufin to visit him.

With a skip in his step, he headed to the aviary and sent the message off on one of the swiftest birds. When he got back to his rooms, Círdan was waiting for him. The shipwright looked grim. Finrod’s joy faltered. 

"What happened? Is it Celebrimbor?"

"No, the Curufinwëon is fine."

"This what has you looking so dejected?" Finrod ask, concern mounting.

"Doriath was ransacked," Círdan sighed. 

“Morgoth acts like he had won. He’s becoming too sure of himself,” Finrod growled. He vegaulely remembered being in Menegroth shortly after his arrive in Beleriand. Despite the fact that he had no emotional connection to the place, he still felt grieved. 

“What do you mean?” 

“First Gondolin, now Menegroth. Where will he strike next?" 

“Menegroth wasn’t attacked by Morgoth,” Círdan said very carefully. 

“What? Then who?” Finrod was puzzled. 

“It was the Fëanorions and their cult followers. They are kinslayers twice over.” 

Finrod suddenly felt very sick. Without taking his leave, Finrod ran from the room.

Chapter 19: From bad to worse

Notes:

I apologize in advance. This chapter got dark. The next one should be better.

Finrod had never felt so many conflicting emotions at once. He felt overwhelming disgust and outrage at the Fëanorion's latest deeds. This was mixed with sorrow for the lives lost. Along with these feelings came the guilt and shame of ever having associated with the Feanorions and loving them.

As he wrestled with these emotions, he also felt lost and scared. A very traitorous part of him whished that he was once again small and with the Fëanorions, before this had all happened. He knew just who to run to when he was scared (Maglor) or injured (the Ambarussa) or upset (Maedhros) or if he was lonely (Curufin). Here at the Isle of Balar, he did not have the net of comfort as he had when he lived at Amon Ereb. 

Ever since his arrival, Círdan's people had always given him a wide birth. After the kinslaying at Doriath, they actively avoided him and stared when he passed them. Despite a declaration from Círdan that he had not been involved with the kinslaying, the suspicion continued. Finrod had never felt so isolated, so he threw himself wholeheartedly into taking care of Celebrimbor.

For many nights it seemed that Celebrimbor too would forsake him and answer the call of Mandos, but by some miracle he hung on. A week and a half after being brought to Balar, Celebrimbor finally opened his eyes. It was anticlimactic at best (Celebrimbor had come to slowly and given a pained groan. The healers descended on him with great speed, giving him something to drink. When they had stepped back, the smith was unconscious once more). As it was, Finrod didn't remember the last time he had been so excited. 

Over the next month those who had escaped the brutal slaughter eventually began to trickle into both the newly forming city at the mouth of the Sirion as well as the Isle of Balar. Finrod was rather startled to discover that most of the refugees were young, hardly more than children. One child in particular caused quite the stir. 

The child arrived under the cover of darkness to the dock on the mainland. The mariners at the docks later swore they saw someone tall ride off just before the child was found nestled in a blanket in the closets boat. Because of this and also because the child was alone, he was taken straight to Círdan. 

The child had been properly traumatized and refused to talk to anyone. With Celebrimbor mostly recovered (at least to the point that he chased off Finrod's attentive and rather overbearing care), Finrod turned his attention to the small elfling. The young elf couldn't have been more than seven or eight summers old. 

It took Finrod quite some time to win the elfling's trust. The child was skittish around everyone and rarely ever talked. It was entirely a mistake one day went Finrod found out that the elfing liked squirrels. One of the furry critters had made a home in the tree just outside of Finrod's window.

The elfling soon discovered this and he spent hours at Finrod's window watching the creature. With Finrod's help, he put bread crumbs on the windowsill for the squirrel to eat. One unfortunate day, the squirrel got loose in Finrod's room. The two of the them spend the afternoon trying to catch it. Thanks to that little adventure, Finrod finally got a name out of him: Thranduil. 

When he reported this to Círdan, the shipwright's face had gone quite pale. More than a bit worried, Finrod followed his guardian back to the room where Thranduil was staying. The elfing was sitting on the rug, playing with a small, wooden fox. 

"Elurín?" Círdan called softly. 

"No, he said his name was Thranduil," Finrod corrected his guardian. 

"In part yes," Cirdan murmured, "He was named Elurín Thranduil Diorion at birth, weren't you?" 

The elfing didn't meet Cirdan's eyes, simply dropping the toy before shuffling until he was pressed to Finrod's side. Finrod frowned at the revelation of the elfling's name. 

"I thought the princes of Doriath were twins?" Finrod wasn't certain on that detail, but if that were true then there should be one more elfling somewhere. 

"They are. Do you know where your brother is, young one?" Círdan knelt to be at the elfling's level. 

The elfling didn't answer, simply pressing close to Finrod. Finrod could feel the small body trembling. After several long minutes, both Finrod and Círdan felt a clumsy poke of ósanwë. The memories that were offered were blurry and disjointed, but no less disturbing. 

.....................

Banging on the gates. 

Fear.

Pounding heart. 

"RUN!" 

Ada's sad face as he kissed them  on the forehead.

"I will always love you."

The guard at the door: "It's too late. They're here." 

Hiding behind the tapestry. 

A growly voice: "Where is it?" 

Ada: "I would never tell you, kinslayer!"

Grunts and clanging metal. 

A gurgle. 

Ada on the floor, knife in his chest.  

Eluréd screaming and running back towards Ada.

The warrior turning in surprise, sword already in full swing. 

The sword!

Eluréd!

No!

The sword hitting Eluréd in the neck.

Eluréd on the floor, not moving. 

Blood. Lots of blood. 

The warrior crying, backing away in panic. 

No, please, Eluréd, you have to wake up. 

More blood.

The warrior driving his own sword through his chest. 

Alone. 

Footsteps.

"No, no, no, no. Curvo? No, please." 

A redhead elf. 

Someone picking him up. 

Blankets and soup. 

Horses. 

The redhead: "You will be safe here." 

The ships. 

.....................

The images left both the older elves dizzy. Finrod in particular felt sick after what he had seen. The elf he had grown to trust as a second father had not only killed an innocent child, but had taken his own life too. 

"I'm sorry," he gasped, tugging at his collar, "I need air." 

With that he staggered from the room. Círdan found him several hours later curled up miserably on one of the battlements. 

"Elurín says he is sorry," the Shipwright sighed as he settled down next to his charge. 

"What? Why?" Finrod sniffled. 

"He seems to think that he upset you." 

"It's not his fault," Finrod mumbled. 

"No, but I should not have let you see that," Círdan sighed. 

"I'm grown! I can make my own decisions!" 

"Yes, but you should not have learned of ... Curufinwë's death in such a manner." 

"H-have you told Celebrimbor yet?" Finrod whispered, his mind turning to the only other person on the island that would likely care that the Fëanorion was dead. 

"No, not yet." 

The sat in silence for several long minutes. Círdan's weathered hand came up to rub gentle circles on the nape of Finrod's neck. 

"Is it wrong that I still love him, actually all of them, as my family?" Finrod finally asked, letting his hair hide his face. 

Círdan's hand paused for a moment as he thought of a good response. 

"I can not tell you who to give or not give your affections, Gil-Galad." 

That was not the answer that Finrod wanted. 

"I just-" 

"I do not condemn you for your love of them, though they are kinsalyers twice over. Family is a difficult thing. My... my brother and I never saw eye to eye. After one of our fights, he up and left the tent that we were sharing. I didn't see him again for another thousand years," Círdan's face was passive, but Finrod could tell that this subject was painful to talk about, "When I finally found him again he... he had been in Angband. His mind and body were twisted. He no longer saw life as sacred. He slaughtered half my company before I... I... I had to kill him and it broke my heart."  

The was a heavy pause. 

"Family is complicated," Finrod affirmed, settling closer to Círdan's side. 

Círdan hummed in response, mind far away. 

"What will happen to Thran- Elurín now?" Finrod asked. 

"I asked him if he wanted to live here. He said that he didn't want to; he wanted to live with his uncle Oropher. I talked with Oropher and he agreed to take the elfling in. I think they are leaving for Ossirand in a fortnight or so." 

"Oh," Finrod murmured. 

He was more than a little disappointed that Elurín would be leaving so soon. Círdan seemed to sense his darkening mood. 

"Come, small one, you have been sitting out here for long enough for one day," Círdan hauled himself up and gave Finrod a hand up. 

"I am taller than you," Finrod snorted. 

"But I am older, no matter how you count your age," Círdan poked Finrod in the side. 

Finrod couldn't help but give a small smile. 

Telling Celebrimbor about his father's death had been a surprisingly calm event. When the news was broken to him, Celebrimbor had gone very still before thanking them and abruptly leaving the room.  

For quite some time, Celebrimbor pretended the news of his father's death didn't devastate him, but Finrod knew better. He had, on more than one occasion, caught Celebrimbor drinking himself into a stupor.

Every time Finrod found him like this and asked him if he was alright, Celebrimbor would gruffly slur that at least he wasn't shutting himself up in the forges or kidnapping children as copping mechanisms. The smith would then proceed to drunkenly sob into Finrod's shoulder and would usually end up falling asleep as he leaned against Finrod.

As time went one, it was like there was no end to Finrod's bad luck. First a horrible famine swept the island and they were forced to kill a good many of their livestock and horses for food. Then two of their most important outposts on the mainland were over run with orcs. After that, their Nandor allies this side of Ered Luin had been decimated. While they were dealing with this latest set back, news came that Sirion had fallen to the Fëanorions. There were naught but a handful of survivors that escaped to tell the tale.  

There were rumors that Amrod had fallen; that surviving two Fëanorions had taken children captive; that Elwing had thrown herself into the sea. Finrod was horrified to learn that they were all true. 

It was during this time that Finrod was plagued with something that had never bothered him before: insomnia. He spent most nights tossing and turning, unable to escape to Irmo's realm, and he spent the days wishing he was asleep. 

He started taking long walks around the place ground in the night. It was a summer of beautiful nights (almost in mockery of the horrific slaughters that had happened over the past few years) and while he was taking one of his nightly walks, he ran into someone unexpected. 

He came around the corner of the pavilion, nearly jumping in fright when he saw a pale figure sitting on one of the benches, staring at the stars. He had to look at her for several long moments before he knew who it was. 

"Artanis?" Finrod could hard believe his eyes. 

Galadriel stiffened where she sat. 

"Ingo," she breathed, whirling around with huge eyes. 

She surveyed him with scrutiny, before deciding that this was indeed her older brother. 

"I don't understand. I though you were dead," she said accusingly. 

"Ah, yes, about that..." Finrod rubbed the back of his neck. 

Chapter 20: Distorted through history

"Why was I never told about any of this?" Galadriel hissed as soon as Finrod was done explaining what had happened to him since Curufin had accidently de-aged him. 

"I...Um... Curufin did say that he tried to write you, but Thingol wouldn't let the letter through," Finrod offered with an awkward shrug, a little embarrassed to be defending the elf who had royally messed up his life. He shook his head. Hate the sin, love the sinner. Curufin had made mistakes, but he had also tired to atone for them in his own way.

Finrod's one consolation was that Curufin was dead. If he had still been a live, Galadriel without a doubt would have march to Amon Ereb and shaken the life out of him. Her face, normally porcelain in color, was flushed pink in anger. 

"And so he gave up after one letter?" she snapped, twisting her scarf in agitation. 

Finrod sighed and scrubbed at his face. 

"I don't know 'Tanis," he murmured, "What I do know is that he truly regretted it." 

"A lot of good that does." 

Finrod opted not to comment on that and continue the argument. He chose instead to sit next to his sister and lean into her. It had been so long since he had been with one of his siblings. He had forgotten that she always wore jasmine perfume. The smell brought pleasant memories. 

After a few moments, Galadriel's fit of anger had passed as she turned to lean into him. She wrapped her slender yet strong arms around him, pulling him closer. 

"I do want to know: why haven't you returned to your true name?" she asked. 

"I...erm... well..." Finrod stammered as he tried to think of an answer. 

"If you say 'it's complicated' one more time, I will dunk you in the fountain." 

Finrod had no doubt that she would follow through with that threat.  

"Curvo gave me that name just after the whole thing started. No on in Amon Ereb ever really called my that, though. It wasn't until Maedhros gave me to Cirdan, that I was called that. I asked Cirdan if I could return to my true name, but he advised me against it. This was right after..." Finrod closed his eyes at the painful memory, "Right after Nargothrond fell. The few who escaped were furious that I had abdicated or ran away or whatever and left the throne to Orodreth. Cirdan was worried that there might be an attempt on my life. Ever since then, it's been more and more complicated to find the right time to return. I fear I am too deep in the deception to turn back now."

Galadriel pondered his words for quiet some time. She had many things that she wished to say, but a look at Finrod's face showed just how distressed he was. She finally decided to pursue that topic some other time when her brother was in a better place mentally. 

"I had been curious about how Orodreth had a son that I never heard about," Galadriel finally said.  

"What?" Finrod's head jerked up. He was curious about this nephew he had never met. 

"Everyone was saying you, Gil-Galad I mean, was the son of Orodreth," Galadriel explained. 

"Cirdan's been telling everyone that I was the son of Fingon," Finrod shook his head. 

"Ah, yes, because Finno has - had - blond, curly hair," Galadriel snorted. 

Finrod tried to picture his unruly, blond locks on his noble cousin. The picture in his mind's eye was ridiculous. He gave a little laugh. Galadriel gave her older, but somewhat smaller brother a strange look. Finrod shared his mental image with her. Galadriel shook her head. 

"Valar, Ingo, you're still immature." 

"But you love me," Finrod hummed, snuggling into Galadriel's shoulder. 

"Yes, yes I do," Galadriel murmured. 

The siblings sat for most the night cuddled on the bench. It wasn't until the pre-dawn light began to make the sky grey that Galadriel reluctantly stretched and detangled herself from Finrod. 

"I have to go," she said, "But I swear I will be watching you. If you try to die on my again, I swear I will drag you back from Mandos by the hair." 

"Where are you going?" Finrod asked, rather petulantly. He hoped to stall his sister and spend more time with her. 

"None of your business," she sniffed. 

Finrod narrowed his eyes as he probed at his younger sister's mind. The only thing he found was a face. A very handsome Sindar to be exact. 

"Who's the guy?" he blurted out. 

Galadriel turned pink. 

"Not your problem."

"Come on, you can tell me," Finrod pleaded. 

Galadriel relented a bit. She had never been able to keep secrets from her oldest brother. 

"He... he's very nice and smart," she said softly, "I...I think he likes me and I have to beat him in at least one game of chess." 

Finrod couldn't suppress a grin. 

"After all the fuss you've thrown about the 'chains of marriage' and the 'never tying yourself to another being' , you've found yourself a lover," he teased. 

It had been well known gossip back in Aman that Galadriel had turned down not one, not two, but fifteen suiters. Earwen had finally given up on ever seeing her daughter married or getting grand-children from her. 

"Ingo!" Galadriel gasped. 

Finrod was forced to flee as Galadriel chased him back through the gardens. 

Now that he knew where his last sibling was, Finrod's cheerfulness slowly returned. True to her word, Galadriel kept watch on her brother. If she couldn't be there (because she had 'a previous engagement with Celeborn'), she sent one her servants as her eyes and ears. 

The news continued to be hopeful. 

About a year later, a fleet of ships appeared on the horizon. The standard that it bore was unrecognized by the watchmen so Cirdan and Finrod were informed. The two of them had come out to observe. As they stood on the battlement Finrod felt like he could both laugh and cry. He knew immediately who was on those ships. 

His father. 

It was another day further before the ships reached the Isle. During that time, Finrod felt sick with anxiety. What would Finarfin's reaction be? Finrod had willingly left him behind in Aman. Finrod could only pray that his father wouldn't be too mad. 

As it turned out, he needn't have worried. 

When the landing party finally reached shore, they were promptly ushered to Cirdan's office. The group of beings was small, but Finrod knew everyone in it. There was Eonwe and Ingweon as well as Sercehte (a Maia of Tulkas) and Almárea (a Maia of Este). Finarfin was head of the delegation and at his side was Celegorm of all people. 

Finarfin swept his son up into an embraced before the door was even closed. 

"My precious boy," Finarfin wept, "How good it is to see you!" 

"Atto," Finrod's voice was stuck somewhere in the back of his throat, "I...I...I..." 

"Hush. It's alright. Everything is going to be fine now," Finarfin reluctantly broke his embrace, "The Valar have chosen to intervene." 

That was new. As far as everyone in Beleriand knew, they were on their own. Without further ado, Finarfin launched in the story of why they had come. As it turned out, Earendil and Elwing had managed to make it to Valinor. With a Silmaril in hand, Earendil had pleaded for three months in front of the Valar. Whether moved by pity or guilt, the Valar had agreed to help what remained of the free peoples.

Finarfin told them that this was only the first wave of ships. There were another two that followed close behind. 

The news was heartening and cause for rejoicing. A feast was held in celebration of the coming of the host from Valinor. With what little that remained of the hard-won comfort foods and delicacies, the cooks created a masterful (if a little scant) meal. The Great Hall was filled to capacity and the gardens had tables everywhere possible. 

Finrod felt himself relaxing. 

It wasn't until the harper began the intro to the best known song East of the Sea that Finrod realized that he had made a mistake. It was too late to do anything now. Finrod internally cringed as he listened to the harper’s song. As it went on, Finarfin's face grew more and more grave. 

‘-and thus King Finrod Felagund, the fairest and most beloved of the house of Finwë, redeemed his oath and perished in the process-"

At this line in the song, Finarfin's head whipped around to stare at his son in confusion.

"Aráto, what aren’t you telling me?"

Chapter 21: Jumbled facts

It wasn’t until after dinner that Finrod was able to discreetly pull his father and cousin into the privacy of his own office. Both Finarfin and Celegorm looked confused (though for different reasons). Finrod slouched in the chair behind his desk. Finarfin took the seat opposite him while Celegorm remained standing. 

"Right, now I think we deserve an explanation," Celegorm snapped. He didn't like how he had become known as a villain. He knew that he wasn't perfect, but attempting to force himself on a maiden was something even he wouldn't stoop to. 

"Do you want the long story or the short story?" Finrod groaned. 

"How about the long story short?" Celegorm growled. 

Finod scrubbed at his face while he thought.

"The long story short is that your brothers are - were?- idiots."

"I’ll let you get away with that once because it’s true." Celegorm crossed his arms and leaned against the fireplace.

"Curvo... um... he gave me a cursed ring. It was supposed to bend me to his will. Anyway, he got the spells wrong or something like that. Either way, it turned me into a child. He-"

"Turned you into a child?!?" Finarfin gasped. 

"It was unpleasant to deal with," Celegorm murmured, "You were very innocent and impressionable." 

Finrod glared at his older cousin before continuing on with his story. He quickly had a captive audience (Celegorm's knowledge of the story ended when he had left them in the woods). By the time he got to the end of the story, both Finarfin and Celegorm could do nothing more than stare at Finrod as they searched for words. 

"And you want to continue the deception and hide your true name?" Finarfin looked troubled. 

"I don't think it matters what I want any more," Finrod mumbled. 

If he was being honest, it felt like the deception was just part of him now. Anymore, he answered to the name 'Gil-Galad' easier than 'Finrod'. 

"Yes, yonya, it does matter. Tell me what you want," Finarfin prompted. 

"I just want to go home," Finrod felt tears prickling at his eyes. 

Finarfin came over to embrace Finrod, burying his face in his son's hair. 

"I would be a poor father if I did not wish for you to return with me," Finarfin's voice was muffled by Finrod's curls.  

Finrod clung tighter to his father. The scent of cedar washed over him. As with Galadriel, Finrod felt himself drawn to untainted memories of happier times. There was a loud cough from the other side of the room. 

"As touching as all of this is, we still have a very big problem at hand, namely, how to go about dispelling the rumors that I am a womanizer," Celegorm complained. 

"Aren't you?" Finrod snorted. 

He yelped as something struck his check. He turned to his cousin. Celegorm had picked a rock off of the bottom of his boot and flicked it at him. 

"Next time you suggest that, I'll throw a dagger," Celegorm grinned wolfishly. 

Finrod stuck his tongue out in defiance. He knew that Celegorm would never actually hurt him (or, at least he hoped). Suddnly, a brilliant thought struck him. 

"I've got it!" he exclaimed, startling the other two elves, "Tyelko we can solve this if you go by 'Finrod'." 

"Yeah no, never gonna happen," Celegorm snorted, looking unimpressed. 

"Why not? You did everything that I supposedly did in that stupid song," Finrod pointed out.

"Nope, I've still got enough dignity not to claim to be you." 

"You would rather claim to be 'Celegorm the Cruel'?" 

Celegorm stiffened. He weighed his options for several long minutes. 

"I will agree to this stupid scheme on one condition," he finally grit out. 

"Name it," Finrod answered, maybe a bit too quickly.  

"When this is all over, you owe me a BIG favor."

Finrod shrugged tiredly, in no mood to bargain.

"Sure, why not." 

"One question, yonya," Finarfin interposed, "How exactly to you propose hiding this change of names from the soldiers. Most everyone from Aman will know your rightful names." 

"Galadriel," Finrod said confidently. 

"What is your sister going to do?" Finarfin sighed, "Actually, on second thought, don't tell because I have a feeling that I don't want to know."

Finrod snorted. He wasn't sure he wanted to know his sister's methods either. All he knew is that she had ways to stop (and start) rumors. 

With the arrival from of the host from Valinor, new hope was born in the elves of Beleriand. A war council was held and it was decided that going on the offensive was the right choice. They began the long march on Angband. Finrod felt pessimistically hopeful about their chances.

The landscape of mainland of Beleriand had not changed much since Finrod had last been there. The flora and fauna had changed, however. With the filth of Morgoth hanging over the land, very little grew and even less of it was edible. The animals that survived were malnourished and skittish. 

Celegorm spent the time hunting in the wilds along side their route. What he was hunting for, Finrod never asked. It was all too clear from the black blood that stained his jerkin when he returned. Finrod did suspect an ulterior motive to the killing sprees. Celegorm was looking for his remaining brothers. With every passing week, it seemed that luck was against him. 

That is, until one day, Celegorm returned with prisoners. 

Finrod had not been expecting his cousin to come marching into his tent. 

"I couldn't find Timo or Laurë. I did find their hostages," Celegorm gently shoved two adolescents in front of him, "And they are so feral make younger you look saint like."

Finrod could nothing be gape at the two young elves who looked terrifying similar to Elwing when she was younger. 

Chapter 22: The small matter of twins

Notes:

I apologize if E&E are a little OOC, just roll with it... ;P

"Y-you're Elwing's sons!" Finrod gasp, too surprised to get much else out. 

The twin's looked far from impressed at his comment. 

"What of it?" Twin One said. 

"I just... you both.... they kidnapped you!" 

"Yeah, sure," Twin One grunted, "But it's not kidnapping if you don't want to leave them."

Twin Two grunted in agreement, before crossing his arms and glaring at Finrod. 

"Do you know where my brothers are?" Celegorm looked very annoyed and very much like he would like to take a twin in each hand and shake them (Finrod knew that he could do such a thing after watching him do it to both full grown Ambarussa at once). 

"No," Twin One said sullenly, "If we did, we would be there and not here." 

Twin Two continued to glare at Finrod. Finrod had never felt so unnerved in all of his life.

"It good to have you safe?" Finrod offered. 

Neither twin responded. Finrod was starting to come the distinct conclusion that it might be easier to talk to a brick wall.  

"What are your names?" Finrod tried a different approach to win over the twins. 

"Atto says that it's bad to give out personal information to strangers," Twin One snarked smugly. 

"Yes, but Eärendil knew-"

"Eärendil isn't our Atto," Twin One corrected sharply, "Maglor is."

Finrod couldn't believe his ears. 

"Maglor?" he asked faintly. 

He couldn't for the life of him fathom why Elwing's twins would refer to Maglor as "Atto". A glance at Celegorm showed that the other blond was just as confused. 

"And where is Maglor?" Celegorm demanded. 

"We don't know," Twin One sulked, kicking at the dirt. 

A few more attempts to learn either the whereabouts of the other Fëanorions or the twin's names proved fruitless. Finrod decided that he would keep an eye on them and try to wheedle the answers out of them. 

The twins made it as difficult as possible. They had decided that they didn't like anyone and that they didn't want to cooperate. Twin One was rude to everyone (He had an impressive number of curses that Finrod knew for a fact he had learned from Maedhros) and Twin Two had yet to speak a word (Finrod was secretly worried that maybe he was mute).

On days that the company marched, they would ride together on a horse and huddle against one another (Their fear of the majestic beasts told Finrod that they had never ridden on one). On days that the company was camped, they frequently tried to escape. Time and time again, they were caught and brought back to Finrod. 

Finrod couldn't find it in his heart to punish them, despite both his father and Cirdan advising it. They didn't know any better, he had argued. Slowly, ever so slowly, the twins began to feel comfortable in Finrod's presence. They let their guard down so much that one evening, Finrod had caught them whispering to each other. He had been so relieved to hear Twin Two speak that he had scooped them both up into a hug (upon contact, Twin One had yowled fear and Twin Two had gone stiff with shock). After they knew that he had been caught, Twin Two would, on occasion, spit out a word. Finrod took that as a win.

Needless to say, Finrod was caught by surprise when, after the twin's latest escape, they weren't found for several days. The entire army helped with the manhunt (though the general consensus was that if the twins wanted to die so badly, they should be left to their own devices). 

They had been found eventually. Twin One had tried to run and fallen in the river. He had to be fished out of the fast moving water. Twin Two tried to have in a nearby cave, but he was quickly caught. 

The miscreants were dragged before a stressed Finrod. Finrod was more than annoyed that they had lost several day because of the twins. His stress had manifested as a steadily growing migraine. 

"Eärendillion!" Finrod massaged his throbbing temples, "Next time you try that, I will see you put in chains." 

"You wouldn't dare," the sopping wet Twin One snarled. 

If Finrod's headache hadn't been so bad, he would have noticed that for once, Twin Two didn't follow along with his brother. 

"Listen here Elros-" Finrod began, jabbing a finger in Twin One's face. 

"Elros?" Twin One shared a confused glance with Twin Two. 

"That's what I'm calling you. I can't keep calling you Eärendillion or Twin One and Twin Two. So, either you tell me your birth names or I will call you what I please!" Finrod ranted. He was at the end of his rope.

Per their usual habit, the twins didn't answer Finrod's jab. 

"Right, now, listen to me Elros and-" Finrod paused for a moment while he thought while he pondered Twin Two "-Elrond. I have put up with this for far too long. I get that for what ever reason you think that my cousins are your parents. However, that does not give you an excuse to run off willy-nilly into the wilderness. Every time you do, it costs us time that we could be using against Morgoth. If you stay put until the war is ended, I'll help you find Maedhros and Maglor."

The twins looked moderately abashed. 

"Promise?" Twin One - Elros, Finrod corrected himself.

Finrod looked at the young peredhel. He found that he couldn't refuse. 

"Yes, I promise," he nodded. 

Chapter 23: The plan unravels

Despite their promise to behave, it was not all smooth sailing with the twins. Finrod was indeed forced to put in Elros in chains. The young peredhel had once again a attempted to escape. He had been spitting mad when he was dragged before Finrod.

Though he hadn't wanted to, Finrod had ordered Elros set in chains. At first, Finrod had feared that Elros would never speak to him again. He was proven wrong. 

Despite his initail misgivings, Finrod insisted on bring the peredhel his evening meal. He was worried to find that Elros was curled up, facing away from the entrance. His shoulders were shaking as he cried.

"Elros?" Finrod said hesitantly. 

Elros didn't turn to look at him. 

"Elros?" Finrod tried again. 

"I just want my Atto," Elros sniffled forlornly. 

"Maglor or Eärendil?" Finrod sighed, already guessing the answer.  

"Either. I just want my Atto," Elros finally turned to look at Finrod. 

The peredhel's cheeks were splotchy and grey eyes were bloodshot and puffy. Finrod promptly dropped the food in favor of enveloping Elros in a hug. Elros promptly clung to him. The peredhel grip was fierce. 

When it became clear that Elros had no intention of letting go of him anytime soon, Finrod began to card a hand through Elros' dark hair. Ever so quietly, Finrod began to hum the lullaby he remembered Maglor singing back at Amon Ereb when he was small. His memory of the song was faulty. 

About half way through the song, he trailed off, not sure what came next. To his surprise, Elros' muffled voice continued it. When the song was complete, Elros pulled back slightly to ask:

"How'd you know that song?"

Finrod smiled gently before launching into an abbreviated version of the story of his second childhood. The story proved to be the turning point in the twin's trust in him. Elros (rather begrudgingly) stayed in camp, per Finrod's request. 

With the twins contained (for now), Finrod could rest a bit easier. For whatever reason, the twins descided that he was safe (Celegorm stated that they were like a pack of wolves that Finrod had simply asserted his dominance). Over the next few months, they sort of adpoted him as an annoying older brother. 

The twins weren't the only people that Finrod became close to. The other person began rather obnoxiously hanging around his tent. 

"Can I help you?" Finrod groaned. 

"Can't I spend time with my favorite cousin?" Celegorm teased. 

"Since when have I been your favorite cousin?" Finrod snorted. 

It was no secret that Celegorm had preferred the company of Aradhel, Angrod and Aegnor. 

"Since.... everyone else is dead?" Celegorm offered with a shrug. 

"Galadriel is still alive," Finrod pointed out. 

"Between the two of you, that's an easy contest."

"No, seriously, why are you here? Did you break something?" 

"Arato, there is no one else," Celegorm said softly, "And... and... and I don't want to be alone." 

"I know," Finrod said softly, "That's why we have to win." 

"I don't think winning this war will bring anyone back," Celegorm smiled sadly. 

"No, but it's worth a try." 

"Aye, I suppose it is," Celegorm agreed. 

From then on out, Celegom spent a lot of time with Finrod. He helped Finrod when the logistics and commands became too overwhelming. At first Finrod found it annoying, but slowly he grew to enjoy having Celegorm around. 

The twins, for whatever reason, quickly warmed up to Celegorm. Finrod wondered if having a different Fëanorion around momentarily sated their thirst to hunt for Maedhros and Maglor. 

The war went smoother than Finrod could have ever imagined. With the reinforcements from Aman, the armies of Morgoth were steadily turned back. It was difficult to believe that the Noldor had ever struggled against him. 

While their march north was slow, they didn't loose as nearly as many troops as had been predicted. The only real bump in the that they hit was the large dragon that guarded the desolate plains around Angband. That problem was quickly rectified with help from Eärendil and his flying ship. 

With his resources depleted, Morgoth was quickly defeated. The Maia of Tulkas chained him with Eönwë's help. Once he was bound, both Ainu shed their fana and departed for Aman. 

Now that Morgoth was defeated, the search for Maedhros and Maglor could ensue. Celegorm and the twins began seaching the surrounding land. Finrod had wanted to help with the search, but as the recognized High King of the Excilic Nolor, there was a lot of paperwork and meetings to be dealt with. 

Celegorm and the twins checked back in every two weeks (mostly just to let Finrod know that they were alright). With every week that passed without word of either of the two remaining Fëanorions, Finrod began to loose the hope that they were still alive. 

The search was fraught with more peril than Finrod had originally thought that it would. Stray Orcs still roamed the land and Morgoth's human allies attacked travelers indiscriminately in their retreat to higher ground. Adding the peril of the search was the encroaching sea. Eönwë had said that Eru was sinking the land east of the Blue Mountains because it could not be saved. 

Finally, Finrod could not risk sending out search parties any longer. He let Celegorm and the twins embark on one last attempt to find Maedhros and Maglor. It was during their time away that Finrod had the unthinkable happen. 

It was sometime pasted midnight when he was awoken by yelling in the camp. More than a bit startled, Finrod strapped a weapon to his belt and set up to find the source of the commotion. It was easy to track. 

The whole scene was lit by torches. Just outside of Eönwë's tent, ring of armed guards stood with weapons drawn. They had surrounded something, or more accurately, someone. Eonwe was addressing the person. Finrod approached. 

The crowd parted for Finrod. He soon found himself standing next to Eönwë The person in the circle was not at all who Finrod had expected. 

Maedhros looked feral in the torch light. The box with the Silmarils was tucked under his right arm. In his left arm he held a broad sword. His shoulder was streaked with blood (Finrod didn't who's it was). Despite the fact that he was a formidable warrior, there was no way he was fighting his way out. 

"Maedhros?" Finrod spluttered. 

Maedhros just bared his teeth. 

"What are you doing?" Finrod asked in horror. 

"He's attempting to claim the remaining Silmarils," Eönwë supplied. 

"Well, yes. I can see that, but I want to know why?" 

"Their mine! My own! My precious!" Maedhros snarled, "You can't keep them from me!"

Finrod noted with sorrow that this was not the cousin that he had known. 

"Fëanorion, you have lost your claim to them," Eönwë told him seriously. 

Before anyone could respond, Finarfin joined the quickly expanding circle of spectators. 

"Oh, sweet Varda! What happened to you Maitimo?" Finarfin gasped.

Finrod had forgotten that his father hadn't seen the damage that had been done to Fëanor's oldest. 

Chapter 24: For all shall come to ruin and naught

"Like you care!" Maedhros snarled at Finarfin's question. The rough sound was far more animalist than true speech. 

Finarfin jerked back like he had been struck. 

"Maitimo! You are my family, of course I care!" Finarfin protested. 

"You cared so much that you turned tail in Aman. Why didn't you stop us?" Maedhros was trembling with pent up rage, "You let this happen to us." 

It was clear by now that Maedhros wasn't functioning well mentally. He was far worse off than last Finrod remembered seeing him. 

"Maitimo, you dug this hole that you now stand in," Finarfin reprimanded. 

"You didn't stop us," Maedhros repeated. 

"I didn't know exactly what would-"

"You knew and you didn't stop us!" 

"Atto?" Finrod was more than a bit worried about where this conversation was going, "What is he talking about?" 

Finarfin looked equal parts ashamed and sick.  

"The gift of foresight is not always a gift, you should know that," Finarfin said softly with a grimace.

"But you knew that something was going to happen?" Finrod probed. 

"Oh, he knew," Maedhros hissed mockingly, "He saw that we were going to our deaths. But have no fear, he was a loving uncle and never told us." 

"I tired to warn your father-"

"You didn't stop us," Maedhros repeated once more, voice bordering hysterical. 

"He tried to though," a soft but very firm voice said. 

The crowd parted to let Celebrimbor through. The sight of his nephew made Maedhros' gaze clear a bit and Finrod dared to hope that he might be reasoned with. 

"Tyelpë?" Maedhros looked very confused, "What ... what are you doing here?"

"I marched North with the army. I was asleep, but I came when I heard the commotion," Celebrimbor sighed, "I could ask you the same thing, what are you doing here?" 

Finrod half expected for Maedhros to spit curses back in response. 

"I...I...I was...I was... I was..." Maedhros frowned, then his eyes fell back to the box that he clutched under his maimed arm and his gaze clouded once more, "They're mine, I tell you! Mine!" 

"Uncle, are these stones worth your sanity and quality of life? Are they worth all of this death and destruction?" Celebrimbor asked. 

"Yes! They're mine!" Maedhros back away as much as the ring of warriors would let him, "You will not withhold what is mine by right!"

It was evident that Maedhros would not willingly be parted with the remaining Silmarils. Finrod also knew that there would be no way to capture him peacefully and alive. Maedhros would either die or he would have his prizes. 

Finrod wasn't sure what to do. He was saved from making a decision when Eönwë spoke. 

"If you are so attached to them, then take them and get thee gone!" Eönwë reprimanded sternly, "What comes is what you have earned through bloodshed." 

"Y-you're going to let me go?" Maedhros narrowed his eyes, sensing a trick, "Is your plan to shoot me in the back as I leave? You are far more cowardly than I realized." 

"There is no trick. I would only recommend that you do not touch the jewels." Eönwë looked sad. 

"You know nothing, thrall," Maedhros sneered, eyes darting around wildly. 

"He is not a thrall!" Finrod jumped to Eönwë's defense. He rather liked the feathery Maia. Eönwë wasn't the smartest Ainu Finrod had ever met, but he had a good heart. 

"He serves a master mindlessly, with out question or thought. He is a thrall. Manwë or Morgoth, it makes no difference," Maedhros rebuffed, "A thrall I name you, Fionwë, a thrall to Manwë!"

Maedhros attempted to leave. The ring of guards pressed closer. Maedhros snarled at them, futilely brandishing his own sword against their spears. 

"Let him go," Eönwë commanded with a waive of his hand. 

Everyone stared at him in shock. 

"But, my lord, he is a kinslayer! And what of the Silmarils? You would let him steal them?" one of the guards protested. 

"Let him go," Eönwë repeated, "He has chosen his path. I will not see any more blood be spilt on behalf of the Feanaro's Jewels."

Reluctantly, the crowd parted for Maedhros. The redheaded elf seized his opportunity and fled into the night. Finrod was disappointed to see his cousin flee. For the first time, Finrod was glad that the twins and Celegorm weren't here. They didn't deserve to see Maedhros in this state. 

Finrod, Celebrimbor and Finarfin stood there long after everyone had left, each of them hoping beyond hope that Maedhros would return to the camp of his own violation. 

"How did it get so bad?" Finrod finally asked. 

He meant it as a rhetorical question, but he got an answer anyway. 

"He has lost everything," Celebrimbor sighed, twirling his pendant between his fingers. 

"Should we send a pursuit?" Finarfin asked. 

"Like as not that would only spook him more," Celebrimbor grimaced, "We would do likely do more harm than good to attempt pursuit." 

"What am I supposed to tell Tyelko? And the twins? What do I tell them?" Finrod buried his face in his hands. 

"I do not know, but if the twins cause trouble, you can send them to me. They like me well enough," Celebrimbor offered, "I will not deal with my uncle Celegorm, though. He is your responsibility."

Finrod had three days to plan out a carefully worded explanation of what had happened. However, the moment the twins and Celegorm stepped into his tent, it flew out of his head. 

"Where is Maedhros?" Celegorm practically jumped down Finrod's throat. 

"I... he...erm.. Silmarils... left," Finrod managed to get out as Celegorm shook him. 

"Why?" Celegorm growled. 

Behind him, the twins looked far from pleased. 

"Why what?" Finrod didn't follow the question. 

"Why did he leave? Did you threaten him with violence? What did you do?" Celegorm snapped. 

"I did no such thing!" Finrod said defensively, "He attacked the camp and tried to make off with the Silmarils. He made it clear that he would rather die than be parted with the Silmarils or taken captive."

"So, you let my brothers escape?" Celegorm snorted, "You are unbelievable! Which way did they go? I could still catch them." 

"Tyelko," Finrod gulped, "It was only Maedhros who came." 

That news seemed to shock the others. Elrond particular looked very pale, clutching at Elros. 

"Only Maedhros? Where is Maglor?" Celegorm looked very concerned. 

"I don't know," Finrod's shoulders slumped. 

It was three weeks before that question was answered. 

Celegorm and the twins had searched futilely for both Maedhros or Maglor. They had found no signs of either save a bloodied bandaged and Maedhros' sword that Elros promptly claimed. 

Finrod was preparing to pack up his tent. The army was returning the Isle of Balar. From there those who wished to go West would sail and those who wished to stay would go East. 

The wounded had already begun the arduous journey. The rest would soon follow. Finrod was more than a little nervous for two reasons. 

Reason one was the encroaching sea. It was a slow process, but slowly, bit by bit, the land was heaving violently before crumbling into the sea. The roar of the water on the disappearing land was still faint, but it came nearer every day. 

Reason two was Finrod wasn't entirely sure what his decision would be once they reached the Isle of Balar. He had build a good life for himself in Arda under the name Gil-Galad. There was a good part of him that was loath to give it up.

That part of him was wrestling with his desire just to go home. While he had enjoyed the adventures and slights of Arda, he missed those who he had left behind. He missed his mother. He missed his betrothed. 

Finrod was spared from thinking about his fate too much when a lone figure with a crutch stumbled into the mostly dismantled camp and straight into his tent. Finrod jumped in surprise. 

"Maglor?" he choked. 

It was indeed Maglor. The older elf was leaning heavily on his crutch. It was clear from the way that his bad leg dragged behind him that traveling about had been painful. Without preamble, Maglor limped over to his cousin and unceremoniously thunked a Silmaril in Finrod's hands.

"Maitimo is dead," Maglor's voice was flat and emotionless, "Do what you see fit with me."

Chapter 25: Truth is a hard reality

Finrod promptly dropped the Silmaril in favor of catching his cousin before he fell. Without a moment of hesitation, Finrod dragged Maglor over to the lone chair. Maglor stiffly sunk into it. His breath hitched as his bad leg practically buckled under him. 

"Maglor, what did you mean when you said that Maitimo is dead?" Finrod wasted no time in jumping on the first part of Maglor had said. 

Maglor's gaze was blank. Finrod gently shook his cousin. Then out of the blue Maglor began to weep. 

"He's dead," Maglor's voice was hoarse and sounded like he had been screaming for hours. 

"How do you know that? Are you sure that he isn't just injured?" Finrod desperately clung to the hope that Maedhros was still alive and just in need in help that Maglor couldn't offer.

"He jumped," Maglor mumbled, twisting his frayed sleeve in agitation. 

"He jumped where?" Finrod probed, trying not rush his cousin, but also wanting answers. 

"He jumped." 

"Makalaurë? I need you to focus," Finrod asked gently, reaching out to grip Maglor's shoulders, "Where is Maitimo? Where did he jump?" 

"He jumped," Maglor repeated miserably. 

"Yes, but where did he jump?" 

"He jumped."

Finrod couldn't restrain himself. He slapped Maglor's cheek, not harshly, but enough to shock Maglor back to reality. Maglor blinked before dissolving into tears once more. 

"I couldn't stop him," he cried. 

A long stretch of silence while Finrod waited for Maglor to continue speaking. 

"The stone... it burned him. He couldn't take it. His screams were so loud, Arato, and the air stank of burnt flesh. It was like when his stump was cauterized after his rescue, but worse because he was awake," Maglor sounded miserable, "He was angry and he jumped off of a cliff into a lake of fire. I tried to stop him, I really tried. But I couldn't because of my stupid leg. If I had been faster or if I hadn't been injured or if I had been better at my job or maybe if I had been-"

"Maglor, it's not your fault," Finrod sighed. 

"But it is," Maglor whimpered, "I should have been able to stop him." 

"Listen to me, Makalaurë, you did everything that you could."

"It wasn't enough! They all died. I couldn't save any of my brothers." 

"That's not strictly true," Finrod said softly. 

"They all died because me. I couldn't keep Tyelko from getting himself killed. I couldn't keep Carnister from getting betrayed and mortally wounded. I couldn't keep Amrod from getting murdered by Orcs. I couldn't be at Doriath to watch Curvo's back or at Sirion to keep Amras safe. Now I have added Maitimo to my list of failures." Maglor buried his face in his hands. 

Finrod pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn't even know where to begin when it came to responding to Maglor's guilt. He was saved from answering when Celegorm came into the tent. 

He had been dropping by to see if Finrod need any help to finish packing. He had not been expecting to find a Silmaril sitting on the floor of his cousin's tent. He picked it up before turning to face Finrod. 

"Aráto? Why is there a Silmaril in your.... Laurë?" Celegorm trailed off, so stunned he couldn't finish his thoughts. 

Maglor looked just as stunned. 

"T-tyelko?" Maglor scrubbed at his eyes, "B-but you're dead. Dear Valar, I'm hallucinating."

"No, I mean, yes, I was dead but now I'm not. You're not hallucinating. And we thought you were dead," Celegorm dropped the Silmaril and rushed over to his older brother. 

Maglor reached out a hand, but stopped before he touched Celegorm. He was afraid that this really was just his mind playing tricks on him and he didn't want to shatter the illusion. Celegorm broke it for him. He reached out and tightly hugged Maglor. 

Maglor collapsed forward into Celegorm's strong arms. He was too exhausted emotion and physically to do more than take shuddery breaths and tremble. Celegorm was rather unaccustomed to playing the comforter. When they were younger, he often sought out Maglor for comfort, not the other way around. 

"Laure, where is Maitimo?" Celegorm asked after a few moments. 

Maglor didn't answer, he just buried his face in Celegorm's shoulder. Celegorm promptly turned to Finrod for answers. Finrod explained all that he had managed to learn from Maglor so far. Celegorm looked distressed. 

"I should have looked harder when we were searching," he grimaced, "Or at the very least, I should have known that Maitimo would come back for the Silmarils and waited for him here." 

"Damn you Feanorions!" Finrod threw up his hands in exasperation, "Not everything is directly your fault. Can't you get that into your thick heads?"

Celegorm looked like he didn't know if he should be insulted or ashamed. Maglor simply sniffled in to Celegorm's tunic. 

"Can you get the twins?" Celegorm asked Finrod, jerking his chin towards the tent flap. 

Finrod got the hint that Celegorm wanted to talk with Maglor alone, so he agreed. He took the longest route possible to find the twins. When he told them that Maglor had come back, neither one of them believed him at first. The news finally sunk in and both of the twins shot off to Finrod's tent. 

By the time Finrod made it back to his tent, Elros had attached himself to one side of Maglor and Celegorm to the other. Elrond was kneeling in front of Maglor, gently massaging Maglor's bad leg. Maglor was biting his lip as Elrond's slender fingers worked on the scar tissue that ran down his leg. 

From that time forward, Elrond and Elros clung to their former guardian. It was seldom that either left his side. 

The trip to the Isle of Balar was much easier than their trek north had been. During their journey, Eonwe took both twins aside one night to talk with them privately. The only thing that Finrod got out of them later was that Eonwe made them choose something, but he couldn't get any further details. 

At their journey's end, the camp began to split up. The Eldar who wished to sail West, began preparing for the journey. The Eldar who wished to stay began sending ships to the coast further south, looking for a good place to start a new life. The faithful Edain began packing up in preparation to move to the Isle of Gift. 

Finrod knew that his time to dawdle was over. The decision now seemed harder than before. 

His father was returning to Aman and pleaded with Finrod to go with him. Finrod was longed to go with him. His hearth yearned for the home and familiar places of his happy youth. He missed his betrothed and his mother. 

On the other hand both Galadriel and Maglor were banned from returning, further more the twins were staying as well. Finrod's older brother instinct was to stay and protect them all. 

The more he thought about it, the more conflicted he became. He was half tempted to sail with the Edain and never deal with the Eldar again. 

He took to hiding, sullenly staring off to sea and avoiding all questions about where he wished to go. He was rather rudely found one afternoon by Celegorm. Celegorm had no problem with ignoring Firod's glare and sitting down on the hill side next to him. 

"Finderáto, can I ask you something?" Celegorm asked. 

"I guess," Finrod sighed, choosing not to look at his cousin. 

"Can we trade places?" Celegorm blurted out. 

"Can we what?" Finrod choked, turning to stare at Celegorm.

"Trade places. You know, you go back to Aman as Finrod and I stay here as Gil-Galad."

Finrod blinked, not sure he had heard correctly. 

Chapter 26: One last switch

"I...what...But why?" Finrod stammered as he tried to guess his cousin's reasoning. 

"Laurë and Tyelpë aren't going back and I want to keep an eye on them," Celegorm shrugged.  

"But, why do we need to trade places? You can just stay."

"Because I can't exactly go around advertising my name is Celegorm, thanks to Daeron, and if I have to go by your name any longer, I will murder someone," Celegorm hissed good-naturedly (at least, Finrod hoped it was good-naturedly). 

"And you would rather go by Gil-Galad?" Finrod quirked an eyebrow in disbelief. 

"Yes, anything but your name," Celegorm nodded. 

"You do realize that we look nothing alike. My hair is blond and yours is silver. We look completely different."

"Not completely. We have similar physiques and we both wear green," Celegorm argued.  

"Yes, because that is all that is required to pull off a convincing switch," Finrod snorted. 

"We cut our hair, for grief, or whatever. When it grows out, you'll be back in the arms of your beloved and I'll be here. No one will be any wiser." 

"Cirdan will know," Finrod pointed out. 

"He likes me," Celegorm waived off Finrod's protests. 

"He tolerates you. There's a difference."

"The twins like me."

"How does that help your case?"

"Emotional manipulation is a powerful ally. Have you seen them when they want something?"

Finrod couldn't deny that his cousin had made a valid point. He sat with his head in his hands for several long minutes, trying to make a descision. Celegorm coughed lightly to elicit a response. 

"Fine! I can't believe I'm saying this, but we can switch," Finrod threw up his hands. 

"Yes! Thank you cousin. Have no fear, I will be the perfect bastard son of Orodreth and Fingon in place of you," Celegorm grinned. 

"No! That makes it sound way too weird. Just the pick one of the other; don't say both." 

"Alright. I suppose that I'm the secret love child of Finno and Timo, though, on second thought, I'm not really quite sure how that physically works," Celegorm cocked his head as he pondered this. 

"That's an even worse story. Finno will have your head if you spread rumors like that."

"Do you think Carnister ever bedded that human he was so fond of? Halen? Helith?"

"You mean Haleth? I... I don't know. Why?" Finrod asked suspiciously. 

Celegorm smiled and gestured to himself. 

"Nope. You and Carnister look nothing alike," Finrod snorted, "But I'll give you that this time you at least have a female in the picture."

"Fine! I'm the covered up son of Aegnor, because, you know, we have the same hair color and all."

"And you're sure you don't have a personality disorder," Finrod groaned. 

"It's not like you've every had a very consistent story. I'm just keeping with tradition and seeing how many relatives I can insult at once," Celegorm sniffed, "Wait! I've got it! What if I'm really Aunt Findis, but in disguise!" 

Finrod couldn't help but roll his eyes. He scooted closer to Celegorm and leaned against him. If Celegorm was surprised, he didn't show it. He just looped an arm around Finrod in a hug. Finrod tuned out Celegorm's continued ramblings and let himself relax a bit. 

He felt a little better about following his heart home since he knew that Celegorm would be here to keep an eye on their remaining relatives. 

It was officially announced the next day that that Finrod would be returning to Aman while Gil-Galad would be staying to rule the exilic Noldor. A surprisingly few number of the Noldor who were staying noticed (or cared) that Finrod and Gil-Galad had seemingly exchanged faces over night. 

The Teleri fleet set sail a few days later. 

Finrod stood on the deck watching as the shore line receded from view. He was more than a bit startled when his father came and leaned against the railing next to him. 

"Having second thoughts?" Finarfin hummed. He knew his oldest well. 

"Maybe?" Finrod ran a hand over the well worn wood in front of him. 

"You made the right choice. You'll settle back into Aman in no time." 

"I'm not worried about me. I'm worried about them," Finrod tipped his head towards the distant shores of Beleriand, "What if Tyelko gets himself killed again? What about the twins? What if one of them dies? And Artanis, I know she's strong and stubborn to a fault, but what if she overextends herself and doesn't recover? I worry about Tyelpë, too. He's too trusting and too quick to go to any lengths to make amends. What if someone abuses that friendship? And Laurë, what if he succumbs to grief?" 

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Finarfin assured with a smile that was more of a grimace. 

"You know that's not true," Finrod accused. 

"Yes," Finarfin looked troubled, "But I can at least hope that I misunderstood what I have Seen."

"Is were much of a chance of that?" 

"No, but there is always hope."

Chapter 27: Epilogue: What history has lost

Elrond closed the history book with a sharp snap. The gorgeously illustrated tome was well written, but unfortunately it was horribly inaccurate. 

"What's wrong Ada?" Estel asked, laying his head on Elrond's lap. 

"Nothing," Elrond reassured the young human with a smile. 

"You sighed and you only sigh when you're mad or sad," Estel pointed out. 

Elrond let a smile tug at his lips at the observation. Even at the tender age of five, Estel was very sharp. 

"Nothing is wrong, ion-nîn," Elrond promised. 

"You can tell me. I won't tell anyone," Estel pouted.

"Nothing is wrong, Estel. I promise."

"You are a bad liar, Ada." 

"No, he had never been able to convincingly lie. Only Elros could pull that off," a voice laughed from behind them. 

"Gildor!" Estel giggled.

He vaulted from the couch and over to the newcomer. The young human wrapped himself around the tall elf's legs. Celegorm smiled and ruffled the unruly dark hair. Estel gave a yelp of indignance and proceeded to climb all the way up to Celegorm's broad shoulders. Celegorm laughed. 

Elrond watched them fondly. He found his eyes lingering on the scars that crisscrossed Celegorm's face and ran down under his tunic. They were a constant reminder of how close Celegorm had come to death during his duel with Sauron. 

During the Last Alliance, the dark Maia had recognized Celegorm in a heart beat and had set about separating the blond elf from the the rest his troops. Celegorm was all too easily bated. During their resulting fight, Celegorm had been badly injured. It was so bad that when he was first pulled from the field he had been pronounced dead. It had taken the intervention of Maglor's Song and Elrond's use of Vilya to pull Celegorm back from the brink of death. 

It had taken the blond near a full year to recover from his injuries. During this time, he confided with Elrond that he did not want to return to the name Gil-Galad. The Kingship had been a heavy weight on his shoulders. Celegorm's wish was easily granted. Somewhere along the line, the word had spread that Gil-Galad had fallen in his duel with Sauron.

Celegorm was all too happy to be rid of the responsibilities he had shouldered as King. He took on the name 'Gildor' and taken to wandering the Western Woods with groups of roaming Nandor. This life style suited him very well. Even still, the scars remained a gruisome reminder. 

Celegorm caught the peredhel staring and gave a cheeky smile in response. 

"Ada is lying," Estel commented from he perch on Celegorm's shoulders, "He sighed and said nothing was wrong."

"That's what I hear. Now, Elrond, what's wrong?" Celegorm pressed, face full of concern. 

"Nothing," Elrond sighed. 

"You sighed again; you only sigh when you're in emotional turmoil," Celegorm noted. 

"That's what I told him!" Estel giggled. 

Elrond rolled his eyes. 

"Now tell me, or should I fetch Kana?" Celegorm frowned, lifting Estel off of his shoulders and preparing to track down Maglor.  

Elrond answered by holding up the book. Celegorm raised a brow. The blond elf began to thumb through the book. 

"I don't understand what is so distressing about this book. It looks quite beautiful," Celegorm shrugged. 

"Pages 59 through 90 and pages 130 through 245, also pages 301 through 369," Elrond grunted. 

Celegorm flipped to the first noted pages. He began to skim the text. Theses pages were about Beren, Luthien and the quest for a Silmaril. The tale said that Finrod had accompanied Beren while Celegorm and Curufin were cast out of Nargothrond. Celegorm had never been fond of the 'historically correct' widely accepted version of the story, so he flipped to the next set of pages. 

These were about the War of Wrath and the rise of Gil-Galad. In the first three pages alone, Gil-Galad had three different parentages referenced. The further Celegorm read the more, the funnier he found the book. 

The book confidently stated that Gil-Galad was the son of Fingon Angrod Caranthir Maedhros Maglor Finrod Orodreth. 

The later pages talked about the fall of Gil-Galad and his fatal fight with Sauron. 

"Where ever did you get this book?" Celegorm snickered, looking up from it with and arched eyebrow. 

"The traders who passed through he here from Gondor. They brought a selection of books. Apperently, this is what is taught through out most of Middle Earth," Elrond grimaced. 

"Why do you care? It's not like they're insulting you," Celegorm shrugged. 

"No, but they've insulted my family."

"Little Elerondo, your job is to heal the wounded, not oversee the writing of history."

"Firstly, I am not little," Elrond growled, "Secondly, very little of what is written is even true! Do you want lies to be spread?"

"No," Celegorm's face was thoughtful under the layer of scars, "But I also know that I can't control everything. You can't make everyone act according to what you want and trying to force them to only ever ends in ruin."

"But-"

"Ah, ah, ah," Celegorm tutted, "Listen to your elders child." 

Elrond had to try very hard to resist sticking out his tongue like a child. 

"Now, if it really bothers you, you can make this your retirement plan."

"Retirement plan?" Elrond quirked an eye brow. 

"You know, when you sail West. You'll have a hobby to look forward to," Celegorm shrugged. 

"How desperate to you think I'll be?" Elrond snorted. 

"You are far more like me than like Kana. You will be bored. Now, come, I brought presents," Celegorm ushered Elrond and Estel away from the balcony where they had been sitting and Elrond's frustration. 

---

Elrond finally does sail almost a decade later. 

Upon his arrival, he is rather appalled at the misinformation that is so prevalent, even among those who had experienced the First and Second Ages. 

Fed up with it all, Elrond sits down and writes an extensive book on accurate history of Arda. It's release is earthshattering. 

Notes:

Thanks for sticking with me for this whole story! It has been quite the ride.