Chapter Text
The soot clogged the air until it was hard to breathe. The ash spiralled downward like snow.
Celegorm considered sticking out his tongue like he had done when they were young. The rifle in his hands were well-polished, his hands running a cloth over the barrel until it shone in the ashy light. Point one - it really wouldn't be good for him, but very little seemed to be these days. What was the worst a little smoke could do? Kill him? The zombies seemed dedicated enough to that outcome, and even before them, there had been plenty people who didn't like Celegorm Feanorian. Huan's puppy eyes were instructing him not to, though. A wolfhound - let alone Huan - was a good enough reason not to do stupid things.
Across their little camp, on the other side of the truck, Curufin hunched over a polished black screen. Their father would scold him for bending his spine so badly - that was, if he wasn't dead and burnt up. Celegorm didn't have any want to take up that role now. He'd loved Feanor, sure. He simply wasn't sure if there was any room left for Feanor in the world left behind, and didn't care enough to make sure there was. Curufin might have, if he wasn't so intent on his son.
Celegorm had been telling him that Tyelpriquer was already dead for weeks. Curufin wouldn't listen each time he brought it up, and so Celegorm had stopped telling him it. Curufin had managed to get a tracker on his boy, before he had left for good, and the thing still worked now after the world had gone to shit - Curufin insisted they follow it. Without any better goals - he had rather been focusing on survival, thank you very much - Celegorm was willing to go along with it.
Curufin saw the fact that the signal still moved was a relief. Celegorm thought a turning would be a better excuse for it.
A smoky firepit waved its arms weakly between the two of them. Celegorm had caught a few rabbits earlier in the morning, gray and mangy, and was roasting them over the fire. It complemented the goods - cans, mostly - Curufin had grabbed before they fled. Their supplies had grown beyond that early point where no one had a clue and the world seemed to be alight with flame - save their father, of course. He'd called the apocalypse, because of course he did, but Feanor had died before they had gotten very far. Even he hadn't expected the infection to originate from their own home, because he wasn't insane.
Neither brother was overly concerned where they got their supplies. If they could live, they would. Anything else was just good luck.
Celegorm cocked his gun and loaded its bullets before setting it down on the grass. The rabbits were beginning to crisp, already a golden brown. He had set aside the skins to sew later, and felt a sudden surging ache for Caranthir's company. For once in his miserable life, Celegorm's little brother might have been useful. Eh, nothing could be done about it.
"Curvo," he called. "Have a bite to eat."
"Already?" Curufin's voice rose out in a murmur, rough and rubbed raw. His eyes were dark when he glanced over at Celegorm. "Ah. Fine."
"Any closer?" Celegorm pulled the skewers off the fire, feeling the glimmers of lukewarm warmth travel up his arm. Even Curufin's little workshop could get hotter than that, he thought, let alone Feanor's. But Celegorm wasn't complaining. It cooked, which meant they could eat (safely, Celegorm could and would eat anything for fun) and meant he was grateful, or as grateful as Celegorm could ever get. "News?" Give me something, Curufin.
"He's going east." Celegorm handed one of the skewers to Curufin before dropping down on the ground with a huff. Curufin accepted it without even his accustomed wariness. Celegorm was getting truly sick of it. He always thought an apocalypse would be more fun, but, alas. Celegorm could have nothing good ever. The world simply could not allow it. Zombies were perfectly acceptable but Celegorm Feanorian's happiness was just too much.
Curufin reluctantly put the compass away and took the rabbit. Besides him, Celegorm watched the woods warily. The dead could be quiet, and, well, Celegorm had sworn an oath. "So we're heading east, then."
"Exactly." Curufin took a bite and shrugged. "I would have thought he would go west."
"For what? Old grandaddy's help? A trinket back home? The plague laboratories? I swear, Curvo, your boy is idealistic but he's not stupid." Celegorm spat a bone out onto the ground. "We're not biologists - these aren't animals, and they're definitely not robots - and there's no fixing this thing. Even atar knew that, and he would be the first up to try if he thought there would be a chance."
"Would we be alive if he hadn't known it?" Curufin said with a subdued passion. Their father's anger rose in great tongues of flame, a tidal way falling upon the world and sweeping everything else away as the steaming waves washed forth and scorched the world until nothing remained. It consumed his sons just as truely as it did anything else, lighting a candle within their chests, and, well, Curufin's had always burned the brightest. Besides Maedhros. It sparked like fey fire in his eyes, rheotric spilling from his lips; but now that flame only stirred from its simmer rather than uncoil like a snake striking. "Would any of us? Or would we be in that crowd that you are so eager to mow down?"
"Oh, don't pretend you're any better." Celegorm scoffed to keep the words we don't even know any of them live from snaking up onto his lips. They didn't. They could only hope, and Celegorm had used up all of his years ago, when he left the forests for his family. "You like it too, Curvo. It makes you feel better, doesn't it? It gives you control."
"You don't know what you're talking about," Curufin said, but that was the end. He did not deny it. His eyes flickered up. "Look up. Two o'clock, Tyelko."
The bullet went through the zombie's eye socket and fell back onto the ground. Celegorm dusted off his fingers and blew his rifle's smoke away. "You do, though."
"I'm not saying it's a bad thing." He got up and began putting things back in the truck. Huan panted at his side, running back and forth until Celegorm rustled his fur and gave him a strip of jerky. "And you know I've always had a quick trigger. We have our faults. We all know them, Curvo."
"Father didn't," his brother muttered, soft enough for the wind to sweep it away. Celegorm didn't sigh, which he felt was a display of restraint so great he should be awarded something for it.
"Well, he didn't see the laboratories coming, did he? Didn't know exactly what strain he was studying and which one Bauglir wanted." Celegorm shrugged and offered Curufin a hand. "Look, the creeps are crawling back already. You can eat on the way."
"He says, as if he wasn't the one who wanted to stop," Curufin added, but he took Celegorm's hand all the same.
On the drive, they did not speak about Celebrimbor, save in passing. Curufin looked for a radio signal as he prodded gears and knobs into submission. Celegorm kept his eyes peeled for dangers and kept driving.
***
From there, the roads opened up to the trees that Celegorm spent so many of his young summers and life beneath. His truck drove over the undergrowth as if it was made for it - which it was, Celegorm disdained all non-all-terrain vehicles - and the zombies thinned out before their fender. The world was silent, it seemed. Celegorm liked it better, and Curufin liked it worse.
There were fewer dead beneath the branches. Celegorm made his own maps as they travelled, marking landmarks and turning over stones. Curufin stayed on Celebrimbor's pursuit. The ash fell down like petals upon the truck, coating it into a thin layer of gray. Celegorm grew familiar to their taste upon his tongue and gave up on picking them out of his hair. At least the canopy made the light less harsh for his poor eyes.
Every day, Curufin stoked the fires hotter to melt their cans and pour them into bullet-casings. Celegorm caught their supper and picked every edible thing on their path. They lived, and they kept living.
***
Just because there were fewer zombies did not mean there were no zombies.
Celegorm recoiled back as an arm grabbed at his flesh. Already more were emerging between the trees, complete with yawning gray faces and rags. Celegorm spun the car out of the dead's reach, edging away from the trees, and got a shot off on the zombie that had grabbed at him. The bullet hit it straight in its forehead, and he could sworn it glared at him before it disappeared behind the ferns. Celegorm used its stagger to dispatch another zombie.
The silencer could only muffle the rifle's shot so much. The dead, unfortunately, still had ears, and even Curufin's efforts left them with only so many bullets. Celegorm gritted his teeth and pulled away. They could go another way.
Celegorm pushed the truck into reverse and began to back up when he realized the passenger door was pushed open. He whirled around, grabbing for his pistol, but he caught the glimpse of black hair before he pulled it out. "Curufin!"
Curufin must have shot down the dead close to him - Celegorm saw the bodies lost in the greenery, and the figures slowly approaching through the trees -because he was not entirely a fool, but he was still scrambling in the dirt. There was an uncanny franticness to him, a fanaticism, Celegorm could make out through just the corner of his face. It was enough to put Celegorm on edge - more than he already was, which made it closer to falling off a cliff. "Get up! We're leaving."
"You're leaving," Curufin snarled. "I - if you want a we, you're staying. There's better targets for you to kill - they even wish harm. You have another cartridge. What better excuse do you need?"
"Maybe I don't want to spend them all in one place!" Regardless, Celegorm smacked one of the encroaching dead away with the butt of his rifle and fell back, fumbling to reload. Curufin tumbled across the ground when another reached for him, grabbing his dropped firearm from the dirt, and blew the zombie's head off. "Why didn't you just do that? What's the point of asking me to?"
"I got rid of mine. You were the one that let them get close." Curufin pulled the reloading mechanism down with his teeth and added another bullet. "Just, please, Celegorm, help me with this. Buy me a little time."
Something sparkled in the undergrowth, sparkled under the gray and strained sun. Even when Celegorm stayed up to see its rise, the dull film remained to mute its color, dusty and polluting. They hardly could see it now, under the canopy, but glass sparkled and Celegorm grabbed for it. He kicked a zombie away as he dove into the dirt. Just as he thought - Curufin's compass, glittering in the pale light. Blue lightning flashed beneath the glass.
Celegorm took a moment to finish loading his rifle and kill the closest zombie. It staggered back as gravity dragged it down, bumping into its nearby corpses, and bought him just enough time to spin and grab Curufin's arm.
"It's fine," he hissed. "Just get the fuck out of here, Curvo."
For a moment, Curufin was going to argue; then he saw the screen clenched in Celegorm's grasp. "Of course."
They pulled away together, leaving smoking guns and hot bullets to guard their exit. If there was one thing that the dead were not - besides fucking dead - it was fast.
It was only when the zombies turned into dark figures in the distance that Celegorm actually looked at his brother. Curufin's breath was coming heavy, his fingers flicking the safety on and off the trigger and running down the gun's barrel. There were sticks in his hair, as if they were only foolish children. Foolish children with tears and a deathwish.
Celegorm didn't ask what he was doing - if he was foolish or mad. He only dropped the compass into Curufin's hand.
"I thought it had broken." Curufin's voice was strangely distant and steady at once - Celegorm had learnt it as the voice for dreams and visions, high-reaching fantasies not yet put to paper. There was the hitch, a moment later, and his brother's breathing smoothed out. "I did not want it broken, Tyelko. I know I have the capacity to make another, but, well, it would be no help to us."
"And we would have wasted all our time," Celegorm scoffed. "Do you think I want it trampled? That I would want any of your work destroyed?"
Curufin said, very carefully: "I am sure there are some parts of my and my father's work you would find objectionable."
"Do you think I care? It's the apocalypse, Curvo; the world's gone to shit." Celegorm pushed the hair out of his eyes and wiped the grease on his coat. "I'm not Finrod. No amount of moralizing is going to fix all this now, and I'm just not as in love with Kant as our dear cousins."
His brother nodded. Curufin's eyes were still locked on the tracker, head bent, as if it was about to fracture at any second. Celegorm took a subtle scoot backward just in case it would. "That's why I came to you, not to them."
Celegorm laughed. "And that's why you're still alive! Do you think Finrod would even shoot a rabbit, let alone want to live? Would the zombies be dead enough for him?"
"Probably." Curufin's shoulders slowly unfurled and fell - like a bird's wings expanding, the naturalist in Celegorm said. He set the console aside. "He's not entirely a fool. Orodreth, on the other hand, I could not say the same for."
"I don't think most people can," Celegorm said. "Come on, get up. We've stayed here too long," - he could see the shapes stumbling through the trees - "and I'm curious about how Aegnor is doing."
Curufin scoffed. "Your guess is just as good as mine; I do not think either he nor his brother are still in possession of their phones, even if we still had a competent line."
"Maglor's not the only one fond of stories, Curvo." Celegorm put an arm around Curufin's shoulder, Huan's breath hot against their necks, and began steering away from the stumbling trees. Behind them, branches cracked and leaves crinkled under a storm of dead feet. Terribly, Celegorm almost felt better than when the woods had been that uneasy quiet. "C'mon, let's spin another."
***
As they strayed further down Celebrimbor's path, the trees began to fade away and morph into rolling plains. The flashing lights of the city felt like a distant dream as the two of them strayed through acres of empty farmland and caught sight of farmhouses they feared were less empty. The little charms bounced on Celegorm's dashboard as they drove along, gas-station dice and the whittled charms chimming against each other.
Curufin insisted on driving in the mornings, and Celegorm at nights. By default, sure, but also because the sun hated him, and he preferred not to be driving blind into it - Feanor had glasses specially made for him, but Celegorm hadn't liked them much. He didn't like being vulnerable - being seen vulnerable - and glasses did not figure into that image he wanted. Curufin hardly even knew the sun hurt his eyes, let alone Tyelpe.
Not all of the houses were empty. One was crawling with enough zombies that Celegorm felt confident popping out and lighting the place up. Once the dead stopped their screaming, the pantry had been a bounty. They finally had fucking bread again, and Celegorm felt like he could cry. Meanwhile, Curufin scrounged up every electrical wire and socket to throw into the back.
It was another fifty miles before they found another. Rather than being filled with groans, the house was dark and silent - he'd hardly been able to pick it out among the nightlight trees - and that was enough for Celegorm. The farmland was grown over, the trees looked like they hadn't been seen in fifty years, and the good folks out here had generators, just as Curufin did. Who wouldn't be attached to technology? Who wouldn't want to use it? It's not like life expectancies were very long these days.
Celegorm pulled the truck over to rest in the yard. In the passenger seat, Curufin vaguely stirred and squinted against the dark.
"Shush," Celegorm said pointlessly as he untangled his rifle from the backseat. "There's an empty house. I want to check it out."
It was a testament to his brother's tiredness that Curufin only nodded at that. He began to sit up - slouching, in a way that Curufin awake did not allow himself to slouch - as Celegorm grabbed his ammunition and tucked a belt over his vest. Even alone, unharmed, without any sign of zombies, they gravitated to arms and armor, because what was the point not to? They would need it eventually, if not now.
The night air was chilly as Celegorm opened the door and stepped out of the car. Celegorm took a deep breath of it to chase away the gasoline fumes from his lungs. Curufin was a genius, sure, but that didn't mean he was neat. This sort of thing wasn't easy enough to allow for it.
Huan jumped out of the car, all two-hundred pounds of fluff and muscle, and plopped onto the ground in a shaggy wave of fur. Celegorm leaned down and scritched his collar happily. "That's a good boy."
He leaned against the car, Huan sniffing around the garden, as he waited for Curufin to wake up. The house rose up before them like a giant maw, only a few meters away. They could have parked it in its damn front lawn if it was actually cared for. He reached up to the trees, fingers brushing against their leaves, and flinched back when a bullet flew by his head. It rustled the leaves as Celegorm spun around.
A woman stood on one of the house's balconies, holding a shotgun. She was halfway between closing a door in front of her when Celegorm spotted her - trying for cover, if he had to guess. In the darkness, it was hard to make out anything else around her. "Get the hells out of here!"
Celegorm knew that voice. He squinted into the dark, silently cursing the goggles he'd left in the car. Celegorm didn't think he'd need them - he'd also thought that this house was empty, but this was almost better. Potentially could be. "Aredhel?"
The woman squinted back at him, expression curdling, and lowered her shotgun an inch. "Celegorm?"
"By the Kindler, it is you." A light blinked on and Celegorm could make out Aredhel on the balcony. Generator, of course - he had been right - but the pale light ran around her dark face in rivets, bathing the both of them in light when she adjusted a lens. "What the hells are you doing here?"
"We wanted out of the city," Celegorm told her. He'd startled off the car and was leaning forward, up, as if his willpower alone could drag him up to meet her. "And we thought this place was empty. But I could ask the same for you, Irisse - what are you doing here? Where have you been?"
"Here, Tyelko." Aredhel dusted off her skirt and let her shotgun's barrel press towards the ground. "I live here? If you haven't noticed - and you haven't - this is a place where people live. An occupied zone. Why should I bother running around like a mad chicken when I can stay right here?" She shook her head. "I can't believe you submitted to a city in the first place. What were you even doing there?"
"Feanor needed someone to take care of him, and Laure was busy with his concerts." Without either of them, the options were Maedhros and Curufin - because Caranthir would rather be found dead than with his family - and Celegorm preferred to have some stable, non-synocant presence in those negotiations. "Then all this."
"The dead finally made you get off your ass and leave?" Aredhel asked. "Or did you finally get sick of it and leave that wretched place?"
"I can tell you ended up here of your own free will," Celegorm quipped before settling back. "It was the zombies. Pretty simple, don't you think? But I'm still not sure why you didn't ever call or anything. We thought you were dead, after we got over laughing at Turgon for being so upset about his adult sister. We went looking, because, again, we thought you were dead."
"And I thought you were an idiot, but I guess one of us was right." She crossed her arms and cocked her head. The dark cloud of her hair followed the motion. "Fine. I can offer you a place to sleep, but not more than that. Don't ask questions I don't want to answer, and we'll have a wonderful time together."
"Fine by me." Celegorm tossed his head and slipped the rifle back onto its band so he wouldn't have to hold it. His cousin's shotgun was a strange, shiny black color that managed to find some snap of light to reflect against. He hadn't seen one of its type before - didn't recogonize it, the make nor the metal, which was impressive given his position as an unwilling son of Feanor and Curufin's second favorite person (Tyelpe came first, obviously). "Curufin's with me."
"The more the better." Aredhel shrugged, her face rippling. "Just know I'm only saying it because it's you, Tyelko, and because I don't mind him much. If you're staying, there's something he might like to look at."
"Might he?" The darkness - and conversation, because she was on a balcony, and they were speaking loudly - had covered Curufin slipping out of the car and sneaking up on them. They were both too well-trained to flinch, but it was a close thing. "Please say more."
"Elbereth, Curufin, don't do that." Celegorm ran a hand through his hair, grimacing. "Do we need to put a bell on you?"
Aredhel rolled her eyes. "Probably. But, Curvo, there's a whole studio for alteration and metalworking up here. There should be something interesting in there, don't you think?"
"If I'm allowed to touch," Curufin answered, but he started towards the house's door. "I hope you don't mean for us to climb up there, Irisse. Care to open up?"
"Sure." Aredhel shrugged her shotgun onto one sholder and held a key out into the light. "But I don't quite feel like coming down myself. See this?" She turned it over in her hands, letting each side catch light in a blaze of bronze. "Observe, and now - catch!"
Celegorm's fingers moved faster than his brain when they darted through the night. He held it up with a grin. "Ah, terrible Irisse. Nothing everything changes, does it?"
"Now you have the hang of it, Tyelko." Aredhel snapped her fingers. "It's the key to the door. Now, are you coming in or not?"
Celegorm rolled his eyes and started up the stairs. Huan bounded up towards the door and stood panting before it as he waited for the two humans to catch up.
The door didn't budge when Celegorm leaned down and turned the key - it only began to slide when Celegorm rammed his shoulder into the wood. Curufin followed at his heels as Celegorm strode inside, Huan running alongside them. Already, Curufin was pausing to examine the lock and pick at the corroded metal while Celegorm took a look around.
The architecture was big. Large and looming and dark. It looked more like something out of an old wooden hall or crumbling castle than some old farmhouse. A set of stairs led up to the next floor, flanked by a pair of rooms, and a few vased plants. Aredhel wasn't doing too badly for herself, even if it was a little archaic. He saw the appeal of old hunting lodges, Celegorm could admit. His only question was what the hells she was doing out here, and where the fuck Turgon thought she was, and why she hadn't said a thing about it. He had thought she was dead. Celegorm hadn't taken it particularly well. Galadriel hadn't either, and neither had her brothers.
"There you are," Aredhel - noticeably alive - said as she stepped down the stairs, her shotgun hanging from one shoulder. "What do you think?"
"The decor's interesting. Where in the iron hells did you find this place?" Celegorm asked.
"In the forest? I wanted something far away from all that." Aredhel made a vague gesture towards the city. "And this seemed pretty good. My husband was living him before I met him."
"Your husband?" Curufin had finished his examination of the lock and was examining the walls now. "Did he happen to have that workshop you want me to look into?"
"Exactly." She winked at him. "Oh! And there is someone else I would like you to meet."
Aredhel gestured to one of the corridors and turned back to the two of them. A shorter figure slunk towards her, with dark hair and dark eyes a sharp contrast against his lighter skin. A mole was a black dot against his upper lip.
"This," Aredhel said cheerfully, "is my son Maeglin. And before you ask, his father is not anyone that you could know. He, also, happens to be dead."