Fanfic You're Going to Be My Best Friend Forever

[Tyelkormo the Fair]

To My Curvo
(@Server Room Gremlin)

The door hinges were weirdly quiet when he opened the door. Just enough to let his small figure slide in.

He remembered his Atar saying something about making sure the new fussy baby was kept in utmost quiet, which meant the door had to be fixed, and he should be kept away from him.

Ridiculous.

He was the baby's older brother. Not the oldest, to be fair, but still, he was important. The little one should get to know him well. And he should be the one he officially meets, because…reasons.

Which was why he was there, having waited out his parents departure after his Ammë had fed and his Atar had changed the little Curufinwë Atarinkë.

Once he had been sure their exhausted voices were far enough, he had snuck up on the door like the great hunter he was and entered the nursery.

The piece of honey cake he was holding in his hand was large enough to feed a grown up like himself and a baby like little Curvo.

Slowly and surely, he crept up on the small crib where his brother was lulled to sleep, careful of any sound he made in case a servant or someone else was close enough to hear him.

Before he climbed on to the chair to be able to see him, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
The time he had seen the baby for a brief few minutes was enough for him to confirm he was just as ugly as he had been in his dream. He was hoping something had changed.

Maybe he'd grow up to have silver hair like him. Ammë had said hair and eyes might change over time, so even if little Curufinwë’s hair held some pitiful strands of raven hair like Moryo had the time he was born, Tyelkormo continued to hope.

Moryo’s had changed, but not to silver, but he had a feeling Curvo would not disappoint him.

Holding the cake in one hand, he hoisted up himself with the other, using all his other limbs to let him and his cake climb up safely.

Once he settled, his eyes gravitate towards the small figure sleeping, covered in blankets and protected by pillows from all sides. He was sleeping in his own little fort, and for once Tyelko wished he was small like Findekáno so he could fit in there and hold his brother.
And he was just as ugly as he was earlier, but at least he wasn't still red light a tomato as Moryo had been. He still looked like a crumbled tissue, though.
“Curvo…pssst!”
The small mouth turned downward as of he was going to cry, and Tyelko panicked.
“Shhh! It's okay, baby! It's okay! I'm your Hanno!”

His small hands clenched around nothing. Without a thought, Tyelko stuck out a finger and held him near his tiny fists. The strength in which he held his finger surprised Tyelko, and he grinned with giddiness. They were so alike already! He was the Strong Finwë, and his brother was just as strong as he was when he was born. Tyelko was sure.

The eyes too huge for such a tiny face moved slightly before they were opened to reveal the silverest little orbs he had ever seen in his life. They were even silverer than his own fair strands. Tyelko's heart was beating wildly when they landed on him, scrutinizing and curious like the little dawn had been when he had taken his first steps towards him.

And like the little doe, his brother was small and fragile but unlike him, Curvo had Tyelko to call his brother. He had Tyelko to protect him.

“Hello, little brother. We're going to be best friends forever and I'm going to protect you. So if anyone said anything mean like calling you ugly, you come straight to me. Only I'm allowed to do that.”

He was presented with the most beautiful yet the most toothless smile he had ever seen and just like that, life was a little bit better.

~~~

“What are you thinking about?”

He asked as he entered the room. Telperion’s light was hidden behind the heavy curtains of the room and the only source of light was a flittering candle somewhere, glowing dully and offering no help as Tyelkormo navigated his way across the room, careful not to step on any discarded toys on the floor.

Ammë might want to blame Curvo's messiness on him as much as she wanted, but even a blind person would tell you it was all courtesy of his namesake, not Tyelko.

Tyelko might have hoped for the little addition to the family to end up like him, but if he had been a little more observant, he would have found out he had already lost the battle to his father. There was a reason for the names their parents had chosen for Curufinwë Atarinkë, after all.

Curvo did not glance away from the ceiling. Not that he had found anything fascinating in there. He was just deep in thoughts, but Tyelko knew his brother was aware of his presence, even if he took his sweet time to at last acknowledge him with a slight hum.

“Why do we have cakes on our Begotten day?”

The question rang out just as he put the plate on the desk.
At first, he didn't quite catch on to what his brother meant, and it was only after Curvo repeated his words, he finally graced him with a response, even if it was another question, not an answer.

“Why do you ask that?”
Curvo rarely needed any reasons to voice out his curiosities. Their father was always there to answer him.
He had asked Tyelko, though.
Perhaps this was the reason for his surprise. That Curvo had asked him instead of Fëanáro.

Curvo just shrugged from where he was laying down.
“I don't know. I guess it has always puzzled me. When it comes to other courses, each clan has a different choice. We prefer deer, Ingo says the Teleri serve sharks for their Begotten day celebrations, and Indis wanted the meat of those birds habitant to Taniquetil. But the cake? It's always there. With different flavors, of course, but it's always cake instead of say…a pie, or even frozen cream.”

Tyelko hummed and plopped down next to his brother, lying down on his back next to him, arms and legs stretched like those little starfishes Ingoldo loved so much. Curvo did not need to be told as he put his head on Tyelko's arm, snuggling close for a moment before settling down and going back to his staring match with the spider crawling above them.

“Why haven't you asked Atar?”
“I did. He said I should ask you.”

His stupid heart did a proud flip at the acknowledgement. From his father, not his brother. Or maybe both.

He coughed to clear his throat from all the emotions stuck in it before speaking.
“Uh, well, I think I do have an answer for you. You see, we were hunters at first. The first of the eldar, I mean. Before we learned to farm and grow the seeds to the tall trees and other things we could use. And even then, it was not an easy task to do when the dark lord became aware of our presence and started hunting us. Elves did not settle in one place, so whatever they grew and planted, they'd have to abandon. Cakes are the most simple sweets you can make and they are also filling, but they need grains to make it, which made them hard and often impossible to have. Haru Mahtan once told me how he had never had any cakes until he had set foot in Valinor and even Haru Finwë had only had it once before he had arrived here for the first time. So, I think what I'm trying to say is that cakes are there to show we survived another year. It has lost its meaning here where there is no danger and fear, but we still make them to celebrate life.”

“Tyelko? Do you promise we will always have cakes for Begotten days?”
“Always.”

~~~

“Come on then! Finish your slice. Your Begotten day surprise awaits you, my little prince.”
“I am not little, and I'm finished with the cake. I'm having some tea. It always hits differently after a nice piece of ginger cake.”
“Why, thank you. What did you think of the lemon icing?”

Curvo hummed before setting down his drained teacup and standing up from his chair.
“Acceptable. You can do better.”

Tyelko snorted before jumping down from the window, soundless like a cat.

Yaulë flicked his tail in approval before settling back down on the bed, purring and trying to fall back to his interrupted sleep. It was rare when he left the warmth of Metal Hand’s personal forge, but that night was special, as Strong Voice had told him earlier. He had to stay with his friend and Yaulë, after considering it greatly, had accepted the notion and joined him in his room. It had been strangely delightful to lay on the furs and blankets, and he always enjoyed the presence of Metal Hand. And yet he found himself relieved how the brethren,(he assumed they were, even if their coats didn't look much alike) having finished their nightly treats,(which was proof of their esteemed intelligence) were planning to live. As enjoyable this gathering had been, Yaulë would want to go back to his time of solitude right now, and these two were…well, one of them was at least too loud, and Yaulë found himself reluctant to leave the warmth the furs offered. He badw his elda farewell as he climbed out of the window, and closed his eyes.

Tyelko was leaning against the tree by the window when Curvo climbed down the wall much more carefully. He smirked before slapping his little brother's back, pulling up the hood of his cloak, taking his hand, and leading him to the secret passage(the hole Huan had dug in the yard by the wall) and leaving behind the state of the crown prince, the guards none the wiser.


Curvo was silent for the most part, understanding their need for secrecy and it was only once they had put enough distance between the house and delved deep enough into the City of Tirion when he opened his mouth.
“Where are we going?”

Tyelko smiled, face hidden under the shadows his cloak offered so as to not offend the moody teen his little brother was.
“Sweet brother, what is the meaning of the word ‘surprise’?”
Curvo huffed in annoyance before pulling away his hand from Tyelko's grasp, yet he continued to follow him to the center of the city and away from the peak of the hill where the palace and their house was located.
“At least tell me if we're close or not.”
“Stop complaining and follow me. We'll be there soon.”

They, in fact, were not there all that soon, if the huffing and puffing of Curvo was any proof to it. He couldn't blame him. The Avarin neighborhood in Tirion was located far from the other villages. Not many of their people dared to venture to those parts.
The reincarnated Avarin people were not lawbreakers (the King would never tolerate such a thing) but they were known to still practice what some would call backwards traditions of their people when they still resided in Cuiviénen.

Curufinwë and him were there for the exact same thing, even if his brother was not aware of it.

“We’re in the Avarin neighborhood.”
Curvo spoke as they came to a stop at an alley, darker than anywhere they had ever been before. The light of Telperion was shut away by the curtains of the tall trees and the shade of the houses.

Tyelko finally took off his hood and leaning against the door of the house close by, he planted a few firm knocks on it with the sole of his left boot.
“We are. Are you afraid?”
Curvo scoffed before he, too, revealed his face from under the fabric of his cloak, albeit more hesitantly. They were doomed if their father ever knew they had set foot in such a place.
“What is there to fear? They're elves just like we are.”
“That is quite true.”
A feminine voice exclaimed quietly from the door where Tyelko was leaning against. The door was pulled open to reveal what he thought were brown tresses (Curvo couldn’t tell in such darkness) and grey eyes as if to prove his words.

Tyelko straightened his posture with a small smile and let the nís open the door fully.
“Móronetya! Good to see you again. Say, are you free?”
The woman smiled in a way that raised the hair on the back of Curvo's neck and ran a hand down his brother's chest in a not so friendly manner.
“For you? Always.”
But Tyelko only smiled and took her hand to drop a kiss on the back of it. She dragged him inside and Tyelko looked at him and held out a hand. Curvo dropped his own on his brother's open palm out of instinct and without any thoughts and he was pulled inside the house before he knew it.

“Tyelko?”
“What?”
“What are we doing here?”

Tyelko turned around when he heard the slight discomfort in his voice. The candlelight lit his face and showed the pale, furrowed brows.
“Do you want us to leave?”

Curvo frowned and shrugged.
“Well, I want to know why we have came here, that's all. My answer would depend on yours.”

His brother's face relaxed before he smiled and pulled the strings of his cloak, pulled it off and hanged it on a nail on the wall. Curvo just realized the woman was nowhere to be found.
“You'll find out in a minute.”

And then, he pulled off his shirt to reveal a chest rippling with muscles Curvo tried not to feel jealous of. He was young still, he tried to tell himself. He'll grow into a man like Atar was. He was supposed to.

“Well I see you're ready. Who is the one with you, anyways? You came alone last time, and this is not your usual company.”
Said the nís as he closed a door, holding a pack and a…was that a mithril needle?

“He's a customer too. We'll both be getting the same pattern. A simple phrase, nothing fancy.”

Pattern? Customer? What was Tyelko talking about?

“Where do you want yours, Curvo?”
His brother asked and Curvo's eyes snapped at him, wide and confused.
“Where will I want my what?”
“Your ink mark, of course. Did you not know why you came here?”
The woma–Móronetya said before glaring at Tyelko.
“I won't put a needle on him if he doesn't want to. If you want someone like that, help yourself out.”

The angry remark made Tyelko jump slightly before he shook his head.
“Do you think I'd do something like this to my own brother? It's just a Begotten day surprise! If he doesn't wish to be marked, then we'll leave.”

He turned to him then.
“What do you want, Hanacë? I thought you'd like something like this, but if you wish to leave, we can do that now.”
His tone was unbelievably gentle, as if he were talking to Ambarussar and not him, Curvo.

The young man frowned and shook his head. He did want one. He had seen the beautiful pattern that was the sigil of their father’s house on his brother's back. He knew it would be painful, but he had wanted one for himself as well.
“I don't want to leave. Where are you getting yours? We can match.”

They were supposed to match, Tyelko had said. We'll be getting the same pattern. Something about this made him giddy. He never shared anything with any of his siblings, just his Atar.

Tyelko looked hesitant at first before he smiled, unsure.
“I…mine will be on my chest.”
Then he put his hand in the middle, a little on the left.

Right on his heart.

He took off his own shirt and cloak much more reluctantly than his brother had. He was yet to reach his fifties and many who didn't know him would assume him to be no older than forty.

He was older than that.

Móronetya rolled her eyes with a small, fond smile before she brought over an ink and quill.
“And what would this phrase be?”

Tyelko smiled and brought out a piece of paper out of trousers’ pocket.
“Here. I wrote it down in case you forget how to read and write.”

For that, he got a very unforgiving slap on his chest. Cruvo almost winced. It must have hurt.

Before Móronetya could snatch the paper away, Curvo gently took it from his brother. He said he was fine with it, but he at least wanted to know what would be marking him for the rest of his life.

On the small piece of parchment was written a short phrase, if it could even be called that.

“Heldi Tenna i Metta?”

Tyelko just smiled and took the paper from him to pass to the ink crafter.

For some peculiar reason, the words which would mark him until the end were familiar like the scent of the coals of the forge and his father's fiery spirit.


~~~


“Now, Tyelpë, you shouldn't eat that. You'll choke.”
“Cho’?”
“Yes, choke. And if you choke, you'll go to Mandos.”
“Man’os?”
“Yes, and if you do that, then your Atya would send me there too. As much as I love our time together, I'm sure you'll miss your Amya and Atya.”

The little devil's brows furrowed as he contemplated his words. He nodded and put down the jar of macadamias.

“Wha’ you doin’?”

Tyelko put down the batter after having thoroughly mixed it. The scent of ginger was strong enough to attract the attention of his very much sleeping brother.

If he was Huan, that was. Or his little nephew, apparently. Tyelko was stupidly proud of that strong little nose. The shape of it was from his sister in law, but the nerves were all Finwian.

He patted the baby's head as he passed by him to get to the cake molds. He was going with a two tier design this time. One big to feed the rest of them, and one tiny and little just for the new little Curufinwë.

The adorable image in his head was enough to convince him it was time to hug his little súyon again. Tyelpë seemed to agree, as he reciprocated the embrace with a ferocity that had Tyelko's eyes swell with tears of pride and joy.

Truly, nothing could be more perfect than this little wriggling creature in his arms.

He put down the little one back on his safety chair and filled the big and the teeny tiny molds and swiftly and carefully (and keeping an eye on the little devil) he opened the oven door and shoved the soon to be ginger cakes inside.

“All right, my sweet little chipmunk. Do you know what time it is for?”

Tyelpë giggled as he littered his face in kisses, complaining how he couldn't answer him if he continued to smooch his cheeks. That was what Tyelko heard, anyway.

“It's time to…..make the icing!”
Tyelpë’s eyes shone like the Silmarils themselves as he whispered. As if he was telling a secret.
“Cream?”
Tyelko replied with the same seriousness.
“Cream.”

“Vanl’a?”
“Lemon.”
“Ughhh.”

_______


“Pssst! Curvo!”
“Psss…Atya!”

His brother's low grunt could be heard as he dislodged himself from his wife's firm grasp. Anca barely reacted as she shoved aside a little. His good sister was a saint, if a weird one.

“What?”
Curvo's eyes were closed as he took Tyelpë from his arms and covered him with the blanket. The babe clung to his father's torse and smeared the cream he had eaten earlier on his nightshirt. Tyelko was delighted.

“We made you a Begotten day cake, Tyelpë and I.”

This had him crack an eye open with a faint smile and plant a kiss on his son's head. The little devil(his face now devoid of the previous white spots) only grinned.

“Gi’ger and ‘emon!”

The blankets moved a little before a mop of black hair stuck itself out. Anca hummed, also with her eyes closed.
“What's up?”

Curvo tried to hide his smile from his view but failed.
“Just Tyelko.”

Anca hummed again before falling back on the pillow.
“What's he doing here?”
Curvo passed Tyelpë to his mother before getting out of bed.

“Making a cake.”

Anca hummed again and kissed tyelpë's forehead who, having worn off the adrenaline of staying up without his parents’ knowledge, was nodding off in the warmth of the bed.

“Where are you going?”

“To clean his mess.”
But Anca was already walking the gardens of Lorién.

~~~

 

[Tyelkormo the Fair]

"Hey.”
“If you're here to make excuses for him, just… just leave.”

Curvo frowned but leaned against the cold stone railing anyway.
“He didn't mean to lash ou–”
Tyelko scoffed before he rolled his shoulders and began to rise from where he was sitting on the railing and Curvo tried not to snatch at the back of his shirt. His brother had the grace of a mountain lion. He'd not fall.
“Then he shouldn't have.”

And he finally turned to face him. Curvo cursed under his breath when he saw the tear streaked face and red eyes fuming with hurt and rage.

“He was angry about the letter from Manwë and hurt with Haru–”

The voice interrupting him was quiet and if he wasn't monitoring Tyelko's every movement, he might have missed it.
“He's always angry at something, Curvo, yet he never lashes out at you because of it.”

He knew what he meant, and he knew he was not blaming him for it, but it still hurt.

The cake was his, so he should have been the one blamed, but it was Tyelko who took the brunt of it. He knew it all, yet it still hurt.

“You had promised not to hold his favoritism against me.”
“And you swore you'd not make excuses for his every behavior anymore, yet here we are.”

You do not know him like I do, he almost said, but stopped the words right before they left his mouth.

Well, no one really did, not even Ammë. If she did, she wouldn't have stayed home instead of coming with them to exile.

Home. Where was it, Curvo wondered.

“I came along with him, with you, out of love and devotion, not to become a target he can pour out all his frustration on.
I've tolerated all his scathing remarks and paranoid glances because I knew he was not in a good position, with his own wife and kin deserting him and planning his downfall, but if me being his son is not enough to guarantee my loyalty to him, then I don't know what to do.”

He scoffed.
“Maybe I should go and become Oromë's lap dog. He offers more respect to his hounds than my father to his own flesh and blood.”

“Are you going to leave, then?”
His nonchalance was a poor cover for the bleeding heart inside his chest.

Tyelko’s eyes were sad and his smile was gone.
“I'm sure Atar would find a way to distract you from my absence, if you even need it.”

He dropped down on the floor of the balcony then.
There was silence for a moment, before his brother spoke up.
“I broke my word. I'm sorry we couldn't have cake this year, little one.”

They did not say anything more and the next time Curvo glanced back, he was gone.

Silent footsteps walking to the door had him look away from the faint glow of the trees. It was time for Laurëlin to bloom.

“Come inside, Curvo. It's cold.”

It was now that he could focus on it.
Anca took his hand and led him inside and down the hall towards their own chambers.
Like a puppet she steered him out of his robes and into a nightgown and then, under the covers.

And all Curvo could think about was how the bond he had with his brother was becoming as irreparable as the cake smashed on the kitchen floor by his father.

~~~

“This is pure madness.”
“I think we already established just how insane our uncle was when he crossed the Ice, Curvo.”

The fire in the fireplace roared with new vigor as Celegorm fed it with more logs, yet even that could not quench the freezing sensation deep down in his limbs.

The winds of Himlad were relentless and unforgiving, now more than ever in that night of late autumn.

Curufin stood by the window, watching the snow falling and covering the hills and mountains surrounding his tower.

Something was being held in front of him. He looked down to find a cup of steaming tea held in his brother’s grip, waiting for him to notice it.

The sweet and nutty aroma of the tea reached his nose, and he found himself smiling despite everything. How Celegorm had come to find this tea so far north and in this weather was beyond him.

It had been a gift from Felagund when Curufin had come to try it at first. It was safe to say that Celegorm did not get to take more than a few cups here and there from a gift they had meant to share. His brother had only smiled fondly at him every time he brought up the prospect of convincing their cousin to send them more, though. He preferred his sweet and fresh fruity drinks or his hot cocoa to the herbal concoctions Curufin favored.

He reached for the cup of Lincodrin tea with care and brought it to his lips to take a careful sip. It was neither too hot nor cold. Perfect, just as it was expected of his brother.

“A Begotten-day gift from Ingoldo. Ration it well. Given our uncle's plans, I'm not sure when I will be able to get my hands on this again.”

Celegorm huffed when Curufin merely sipped and did not respond, before placing his cut of carrot cake on the windowsill.

“Forget what is to come, brother. Enjoy your night while you can. And don't fill your stomach with that tea. I laboured for this cake all day. Sorry we could not have ginger this year. It's…I tried to, but it's hard to grow here.”

Curufin couldn't help noticing the note of sadness. He frowned before putting down his empty cup and picking up the plate of cake. He walked away from the window, joining his brother on the couch.

Celegorm did not look away from a burn mark on his hand. It was small, so likely from his earlier adventures in the kitchen rather than patrols and battle.

“Will you not look at me, brother?”

Celegorm took his sweet time to respond. He ignored him at first, until Curufin rolled his eyes and poked his arm with his frosting covered fork. Celegorm cursed and patted his sleeve clean and finally, he turned to look at him, eyes narrowed in annoyance.

“Brat. What do you want?”

Curufin grinned and held up his plate.
“Cake?”

“I'd prefer a laundry basket and a new shirt, thank you.”



~~~~~~~~


Celegorm could have cried right then and there.

He looked at the mess his batter had made on the floor. The batter he had laboured on for hours, which now called the floor of royal kitchens of Nargothrond home.

The same one which should have been prepared to go into the oven now because Celegorm could not possibly have more time to make another batch. Not with this leg. He looked down at his bandaged thigh. Blood was slowly soaking the fabric red, the smell mixing with the scent of ginger from the cake.

The ginger which had been hard to find, and despite having enough left, Celegorm couldn't help but mourn its loss. He had meant to dry and keep the rest for next year, and now his brother wouldn't be getting his favorite pastry for his Begotten day two years in a row.

He threw down his cane and slid down the pantry door, his hand tugging painfully at his braids.

He was stupid to think he could keep up with this tradition of theirs himself. He should have accepted the help of the kitchen maids when they had offered it.

Stupid stupid Turcafinwë, who thought he could do whatever he thought just by the force of his stubbornness alone.

He hissed as he moved his damned leg, face held in his hands as tears of frustration burned behind his closed lids.

And he was so immersed in his own misery and pain that he did not notice the light footsteps of the approaching person until he was standing right in front of him.

“Uncle?”
The sweet voice called, and Celegorm flinched. His form was tense, and it took him a while to realize who it was that addressed him so. He looked up.

Celebrimbor stood in front of him, soft silvery eyes concerned, his hands held helplessly in front of Celegorm, as if he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do.

“Tyelpë…what…is something wrong, my boy? You do not venture here oft.”

Celebrimbor bit his lips before finally deciding on an approach. He reached out and held Celegorm's arms in a firm grip before pulling him upward. Celegorm found himself following his lead, and leaned against the door as Celebrimbor searched for and found what he seeked.

He pushed a stool towards him, and Celegorm sat down, but not before receiving a scolding glare from his little nephew.

Not so little now, is he?

“A kitchen boy found me in my studio. Said you…said you require my assistance. Imagine my surprise when I find you on the floor with this mess right next to you. What are you doing, Uncle? You should rest. Your wound is sensitive and vulnerable. I fear the infection will return if you're not careful.”

Celegorm's cheeks felt warm. He dropped his gaze, eyes focused on the aforementioned mess. He sighed.

“It's your Atya's begotten-day.”

Celebrimbor didn't sound impressed.
“I know. How is that relevant?”

Celegorm exhaled sharply before running a hand on his face and finally glancing up.
“It's his begotten-day and I always make his cake for him. It has been like so since we were mere tweens in…in the blessed lands. I know it might sound stupid, but it didn't quite feel right to leave the responsibility to someone else. Ingoldo was gracious enough to offer his servants and their service in making him one and throwing him a banquet, but you know your father. Huge gatherings are never something he enjoys.”

Celebrimbor sighed and reached for his hand. Celegorm held his nephew's palm on his own. He frowned. When did Celebrimbor's hands outgrew his own? His used to be so small, no bigger than a gemstone.

“Very well then. For old time's sake. How about we make this one together? And by that I mean that I will listen to your directions and do it myself. You will not be moving from your seat. And I will escort you straight to the healing halls afterwards.”

Celegorm looked up at him, surprise clouding his face, which slowly morphed into a fond smile.
“You… remember?”

Celebrimbor grinned.
“How could I forget? I still remember Atya's unimpressed face when he realized I had gotten icing all over his favorite nightshirt.”

“Very well then. Let's see how much you recall from all that I did that night.”


~~~~~~



“Curvo?”

Someone called from behind him. He couldn't quite bring himself to turn around and find their identity.

A second passed. And then, another.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. Curufin looked up, and his bloodshot eyes found those of his silver brother's.

Celegorm did not look any better. The thought, which often made him sad and unsettled, now brought him some measure of comfort.

“Here.”
He was holding something in front of him. Curufin looked down.

The room was dark, with faint rays of moonlight seeping through the tightly drawn curtains.
Yet, it took Curufin's numb mind an embarrassingly long time to figure out what it was.
A sad piece of sponge cake, burnt at places and looking as sorrowful as Curufin felt.

Fitting. Perhaps not something his brother had intended, but Curufin was sure he would have lost it if he had brought him something perfect and beautiful, like the last piece of ginger cake Curufin ever had. The one his son had made.

The son he was now completely sure did not walk these lands with him anymore.

He hadn't realized he was crying. Not until a thumb wiped his tears away hastily. He heard a sniffle, and he looked up.
Celegorm leaned forward and kissed his forehead. Curufin merely blinked.


“I promised you we would have cake every year. I don't want to break it again. I'm sorry it's…it's a disaster. But it is what it is. We didn't have much more than sugar for spice.”

His brother whispered next to him. When had he sat down?

“Curvo?”
Curufin didn't want to respond, but something in his brother's voice compelled him too.
Celegorm was looking sad a moment ago. Now, determination was set deep in his blue eyes.

“Get dressed. We leave before dawn. I don't want Nelyo to find out.”
Curufin frowned. He was confused. Where were they going?

For the first time, he was paying attention to his brother’s attire. Instead of the expected lilac silk he preferred for his comfort, his brother wore his leather armour and his shadow cloak. The fabric which Caranthir had made for him, so their spy could blend in with the soot covered lands around Angband as well as the forests of Beleriand.

Celegorm was ready to hunt. Curufin wasn't sure why he was required to go as well.

His brother seemed to have noticed his lost eyes, for he took pity on him.
“I…I've heard news of the last ship leaving the shores for the Isle of Balar. If…if they have survived, they will be there. Whatever we will find there, it can be the closure we both seek. Come now, brother. Pack lightly. We need all the secrecy we need for this journey.”

Curufin didn't need to be told twice.



The cake remained forgotten by the maids to find, and by then, even the dust of their horses had settled by the road.
_______





“There. There's a crowd. I recognize some of my captains.”

So did Curufin. The swell of people was larger than he had expected, and instead of the ragtag group of survivors they had expected, they were dressed in warm winter clothes, each carrying loads of belongings which were being moved to the ships.

Yes, ships. Multiple. Celegorm's information was off, and Curufin had never been more grateful.

All signs spoke of a well timed desertion. It spoke of his son's wisdom.
It spoke of his and his nephew's survival.

Curufin could barely keep his form hidden among the branches of the bushes they hid behind.

“You thinking what I'm thinking?”
“I'm not a mind reader, Tyelko.”

A finger poked his ribs painfully, yet he couldn't help the gleeful grin lighting up his face.

“I can sing us a disguise. We can go there. We can see them for ourselves. Do you want to?”

Curufin's guts felt like it could burst from the excitement.
But…what if they were recognized? The memories of his last encounter with his son burned in his mind. It was not one of bitterness and hate, but he doubted Celebrimbor would wish to see him again. Or worse, what if he wished to follow him? Curufin's path led to naught but a dishonourable downfall. Celebrimbor would not fall with him.


Same with little Darthion. Would he even remember them? His brother had cared for the little one like he was his own, but he had been forced to leave him behind in Nargothrond when they were exiled.

He looked at Celegorm. His brother was biting his lips, and his fidgeting had given way to a restlessness which radiated from his still form. He was as nervous as Curufin was.


So be it.

“Do your trick, brother. Let us find our sons.”


And Celegorm hummed a tune. Curufin felt nothing, but a slight tingling all over his body. Celegorm passed him a small seeing glass.
He searched for the familiar sight of ebony curls and light silver eyes, but found straight brown hair and dark grey orbs. Colorings of dark elves.

He looked at his brother who resembled him with the uncanniness of someone who was his kin. Except the Celegorm's hair and eyes were slightly lighter. The young green elf who was his brother smiled. The dimples were gone.

Everything felt surreal, but Curufin did not waste the time to untangle the mess of his feelings.

He followed his brother. They took the treeline towards the deck and soon, the crowd of the Noldor swallowed them.

“Quicker! Lord Círdan and his people have been gracious enough to lend us their ships. We should not put his sailors in danger and they will be if we tarry any longer.

I understand your weariness, good people, but it shall not be longer. Our king rules the Isles and there, we shall be safe. Just a little longer, and we will reach safety. The waters of Lord Ulmo will be our protection.”

Someone spoke. His voice carried among the crowd, and it gave them life. The voice was dear. Curufin had been there when it was naught but mewls and cries of a newborn. He had been there when the awkwardness of youth caught it. And he had been there when it became a rich sound which moved hearts.

He would have collapsed then and there if he was not being squished by the force of the crowd.

He turned around. Celebrimbor stood there on top of a carriage of cargo. He wore his crown but no other jewels. His cloak was the one his Uncle Celegorm had gifted him. Dark fur of wolves and rich velvet. He looked every bit of the prince he was. The leader he had become.


By his side stood a shy youth. His brown curls moved with the wind. He, too, wore a circlet of silver and his adopted father's blue gems. The one Curufin had fashioned for him, resized to fit his head for he had grown indeed. Almost at his majority.

A hand grasped his arm. He turned, panicked when he saw the face of a young green elf, until he realized who he was.

His brother clung to him for support, eyes glued to the young princeling by Celebrimbor's side.

“He's grown…”
“He has…”

“I…I think they will be fine. Don't you think so?”

Curufin put a hand on his beating heart, and held it out in farewell as the young men climbed down the cargo and boarded the largest of the ships.

“They will be.”