第 52 页

“So hey, tell me about this person you’ve been seeing.”

“Hm?” Caranthir bent very low, ostensibly to fiddle with a buckle.

“You’re sleeping with someone, dude! I want to know who…or at least how it’s going.”

“I thought you were gonna get me drunk before badgering me.”

“I forgot the booze,” said Haleth regretfully. “I was hoping the cold would have a similar numbing effect.”

“Hmm, you may be out of luck, then.”

“You’re not going to give me anything? No scrap of information about this person?”

“I don’t really wanna talk about…this person. It's not like it's a big deal, anyway.”

Health nodded. “Just a casual thing, then?”

“I…well, yeah…I think.” Caranthir stood up and drove his feet experimentally against the snow-packed ground. “It’s all…complicated. Or confusing.”

“How so?”

“They…I don’t really know what they want.”

“From you?”

“Yeah.” Caranthir let out an impatient breath and began tugging his gloves back on. “H- They keep giving me really mixed signals, right? Doing all sorts of weird shit.” Caranthir fiddled with his own harness until Haleth nudged him to stop spinning his caribiner open. “He keeps coming over at weird times – ” Haleth noted the ‘he’, but didn’t comment – “he texts at weird times, he says things I don’t totally understand – he’s been spending the night sometimes, but he’s always gone early in the morning, sometimes he’ll show up with absolutely no warning and spend the night and talk like he’s sharing something with me – but then not actually say anything, right? He never did shit like that before, why now?”

“I don’t know, Moryo,” said Haleth carefully, “As far as relationships go – ”

“It’s not a relationship!”

“Well, true, it does sound pretty badly defined. But even if it’s not a very clear one, it is a relationship of some kind.”

Caranthir made a face at the snow around his feet. “What does he want from me? I can’t be his new Am – I didn’t know it was going to turn out like this.”

“You could ask him.”

“Hnnh.”

“You could end it, if you’re not happy.”

“I’m not unhappy, I just don’t get him. It was supposed to be something else, I think. But what if he wants…”

“What do you want from him?”

“Hell if I know," said Caranthir, to the frozen ground. "It was easier when we were just fucking.”

“Things like that rarely last indefinitely,” said Haleth wisely. “Fuck buddies are not forever. They either turn into more, or they turn into less, generally.”

Caranthir was staring up at the icefall, swinging his ice pick rather dangerously. “Whatever. I’m done talking about this.”

Haleth didn’t push her luck. “Okay. Say 'On belay'.”

“On belay?"

"Belay on. Say 'climbing'."

"Climbing, I guess. I can’t believe you talked me into this.”

"Climb on!"

* * *

Fëanor was at his writing desk, wielding his fountain pen with some force against the heavy paper of his stationary. He always preferred to write messages in longhand, even if only as a first draft, as he felt it paced his thoughts and could help shift impatience into elegance. Many an email had begun as an impeccably scripted draft on his monogrammed stationary – a habit Nerdanel had always found highly amusing, though she never objected when she found the beautifully hand-written notes he would leave under her pillow, or tucked into the crack in her work bench.

Feanor shook his head, drawing his focus back to the matter at hand. Love letters were not something he needed to be thinking about when composing ringing indictments. He frowned irritably as his thoughts were interrupted by the phone on his desk ringing sharply, but the glower faded as soon as he picked up and heard the voice on the other end.

“Father?”

“Curufinwë.” Fëanor set down his pen and smiled, leaning back in his chair. “It’s been too long since I’ve heard your voice. Has school been consuming you again?”

“Yes, of course, as is its wont.”

“But it’s going well, I hope?”

“School? Obviously. I was calling about something else.” Curufin’s clear voice was brisk and businesslike, and Fëanor couldn’t help but smile fondly, even as a stab of concern nudged at him.

“Is everything all right?”

“We need to talk about Turkafinwë.”

“Oh,” Fëanor’s heart sank, and the throb of anger and unhappiness that had been pressing on him all week resurfaced. “I suppose you heard – ”

“Of course.”

Fëanor sighed. “I’m sorry, Curvo. I know it must be upsetting to hear about, and to see your brother so emotional, but rest assured that we’re working on bringing things to rights. Turko is going to be okay. I’m sure this must be confusing and alarming, but please let me or your mother know if you have any – ”

“I’m not confused or alarmed.” Fëanor could almost see the impatient twitch of his son’s shoulders, the gesture he was unable to repress whenever he felt he was being underestimated. “I’ve known for ages.”

Fëanor blinked, and his fingers tightened on the phone. “You have?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

There was the briefest pause. “No.”

Fëanor tightened his jaw. “I am sorry that your brother felt the need to swear you to secrecy on this. It was wildly inappropriate of him to drag you into this mess, and I apologize for the anxiety that must have caused you.”

“Turko didn’t swear me to anything. He didn’t even know that I knew, for a while. But father, I know why you’re upset. I was upset too, and I completely understand your concerns.”

“Do you really,” said Fëanor, wearily. He knew his next youngest son acted far older than his years, but honestly…

“Yes. You don’t think I went through all this myself? I tried to talk Turko out of it, I tried to break them up, I – I made rather a mess of things, for a while.” Curufin’s voice went low at the end, and Fëanor’s frown deepened.

“Curvo…”

“I didn’t trust Oromë either. I blamed him for everything Tyelko went through, I thought him a manipulator, an abuser, a villain of the worst kind. But dad,” Curufin’s voice was earnest, “I was wrong.”

“Did your brother put you up to this?” Fëanor’s voice was more angry than he wanted it to be, and he struggled to calm himself. “Did he tell you to call me?”

“No. He has no idea. He’d probably flip out at me if he knew. Listen to me. I know how they got together was unorthodox, I know it should never have happened like that. But I believe, truly, that Oromë is a thoughtful and….trustworthy man. You know me, you know I wouldn’t use that word unless I believed it. And I know – belief has nothing to do with it – that he loves Tyelko more than anything, and Tyelko loves him back. I’ve never seen him happier than when he’s with Oromë. He’s less crazy when he’s with him, he’s honestly more there for us, he does less of the stupid nonsense he usually gets into…” Curufin’s voice trailed off. “I know that what Oromë did was wrong. But I don’t think he is wrong for Tyelko. Please, dad, you’ll hurt Tyelko much more if you pursue this.”

Fëanor’s mind had gone blank. “I don’t understand why you’re saying this.”

“I’m saying it because it’s true. And because you’re going to lose him if you do this.” Curufin’s voice had an edge of urgency in it. “And if you lose him, we might lose him too.”

“You’re not going to lose your brother,” said Fëanor forcefully.

“No, I’m not.” There was another long pause. “Because if forced to choose between him or you, I choose him.”

“What?”

“He’s going to cut off contact if you go after Oromë. And…so will I.”

Fëanor frantically sought his voice, which appeared to have left him along with his breath. “Curvo, what on earth… You can’t be serious. He must be putting you up to this – Put him on, I want to talk to him.”

“He has no idea I’m talking to you,” said Curufin steadily. “This was my decision. But you raised us to take care of each other, and that’s what I’m doing. You lose him, you lose me.”

“Curufinwë, you do not understand this situation, you do not understand what you’re saying. Your loyalty to your brother is admirable, but this is insane.” Fëanor broke off, listening frantically for Curufin’s response on the other end, but there was just silence. “Curvo!”

“I’ve said what I have to say,” said Curufin at last. “I urge you to reconsider your position on all this.” His voice had gone stiffly formal, and Fëanor closed his eyes, terrified and unable, for once in his life, to find the right words. “Goodbye, father.”

Fëanor kept the dead receiver pressed to his ear for a long time after the quiet click on the other end told him Curufin had hung up. When he finally opened his eyes, he was staring down at his desk, where his hand had clenched involuntarily on the letter he’d been writing, crumpling it beyond recognition.

Chapter End Notes

1. Silje has lots of incredible artwork posted on her Tumblr, and you guys should totally go check her out!

Have a ball and let the world blow up

Chapter Summary

Rugby players behaving badly. Well. One rugby player in particular. And a return to fun, for a little while at least.

Chapter Notes

0. In which I lower everyone’s expectations for updates so I can awe and amaze ~

1. Warnings for some nasty language, implied violent confrontations, and a disturbing number of third-generation Finwions in the same place.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Celegorm leaned up against the wall of the gym, waiting for Aredhel to finish showering and emerge from the women’s locker-room so they could walk home together. He was just pulling out his phone to check the time – Curufin, who saved everything, had an old cell phone that Celegorm had been using since his had broken – when a group of people brushed past him. He glanced up, and went still.

It was the entire current Beleriand U. rugby team, filing out of the weight room from one of their off-season team workouts. As was often the case in these unofficial mid-year practices, there were even a few team alumni amongst them, many from Celegorm’s own year.

They noticed him at the same time he noticed them.

Most of them almost immediately looked away. Beleg dropped his head, avoiding his eyes, a flush on his cheeks, but the young, dark-haired kid next to him – Túrin, Celegorm thought his name was – stared at him with frank curiosity and disturbingly sharp grey eyes. Glorfindel was the only one who acknowledged him in a friendly enough way, with an embarrassed nod and a half smile. He drew up next to Celegorm, rocking uneasily on his feet, as the rest of the team passed by.

“Hey there,” Glorfindel said awkwardly, as Celegorm crossed his arms and shot him a look.

“I take it he told you all, then.”

“Yesterday,” said Glorfindel, his voice quiet.

“Team took it well, I see.” Celegorm curled his lip in what was supposed to be a careless grin, but instead turned into a bitter sneer.

“They…We’ll get used to it,” said Glorfindel, more quietly still. “It’s come as a bit of a shock, you know? And it’s a little alarming hearing about the investigation and everything…” he trailed off, his eyes finally meeting Celegorm’s, and there was something urgent in his expression. “I’m not judging, I swear, I only – I wanted to ask – ” Celegorm braced himself. Glorfindel looked like the question was physically painful, but he forced it out. “ – It was consensual, right?”

Celegorm let out a huff of breath, wanting to laugh, but the serious look on Glorfindel’s face arrested him. “Yeah,” he said. “It was, I promise. Consensual as hell, but I bet you don’t want the details.”

“Not really,” said Glorfindel, though he looked relieved. “It’s…weird to think about, and I’m still wrapping my head around it – but I’m glad that he’s still the person I thought he was. More or less.”

“He is,” said Celegorm and wanted to say more, but wasn’t sure what Glorfindel would be comfortable hearing.

“That’s good to know,” said Glorfindel. “I hope everything works out for him – and for you.”

“Me too.” Celegorm felt suddenly that he’d never appreciated Glorfindel enough, an unexpected swell of warmth filling him at Glorfindel's earnest good-heartedness.

“And listen, if you – ” But Glorfindel was interrupted as his phone rang. “Dammit.” He checked the screen. “I’m sorry, I should take this,” he said apologetically. “Um. See you around, Celegorm.”

“Yeah. See you.”

Glorfindel made for the door, and Celegorm began to unfold from the wall. As he straightened up, glancing around for Aredhel, he saw that not all the team had dispersed. Or rather, not all of the former team.

Mablung was standing there, watching him, a look of more profound disgust and dislike on his face than Celegorm had ever seen before – which was saying something. Almost immediately, he felt his muscles tense, preparing for a fight.

“So,” said Mablung softly. “Look who it is.”

“What do you want, Mablung?”

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” said Mablung, ignoring his question and moving closer. “Typical, really.”

“Look,” said Celegorm, after a beat. “Don’t be pissed at him – Blame me, it was my fault.”

Mablung laughed. “Don’t worry, I do blame you. I blame you for ruining the integrity of this team. I blame you for getting the best coach this school’s ever seen thrown out. I blame you for being such a fucking slut you couldn’t keep it in your pants until the end of the last fucking season you were even playing.”

Celegorm bared his teeth. “Watch it.”

“It fits with your background, doesn’t it? Everything you people touch you destroy, somehow.”

The familiar rage was rising in Celegorm, but he tried to suppress it. Here’s a benefit to being estranged from your father, he tried to reason with himself, you don’t have to get pissed at what people say about him.

Except –

Except that the fury still flared.

Mablung was watching him knowingly, his own hands balled at his sides, true anger in his eyes even though his face was fixed in a cold smirk. “C’mon, Fëanorion, don’t tell me now of all times is when you’re gonna pussy out.”

Somehow, Mablung’s mocking voice brought Celegorm back to himself. He shook his head and loosened his fists. “I don’t care what shit you say to me. Vent as much as you fuckin’ want, I’m not going to fight you.”

“There’s a change.” Mablung narrowed his eyes, and changed tack. “How does it make you feel,” he asked quietly, getting close to Celegorm, “that even when you were sucking his cock, he wouldn’t make you captain? Not only were you not good enough on your own merit, you couldn’t even sleep your way to the top. You clearly aren’t as hot shit as you think – or else your blowjob skills are really sub par.”

Once again, Celegorm’s resolve slipped, his hands aching for violence, his brain flicking into the beautiful, slowed down place it went before a fight. Memories of a dozen fights with Mablung helpfully supplied him with pointers: He has a weak left wrist from that sprain sophomore year, but avoid his right hook at all cost – we didn’t call him ‘Heavy Hand’ for nothing. He’ll be slower to react if you come at him from his bad side, and if he gets his shoulder into you, you’re probably going down. But he weighs less than you, and you can throw him if necessary…