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“Language, Tyelkormo,” said Nerdanel, without heat, and Celegorm muttered, “Sorry.”

“I’m not here to lecture you,” she said. “I miss you. I don’t do estrangement anymore than you do dancing around topics. You’re my sweet boy, and I love you, and even when you’re a jackass – excuse my language – you are my baby and I support you no matter what.”

Celegorm looked down at his plate and mumbled, “I love you too, ma.”

“I talked to your – to Coach – to Oromë,” said Nerdanel. “A while ago. I suppose he told you?”

“Yeah.”

“It wasn’t easy. I wanted to punch him in the face – another tendency I imagine you have inherited from me – but mostly, I wanted to be incandescently angry with him.” She sighed. “It would be easier if I didn’t still, despite myself, find him so…not a creep. I suppose I’m both glad and disappointed that he’s not a creep. Glad, for your sake. Disappointed for mine. It would make him easier to detest.” She dipped her finger in a pile of whipped cream. “Your father doesn’t find it hard to hold onto his anger, but I do. Especially when I see how much that man – I mean, your – Well, how much Oromë loves you.”

Celegorm looked up. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Does that mean you’re okay with it?”

Nerdanel laughed. “Oh, sweetheart. This is not some overnight thing that I’m just going to come to terms with and suddenly feel totally at peace. You’re going to have to give me some time, and you’re going to have to make an effort to see where I’m coming from. But I know you’re an adult, and you’ve made your choice, and whether I’m okay with it or not, you’re going to keep living your life. So let’s just…cut each other some slack, okay? Can we both accept that this is a learning curve, and we’re still figuring it out?”

“Yeah,” said Celegorm, and broke into a crooked smile. “Yeah, I think we can manage that.”

Nerdanel finished her coffee. “Good, I’m glad we have that sorted out. Now give me the gossip on your brothers. Have you heard anything from Káno in New York? Why is Moryo really living with Lalwen? And what’s new in Curvo’s life? Though I suppose with that one we know the sailing is pretty smooth.”

“Uh,” said Celegorm. “I think I’m gonna need to order some more bacon.”

-

Some time later, Nerdanel put money down on the table and stood, Celegorm along with her. She looked up at him, smiling.

“You got some sun, boyo.” She tapped the freckles on his nose. “Haven’t you heard of sunscreen?”

“I was in the mountains this weekend,” he said, and grinned as she put an arm around his waist. He squeezed her shoulders in return. “I gotta catch up to your level at some point, right?”

Nerdanel wrinkled up her rosy, freckly face. “I’m afraid you’ll never have it quite as good as I do.”

* * *

Having escorted Celegorm to the door of Pallando’s – a service that Celegorm had rolled his eyes at, but given him a swat of affection as they parted – Curufin turned down the block to Cuiviénen. Lost in thought, he didn’t register much beyond the jingle of the bell as he stepped through the door and turned toward his favorite table by the window. He looked up and froze, one hand extended towards the back of the chair he was about to pull out.

His father was sitting on the other side of the table, watching him with mild surprise.

Curufin opened his mouth, but no words came out. He started to withdraw his hand and back away, but Fëanor beckoned to him.

“Have a seat, Curufinwë.”

“I – I don’t – ”

Fëanor sighed with familiar impatience. “Don’t be silly. We’re in the same place at the same time, I’m sure for the same reason – Come sit down.”

Warily, his heart beating faster than he thought was necessary, Curufin slowly pulled out the chair and sat. They looked at each other over the table for an instant, and then Curufin looked determinedly down. Unwilling to meet his father’s gaze, he poked instead at the vase in the middle of the table, twisting at the petals of a red flower there. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he looked at his father just now – either he’d see something in his father’s face he couldn’t bear, or he’d be unable to resist blurting out a childish apology.

I never should have stopped talking to you, I made such a mistake, I’ve made a lot of mistakes, and –

And. I miss you.

None of this has gone as I planned.

“Are you missing something?”

Curufin started. “What?”

Fëanor gestured with his own cup of coffee. “Are you planning on purchasing anything, or were you going to annoy the proprietors by sitting in their establishment without giving them any business?”

“Oh.” Curufin dropped his hand to his pocket, automatically feeling for his wallet, but Fëanor forestalled him by holding out a bill. Curufin took it, Fëanor’s expression brooking no objections. “Right. Thank you.”

He ordered something at the counter, still too in turmoil to much pay attention to what he was buying, and returned to the table with his drink. He took a sip and winced – in no way had he meant to order chai. He pushed it away, and Fëanor looked at him, a half smile quirking his lips.

“Did they get your order wrong?”

“What? Oh, no, I just…I got confused.”

“That’s not like you.”

“Yes, well,” said Curufin briskly, pulling himself together. “These coffee shops and their unnecessarily convoluted menus. Totally self-indulgent to have so many items listed; how many brewed beverages does one actually need?”

“Exactly what I’ve always said. Kanafinwë has given me explanations for the gastronomic contortions attempted by these places, but I remain unconvinced.”

A silence fell then.

“What projects are you working on this summer?” asked Fëanor after an interlude. “Are you still working on that, what was it, Constraint Limited Backup – ”

Curufin leaned forward unconsciously. “CLBRMBR. Yes.”

“That’s right. I remember being impressed with your aspirations for it as you laid them out to me.”

“Well, and that was only in the beta stage of the project. I’m well beyond that now, and I’ve redefined some parameters and goals, especially accounting for some of the issues I ran into early on. I actually adapted a concept from your PALANTR designs that’s helped me with troubleshooting…”

For a wonderful thirty minutes, things were as they had always been. Fëanor leaned forward, elbows on the table, interjecting Curufin’s explanations with curious questions and suggestions, some of which Curufin jotted down on a napkin to work into his SilverFist 2.0 redesign.

“When Aulë cut funding I was concerned some of these projects would be dead in the water, but knowing you’re embarking on work with even some of the foundational concepts is endlessly reassuring.”

“The applicability across media gives it longevity.”

“Not to entirely change the subject, but have you been following Elon Musk’s latest?”

“Yes, were you tempted? I could see you being drawn to the concept of a hyperloop pod design…”

“I’d enter, but god knows my name would precede the credibility of my design.”

“Oh, let it. Just because some litigious bastards – ”

“Careful, Curvo,” said Fëanor, but he was smiling. “You don’t know who might overhear you.”

Curufin tossed his head and tried another sip of his chai. It was actually growing on him. “Fine. But back to the hyperloop…”

Their discussion might have continued unabated, had they not both glanced up, simultaneously, to see Nerdanel and Celegorm out on the sidewalk, arm in arm, their heads together and talking closely. It was as if a stone had dropped into the pleasant rill of their conversation.

“Well,” said Fëanor softly. “It looks like that went well, at least.”

Curufin said nothing, all the enjoyment of interacting with his father – as usual, as it used to be – dissipating. His instincts suddenly felt unsettled and contrary. Part of him longed to urge his father to go out, to talk to Celegorm, to make things right so that everything could be normal between all of them again – and part of him knew this was nonsense. However it turned out, things couldn’t go back to how they had been. The part of him that burned with fierce loyalty to his brother and his brother’s pride, that wanted to protect Celegorm from this confrontation, bit his tongue, and allowed him to say nothing.

(And a very small, shameful part felt a sudden swell of resentment towards Celegorm and his idiotic romantic entanglements. If it hadn’t been for you – !

He suppressed it.)

Fëanor looked like he knew something of what was going through his son’s head. He started to speak, but at that moment, Celegorm glanced through the window and saw them both. His face, which had been lively and expressive, immediately closed off. Fëanor saw this, and his own eyes shuttered just as completely.

“Go on,” he said to Curufin. “Go see your brother. You can tell your mother I’m waiting.”

Curufin nodded and stood up, stiff and awkward again. He could see his father’s shoulders twitch once, like he wanted to rise too, to grasp his son’s hand, or pull him into a hug. Terrified of what he might do if Fëanor touched him with gentle affection, Curufin pushed his chair in hastily and turned to rush off. But first his father’s voice came after him, quiet and with a touch of emotion that Curufin couldn’t place.

“It was good seeing you, Curvo.”

Curufin nodded again, jerkily, not trusting himself to speak, and flew out the door, its cheerful jingle ringing in his ears.

Chapter End Notes

0. Officially on a summer schedule which means…I update when I manage to finish a chapter. Whenever that may be. But summer also means I’m coming up on a year since I started this puppy, which is crazy! Expect a return to this story’s fundamentals...

Headrest for my soul

Chapter Summary

In which we peek in on the Sindar, two people have a very small but special celebration, and the Great Finwion Email Thread is unleashed.

Chapter Notes

0. Guys there is some IMPOSSIBLY gooey shmoop in here, I am SO SORRY. But like two people told me they missed a certain couple and HEY I’m not one to disappoint my readers (/proceeds to do this constantly.) Anyway, the shmoop is all for those two people and in no way my own self-indulgence. Nope. I couldn't care less.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

BELERIAND STUDENT ACCUSED OF ASSAULT

The newspaper was worn from repeated folding and looked far older than it was, given than its publication date was only to that morning. Mablung glanced across the table at his friend as Beleg scanned through the article once more.

“You’ve got to have read that a dozen times, dude,” he said, not unkindly. “You’re not getting anything new.”

“I know.” But Beleg didn’t tear his eyes away from the print.

“Why don’t you just ask him what happened?” Mablung traced some absent circles onto the notepad in front of him. “Get it from the horse’s mouth.”

“I can’t.” Beleg was uncharacteristically tense and it made his voice sharp. “He’s not here. If I'd only been around sooner maybe....but I was wrapped up in exams and by the time I got out, the story was all over campus and Túrin was nowhere. I looked all over and couldn’t find him, I even went to the Dean but she said he hadn’t been expelled. Yet. He’s just gone.”

“He probably went home,” said Mablung reasonably. “For the summer.”

“No,” said Beleg, tersely. “His family isn’t…around. Going home isn’t an option for him. He didn’t go home over the breaks, either. I was actually…I was actually going to ask him if he wanted to come home with me, this summer. Otherwise he was just going to stay at school and use summer housing.”

“Ah.” Mablung nodded. Beleg offering to take a friend in for the summer sounded perfectly in character. “Look, I’m sure he’ll turn up. In the meantime – ”

“There’s something not right about Saeros’ story,” said Beleg, with the doggedness of someone who couldn’t stop turning the same thing over in his head, and had said approximately the same thing a dozen times already. “It just doesn’t ring true, I don’t trust it.”

“Saeros is a rat.” Mablung leaned back in his chair. “I grew up with the kid, I know his family, and he’s a rat. He’s always been a rat.” He shrugged. “But he might be telling the truth, I dunno. Why would Túrin just vanish instead of defending himself?”

“I don’t know.” Beleg stared into space, and then back down at the paper. “It doesn’t make sense.”

Mablung gave his friend another couple minutes of brooding contemplation before trying to gently change the subject. “Uh, so this job I’m applying to…”

“Right.” Beleg dragged his focus back to Mablung with an effort. “This job.”

“I need three recommendations. Good ones.” Mablung looked hopelessly at the notepad in front of him, on which he’d written two names. “Because otherwise I’m just some kid from the shitty part of town whose only work experience is either in a factory or washing dishes in the dining hall.”

“And with a degree in forestry,” Beleg reminded him.

“But no experience in it.” Mablung flexed his fingers, which could still get cramped and stiff at times from his old injury, especially if he had a death grip on a pencil like he did now. “But all I’ve got for recs are my foreman and my work study supervisor.”

“That’s not bad.” Beleg craned his neck to look at the names. “You’re missing a really obvious one, though.”

“I am?”

Beleg leaned over and scribbled another name below the first two. “Yeah.”

Mablung stared at Beleg’s loopy script. “Oh.”

“I mean, come on, he knew you all four years, knows your background, respects you, can speak to your leadership abilities…”

Mablung didn’t say anything.

“Coach would write you a reference in a heartbeat, you know he would. He always liked you.”

“I’m not so sure of that.” Mablung tightened his jaw. “Somehow I think I might not be one of his favorite people these days.”

“Because of Celegorm?”

“Yeah, what the fuck else?”

Beleg shook his head. “He’s not petty, though. I don’t think he’d just take Celegorm’s side like that, he never played favorites when you two used to fight on the team…”

“That was before Celegorm was his boyfriend.” Mablung spat the words.

Beleg winced. “Well. Not actually, according to what they told us.”

Mablung muttered something, but didn’t respond.

“It’s worth a try, isn’t it?” Beleg waited, and when Mablung still didn’t answer, he turned back to the paper.

Mablung remained brooding, lost in thought, trying to decide if he was too angry and disgusted with his former coach to go to him for a favor – and wrestling with the suspicion that his reluctance to approach Oromë was simply childish avoidance.

Beleg had gone back to being engrossed in the newspaper, his eyes scanning the columns of print Mablung knew he must have memorized by now. He had never quite understood what drew Beleg so strongly to the Turambar kid, but he knew fixation and obsession when he saw it. Could even sympathize, a bit.