Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Otornassë Avanwa	By : pip Category: +First Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1829 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own the world of the Silmarillion, Middle Earth or any of the characters. Everything belongs to Tolkien. I make no money from this work of fanfiction.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
Author’s Note: Hello, everyone! Another chapter, and since it’s christmas, see how many of the things from the ‘Twelve Days of Christmas’ you can spot in the following chapter. Have fun! And I hope you enjoy...
Chapter Four
It did not take Curufin long to choose a wife. The most beautiful of them all was Limeithel, and it was to her he paid his address. Her joy and that of her family was effervescent, almost sickly, and once agreement had been reached, Curufin escaped to the forge he had built.
It had been unthinkable to build a dwelling without the sanctuary of a place for metalworking, and though a large part of it was used to create those things necessary for weaponry and horse tack, there was a sizeable portion set aside for Curufin and his more refined projects.
Of all his brothers, it was he who had inherited his father's love of the smithy, of making things bend to his will and creating almost impossibly yielding shapes in gold and silver, adorning these with jewels. Curufin adored making jewellery, and he laboured hard, ostensibly on the wedding bands he and Limeithel would wear, yet in secret, he worked on something else.
Though he had made the oath with all of his brothers, Curufin believed that only he alone could truly understand his father's deep desire to regain and possess the Silmarils, and even his rejection of the Valar's wish to use them to restore Laurelin and Telperin. There was, after all, no guarantee he could ever repeat the making of those great jewels. They were the pinnacle of what was possible and could not – must not! – be unmade. This world would never see their like again, now that the two trees were gone. What were the sun and moon but pale reflections of their light? Even if you could catch their radiance, it was a mere echo. The Silmarils, they were more than the sun and the moon, more than the trees themselves. They were everything. The meaning and the light, intertwined. There was no question at all – they must be recovered.
The metalwork he did was not difficult. Five golden rings he made, simple enough for any novice, except for the way they fitted together. The first was for Limeithel, a plain gold band, strengthened with warm copper, made for the measurement of her ring finger. It was the least important and required the smallest amount of effort. He tossed it aside carelessly when he was done. The other four were for him and Celegorm.
Curufin took his time, wanting them to be perfect and seamless. He measured his brother's finger while he slept, taking his notes of numbers in the moonlight, caught for a long moment by the sheer beauty of Celegorm's elegant hands.
Night after night he fell into Celegorm's embrace, his face still hot from the forge, his clothes and skin tainted by the scent of burning coal and molten metal. Curufin did not accept the help offered to him. He alone fed the fire, worked the bellows, selected the gold. It's purity was unequalled, and for two of the four remaining rings, he added enough silver to make it durable, leaving them with a slight green colour in the light. The other two were pure gold, soft and malleable, and would hardly withstand much wearing alone.
The jewels were important, and Curufin kept this part the most secret of all, since he had some idea of the making of the Silmarils, knowledge best kept hidden. And though it was an echo only, Curufin employed that knowledge as he attempted to capture the light of the sun, selecting two small pale green jewels of beryl.
The sun gave only light, and so it was a difficult task, but from the green of the leaves of the trees that thrived in it, in moss and many other green things, Curufin decocted a kind of tincture with which he painted the gems over and over, setting them in the light of the sun in the hope they would capture a single fraction of a ray of it.
Eventually, when he had convinced himself he could see a spark of sunlight dancing in the depth of the stones, he put them to use, setting one each in the two largest green gold bands. The other two rings he etched upon in Quenya, working laboriously so they would be perfect. The gold was so pliant it was a difficult task, yet he persevered, using all of his skill and knowledge to complete it. He engraved his and Celegorm's promises onto them – he knew Celegorm's without the need to ask, since he whispered them often enough – and when at last he was done, he called Celegorm to come and see.
He watched his brother handling the ring he had made in the flickering light of the forge fire, the fine Quenya script running all the way around the band, and a shadow passed over Celegorm’s fair face.
“You mean these words?” he demanded, intense, fingers tracing over the script as if he could not believe in what he held. Curufin placed a hand over his and looked into his eyes.
“Ninyava. Véranya onóro, mirwanya melindo.” He smiled. “Yes I mean them. Órënya o fëa níra melmë tennoio a hroanya mailë oira, ninya verca Turcafinwë. Tenna manarngwe.”
Still the darkness did not pass. “Ninyava… véranya… mirwanya…” Celegorm repeated, troubled, and now Curufin felt it too. “Whatever I foresee it is not us,” he said in answer to Curufin’s frown. “It is just… Úmaia.” He shook his head.
Without saying anything further, he suddenly pulled Curufin into his arms, and they stood there together for a long moment in the secret darkness of the smithy. How could either of them repent of the Oath, when it gave them this? Curufin did not fool himself. Their lives in Valinor had been long and ageless. Unchanging as a still pool of water. Had their father never made the Silmarils, had there been no disturbance, they would still be there. Celegorm would still be hunting with Oromë, Huan by his side, and Curufin would forever be the apprentice to his father. They would have loved, as brothers should, but would not have ventured into this forbidden lust. Never.
The events that led up to their swearing the Oath and journeying across the sea to Eregion were the catalyst. There was a sense of vibrant life about it all; every situation was suddenly changeable, sharp and intense. Terms were no longer set, and every single thing was negotiable except for one: loss. It made every moment of bliss and agony more poignant and precious. A drop of their lives now outshone a millennia in Valinor, and the world they inhabited here was vast.
“They are beautiful, moina háno, but will people not see?” asked Celegorm at last, breaking Curufin out of his thoughts.
Smiling, Curufin showed off his ingenuity, handing Celegorm the gold ring with the beryl stone, and showing how he had moulded the metal so that the smaller pure gold ring could sit snugly inside. Their words and vows would be forever hidden, but they would be there. Still, Celegorm frowned.
“But will it go with the rest of my jewellery?” he pondered then, fingering the bits of polished orc bone and animal teeth that he wore around his neck as some kind of garish necklace, a reminder of his battles.
Curufin scowled. “That is not jewellery,” he said, insulted. “It's macabre.”
Suddenly he felt dissatisfied, and worse – ridiculed. He snatched the ring back, angry that Celegorm obviously didn't appreciate his talent. “I shouldn't have bothered!” he snapped, resentful. “I only thought that –” He brought himself up short and turned away.
“Only thought that... what?” Celegorm asked, amused, close behind him, arms reaching around him. Curufin shook his head. Celegorm's lips were on the back of his neck, one hand rising to sweep the length of his hair out of the way. “I am not ungrateful,” Celegorm assured him. “I could show you how grateful I am here. Now.” He paused. “We are alone.”
They were alone, and Curufin's blood burned as hot as the forge fire. He turned in Celegorm's embrace. “You will take everything I give you,” he said, roughly pushing Celegorm back against his work table. The sudden devious look on his brother's face made him realise Celegorm had been teasing, and he shook his head.
“Of course I will take everything,” Celegorm said, and the way he said it... this thing between them was so perfect it threw everything else into shade. If others could but see, yet they never would. Curufin laughed.
They had each other on his work table, as silently as they could, the door left dangerously unlatched. It made their lovemaking urgent and quick, perilous. Curufin thought they burned as bright as a Silmaril, and when Celegorm left, he wore the ring on his finger, Curfin's etched promises hidden eternally inside.
~~~~~~~~~
Though the marriage would take place after their visit to Caranthir, the elleth's family called a great celebration, and at least in this, Curufin had to admit the Sindar came into their own. A great fire was built on the open land, a stage set for musicians, and coloured banners were draped everywhere. Special delicacies were brought from far and wide for the feast. Strong wines imported from who knew where to make the tongue loose and old animosities fade away.
Curufin found he was not unhappy with the arrangement at all, for Limeithel was beautiful, and Curufin did not have the same strong preference as his brother. He found himself looking at her often, and looked forward to their wedding night. Perhaps he wasn't as earnest in his heart as some bridegrooms, but his body was more than willing. His brother... where was he? Standing up, Curufin realised Celegorm had escaped the festivities and decided at once to find him. What a wonderful opportunity to be together, while the rest of the Noldor and Sindar were celebrating.
The band struck up as he stood there, deliberating, and that decided him. As the tattoo of the drums brought couples together for dancing, he weaved his way through the crowd, almost unnoticed. A reel of some kind was played on slender little pipes, and the elves arranged themselves into practised formations. The male elves were leaping around like deer while the ladies danced. Curufin pulled a face, almost scowling. He had no intention of being dragged into that ridiculousness, no matter how much of the wine he consumed.
Taking a flagon of mead from a nearby trestle table, he slipped away into the dusk beyond the fire and the lights.
What might be termed a smallish town had sprung up around the substantial dwelling he occupied with his brother, and Curufin found himself hard pressed in his near drunkenness to navigate the little wooden huts. Some of them had livestock tethered onto grazing land; one thing this open plain was good for. A hog grunted at him when he walked near its fence, and a gaggle of chickens clucked loudly as he tapped on their hen house as he passed by. Wild migratory geese – half domesticated by the promise of tender grass and corn – were in a much larger enclosure, settled on nests they had built on the flat ground.
Looking around him, Curufin was impressed. He had been too carried away to notice much of this, but there was very definitely a settlement here. As he looked out into the twilight he could see some of the land had already been tilled, ready for the first sowing. The last rays of sunlight shone upon the scene, the revelry sounding distant and far away now. He waited until the sun was gone, then turned, walking onward in the dark, and almost collided with a young elleth carrying pails.
“Oh! Excuse me, Sir,” she said, then her eyes widened in the dark and she bobbed in a quick curtsey. “I mean, Lord Curufin.” She was achingly young, and very pretty. Curufin was almost tempted.
“Are you not attending the feast?” he asked, and she smiled.
“But of course!” she said. It occurred to Curufin that the Sindar were keeping dairy cows, if the contents of the pails were to be believed. But then, why not? It made sense, and so did the lateness of the task. The milking must be done on time in the evening, and it was not yet far enough into Spring for the light to remain.
Just as he reached out a hand to touch her face, her companions came bustling along, carrying her with them out of his reach, with a few respectful acknowledgements. Curufin sighed. But then there was only one lover he really wished to have now, at this moment. He hurried onwards.
“You are late,” Celegorm said without looking up from the book he was reading. Huan was snoring on a bed beneath the window, and Celegorm was lounging on his bed, his boots kicked off and resting on the floor.
“I was distracted,” Curufin said with a smile, advancing. He unbuttoned his tunic as he took tiny steps.
“Was she worth it?” Celegorm enquired, letting the book go easily when Curufin took it from his hands. He looked up as Curufin clambered onto the bed – onto him – knees at either side of Celegorm's hips. He felt his brother's fingers on his waist, stroking tenderly at his skin.
“Not at all,” he said, and leaned down to claim his brother's lips in a kiss. They rolled around on the bed, and still Curufin came out on top. Celegorm laughed softly, his fair face smooth and flawless in the moonlight that spilled through the window.
“Huan!” he called sharply. “Etsë!” The hound of Valinor snuffled and perked his ears, then obediently trotted to the door that Curufin had left ajar, nosing it open to find his rest outside. It did not matter. There were none to disturb them. All attended the feasting, which meant they had hours.
“Go on then,” said Celegorm with pleasure. “You can go first, pia háno.”
Curufin reached down and pulled Celegorm's tunic apart, prompting a roll of eyes and a sigh. “Always with the buttons!” he said darkly. “You'd better make it count.”
Looking down, he could see the challenge in Celegorm's eyes, and he suddenly grinned, dipping his head for a biting, harsh kiss. Their hands and pulses raced, hungry for sensation, but there was something else that drove this frenzied participation.
Change.
They had changed, just like their relationship. Like everything had changed. Before their journey, before the Simarils, their lives had been unending and maddeningly serene. Had their father never succeeded in creating the great jewels, perhaps... Curufin could not keep the train of his thoughts, with the taste of Celegorm on his lips, warm flawless skin stretched over hard muscle beneath his tongue.
Biting deliberately, he drew a succession of pained grunts from Celegorm, before heading downwards, but before he could reach his prize, his hair was pulled sharply.
“Orro!” he complained, reaching back with his hands, trying to loosen Celegorm's grip.
“Oh, if you think I'm letting you go there with your teeth, you're much mistaken,” he said, then his eyes darkened. “Besides, I'd much rather you take me.”
That was a suggestion Curufin had no problem with, and he looked to the bedside table, already reaching out for the oil. Celegorm caught his hand, staring at him in that intense way.
“I have done it already,” he said, then snickered at Curufin's look of surprise. “Did you think I came here for time alone?” he mocked. “Don't you know already... I was waiting for you?”
If he hadn't been so hungry for Celegorm's body, Curufin thought the tide of emotion those words inspired would have drowned him. Instead, he guided himself while Celegorm raised his knees, then pressed home with a sudden sharp movement that made his brother moan.
Being inside him was quite simply the most erotic thing Curufin had ever known, and he'd had plenty of lovers. Somehow this thing between them was different. In some ways it was almost an extension of their closeness. The feeling of Celegorm's body yielding to him was amazing, and yet he was still tight, and as Curufin moved, he could feel the muscle dragging his skin back and forth. Being inside his brother was paradise.
Celegorm reached down to handle his own cock, and Curufin slapped his hands away. “No,” he said, his breathing strained as sweat broke out on his brow. “I want you after. We don't have to be quiet. They wouldn't notice now if we were screaming at each other.”
It really was important to him. Every time they were together they had to be quiet, and Curufin longed for this, for being free and vocal if he wanted. He moaned on purpose, leaning over Celegorm's body and getting deeper, feeling those arms around him.
“Curvo!” cried Celegorm, obviously on purpose. “Fuck me, háno. Nirtorna, lintië, nai mailëa!”
Every word drove him on, called out loudly into the night without apology, and his own answering cries made him find his end much too soon. It felt too good to be free to love, to be free to fuck. Curufin let it all go, until he was resting on Celergorm, face pressed into his brother's neck. He felt empty, as if he'd given all of himself. But he hadn't, and before he was truly recovered he felt Celegorm's oil covered fingers seeking entry inside him. Curufin was so relaxed it was almost easy.
“Very good, pia háno. Now, you know how I like it best, don't you?” Celegorm said. He did, and he got onto his knees obediently, with Celegorm pressed up close behind him. With a low groan, he collapsed onto the eiderdown as his brother entered him, holding his hips while Curufin let his upper body drop.
“Even better,” Celegorm noted wickedly, then began a fast pace that stoked the sensation to such a level Curufin almost did scream. He could feel the heat of Celegorm skimming against those tender walls inside him, so fast he could not contain his moans. It felt like too much after his own climax, too exquisite, and his body could not respond, but he loved it.
“Turco,” he moaned, “have mercy.” The pace did not slow; Celegorm always did know what he really wanted. Yet he didn't waste time, and his movements eventually slowed into violent, deep thrusts that forewarned of his climax. Curufin sighed as Celegorm's weight pressed him down deep into the softness of the bed. Celegorm's hand covered his on the pillow by the side of his face, their matching rings sparkling in the lamplight.
“Sina. Met...” he said, faltering, put beyond words. “Oialëa.”
The hand on his clasped tightly in response. “I know. I will always be with you, little brother.”
All too soon their time was over again, and they separated with regret. The world seemed always to be pulling them apart, and just like him, Curufin knew Celegorm was counting the hours and the minutes until they could be alone once more.
Over the following weeks Celegorm mellowed, clearly making an effort to rein in his unruly temper with the servants. The household relaxed, and Curufin was glad of it, since he suspected there were less rumours being circulated about Celegorm's harsh treatment now. Perhaps it would save him from arguing with Caranthir.
They journeyed to visit their brother with a small retinue, since they could not insist on travelling alone, not as Lords, and it was enough to put an end to all thought of them laying together at night, out in the wild. They looked to each other often, until they hit on a solution – at least during the day.
Soon after breakfast, Celegorm would announce his attention to scout ahead and hunt for the evening meal, whereupon Curufin would offer to accompany him. Though it was contrived and obvious, those they travelled with did not say anything, since Celegorm always did bring meat back. And so they found themselves often an hour or two in advance of the main company, stealing time, leaping from their horses to have each other in the grass, out in the open, with Huan ready to alert them if others were near. After which they would both hunt, Celegorm with much greater success. Sometimes, it was as if animals volunteered for his blade or his arrows.
So it was that one day, Curufin found himself passing the same duck pond as he had around ten times before, eyeing up the swans and wondering how they would taste, since he'd had no luck finding deer or pheasant, which should be plentiful around here.
A group of blackbirds were following him around, fluttering from twig to twig, their song almost a giggle. At one point he came upon two doves and he determined to have them, after all even pigeon was better than nothing, until the blackbirds set up such a ruckus they frightened them away.
He sighed and kicked at the ground, only to see Celegorm come striding from the sparse woodland with a few wild rabbits and game birds strung over his shoulders. There were quail, pheasants, and even Huan carried a couple of grouse in his mouth, trotting in step beside his master. Curufin shook his head, then peered suspiciously at one of the birds.
“A partridge,” Celegorm said, noting his look. “I found it in a tree, waiting for me, its mouth full of leaves.”
Curufin smiled, and fell into step happily, his frustration with his own hunt completely forgotten. He liked partridge! “Mmm... I am hungry. We should set a fire as soon as we get back to the others,” he suggested innocently. Celegorm stared at him.
“It's still eleven in the morning!” he said, mocking. “Here!” He tossed something in Curufin's direction, and he caught it easily, pulling a face. A pear?!
All the way back Curufin stared longingly at the bird, his mouth watering. For once, it made a change from staring at Celegorm... with his mouth watering.

To be continued...

Author's Note: Thank you for reading – I hope you had fun with my little experiment! And don't worry, Celegorm and Curufin didn't notice a thing ;)
I let Celegorm have a little foresight. It seemed to fit, really.
Note on the translations: There is no Quenya word for 'mine' and so I made one up, using the attested word 'my' with a possessive ending. I apologise for that, and for my grammar, which is terrible.
And so all that remains is to wish all readers of this story a wonderful christmas, and a very happy new year. May you achieve everything you aim for. Xxx

Translations (Quenya):
Limeithel (name, sindarin) – clear spring
Ninyava. Véranya onóro, mirwanya melindo. – Mine. My own brother, my precious lover.
Órënya o fëa níra melmë tennoio a hroanya mailë oira, ninya verca Turcafinwë. Tenna manarngwe. – My heart and soul will love forever, and my body lust eternal, my wild Turcafinwë. Until our final end.
Ninyava… véranya… mirwanya… – Mine... my own... my precious...
Úmaia – Maia who turned to evil, like the balrogs, or Mairon/Sauron
moina háno – dear brother
pia háno – little brother
Etsë! – Out!
Orro! – Ow!
Nirtorna, lintië, nai mailëa! – Thrust hard, quickly, be lustful!
Sina. Met... – This. Us...
Oialëa – Forever
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Otornassë Avanwa