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Otornassë Avanwa	By : pip Category: +First Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1828 -:- 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
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Author’s Note: Hello, everyone! This story is a special request, written for curufins-smile on tumblr. Note the warnings: here be incest.

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.

Otornassë Avanwa

Chapter One
…I call the Everlasting Dark upon me... any Vala, Demon, Elf or Man as yet unborn...
The dark-haired elf turned restlessly in his sleep. One could not say his dreams were troubled as such. They were dreams which he would not remember upon awakening.
...witness this Manwë, Varda...
Curufin mouthed the words, echoing the awful finality of that hollow, thundering voice, his own lips moving in silence as he unconsciously repeated it, the terrible oath. And yet, it had led to the Noldor returning to Middle Earth, to set Morgoth to rout. His father...
An image of him, his eyes blazing fierce despite the mortal nature of his wounds. Defeated and tormented by balrogs, formerly Maiar. No one could be expected to stand against them, and yet his father had, in pride and overconfidence. In desperate pursuit. In fire that dwelt in his spirit, as hotly as it resided in the twisted forms of the balrogs Morgoth had created. There was a terrible parallel which Curufin refused to see, even in his dreams. And so Fëanor's spirit fled, his body burned away to ash, the shape of his countenance holding on the wind for a breathless moment; austere, ferocious, drawing the promise of his sons to abide by the oath they all made.
...bring back the light... recover the Silmarils...
And then he was gone, scattered to the winds, leaving their arms empty. The weight settled instead in their minds and hearts. Such a burden they carried with them that day...
Curufin jerked awake, his mind mercifully mostly blank. Fire and ashes... had he been dreaming? With a frown he pulled himself into a sitting position on his bedroll. The fire let off a drifting column of smoke that blew onto him occasionally, no doubt the cause of his dreams of flames, but his brother was nowhere to be seen. Even if there was no danger here, if the pass was held, it was not right to leave him sleeping, alone and defenceless.
With rather more temper, Curufin stood up, buckling his sword belt on in sharp jerking movements and kicking earth over the remnants of the fire. A sun had risen, still low in the east, and though it was bright and warm, a cold wind blew from the north. The wind always blew across the plain, and Curufin resisted the urge to shiver. His keen eyes pierced the landscape, looking for Celegorm. It was no good living like this. They needed to build a dwelling to keep the forsaken wind out.
It blew his hair about, whipping it onto his face playfully, so he took out a narrow black velvet tie and bound it back. As he finished, he heard hoof beats cantering to him from behind, and he turned to see his brother. The horse gentled to a sedate trot, then a walk and Celegorm leapt to the ground in one easy fluid movement, stopping to converse with the animal.
It was difficult to remain out of sorts when the horse tossed its head and nuzzled Celegorm, affectionate. All of the horses loved him. He rode them without tack, clinging to their mane like some fey and wild elf of the woods. The horse was dapple grey, a perfect accompaniment to Celegorm's lighter colouring. Curufin wandered up to them.
“You should wake me when you leave, háno,” he said. “I dislike awakening alone.”
The horse snorted and tossed its head at his words, and Celegorm laughed, his arms around its neck. Curufin tilted his head. “He wants to know if you are my lover and keeper as well as my brother,” he said by way of explanation. Curufin scowled a little, while Celegorm sent the stallion away with a light slap.
“Do not mind him,” Celegorm said lightly, stepping to their makeshift camp to put down the brace of rabbits he had captured and killed. “He sees nothing wrong in it. They do not keep the same sensibilities as we do.” Curufin followed his brother, looking down at the fare. The plain did not provide much to eat. Rabbit for breakfast, lunch, and probably dinner. Whose idea was it for them to take these lands anyway?
Noting his glare, Celegorm shrugged, and then as if reading his mind, he said: “You wanted to come here.”
So it had been his idea. Curufin was annoyed at the reminder, but said nothing.
“Do not be dismissive of them, moina háno. They sacrificed their lives for ours, and gave me sport, even in this empty land.”
At the lecture, Curufin rolled his eyes and ground his teeth. Still, he thought, brightening. A few more and he would have another rabbit skin cloak to keep off the wind.
“You have destroyed the fire,” Celegorm noted with a slight sigh, building it up again, shielding the kindling as he struck sparks with a piece of flint.
“The smoke was annoying me,” he said, taking off his sword again and sinking down onto the ground, pulling his cloak around him.
Celegorm gave him a sidelong glance. “You could have added wood. You knew I would be back with breakfast.”
“Did I?” Curufin responded, unwilling to let his resentment go completely. His brother did not answer, but concentrated on nursing the small flame he had made, moving so as to block just enough of the wind so it would catch on the larger pieces of wood he had arranged.
Curufin took the opportunity to study his brother. He was known as Celegorm the Fair because of his colouring, but he was fair in so many ways. Perhaps the horse saw it too. He was younger than Celegorm, but they had always been close, which was why they took this land between them. Unwilling to be parted, they had agreed to guard the pass to the north.
With a sigh, Curufin roughly knocked Celegorm to one side, onto his back, tired of the gentle admonishment and older brother treatment. Now he saw fire in his brother, never mind messing around with the little flames of their camp. Celegorm fought him, snarling, kicking with his feet and rolling them around in the dust. At one point, Curufin found his face pressed into the ground and he tasted it, his teeth felt rough with it as he broke the hold and gained the advantage.
They did not play, but fought with each other as only brothers can, hurting each other, each giving as good as they got, but it was Curufin who won this time, holding Celegorm still on the ground beneath him. “Do you give?” he demanding, turning his face away to spit the dirt from his mouth.
When he turned back, Celegorm was still and quiet, his fair skin coloured pink with exercise and exertion, his lips red. He seemed different, not defeated but merely undone. He gave Curufin a considering look. “Don't tell me you never thought of it,” he said, and he didn't need to elaborate. Curufin knew exactly what he meant.
“Of course I have,” he said, annoyed anew, and as he said it he imagined how it might feel if they were... if they did. What Celegorm's face might look like when Curufin breached him. What his moans might sound like. All at once, he let his brother go, unwilling to see the curiosity that suddenly lit up in his eyes.
“Oh, my,” Celegorm taunted, as gentle as ever. “Are you afraid?”
Slowly, Curufin turned his head. Deliberately, he caught Celegorm's face in both of his hands, then leaned forward, brushing his lips against his brother's. It had always been like this between them. Any time Celegorm had wanted to get him into trouble, he had only to dare. And if this wasn't trouble, then he was not Fëanorion. Celegorm's lips were soft and warm, yielding, which made Curufin press closer with a little sigh. The lips beneath his parted slightly, and Curufin followed suit, feeling his blood ripple with forbidden pleasure.
It occurred to him that Celegorm was not pulling away, that he was not disconcerted by Curufin's daring. In fact, he seemed to enjoy what was happening. Well, there was a way to solve that! Curufin suddenly deepened the kiss, tasting his brother as he would any other lover. He just barely had time to notice how pleasant Celegorm tasted before hands were pressing against his chest to push him away. Curufin let him go with a stilted laugh.
“I don't think you should do that,” Celegorm said softly. His brother's skin felt heated below his palms as he let go, and his gaze drifted down, pleased somehow when he saw what his kiss had done. Curufin laughed loudly.
“You know what that is a result of?” he said, gesturing. “Talking to animals too much! You need a lover, no doubt.”
After that morning, they got busy with the other elves who'd come with them to fortify the pass. They built an abode, which took weeks, and yet the moment of that encounter never really did leave Curufin's mind. He began to pay even more attention to Celegorm's habits, watching to see if he favoured anyone, if he took time with anyone, but he could not mark it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When their reign was well underway, and they were living in comfort for a change, Curufin found his mind straying to Celegorm's habits, and they concerned him. He'd had lovers in Aman. There he had not been so celibate, so what was wrong with him now? Had their father's death affected him so deeply that it had killed something in him?
One day, when he'd had enough of wondering, and the wolfhound was out hunting alone in the southern woods, Curufin strode into his brother's room, paying no heed to the birds that suddenly chirped in alarm and flew out of the window. He grabbed a chair and placed it down by the side of the bed where Celegorm lay reading a book.
“You always scare away my friends,” he observed mildly, without looking up.
“You need better friends,” Curufin said in return, flopping down into the chair arrogantly. “Don't think I haven't noticed. You aren't getting into the spirit of this thing, háno. You should be mixing.”
Celegorm turned a page in his book and sniffed. “Mixing!” he exclaimed, as if Curufin had made a particularly tasteless joke. He put the book aside and looked up at last, moving to sit up on the bed, cross-legged. “You should not tie your hair like that,” he said, nodding at the black velvet Curufin was using to bind his hair back from his face. If you must, then weave the braids of our rank into it. Like that, you look like one of those men,” he said with distaste.
The chair he was sitting in had a low back, so Curufin sprawled out in it, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. “Why don't you do it for me then?” he demanded, not expecting anything to come of it, yet he heard Celegorm get up and stand behind him, pulling the tie from his hair so that it was loose and flowing. He smiled with his eyes closed at the unexpected treat.
Feeling the touch of the brush against his scalp, Curufin relaxed as his brother tended to his unruly dark hair, sighing in pleasure. It was like being back, before all of this, when they played and tended to each other in the light of the trees. At times like these, he felt the difference in their ages more keenly. When he was an elfling, Celegorm had loved to play with his hair, which was odd because his hair was nothing out of the ordinary. Celegorm's silver hair was an oddity among the Noldor, and yet... this...
So gently did Celegorm remove the little knots and lugs in his hair it felt like heaven. Then his nimble fingers were working on elaborate braids. “Why do you like my hair so much?” he asked, sounding innocent despite everything, so relaxed now he felt he might fall asleep. Every part of him felt warmed and cherished by Celegorm's attention.
“Why do you not, mórëfindë?” Celegorm teased. His elegant, gentle hands guided Curufin to turn a little. “Move your head this way, pia háno,” he murmured, and his voice was so deep and rich. Was this how he spellbound all the animals he knew? Petting their hair, fur or feathers until they gave in to him? He felt tamed when Celegorm did this, and he could not deny it.
Yet his thoughts of his brother had turned in a different fashion just lately. Obsessed by watching, waiting to be sure he indulged himself with any partner... but there was none. When Celegorm was working on the last braid near his left ear, he reached out and grabbed Celegorm's wrist.
“We need to talk,” he said, holding that wrist fast.
“I have nearly finished,” Celegorm whispered, and there was something in the way he said it. Slowly, Curufin brought that wrist to his lips, kissing the inside of it as Celegorm gasped, trying to pull away. But not trying too hard, Curufin noted. He sighed. They really did have to talk.

To be continued…

Translations (Quenya):
háno - brother
moina háno - dear brother
mórëfindë - nighthair
pia háno - little brother

Author’s Note: Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Comments welcome and love - I will respond :)
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Otornassë Avanwa