Chapter Text
Curufin lounged on the chaise, legs crossed and propped up by several decorative pillows. His grey eyes skimmed the page in front of him, reading through a particular article Finrod had tossed from the bedside table.
"Eldest son of Arafinwë seen leaving the event with several women. Are there more heirs on the way?" He read aloud and frowned. He tossed the paper onto the floor, where it landed between shards of broken glass and expensive wine on the wood that Finrod would no doubt be cleaning later. "Truly, how do they come up with these things?"
Finrod smiled. "I have no clue. I suppose it works in our favor, though Turukáno will be offended to be taken for a woman."
Curufin smirked. "Good."
His dislike of the 2nd eldest son of Nolofinwë was well known, and the feeling was mutual.
Finrod rolled his eyes but did not respond. The grudge had been held for so long that even he had forgotten entirely what caused it, if it did have a cause other than Fëanor's dislike for his half-siblings and their children.
A few moments passed before Curufin got up, planting his bare feet on the ground carefully to avoid stepping on glass.
Finrod sighed. "You come in the night and go in the morning. Why not stay for longer?"
"You know why." Curufin answered, retrieving the robes he had worn to the dinner party the night before, now thrown out onto the floor. Always with the responsibilities to be elsewhere, and with words that never did give him a clear answer. In this, Curufin infuriated him, but only after he was long gone.
Finrod sat up, pushing himself off the bed where he had been laying. He walked the short distance to the chaise and took Curufin's arm in his hand. Curufin paused, turning to look at his lover. There was something in his eyes than Finrod could not read. Finrod knew him inside out, but this thing he could not place. Was it pain? Curufin loved him, yes, in his own strange way, but enough to be pained at their separation?
Finrod moved his hand up his lover's arm, fingers lightly gliding over his skin until they reached his cheek.
Curufin reached out and grabbed Finrod's other arm, carefully placing it on his own shoulder.
"I care for you." He promised, voice soft in a way he rarely ever spoke. "Don't think that I do not. In fact, I will prove it."
With that, he leaned in and pecked Finrod on the lips, like the tease he was. He gathered up his clothes and cracked open the door, checking the hallway. And then he left with no further words.
***
A necklace would be his first choice - Finrod wore one with almost every outfit, and a necklace was the first gift Curufin had ever given him. A ring, perhaps? No, that would be too forward and likely to be noticed. Ultimately, he decided on a silver bracelet with sapphires that was connected to a chain to be worn on the middle finger. It would not be as noticeable, yet Finrod would recall the significance.
After heating and melting the silver into a bar, Curufin began the process of turning it into proper wire with the rolling mill. After afterwards, annealing. Then came the time to fashion it into the bracelet. After completing the main silver part of the bracelet, he pulled out the two sapphires from their container. Already heated, cut, and polished, they were ready to be added. Normally he'd go through the process of creating the sapphire himself from alumina, just to make sure it was perfect, but Fëanor had already taken the liberty of going through the gem stash he'd ordered.
The sapphires were quickly put into the bracelet, and he was finally finished. It was a long process, but not quite as long as when Maglor had begged him to make elaborate jewelry without describing exactly what he wanted.
"It looks wonderful."
Curufin spun around to find his father in the doorway, arms crossed.
"It was a commission," Curufin replied. "Something to wear at the festival, though it is a little too pretty for such revelry."
Fëanor smiled and leaned on the wall next to him. "Regardless, it will be the finest piece of jewelry in the room."
Curufin grinned, though he knew this flattery to be untrue when his father was around. His work did not compare to his father's, especially the silmarils he had recently created. No being could stare upon those and call their own work superior.
Fëanor pushed himself up from his spot against the wall and beckoned to his son. "Come, you've been in here so long that dinner is ready. Your brothers are already stuffing their mouths."
Curufin sighed and grabbed the bracelet. He pulled down a box from the shelf to his right and put it in gently. He'd make it presentable later.
"How are you?" Fëanor asked after Curufin had joined him to walk to the dining room. "You look tired."
"I'm fine," Curufin waved him off. "Just had a long day without eating."
So what if he didn't feel great? Just another thing for Celegorm to tease him about.
Fëanor shook his head, but kept quiet. Clearly, something worried him, but Curufin really didn't care. He'd feel better tomorrow anyway.
They arrived at the dinner table and sat down, Fëanor next to Nerdanel and Maedhros and Curufin next to Amrod and Celegorm. Food was already served, and Amras was happily gulping down the bread. Fëanor reached across Amrod and piled venison onto Curufin's plate.
"Eat," He ordered, now throwing on some carrots. "Spending all day in the forge is hazardous to one's health."
Nerdanel scoffed. "So, you finally admit it?"
"Only when it backs up my point of view," Fëanor replied.
Curufin stared at the venison in front of him, likely something Celegorm had brought home. Usually, his mouth would water at the smell, but now it just felt entirely wrong. He slowly cut off a piece with his knife, staring down at the glob of food on his plate. He raised the fork to his mouth and bit down. Chewy, like usual, but not pleasant. Sweet and rich — too rich. He chewed up the rest of the piece, trying not to grimace. He set the fork down and reached for his wine. Perhaps that would wash it down.
He moved the cup to his lips and took a sip. An unexpected flavor filled his mouth. It wasn't wine at all, but grape juice. Curufin put the wineglass down and gazed at his father, who was eagerly conversing with Maedhros about some new policy going to be implemented.
Curufin continued to stare.
Once the conversation had ended, Fëanor turned to look at him.
Curufin glared, trying to make it painfully obvious through his eyes that he was clearly not happy about this.
"Eat," Fëanor mouthed, then turned to talk to Maedhros again.
Curufin shoved a few carrots in his mouth and crunched down loudly. Caranthir frowned at him, and Curufin chewed louder. Caranthir had stolen his good pair of gloves the day before, so Curufin wasn't ready to forgive and forget.
Caranthir opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted when Maglor asked him a question. Caranthir answered, and Curufin smirked, knowing he'd gotten away with it. Maybe he'd humor Maglor by listening to his dreadful new song for this.
Despite what he'd insisted upon to his father, he was, in fact, tired. He rested his head on his fist, elbow on the table. Caranthir, no longer distracted by Maglor, opened his mouth again, likely to complain about "no elbows on the table it's improper".
"Shut up, Tyelko," Curufin grumbled before Caranthir had time to say a word.
Celegorm stopped vigorously chewing and turned to look at him. "Are you losing your mind? Last I checked, I haven't turned into Moryo."
Curufin got up, scraping his chair across the floor to make a shrieking noise. The rest of his family looked at him, alerted by the piercing noise.
"I'm going to bed." He announced, turning away and pushing the chair back in. There was no point in cleaning up after himself. Amras would just do it anyway.
He trudged down the halls to his room, walking in and locking the door. No Celegorm and Huan barging in to interrogate him tonight. Unless, of course, Celegorm picked the lock. As easy as that would be (Curufin needed a better lock), he figured Celegorm wouldn't care that much.
He turned the light off, changed into his night robes, and sunk into bed. Sleep came easily, and with it, strange dreams.
***
His head spun and his stomach churned. Perhaps eating those carrots was not a great idea. Curufin threw his blankets off and ran from the room, towards the bathroom he and Celegorm shared. Of course, it was occupied.
He pounded on the door. "Hurry up!"
"Stop being a diva and let me pee!" Celegorm yelled back.
"Get out!" Curufin screamed.
His stomach decided to empty its contents onto the floor violently.
Celegorm swung the door open to a vomit-covered floor. His face contorted in disgust.
"Fuck you," Curufin groaned, wiping at his face.
Celegorm stepped over the vomit and dashed down the hall. Probably to escape Curufin blaming him and forcing him to clean it up.
Curufin stepped over and vomit and into the bathroom. He laid his head on the sink, the cool metal feeling soothing on his forehead. His stomach wasn't aching anymore, but his headache remained.
Curufin heard a noise behind him and turned around to see his father staring at him with obvious concern on his face.
"We need to talk," Fëanor told him, stepping into the bathroom to grab a spare towel from the closet. "After I clean this up."
Curufin grunted in response and turned the sink on. He flushed his face with cold water and sat his head back down on the metal. Behind him, his father worked to clean up the mess. They had household staff for a reason, but Fëanor preferred doing things himself, even if they were unpleasant.
Once he'd finished and sent the towel off to be washed, Fëanor placed his hands on his son's shoulders, and then took his hand.
"Come," he said, and gently pulled Curufin towards the hall.
Through the halls they went, coming to an empty sitting room they rarely used. He sat down, and Curufin sat next to him.
"I know you don't want to tell me anything," Fëanor began, looking at his son. "But I need you to listen and be honest."
Curufin leaned back into the couch and looked up at his father.
Fëanor squeezed his hand and spoke again. "I know you've been seeing someone. Who it is, I'm not sure. I don't need to know. What I do need to know is how long this has been going on."
Curufin shrugged. A few years? He wasn't really sure when exactly it began.
"A while," Curufin responded, his voice cracking. "Three years maybe."
Fëanor sighed. "Are you aware that you can still bear children? You may not have breasts, but it's possible."
"Why are you telling me this?" Curufin croaked out.
"Because you're pregnant, Curvo."
"No," Curufin protested. "I can't be. How can you tell?"
Fëanor squeezed his son's hand again. "Your mother has been through this six times. I'm afraid I know the signs by now."
"I'd be an awful father." Curufin argued. "I can't do this."
"Nonsense," Fëanor scolded him. "You would be wonderful. Will be wonderful. I know it. Perhaps this is why you were given the body you're in. Ilúvatar does not make mistakes in this matter."
"Alright," Curufin sighed, moving to lean into his father's side. "Okay. I'll have a kid. But you're changing the diapers."
Fëanor laughed. "If that is what you wish."
He pulled his son in for a hug, and then Curufin knew that this had not been a mistake.