诀别诗

“Ammë lets me come closer,” he says, but does not push further than that. Instead, he turns his focus to a much more important topic. “Uncle Nolvo, I think you must return Turukáno to wherever you found him. He’s weird and he drools and he looks really ugly. I think he will grow up to be a really boring person, and I don’t want a boring cousin.”

He’s certain whoever had him before will take good care of him. A baby like that probably only needs to be fed a small bowl of pebbles a day. At least he does not require much food.

"Hm," says Nolvo. "That isn't a very polite word, but I appreciate the critique."

"Maybe that's why you don't like how Turukano looks," Findekano suggests, voice trembling with suppressed mirth. "Now that I'm here in the workshop, it seems obvious he was made out of glass. Isn't that right, atar?"

Nolvo glances up only long enough to give Findekano a look. Please do not encourage this nonsense, that look says, more directly than words ever could. (Findekano ignores it.)

And how peculiar it is that none of Uncle Nolvo’s kids, so far, has -finwë names! Did they not count as a grandchild of King Finwë? Then again, his mother has said that his uncle is a peculiar man, so perhaps this isn’t unnatural. He wiggles a bit on Findekáno’s shoulders before scuttling down his back like an oversized, meaty insect, surprisingly agile and nimble for his age, and came to Nolofinwë’s side, unsatisfied by the limited viewing opportunities staying a safe distance away presents.

“Uncle Nolvo?” His voice comes then surrpisingly soft. Soft, sad, a little lonely sounding, as though he cannot quite begrudge his uncle for keeping the horrid creature that is Turukáno, for his uncle seemed a sad, lonely man. “Why do you never visit us?” Nevermind that they live just a short walk away from eachother, and crossed paths often. That does not count as a visit in Curufinwë’s mind. “I miss you. And- oh!”

Alas

"..."

It’s even making him… feel bad.

I know you have not departed yet, but I wished to write something for you for when you are at last away. Tomorrow could not come any slower; I dread the rising of the sun, the opening of your eyes, though I long to look into them all the same. I know you are loyal to the Lord of Waters and his cause, just as I am to mine, and yet still I wish there could be a world where they do not shackle us to a fate where we must be apart.

I wish you would stay with me, Volwë. Though you sleep here peacefully, I know you will be away soon, and already I mourn for the days I must spend away from your company. How have you managed to capture my heart so utterly? Each moment you are not beside me is like a thousand years of torment, and each moment there is a piece of me missing; I am incomplete without you. If only we may be together, not relegated to these fleeting moments of intimacy.

I am in love with the way you laugh, the jokes you make, unfunny as they are. I am in love with your love for that fish of yours, and your passion for all the useless things in Arda. I am in love with your beauty, your kindness, your patience. I am even in love with how you snore, your tacky sense of fashion, even your love for stale breads and poor quality cheeses. Each time we meet again I fall in love with you all over again. I wish I did not have to mourn you when you are away, but at least the time spent apart makes me love you more.

I hope this will not have to be forever. I hope that one day, both our duties will be fulfilled, and then we can finally build the life we want. You said when we were younger that you wanted a cabin by the shores, away from the crown and away from your responsibilities. I hope we can have that.

There is so much more I can speak of, but I do not want to risk you waking up and seeing your arms empty. I hope that in hard times, my words may at least keep you company. I love you, Volwë.

Yours forever,

Curufinwë

p.s. Stop snoring.

Volwë read the letter many times in the days that followed. Though he was traveling across land unsettled and unexplored, and wished to keep the precious words safe for many long years yet, he kept risking them by drawing them out of the document wraps in his saddle bag and reading again. His fingers even traced some of the words (my dear sea jewel), a great sin to preservers of documents, for it left the oils of the skin and the grime of travel on the page where over time they would decay.

He couldn’t stop himself. He reread the letter by flickering firelight and in dappled afternoon sun, in the halls of Menegroth and in a farmer’s cottage in the Falas, and every time was like a new revelation.

It was in Eglarest some weeks later that he finally had the time and ink to respond.

Beloved Curwë,

You succeeded; I only found your letter the first night of my journey toward Arossiach, when I was making camp. I read it while I drank the wine you insisted I take, wearing the pendant you insisted I take, after brushing and feeding the horse you insisted I take. If I were half as generous with forgiveness as you are with your wealth, we would not have fought at the Mereth Aderthad at all. But then, we may have had no need to make up, and what a dark thought that is! I will write no more of such terrible things.

I remember waking the morning after you wrote to me and finding my arms were not empty at all. You had returned to them without my knowledge, just as you said in your letter, and I recall thinking that you seemed to glow in the early rays of sunlight, as if with the inner fire of the Noldor. I wished never to let go of you, but knew in the same breath I must.

It is impossible to know how this happened. We did not love each other in Valinor, did we? There we were selfish and playful youths, heedless of danger, for it hardly existed. I must believe, too, that you did not yet love me during the Darkening. Was it the fight? One day I found you brilliant and arrogant, and the next I found the arrogance endearing and the brilliance as necessary to me as air and water.

Our fates may lead us apart, but I hope that you will always take a moment to think of me at dusk, when the sun completes its arduous journey across the sky and returns to the embrace of the sea.

Yours,

Volwë Olovando

Even so, when his beloved set off, his mind went immediately to wondering just when he would receive a response, and when each time a servant came bearing his letters, Curufin found himself dizzy with anticipation, though he knew well the chances of Volwë writing him back that exact moment were slim.

So it was that when he finally received the response, he set off immediately to answer, his heart pounding with excitement and happiness, cheeks growing sore from just how much he smiled.

My dear sea jewel,

Firstly, I do not snore. That is a falsehood you just made up for the sake of getting under my skin, and I will not let you succeed in this venture.

Had we even truly fought at the Mereth Aderthad? I don’t recall such a thing, but I must’ve been too imebriated for it. Or, perhaps, your definition of fighting and mine are very different. But I certainly do remember the make up, yes. You were such a rascal, pulling that little trick of yours! Truthfully, I had not even imagined you capable of the level of lewdness you put on display there.

Then again, you were hardly any better under the watchful gaze of the Valar. Oft I wondered if Ulmo heard our ‘declarations of love’, as it were.

But no, I suppose I did not love you then. I cannot say, really. I did not not love you, but it was certainly not what I feel for you now. Even now I must admit I am a bit surprised I find myself so drawn to you. You were never that great of a prince, were you? Always eschewing your responsibilities and duties. Perhaps that was what drew me to you first, strange as it were, given how I am. I still remember when I first saw you in Alqualondë. You did not strike me as a prince, haha! Did I try to command you as though you were my servant, or did I do that with Findekáno? Likely both, knowing me.

And yet it’d seem that time spent apart reveals truths one might’ve never known had we always been together. Those years I spent without you… I do not know how to describe it. It sounds strange, and telling you this makes me feel a little foolish, but the truth was that I had never been lonelier in that time. I am not often a man of regret, but I wished I had taken you with me across the Sea sooner. But then maybe I would not have loved you like I do now.

How are your travels? I hope you will visit me soon, lest I set out west and find you myself. There is not a day that goes by where I do not think of you. I see your eyes in the twinkling stars, I hear your voice in the rush of the rivers, I feel the warmth of your embrace in the fires. I miss you very much.

Yours forever,

Curufinwë

Next up someone is going to claim that the Narnia series isn't kids books.

Tenna art by @9Aaaalt29 on twt

Thranduil fought surprisingly well; Curufin did not think someone like him, who seemingly did nothing but run his mouth to people greater than he, was capable of keeping up with him, but it seemed the hours he spent with Fëanárë were not for nothing. Or maybe it was from his own rustiness; several times he found himself not quite able to match Thranduil’s agility, and it was only by his many more years of experience fighting for both sport and for his life that he did not find a blade to his throat, or his own weapon on the ground.

But though the Sinda prince had youth on his side, Curufin had not only experience, but an advantage he was happy to hide until now. The blade hanging unsheathed on his hip was anything but a normal knife, and seeing the perfect opportunity to show Thranduil just why he should not underestimate an elf of old, Curufin drew it in his left hand. With an upward arc as Thranduil’s blade came crashing down upon him, Angrist cleaved the blade crosswise clean in half, its broken half falling to the floor with a discordant clamor.

Is he really a ten?