Disclaimer: Tolkien owns the Silmarillion. I've taken a few liberties with rearranging canon, though.
Pairings: Celegorm x Lúthien (one-sided)
Characters: Celegorm, Curufin, Maedhros, Finrod (mentions of Lúthien, Beren and Fëanor)
Warning: more than slightly AU, canon character death, intentional insanity?, escapism and unhealthy emotional states, fantasizing about violence, references to mass murder
Song: Animal I Have Become
Words: 998
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tide (noun): the alternate rising and falling of the surface of the ocean and of water bodies connected with the ocean that is the result of differing gravitational forces exerted at different parts of the earth by another body; something that fluctuates like the tides of the sea
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/tide
Overwhelming.
None of them understood.
Not Findaráto, who was constantly trying to help in whatever way he deemed to be useful, who believed too much in the honor of people. The golden elf was good-natured and prone to incessant prattling, and Tyelkormo found himself avoiding the King of Nargothrond, if only to harness in the nearly unbearable urge to smash that pretty, clueless face against a stone wall.
Because how dare he dredge up memories of Valinor? Could he not just go away and not leave temptation pounding at Tyelkormo's temples?
Not Nelyo, who was more of a father than an older brother and worried like he had a right to concern himself with his brother's health. A hypocrite if one there ever was, but with a soft heart and good intentions. "Are you well, little brother?" or "You look peaky, should you not eat more?" or "Talk to me, Turko. I only want to help." Except they never did.
Because talking didn't help at all.
Talking didn't take away the voices that lurked and crawled and crept along the edges of his mind, the black little conscience that had taken up residence, guarding the door behind which a floodgate of pure and unrestrained emotion pounded and rattled the hinges, seeping through the insubstantial cracks.
He feared that door more than anything.
Curvo did not understand either. Easily angered and full of sorrow and longing hidden away behind caustic remarks and bitter snarls. He only cried in the dark when he thought no one was awake to hear. "Why must you continue on like this Turko?" he would ask. "Why can you not control yourself?"
But he was controlling himself, just as Curvo was controlling himself--maintaining the temperamental pride of the House of Fëanáro. He was living and breathing his catharsis. Or perhaps it was not a haven of peace and relaxation at all, but mere escapism. In any case, Tyelkormo could not bring himself to care whether what he did was right or wrong, just that it plugged up those cracks with little white handkerchiefs. He plastered a smile on his face and drifted upon the false euphoria with mastery, purring sultry words and hissing insidious little lies into eager ears.
And when it became too much, when the hidden emotions bottled up to bursting were suddenly bearing down upon him, the fury would rise to counter, to burn away the hopelessness and despair loitering on the dark roads traversing his thoughts.
Because he missed green fields and golden light and lying on the soft grass without a care in the world.
The resentment was locked away. And the longing. They were not necessary.
Because he wished he had never spoken those words of hasty, naive loyalty, had never lifted his sword in defense of the father who had never been his father.
The regret was soul-wrenching and dangerous. What good would it do him to feel sorry for what had transpired in the past? History was already written.
Because when his father's body burned to ashes he felt unbearable relief.
And guilt then rose up over his head, burying him alive, cutting off his oxygen. It wanted to suffocate him, punish him for his ingratitude.
Because when he saw her light in the darkness, he wanted nothing more than to weep on her shoulder, to tell her everything. To know her, she with which he belonged as two pieces of one whole. Except she loved another.
Jealousy, others would say. But that jade emotion could be flashed openly amongst his kin without shame. It was the heartbreak dragging its claws across the fragile little bit of himself that he had left which Tyelkormo could not bear to reveal before untrustworthy eyes.
Despair. Sorrow. A wall of indigo and deep blue swirling down into an abyss before him. One step in the wrong direction and he would plummet, would be swallowed alive, would crack and break like a glass ornament on the marble floor. Every bit of Tyelkormo would be lost if that door's hinges gave way, if the boiling pit of hatred and madness and bloodlust on this side stopped pushing and pushing and pushing back.
Was it any surprise that, instead of weeping in the darkness like Curvo and contemplating falling on his sword, he went out of the civilized halls of his cousin and sought someone else to suffer in his place? Was it any surprise that he thirsted to slay any creature of darkness that might dare encroach upon his territory? And in their abeyance, was it any surprise that the convenient living targets surrounding him suddenly captured and held all his malicious attention, be it soft, sly words or a bladed silver tongue ready to filet open any unwary trespasser?
Was it any surprise that he preferred the capricious tides of madness to wasting away?
No, none of them understood, and they likely never would. They would never listen to him should he choose to speak of it as Nelyo wished, but brush away his unconventional logic. They would never comprehend the joy that he felt while slickening his sword with blood and guts, not when they were as noble and righteous as Findaráto. They would never see why all these thoughts and feelings needed to be locked up tight, especially not someone like Curvo, who spent all day and all night wasting away with longing and regret.
But he pushed this out of his thoughts. There was, after all, no use in lingering with his frustration and loneliness, either.
They were useless emotions. Empty. Feeding the oscillating waves of imprisoned sorrow, terrifying joy and fulfilling rage.
And Tyelkormo enjoyed every minute.
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This was an interesting little piece. Ah, Celegorm, I neglect you so! I was reading fanfiction about him earlier today, which is partially where this all came from. A little character development never hurt anyone. But really, I got the idea for it last night. My friend Kenny was doing a stream of consciousness for me on the word "tide" and "tides of insanity" was what struck me, besides music related connotations and a lot of scientific terms and thinking about the earth's crust, but that was too literal for a prompt.
So I found a song that got my blood going a little bit. It's hard being in the head of a psycho. I've been listening to Animal I Have Become by Three Days Grace. Surprisingly, I really like this song and have ever since the very first time I heard it. There's just something alive about it that captures my attention.
But just in case you don't want to listen to me wax lyrical about music yet again, I am going to be on my way. Writing this has improved my mood significantly.
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