Secret

Mellow Soulmate AU.  Staying silent is killing her.  And keeping her alive.  Quenya names used (Curufin = Curufinwë or Curvo, Celebrimbor = Telperinquar or Telpë).  Lindalórë is my OFC who is (in this case) Curufin's canonical wife.  She first appears in "Locked" and "Punch", but also shows up in "Snore" as well.  This is pre-"Snore" and post-"Flying".  Forgive me for focusing on an OC again, but they are addictive.  Takes place in Valinor sometime after the Darkening but before the Exiles leave for Beleriand.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Silmarillion, but Lindalórë is mine

Pairings: Curufin x Lindalórë

Characters: Lindalórë (OFC), Curufin, Teldanno (OMC) (mentions Fëanor, the other Fëanorions and Celebrimbor)

Warning: not canon compliant, spontaneous children, OFC warning, temper issues, mentions war and violence, secrets (obviously)

Song: Where Butterflies Never Die

Words: 1,897
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secret (noun): something kept hidden or unexplained: mystery; something kept from the knowledge of others or shared only confidentially with a few
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/secret

It wasn't really right, what she was doing.  Even thinking about it left her stomach twisting into uncomfortable knots, the traitor looking back upon those she planned to betray and feeling the crushing guilt and regret blooming sickly within.  She spent her days in the dark pacing and wrapping her arms about herself in the blackness, wondering about the future, trying not to cry herself into exhaustion.  But she never spoke, never gave away the truth kept close to her breast.

It was too dangerous.

Everything was too uncertain.

Just a few weeks ago, she had been so happy...

To tell him.  This was the day, and she was excited.  She had visited the healers, gotten it confirmed.  They had been trying, waiting patiently, and finally she had conceived a second time.  Her Telpë was going to get a brother or sister.  Her Curvo was once again going to be a father.

But then the Trees had gone out.  One moment there was light, and then it flickered violently.  Her eyes closed instinctually against the flashing, blinding brilliance oscillating with black and the sound of frightened screams echoing down the streets drew her hands over her ears, her basket of fruits falling forgotten to the cobbled street to be bruised and crushed beneath trampling feet.  Stumbling, her back found stone and leaned, sliding downwards.  Crawling down familiar paths until she knew she was safe upon her doorstep, cloaked in eternal night.

When she once again looked up at the sky in the eerie silence, there were no stars to be found.

And waiting at home for her husband and son to return was hell.

Pacing back and forth... What had gone wrong?  Back and forth... What if something happened to them?  Again across the floor.  What if they were hurt or lost out in that chaos?  And back.  What if there had been an attack?  Her ankles ached, but she ignored them.  What could possibly make the Trees wither and die?

Lindalórë had not known.  Anything.  And she had been terrified.

Telling him of the baby had not even crossed her mind when Curufinwë burst through the door, slamming the wood against the wall hard enough to dent.  All she thought about was throwing her arms around him and burying her face against his throat, breathing in the scent that was so purely him and so comfortingly familiar.  So reassuring and real.

She had been crying.

"I was so... so w-worried..."

And his arms came up around her, his cheek pressing to her disarrayed curls and his breath coming in deep, long inhales.  Breathing her in until they twined together.  Until they knew the other was safe and sound and whole.  Not lost in the dark.

"Hush... All is well... hush..."

She had believed that, as long as his arms never let go...

Everything would be okay.  But...

Everything had just... fallen apart.

Her hands reached down, running over her stomach, still flat and inconspicuous.  But inside she knew there was a child growing.  And his or her future was also uncertain.  As uncertain as the future of her family and her husband and her son.

His or her future was dependent upon her speaking or silence.

And though she wished to part her lips, in the end, she could not bring herself to do it.  Not when she knew it was a hopeless endeavor.

"We are leaving.  For the other side of the sea.  Leaving Aman."

Wide-eyed, she met her husband's serious eyes, darkened with pain and fury.  He had told her what happened to his grandfather, had told her that his father swore a vengeful oath against the Black Enemy whose hands were painted with their sovereign's blood.  But until now she had not really thought about what that meant.  For him.  For her.  For their children.

"L-leaving?"

"Telperinquar and I," he clarified. "But I... I want you to stay, Lindalórë."

I want to leave you behind.

Her fingers had curled taut into the fabric of his tunic, ripping some of the delicate stitching at the hem. "Curufinwë..." What did one say to that?  What did one say when they were about to lose everything that they cared about?  When they knew they were being left behind.

She didn't want him to leave.  She didn't want her son to vanish.  She didn't want her family in danger.  Because leaving meant only one thing:

War.

And she did not want that for her husband and children.  She wanted them to stay.  Stay here with her, where it was safe.  Where they would never need to hold aloft a weapon in defense of their own lives.  Where they would never know fear of death or the pain of slowly bleeding out at the enemy's nonexistent mercy.  Where they would never know the agony of loss that came from watching those you cared about die.

And she almost told him.  Almost told him about the baby.  Maybe... maybe if she begged, he would stay.  Maybe if she told him that they were about to be parents, he would throw aside this strange, foolish quest for revenge and focus on their son or daughter instead of a bloodthirsty lust to take back birthright he didn't even care about...

Except she didn't think he would.

If there was one thing Curufinwë valued above all else, it was family.  No matter that he had never been close to his father or grandfather.  No matter that his brothers would have understood without question.  The enemy had violated those with whom he shared kith and kin--murdered and torn apart the lives of those he loved.

That could not be forgiven or forgotten.

And the realization burned...

Nowadays all day and night (the two were no different now, for all times of day were darkness) were spent preparing to leave the Undying Lands.  Preparing to set out into some new, foreign world of unknown dangers.  Spent practicing accuracy with a bow or honing skills at swinging a sword, burying its shimmering length into the guts of imaginary foes.  Spent practicing the art of murder.

And each day her need to speak dwindled as she realized that, no matter what she said, Curufinwë would never change his mind or go back upon his oath.  Realized that, no matter how she pleaded, he would never leave their son out of this scheme...

"Why Telpë?  Why does he need to go with you?"

Her hand gripped at his sleeve nervously, keeping him from simply turning away as he so often did these days, ignoring her words and her pleas with a single-minded focus that was frightening.

"Is the boy not grown?  He is a man, Lindalórë.  Treat him not as a child."

But he was a child--her child.  Nothing could change that fact, not even the many years beneath his belt or the accomplishments lining his name.  She still remembered him vividly as a bundle within the cradle of her arms with his fluttering green eyes, cooing cutely up at his ecstatic, enchanted mother.  Still remembered the little boy whose smile was so bright as he raced through the yard with bare feet, perfectly innocent and unaware that a vicious shadow was slowly creeping up upon his life, ready to rip it all away.

She did not want that sweet smile to disappear.  Did not want that image to float away.  Did not want to send that little boy away to war and--for nothing but a few glowing rocks--to die.

"I am his mother!  How can you think to take him from me?"

"I am his father!  And he is my son."  And those eyes had burned so intensely that she shuddered and glimpsed her husband's father overlapping the man she loved, eclipsing completely.  Glimpsed that expression of impassive, compassionless will and wild, uncontrollable fire.  It was terrifying to stand within arm's reach when his temper overflowed, sizzling and crackling in the air between them.

And his lips parted again to seal fate and shatter her heart beyond all glue and stitching.  Into sharp pieces that dug deep into her soul and cut and cut. "He is my son, and he will follow his father."

He slipped out the door, slammed it shut in his wake with barely controlled anger.  Left her alone with the quiet and the creaking of the lonely house that would never see all its members together in bliss.

She had not dared to ask again.  She had surrendered.

And she had wept.

But never once had she thought of revealing her secret.  Because she was already losing one son to the passionate hatred incarnated in blood hotter than molten earth.  She was losing everything she loved, except that sweet little whisper, the tiny heartbeat in synchronization with her own...

She would not lose her second child, too.

She would not allow that future to dominate her second child's destiny.  For if he knew, she knew Curufinwë would never allow her to stay by herself and sunder him from his blood.  He would insist that she come across the sea at his side.  Insist that their child be born upon the road or in some tent, somewhere in danger and uncertainty so very far away from home.  Insist that, when the time came, a son would become a warrior and walk out upon the field of battle to die for supposed righteous justice or a daughter would be married off to produce an army of children, her sons the next generations of living sacrifices in a reality compromised by madness and her daughters the vessels procreating the long line of suffering far into the distant eternity.

It was that thought--the thought of what might happen if she gave in to her own fears and wants and needs (to stay close, to cling to his side, to never let go) and forgot about the baby being nurtured within her own body for even a moment--that thought which kept her strong and helped her resist.  She could never forget that, one day, that child would pay for her happiness in his or her blood and the blood of his or her children and their children and their children...

When would it end?  With the loss of her husband and son?  Or would it keep going forever, a curse that could never be lifted?

Was that the price of her fleeting happiness?

Every time her will to stay silent wavered, she laid a hand upon the flat expanse of her belly, upon the secret hiding deep inside.

And tried to forget about that comforting scent and the safety of that loving embrace.

Tried to imagine something beautiful.

Tried to imagine sweet green eyes that would never know war or death or suffering.

Tried to imagine a little boy or little girl who did not have so spend every day in paranoia and fear.  Did not have to learn to fight in a cruel world that did not understand mercy and did not give second chances.  Did not have the curse of the Oath hanging as an ever-present veil of despair upon their heads to the very end.

Tried to hold on to that vision.  And to her tears.
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I only thought of this idea yesterday--of course, there were many options, because lots of characters carry around secrets, but this was my favorite--and it sort of formed itself slowly.  It's a plot point that has existed for quite some time but which I've never elaborated on.  Celegorm and Maedhros and Maglor have been getting a lot of love lately, and I feel like I've neglected the other four.  And I wanted to write this for some reason.

These two need their relationship defined.  I mean, I've written about them like three or four times, and I think they could use more.  I need to touch on Curufin more during Nargothrond (and the thing with Finrod), but I also want to focus a little more on Lindalórë, especially with how she deals when Curufin returns post-"Punch".  It promises to be interesting, at least.  Things have a tendency to have spins and turns that I never saw coming.

Today's song I discovered just this morning, but fell in love with almost immediately from the get-go.  Actually, I found it while watching AtLA AMVs, but that's beside the point.Where Butterflies Never Die by Broken Iris is lovely, and I like the music and the lyrics, which actually fit this story in a weird sort of way.  But it wasn't just the message; it was the whole package that made me happy.  So here it is.  Something brand spanking new that I didn't even know existed before today (and thus didn't plan in advance LOL).