AU of my own AU, inspired by this post: the Seven Sons of Feanor and their father are reborn much closer together, but not in nearly so advantageous a position. The year is 259 AC.
@blue-ink-pearls
Celegorm jerked awake, coughing and hacking. His tongue felt frozen in his mouth and there was blackness swirling in his eyes. The darkness, the cold, seeping ever closer, it clung to his sweaty skin. There were heaps of blankets on top of him and, despite the cold, he kicked them off.
Trapped, I can’t be trapped, he thought, panicky, I must fly.
But the evil thing in his dreams had ripped out his wings and he felt the wounds on his back like they were real. He felt grief for them. A sob crawled up his throat even as he heaved for breath, oh, it was was hard to breathe.
Celegorm was so cold and he had no wings. He needed fire, heat; he needed to fly! The evil thing was coming, he must-
“Cel?”
He was shaking as he looked over at little Curufin, seated next to him on the cot he, Celegorm, and Caranthir called a bed, which they shared.
“Finny,” he gasped out. He didn’t want- He couldn’t scare his baby brother. “Where- what time is it?”
Curufin had in his hands what looked like a quarter of an apple, and he was licking the juice off his fingers as he said, “Hm, morning. The bells rang for first service a while ago. But you’ve been in the fever sleep for two whole days! Mae and Maggie and even ‘Ran have been really worried, though they try to pretend they’re not.”
Two days. Celegorm should be hungry, but all he felt was a pit of nausea in his stomach. He put his head between his legs.
“Then there’s little hope old Mycah will let me keep my job.”
Maedhros had gone to a lot of trouble to get Celegorm work down at the docks; good work, too, because he was tall for his age and strong. But that job had come with strict times and rules to follow from the dock warden, Mycah, a salt old cur, who never really liked Celegorm to begin with. It was just a favor for Maedhros.
No, he wasn’t likely to be lenient.
The anger and frustration had such a clawing grip on him, Celegorm didn’t even look up when he felt a little hand touch his arm.
“It’s okay,” Curufin said, “Maggie’s been making good money, staying out all night.”
And now Maglor was walking the streets all night, singing from dusk til dawn, to make up for Celegorm’s stupid bullshit.
“Fuck,” he muttered, standing up suddenly. He threw his gross, soiled shirt and pants off and went hunting for better clothes.
With seven brothers, there was scarcely a stitch of cloth to share between them, but he managed to scrounge up some old items of Maedhros’s that were too big for Maglor; they were waiting for Celegorm to grow into them and repair them then, which was probably still a few years off, but they would do for now. Too long and wide and riddled with holes, but Celegorm really didn’t care.
Not right now.
“‘Suppose they’re both still at work,” he snapped as he tied a piece of rope around his waist like a belt.
“Aye,” Curufin’s tiny voice piped up, much meeker than before. Celegorm looked down at him as the boy- just seven- came closer.
He was looking at his feet when he said, “You’re better now. Right?”
The cold was still wrapped around his bones, but Celegorm said, “‘Course. Where ‘Ran and the little’uns?”
Curufin looked skeptical, but did perk up a little as he said, “Watchin’ the twins. I’m supposed to watch you!”
Celegorm ruffled his hair.
“You did a good job. Come on. Let’s you and I get some air. This room is foul.”
Forcefully, Celegorm grabbed one of Finny’s sticky hands. He was met with no resistance as he dragged his little brother out the bedroom all seven of them shared and into the rest of the house. As reported, Caranthir was seated at the table with Amrod and Amras, trying to play cards with them. How did you play cards with three year olds?
“You’re awake!” Caranthir squeaked when he saw them, grin massive. Amrod and Amras gave happy cries as well, but Celegorm didn’t stop to really greet them. He was too filled with shame and anger to let his brothers be kind.
“We’re going to the Sept,” he said, walking right past them, “be home soon.”
“Ah, but, Cel-“
He was gone before Caranthir could finish his protest. He didn’t feel too bad about abandoning Caranthir with the twins, not like he used to when he first started working all day. Caranthir had just turned ten then, forced to look after the two year old twins and six year old Curufin, but without Father, there really hadn’t been any other options.
Oh, Father… he would have been able to help Celegorm understand the dreams.
But Father was gone, and so was the life they used to live on the Street of Steel. They were in Flea Bottom now, the place the people who killed Father- if you can’t prove that, you best not be repeating it, Mae would always say, but Maggie would say, be smarter and more patient- said they belonged, Feanor’s gaggle of whore’s sons.
Gathered from six different mothers, all different brothels, if a woman asked him, ‘please take my son’, he did. No questions were asked about the real father. Their Father was very kind, and perhaps overly confident.
Seven sons just meant seven orphans, now. Maedhros did his best, but…
Make their lives easier, Celegorm thought, eyeing a burning pit that someone was cooking over, throw yourself on the flames.
He tightened his grip on Curufin’s hand and kept walking.
Their journey up Visenya’s hill was silent and felt tense enough to snap Celegorm in half. But his breathing eased once the Great Sept of Baelor came into view. The bells had just started ringing for noon service.
“Do we have to pray?” Curufin whined.
“Yes.”
The went inside and the smell of incense finally warmed Celegorm up somewhat. Started to melt the ice of his bones. The beautiful rainbow lights chased away the darkness. Here, he did not need to be scared that he couldn’t fly. The Seven would protect him.
Celegorm let Curufin go finally as he took a second to stand in the middle of the Sept and just breathe. His brother wandered off to the statue of the Smith, as he always did. Celegorm wasn’t nearly so partial to one aspect of the Seven but today…
Today he knelt in front of the Maiden.
He clasped his hands together and dug his nails into his skin and squeezed his eyes shut so hard that tears sprung to the corners of them.
Please, he thought, please protect my little brothers. Please tell me you’re looking. You see, right? It’s coming. I don’t know when it’s coming, they might not be children anymore, but please. Please keep this summer lush for a while longer. Please take care of us when the bad thing comes. Please cure of me whatever’s wrong with me. Please, please, please-
Eventually, he had no more words to beg with and started to recite every prayer he knew.
When he came up for air, much later, his knees ached and he was glad of it. Celegorm felt that if he hurt, the Maiden might see him more clearly. His words might be louder.
He kissed the statues robes before backing away.
Curufin was no longer praying to the Smith, but that was to be expected. He hadn’t gone far, though, no, he was talking to the septon who was equally partial to the Smith and thus always kind to eager Finny.
“An, young Celegorm,” the Brother said as he approached them, smiling, “Curufin was just telling me you have been ill and that is why we have not seen you recently. Is there anything we can do to help?”
The idea of admiting his horrid fever dreams to the blessed septon made Celegorm choke up with fear and revulsion and shame, so he shook his head.
He just held out his hand for Curufin to take, which his brother dutifully did.
“No, Septon, but thank you. I’m much better now. But, ah, if you hear anyone praying for a new worker who is strong…?”
“Ah,” the Septon said with a slight laugh, “yes, I see. Well, I’m sure the Seven will guide some soul here to receive precisely that sort of help.”
He winked, and it made Celegorm smile slightly.
He said his thanks again and made Curufin say his, then they bid their farewells. They started to walk home, and as they went, Curufin swung their joined hands.
Once they reached the bottom of the hill, Curufin said, “Happy Nameday, by the way.”
“What?”
“Your nameday, it was yesterday. You’re four and ten, now.”
“Oh,” Celegorm muttered. He didn’t feel four and teen. He felt like, whenever he dreamed, he lived decades in seconds. Thousands of years of waiting as the darkness and cold crawled closer, breathless with dread, helpless to stop it as his wings were ripped out time and time again. “Is that why you had an apple?”
Curufin grinned at him guiltily.
“Mae bought it for you, but he said ‘Ran, the babies, and I could share before it went bad.”
“Mae is smart,” Celegorm sighed.
“I thought you’d be mad,” Curufin said.
“I’m not mad.”
“I wish you were. The fever sleeps are making you too sad. You used to get mad.”
He did, didn’t he? But that was then and this was now. The night those jealous murderers burned the forge they called their home down changed a lot of things.
That was the first night he had one of his dreams.
“Yeah, well,” Celegorm muttered, “maybe I’m just more mature now, being four and ten.”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Nuh-uh!”
Celegorm laughed. He squeezed Curufin’s hand and laughed through the exhaustion, thankful to the Maiden that at least he had such a silly little brother to lighten his spirits.
“Sure whatever you say,” he said, sticking his tongue out. “Do you know where Maggie is singing today? We can go bother him.”
With a wicked grin, Curufin pulled his hand from Celegorm’s and took off running. He ran after him.
Elsewhere, Summerhall burned.
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Trick or treat!! 🦇
A treat for the treat of my life <3 <3 <3 (that sounded way better in my head)
--
"And why, pray tell, am I wearing this, again?" Bruce asks, pulling at the tight collar.
"Because you can't always be a dinosaur," Dick tells him as a matter of factly. He's running around the room, helping everybody get ready, but then again, it's easy for Dick to move around freely when all he's wearing is a small cheerleader outfit. Bruce doesn't want to know why he's wearing the skirt and Kory is the one in the pants. He doesn't need to know; he doesn't even want to think of asking.
"I'm not-"
"Sorry, you can't always be a T-Rex or triceratops or whatever," Dick waves him off.
"That's not-" Bruce tries to argue but then Dick places a pair of bunny ears on top of his head. "Why this outfit?" He tries again.
"Because it suits you," Tim comments from where he's squeezing into a maid's uniform. Another skirt. Bruce has a bad feeling about this.
"Drake is right," Damian chimes in and Bruce nearly swallows his own tongue. Damian agreeing with Tim? Perhaps he should cancel the party and go lie down. Maybe drag his youngest to the cave to run some tests first.
"Is it not customary for the rabbits to accompany a billionaire?" Damian asks when Bruce doesn't reply. "This being a switch of genders and all?"
"It is," Jason says with a terrifying grin on his face. Bruce purposefully doesn't look at him. He doesn't need to see which type of skirt Jason is wearing; he's pretty sure he'll faint any minute now. "Which is why dear old dad needs to be the perfect bunny for his handsome billionaire."
"Do I even want to know who my handsome billionaire is?" Bruce asks hesitantly.
"Selena, duh," Tim says just as Damian goes: "Mother, of course."
"Oh," Dick then says. "I invited Clark."
"This is a switch party!" Jason argues. "Clark can't be the handsome billionaire!"
"He can too!" Dick shoots back. "He's a handsome billionaire widow. See? That's him in the black dress."
Bruce nearly breaks his own neck turning around to see exactly what type of black dress Clark is wearing. And then he feels all color drain out of his face - and not for the reason he was expecting. Clark is indeed wearing a skintight black dress (and good God, how the hell did the boys convince him to wear those heels?!) but that's not what has Bruce start sweating.
Right next to Clark stands a tall figure, glaring daggers and looking absolutely gorgeous in a bright red miniskirt.
"Why is Khoa here?" Bruce chokes.
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