Work Header

The Chasing

Work Text:

Before his rebirth, if someone had told Turgon son of Fingolfin that he would be spending most of his time with the Feanorions, especially the infamous Curufin and Celegorm, the ex-King of Gondolin will surely tell that poor sod to go check himself or herself to a healer or maybe a recommended stay at Lorien’s Garden to clear some brain fogs.  Because there is no way that Turgon would want to invite himself to the judgements and scrutiny of that most arrogant family in Valinor, constantly being reminded in most subtle ways: the indulgent smiles, the stares, the slight turning of their shoulders…that he’s at the bottom of their regards, and never, never good enough to be part of their illustrious circle. The blood in his veins would always be the divide to separate him and them.

He doesn’t know how Aredhel, Fingon and Fingolfin with their streak of stubbornness, tried and tried endlessly to smash that barrier down, to weft themselves to the Feanorions’ lives. In his mind, it’s a lot of work for nothing. It’s better to steer clear of Feanor and his sons’ paths and focus your energy on more productive efforts that bear fruits.  So, he did, before his death, avoided running into his half uncle or any of his progeny, by pursuing his academic studies in solitude or by sequestering himself to Finrod’s company.

The shield he built to prevent Feanorions contact crumbles after his rebirth. Sadly, for Turgon, he has resorted to spend his endless time in the Land of Bliss with Curufin and Celegorm, the third and awkward wheel in a tight brotherhood, when the other options of occupying his time run dry. How this got started was Elenwe and him drifted apart from their varied life experiences. They were no longer who they are before their rebirths and failed to get back together after trying for an extended time to repair their marriage. Some gaps are just too wide for two elves to bridge. The split was mutual. And even though they parted amicably and remained found of each other, Turgon no longer can importune more of Elenwe’s time and company. She has her friends and relatives to amuse herself with. Suddenly Turgon realizes he has no companions to spend time with. He is in a limbo.

Days lost meaning to him. Turgon wakes up to eat, stares at the walls in his study and then goes back to sleep. After a few seasons of this new routine, his sister finally calls the end of his self-inflicting malaise by forcing him to socialize with unexpected company, and probably Fingon got his hands into this too.

Still unsure how Aredhel badgered, begged or guilted (maybe all three) her friend and her lover to take on Turgon as a charity case - the surprising invitation to a tea party came from Curufin. He shows up to the expansive, beautifully crafted front door of Curufin’s manor expecting to be punched or jeered at, typically Feanorion treatment for undesirable guests, however, turns out to be pleasant, cordial time with Curufin and Celegorm sipping fragrant teas from heirloom tea cups. Apparently these two now have a new mellow approach to life, and agreeing that having regular tea parties at Curufin’s manor and meditations after quell their fiery spirits. Bored out of his mind, Turgon thinks sipping teas and sampling scones are better activities than sitting alone in his study to pass his days.

Now Turgon is a regular attendee of this tea party. The trio would sit at the drawing room, politely gossiping about various members of their extended families and persons of interests in Valinor. Contentious topics are strongly discouraged by Curufin. Sometimes Turgon wants to stir things up by trying to irk the two brothers with childish antics like pretending to throw his dainty tea cup to the pristine carpet, or casually disparaging their former lives in Beleriand…well…Celegorm just has to be the mature elf to stop Turgon dead in the action by narrowing his eyes and shaking his fair head in disappointment. It is a little hard to swallow when Celegorm is behaving like an adult.

When the ravens fly in through the windows to relay the message that Aredhel waits at the forest to start a hunt, Celegorm dashes out fast to join her, leaving Turgon alone with Curufin to carry on their small talks. Prime time for Turgon to observe Feanor’s favorite son, who’s lounging on the couch at ease, wearing his customary smirk on his striking face.

The prince is still impeccably dressed, wearing the newest outfits made and designed by Caranthir, and decked in the most gorgeous jewels crafted by his own dexterous hands. Noticing Turgon staring, Curufin tilts his chin up, “Liking what you see?” The smirk got wider.

Curufin is still an unbearable, arrogant and smug Son of Feanor, but in a harmless way. Turgon realizes he’s fond of Curufin, the attitude, the beauty, the intelligence, and intrigued by the possibility of seeing Curufin unraveling. He sees a strand of hair falls loose from one of the braids on the right side of Curufin’s temple, leaps to action within one second of deciding to uptake his family’s tradition of chasing Feanorions to edge to Curufin’s side to wrap the renegade strand around his fingers.

“Very much” Turgon gives that renegade strand a light playful tuck, “And if the object of my fascination would not mind me having a solo observation in a more intimate setting, preferably with wines and less formal clothing, in fact the less clothing the better.” Ending it with a smirk, however failing to imitate fully that Feanorion smirk. Turgon grimaces a bit.

Curufin laughs – a genuine laugh showing his fine pearly teeth, not the fake laughs heralding some disasters about to happen, courtesy of Curufin’s machinations. His hand reaches over to grip Turgon’s collar, hard. “I didn’t realize you got in this in you. Chasing after fire. Half cousin. You couldn’t scramble faster to avoid me and my family before the Exile. A surprising change, but are you not fearful you will be scorched and burned?” Brilliant silver eyes daring Turgon to retreat and escape into a library.

“Better to burn than to live an insipid life, my crafty beauty.” He edges closer to Curufin, feeling the heat of Curufin’s body and fea “And after dying from crumbling walls of the city I built, nothing fazes me anymore” then lightly grazes Curufin’s lips, covering that infamous smirk. The touching of their lips spurs the Feanorion to remove Turgon’s clothing in a frenzy. The electric touches of Curufin’s deft fingers on his skin causing Turgon to want more of Curufin. Together they half nudging, half stumbling toward a room that looks like a bedroom and crashing onto the bed. His lips eagerly sample the entirety of Curufin’s body. Curufin does not lay passively for Turgon to act his desires out. He wrestles Turgon for control, he moans, his hands exploring Turgon’s heated body with the same fervor…when the Feanorion enters Turgon’s pliant body, he almost black out from the sensation. Why did I wait so long….why didn’t I chase earlier…Turgon could only think of these when Curufin plows deeper into him, bringing him to the height of ecstasy.

After exhausting their passions, they lay together in bed, bodies languid, arms wrapping around each other – even with him being so tired he can’t lift his hand to card through Curufin’s damp locks, the ones loose from his braids during their intense coupling - Turgon feels more alive than ever since his rebirth. He laughs, enjoying the bliss. Curufin joins him and laughs. His hand folding around Curufin’s hand. And Turgon is eagerly looking forward to spending days with his lover. And from the light kisses that Curufin lavishes on his left ear, the Feanorion is thinking the same.