[FST]: Silmarillion: I Am My Father's Son (Part II)
Night of the Hunter - 30 Seconds to Mars
Pray to your god, open your heart
Whatever you do, don't be afraid of the dark
Cover your eyes, the devil inside
One night of the hunter
One day I will get revenge
One night to remember
One day it’ll all just end
“Gone?” For several moments he was nearly blind with fury, drew a deep and angry breath to spew his fury on this helpless guardsman who had discovered the door ajar and their valuable prisoner vanished.
Finally, he clenched his hands and managed to breathe deeply enough to wait until he could speak reasonably. “You are certain she is nowhere within the fortress? Surely the gates were closed.”
“They were,” he said, clearly nervous. Curufin turned away and breathed a few more moments, trying to manage his anger and think clearly. He could not be seen to have lost her. His control was already more slippery and tenuous than he had expected, and he could not afford to lose more because this woman slipped away. Damn her.
Tyelko came bursting in a moment later, however, his brow furrowed. “-Kurvo, have you seen Huan?” He asked, eyes full of worry, and Curufin understood at once.
This time he could not stop the roar of fury, and wheeled, slamming his fist into the stone wall. His knuckles split and bled and the guard flinched as he turned on him, snarling.
“Get out,” he snarled. “Get out, and speak to no one of this, do you hear me? No one!”
King of Insects - Assemblage 23
Burrow deep now
Escape the light
Heaven forbid you have to face
The ones you slight
You will leave, Orodreth had said, his face stern, the image of his uncle. And swiftly, or I can take no responsibility for your miserable fate.
Curufin had once been able to go wherever he wished, to praise, or at least fear. They stared at him with open hostility now, these faces that had listened shining to his words not so long ago. He could almost feel Finrod’s hate-filled spirit whispering in their ears, fulfilling with his family’s witchery his dreadful prophecy.
Tyelko hardly seemed to notice. He’d sunk into a melancholy, a brooding from which it was more and more difficult to lift him. He would not speak of his thoughts, which was a first, and sat still for long hours, staring into fires - another first. It made him nervous.
They spat at him, and he turned, but no one was looking in his direction. All heads were identical. He squeezed the hilt of his sword with a snarl and quickened his pace back to his rooms.
Soon enough they would be left no choice. They would have to leave. The people of this place might not think of themselves as killers, but no one ever did until their enemy was dead-.
It was wiser to leave.
And what of your son, he thought, briefly. Will Celebrimbor leave with you?
He dismissed that thought. Of course he would. The boy had his doubts, his questions, but he was still his father’s son, and always would be.
Riot - Three Days Grace
If you feel so empty
So used up, so let down
If you feel so angry
So ripped off so stepped on
You're not the only one
Refusing to back down
You're not the only one
So get up
Dior’s arrogance took his breath away. He held his father’s most precious work, and thought that he could retain them. Thought that he could keep them back from their rightful place, from them, his heirs.
He would die for his insolence.
And yet his brothers, save Tyelko, seemed reluctant. It was his elder sibling he went to, and urged him to speak.
“If you say nothing,” he said, rationally, “Then Maglor’s bid for - peace, for cowardice, will win out. We cannot allow that. You cannot allow that. Think of all the injury that line has done you - us - and to think that they will - bargain to give it up is folly, and even our brother knows it.”
“They will listen if I speak?” Tyelko said, but Kurvo could see the anger of the memories rising again in him.
“Yes,” he said. “If you speak well.”
It felt as though it were all coming together. Their father’s work would soon be back in their hands, the upstart Dior dead. And it did not matter how many would have to fall in the path, as it never had. The ends would by far justify the means, and these Sindar would know the foolishness of meddling with what belonged to his father.
Seawulf - Steve MacDonald
Viking child, oh Viking child
Who will tame the wolf behind your smile?
Viking child, so free and so wild
Tell me why do you roam?
Battle on, that Seawulf in search of home
They told stories of him already.
He heard the whispers, sometimes, though not often. Perhaps those few thought he could not hear. Fëanor’s Wolf, they called him, and it was not a compliment, but it made him smile just the same.
If the legacy he left was one of faithful, unswerving obedience to his father, then he could be proud of that. If the legacy that they remembered was his refusal to give, to back down and give way where lesser elves might, then he could be proud of that as well.
They might not understand his purpose, or see the meaning behind everything he did. But it was all for his father, all for Fëanor, and all that he ever did would always be for him.
Cunning, he was called. Merciless, sometimes. He flowed through Thargelion, ignoring them all, smiling slightly in satisfaction at the occasional look of fear.
Better fear than love for him, always. And they feared him. His men feared him, and his discipline, and his temper. Caranthir was wary of him, jealous of the power he held, perhaps remembering how effortlessly it had been taken from Finrod - lesser than his younger brother, of course, but perhaps not by so much.
He lived for one purpose. He wondered if it wasn’t for the best, perhaps. Fëanor’s Wolf was finally loose, and before long the land would feel his bite.
Black Heart - Calexico
One man's righteousness is another man's
Long haul, sentence carried out
Long haul, counting the miles
To the four corners of the world
Spring is rusted shut, (faith's) coiled and cracked
“Do you ever feel anything?” Caranthir asked, when they were alone in his study. His voice vibrated with tension. “Is everything just - an interesting movement in some elaborate game to you? You are empty.”
“My loyalty is all I need,” he said, letting it be all the scolding he needed to do. Caranthir flushed.
“Do not accuse me of lacking loyalty. I’m listening to you, that’s loyalty enough.”
“It’s never been loyalty enough,” Curufin said silkily. “What are you doing, Carnistir? What is your purpose? To squat in these hills soaking money from dwarves, counting all your gold one coin at a time? Is that your grand design?”
“At least I’m not planning to get us all killed,” Caranthir snapped, and Curufin just smiled, knowing that he had stung his brother.
“You shall have to do something eventually,” he murmured. “Think on it. I’ll give you time.”
Fury - Muse
Breathe in deep and cleanse away our sins
And we'll pray that there's no God
To punish us and make a fuss
He stood out in the dark under the stars, and remembered that night on the hillock when he had felt all the Valar move against them. A wild euphoria filled him, and he threw his head back and laughed, loudly, madly.
“Do you move now? Do you move now, my lords, or do you hear nothing, unconcerned with the blood that will spill on your beloved ground? You cannot stop us now. You forced our hand to begin with, and now that it is done you are powerless to stop us.
“There is nothing you can do that will not be done in all the ages of time. You have no power over me. You have no power over any of us!”
He felt wild, with his sudden realization, and laughed more loudly. “---my father, he never died. He never died, because you could never hold him. He lives, still, and not only in me. We will live forever. We will live forever, and I mock your Doom, I mock your promises, I mock you, my lords, and if I rejected you before, come back now.
“Dance with me,” he said, wild in this adrenaline pumping through his veins. “Dance with me, you Valar, and see if I do not win.”
Zombie - Miser
But you see, it's not me, it's not my family.
In your head, in your head they are fighting,
With their tanks and their bombs,
And their bombs and their guns.
In your head, in your head, they are crying...
He looked down at the corpse of the woman at his feet, the sharpened stick she had tried to impale him with thrust through her middle. He almost thought that it was merciful that she was facedown.
His heartbeat was pounding everywhere at once, inside and outside of him. So close. He could almost smell it, almost sense the Silmaril, and there was only one door in the way now, and no guard.
He turned, and the sound of a step stopped him. He fell still, waiting. Another step. Too tentative to be a warrior.
He turned and threw his long knife. It struck the squire in the eye and sunk deep into his face. He was dead before he hit the floor. Stepping over the woman to check his body for some sort of key - better to remain quiet - he half knelt to retrieve his knife.
He felt every inch of the foot and a half piece of steel slide into his body just below his ribs and through. He watched the point, incuriously, stab into the youth’s shoulder and go through that as well.
Everything slowed. It was only when the sword was gone that he began to die.
Time of Dying - Three Days Grace
On the ground I lay
Motionless in pain
I can see my life flashing before my eyes
Did I fall asleep
Is this all a dream
Wake me up, I'm living a nightmare
I will not die (I will not die)
I will survive
The room was cold and empty, or maybe the chill ran deeper than that, cold air seeping into veins emptying of blood. He brought his arms around himself and half fell against the wall, coughed wetly and regretted it a moment later for the agony in his gut. Swallowed and regretted that, too. His mouth tasted like copper and wool.
He hadn’t even seen his killer’s face.
Not dead yet, he tried to remind himself. He imagined that if he focused, he could keep his blood in his body. If nothing else, his will would last long enough for him to know…
Perhaps he could not move. Someone would come. Someone would come, and he would know if they had won, at last.
Eru, it hurt. And all the same, he refused to believe that he was dying. All the evidence suggests… but their rules were never his. He would survive. It was not his time to die, not yet.
He still had so much left to do.
The Art of Suicide - Emilie Autumn
Why live a life?
That's painted with pity
and sadness and strife
Why dream a dream?
Tainted with trouble
and less than it seems
Why bother bothering
Just for a poem
Or another sad song to sing
Why live a life
Curufin faded in and out of consciousness, uncertain which was more real, but knowing that each time the spells were longer and longer. He fought to hold on to his surroundings, but the problem was that he no longer truly wanted to.
A curious kind of lassitude settled in his body, and he eased the pressure of his arms, watched his blood flow with some disinterest. Perhaps there was some reason for this. The world seemed to rock, slightly, and he let his eyes close.
So tired. He hadn’t been tired in a long time, or rested properly. How long?
He tried to focus on that, on numbers, concrete things, but his mind refused to stay, wandering on. He thought he remembered his father holding him. But then, his father wasn’t so affectionate. Was he?
He leaned back against the wall, trying to keep his eyes open again, but it was so hard to remember why it was important. Everything in his body seemed to urge him to rest, and he wanted to give into it. It was only centuries of discipline, of habit, that would not let him.
He had to wait. For something. It was important.
The world blurred sideways, and he thought again of his father. Would he be with him, now? Would he face his father again, and hear his voice? He could almost hear it now.
But his father would not be pleased if he didn’t know what had happened…he took another breath, and another, drawing each one with reluctance and determination. Sleep, his body beckoned him. Sleep, Curufinwë.
He wanted to obey its urging. At the moment, he thought he had never wanted anything more.
Thoughts of a Dying Atheist - Muse
I know the moment's near
and there's nothing we can do
look through a faithless eye
are you afraid to die?
It scares the hell out of me
and the end is all I can see
and it scares the hell out of me
and the end is all I can see
Somewhere between the blur and the dying, he found time to think, and remembered his mad defiance of the Valar, not so long ago. He wanted to laugh, but it only would have torn him open more.
They had found him now, for certain, though. His life was theirs, now, and he could feel what must have been Námo’s hands dragging him down, into some darkness that he knew nothing of. What judgment would he face, he thought suddenly, coldly. What could they do to him after this?
“Father,” he said, suddenly, “Don’t let me die.” He knew that it was a useless plea, worse. His father could not save him. His father could not bind his body back together. He had lost for the last time, the only time, and yet somehow…somehow he expected a miracle.
The Dying Song - The Cruxshadows
Dear Angel,
Where are your warming wings tonight?
It's so cold outside won't you hold me for a while?
And Angel,
I feel alone and unalive
The night is frozen and these tears have stung my eyes
Dreams may pass and dreams may fade
Nothing I love will stay the same
Nothing ever stays the same
There was no miracle. Breathing became more and more painful, and he fought the pain at first, and when that was no longer possible drank it in like sweet wine. His blood dripping on the white marble was nearly the color of the dark, sweet, heavy flavors he had favored.
He pulled his hands away from the wound through his body and set them on the floor, wondering if that would make him die faster. It seemed to do nothing, though the pain eased, a little. There would be no more losses.
This was the last one.
He thought of Tyelko, wondered dizzily if he still lived. He tried to open his eyes and thought Finrod stood before him, holding a long blade stained red with blood. He almost laughed. Cousin, he rasped, perhaps aloud, hello, cousin. The waves beat upon the shore at Losgar and he watched the ships burn and thought with distant, slight affection of his brother Telvo.
He died in fire. As befits a son of the Spirit of Fire.
He felt a flash of jealousy. It should have been him, dying in the same manner as their father. “I only ever lived to do your will, Father,” he said, and licked his lips, moistening them more with blood than saliva. “Why do you punish me now?”
He spoke to fill the emptiness. Otherwise it frightened him.
Theatre of Pain - Blind Guardian
Now I'm gone
And it seems that life had never existed
So we left the dark and cold
All I left behind are my tears
He knew his little brother was dead, even still breathing, the moment he saw him. The blood spattered on the walls and sticky on the floor attested to that. But somehow his eyes opened, unfocused, where focus was always so intense. His face was white, except for the blood dried down one cheek.
“Father?”
Maedhros felt his heart clench like a hand squeezed around it, and made his legs move to kneel, to see if there was anything he could do. Curufin’s head lifted, eyes still blurry and confused. “Father, I failed you…”
“Shh,” Maedhros said, and grasped his brother’s wrists, pulled his arms away. He closed his eyes just for a moment and replaced them. It was easy to see there was nothing he could do now. It couldn’t be much longer. He hoped. Eru, he hoped.
Curufin fretted. “It’s not done. I’m not done.” His eyes blinked and fluttered closed. “It hurts. I’m dying and it’s all undone.”
“Did we - is it-“
His heart sank like a stone when he understood what Curufin was trying to ask. Quick footsteps from behind, but he recognized them as Cano’s, and heard him stop as well. Maglor would know if he lied.
Curufin’s voice failed, and he panted a few times, swallowed visibly. Maitimo could almost see his will alone holding the life in him. He couldn’t speak, though, just turned his eyes upward with an expression Maedhros had never seen on his younger sibling’s face before. Pleading.
Forgive me, he thought, despairing. I cannot - I cannot.
“Yes,” he said, and heard his voice break. “Yes, we recovered the Silmaril. Your duty’s done. Go in peace, Curufinwë."
He heard his brother sigh in satisfaction. His eyes remained open, and he breathed a minute or two more as Maedhros watched the shadow settle over him. He sensed the moment, precise, that Curufin’s heart ceased to beat, the light in the sky fading with the light in his eyes. Maedhros reached out and closed them, and bowed his head.
Nothing - The Cruxshadows
No life, No love, No dreams, No reason to remain,
No eyes, No vision, No pain, No, No Nothing, No
mind, No thought, No sex, No awe to feel, No
heart, No Nothing, No, No, No Nothing
Fëanor had given them life. He deserved theirs all in return.
BONUS TRACK
Because I’m Awesome - The Dollyrots
They say I’m gifted, uh huh
Well I’m a certified prodigy
I'm gonna own you, uh huh
I'm gonna bring you to your knees