hadriel_logs | Event Log: Flu Season

Entry tags:

Event Log: Flu Season

Who: All characters
What: The event log for the Flu Season event
Where: All over the city
When: March 20th-March 30th
Warnings: Gross sneezing, sick people, and paranoia

It starts with a cough, a sneeze, a sore throat - something small and simple, easily ignored. But then your symptoms get worse. It's probably been awhile since you've been sick, that sort of thing doesn't usually happen here. You might be able to raid the shops for some tissues and tea before it gets too bad, and hopefully you've got a friend to help out until you get better. Surely it'll be over soon, right?

Until the fever sets in, and you start to understand why your friend is really there. They don't want to take care of you. They want to make sure this is the last anyone will ever see of you. They want to learn all your secrets. They want to steal your most precious possession. You know they're plotting against you, you know they're keeping something from you. What will you do to find out what it is?

Then, as the sickness fades, you realize it was all in your mind. Let's hope you didn't do or say anything too awful. But that friend of yours... they seem to have picked up your cough. Maybe you should help them out?

► This log covers March 20th-March 30th.
► Feel free to make your own logs, as well
► Please tag headers of threads with content warnings where they apply
► Please put your character's name and open/closed in the subject line of your starters!
► If your paranoia ends in murder, please let us know here.

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Curuffin hears his son's anguished cry for help, and he runs to find him. Celebrimbor is on his knees by the staircase, his eyes both dull and wild, and full of visions of horror.

Curufin speaks softly, urgently. "Tyelpe! I'm here." He kneels down and lays a gentle hand on Cel's shoulder. His eyes are full of love and pity.

Everything is wrong - distorted and so damn reminiscent of where Sauron held him in captivity. He curls in on himself, ready to strike out if only to buy himself more time. But why does he need more time? Everyone is dead.

And it's all his fault.

"D-Don't call me the same name as...as..." he searches Curufin's features desperately, tears springing to his silver eyes, "Now you look like Atar. Why are you tormenting me?!"

Curufin shifts around so that he can take Celebrimbor's face in his hands, but with only the lightest of holds. He does not in any way want to resemble what Cel is fearing. His own heart constricts with anguish for his son's sake. Not only for the visions of this moment, but for the real experience, which still haunts Celebrimbor in memory and Curufin in imagination.

He speaks quietly. "I look like your Atar because I am he."

He touches those wet cheeks and wipes the tears with his fingers. He leans forward and kisses his son's forehead, and then he draws back a little in order to make eye contact. Perhaps if Cel's vision can pierce the nightmare visions just enough to perceive the loving spirit in his father's eyes, he will recognize him.

Edited 2018-04-06 21:40 (UTC)

He wants to scramble forward, bury himself in those arms. He has missed Curufin for a very long time and now, even if this is a trick, he wants to be close to him. One last time. But some stubborn ember of Fëanorian spirit remains and he holds himself back, every muscle in his body rigid.

"Are you? My Atar perished during the Second Kinslaying. It is the Second Age!" he stops breathing under the touch, confused. He is burning to the touch, but he blinks, fighting to see the truth. All he can see is...

Curufin. His voice breaks as he asks: "Am I dead too?"

And oh, those arms are open to him, forever!

"You're right, I died in the attack on Doriath. I did not live to see the end of the First Age, let alone the conflagrations of the Second Age. I would give anything to be able to go back in time and make my history different, so that I could be there with you when Sauron came to you with his lying offers of friendship and the sharing of knowledge."

"But Cel, I am not dead now, nor are you. You are not in Eregion, nor in the Halls of Mandos. You are in the city of Hadriel, in the house you share with me, Maedhros, Maglor, and Fingon. The gods are inflicting an illness on us that renders us vulnerable to our most traumatic memories. But I am here for you, always."

"Uncle Maedhros? Uncle Maglor? Cousin Fingon?" he repeats the names drowsily, frowning as he tries to understand, "My Atar lives along with many of my kin?" he blinks through the feverish haze that has become his vision. He does not see blood or chains. He is...in a home.

And his father is looking at him with such heart-rending concern that he scrambles into his arms at last, clinging and shaking.

"I'm sick. I feel..." his teeth are chattering, though his body is giving off pure heat, "...horrible! But you're here. I'm not with...that beast. I hate him so!"

"Yes, your uncles and your cousin Fingon. I live with them, and you live here, too."

And as Celebrimbor throws himself into his father's arms, Curufin wraps those arms around him and hugs that trembling body tightly.

"I know you're sick. Sick with an illness that causes terrible visions. But yes, I'm here, and I'm not going away. Sauron is not here, and you are safe from him. But I hate him too, and I hate him most of all on your account, and I would kill him if I could."

He leans his head against his son's, and the tenderness he feels is infinite.

The effort he had been using to hold himself tense has left him weaker than before. As his breaths even, he becomes a solid, warm weight, tucking his head onto Curufin's shoulder like a child.

"I'd rather us...stay here." Celebrimbor will not shy from revenge if the opportunity presents itself, but he does not seek it blindly. He will not give up anything or anyone for it. Curufin is too precious to be gambled in such a manner.

"Don't be angry, Atar." he only wants to bring his father peace. Contentment. He watched him for so long trying to fulfill the Oath. His family deserves to be free of all of that.

And Curufin holds him like a child, and he kisses the top of Cel's head. The dark hair is soft, electric, and a little bit wild, so like Curufin's.

Neither will Curufin give up anyone for revenge on Sauron, especially not Celebrimbor. "I'd rather we stayed here too. This time with you has been amazing. I never expected to see you again, much less have a chance to tell you how much I regret my past actions, or to say how deeply I missed you, to tell you how much I love you, or to receive the gift of your forgiveness."

"I'm not angry that you'd rather stay here. I can't imagine being angry at you for any reason." Of course, he had been, on that terrible day when he left Nargothrond without his son. But even then, bitter as it was, he'd had the feeling that it was better that way. If his son was not with him, then he would not be devoured by the Oath -- as Curufin already knew would be his own fate. Thank goodness he is free of that horrible Oath now! And thank goodness the family -- at least part of it -- is here and also free.

They are the children that take after Fëanor the most. Yet the anger and bitterness found within Fëanor has been softened, in measures, in them. Curufin is kinder than Fëanor - more forgiving and understanding - especially after all he has endured - and Celebrimbor is gentler still. He is therefore drawn to his father's might and strength; as a leader, he needs more of it and less of his aching heart.

"There was nothing to forgive, Atar. I love you now and I loved you then. I hated leaving you, but there were women and children who deserved guidance and protection. I knew you could protect yourself." his breathing catches and his voice is quieter, more hollow, "If I had known you had such little time left..."

He might have still gone. Their people needed the safety and the distance. But it would have been a much harder choice and he would have tried to tell Curufin how much he will always mean to him.

Indeed, they are Fëanor's descendants, root and branch. For Curufin, that is both a matter of pride and a matter of shame. He has Fëanor's rage as well as his very great strength, though in this second life, he keeps the rage under control except for in battle, when it has a useful function. He was a kinder father than his own father was, partly because his father's nature was a little mitigated by Nerdanel's, and thank goodness for that. Besides, he ended up as a single father, and a man who cannot find gentleness and compassion in his heart for his motherless son. . . well, he is no man. And he is proud of his son's gentleness; part of that comes from being one whose heart is capable of aching. Curufin would not wish him to be anyone but who he is. And Cel is strong. . . oh so amazingly strong!. . even though sometimes he loses touch with his own strength.

"I know. You had your reasons for staying, and they were good ones. And now, when I look at you, I am proud of you for standing up for what you believed in, for standing up to me."

He hears that change in Cel's voice, and he lifts a hand to stroke that dark hair.

"If you had known, it would still have been right for you to stay. If I had been in my right mind, I'd have told you to stay. As mad as I was at the time, I still wanted you to live. I just. . . couldn't have told you so, then." His own voice goes quiet and desolate, and he embraces his son again. He knows that Cel regrets not expressing his love before that parting, but he also knows himself well enough to know that he would not have listened. That is bitter knowledge. But he can at least try to make it up now to this child with the loving heart and the clear head.

Strength hadn't saved him or his family from Sauron's terrible deceit and plot. There are acts he cannot forgive himself for no matter how many days, months or years pass. But he knows he did what he could with the time allotted to him to amend them. He had died amending them.

And, for some reason, in dying, he had come here. Hadriel might be a nightmarish curse to some, but he is grateful to it. He can finally look his father and his beloved family in the face and tell them he loves them; that he has always loved them. His flight hadn't changed his heart in the least.

"Proud? Proud of me for -" he shakes and fights to find words that were not put in his head by Sauron, "I would have gone to you had I known. I wouldn't have cared if you were angry with me." he breathes in shallowly and clutches onto Curufin as if the world is shaking too, "You would have been brought back with me. We could have ruled together after you had healed."

Alas, no, Celebrimbor's strength had not saved him or his loved ones. There are some vastly powerful forces in the universe that trample all over the innocent, the brave, the virtuous, and even the strong. It is not a fair fight.

And Curufin feels the same way about coming to Hadriel. He wants to right the situation, for it does great wrong to many. But it also creates opportunities such as this one -- the chance for this father and son to meet again beyond death, and for all the family who are here to tell one another how much they are loved.

He holds his son in his arms and strokes his shoulders to quiet the shaking. "Proud of you, yes, my son. But you could not have known how I felt; it is not your fault you did not know. My heart was frozen. And my face must have been frozen too, because you apparently could not read it, or could not read deep enough in my soul to know that there was a little bit of me that could still feel, could still think it best that I not endanger you further."

If only there had been some way for the two of them to connect at the time, or to come together later! But there hadn't been. Or rather, Curufin had not been able to choose to make it so. He knows now that he could have, because he has always been one who has the strength to move mountains.

"I'd have loved to rule jointly with you. To have the benefit of your wisdom and your heart? -- no treasure on earth could have been worth more than that."

Edited 2018-05-01 00:28 (UTC)

His tired body relaxed thanks to his father's touch and his gentle understanding. He had no reason to fight; no reason to run. He was safe and he realized, in this house of his family, Sauron would not touch him. They would fight together and they would be victorious.

"I knew...I would hurt you." and he hadn't forgiven himself for that. He likely never would. Celebrimbor was the sort that thought he could work out a problem - find a solution. By leaving his ailing family behind, he had acknowledged defeat.

He raised a shaky hand to grip onto a few strands of Curufin's hair - not too hard; just as reassurance.

"I was abysmal at first, Atar." he chuckled softly, "I learned as quickly as I could and I think I was a little full of myself. I know that is hard to believe!"

A Fëanorian? Full of themselves? How silly!

How greatly Curufin wants to protect his son, in the irremediable past and in the present where all the opportunities now lie. Yes, together they would fight and win their victories!

"You couldn't have helped it. You had to leave us, to leave me, for all those reasons you have given, and for my reasons, too. You could not have let yourself be dragged down into the muck with us, to be destroyed with us. You had things to accomplish, that only you could have accomplished. Who but you could have forged the three great Elven Rings? You wouldn't have known that was your destiny then, but I believe that sometimes our choices are guided by the future, even unbeknownst to us."

He feels Celebrimbor's fingers wrapping around a lock of his hair, and his eyes glow with tenderness. It reminds him of when Cel was a child and was a little wary of the shadows of night. He would sometimes tangle a hand in his father's hair as a way of saying he did not want to be left alone with a night-lamp and a whole night to get through alone. Curufin was very quick to understand that request, and he would wrap the child in his arms until he fell asleep, and often Curufin would still be there in the morning, dozing in an armchair by Cel's bed.

He grins now at the thought of Celebrimbor learning to rule a kingdom. Oh yes, he would be modest and think himself inept because he was inexperienced. "I don't doubt you learned quickly. You learned everything quickly, or so I remember." He laughs a little. "I think you might be forgiven if you were just a little bit proud. It does seem to be in our blood!"

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Event Log: Flu Season

Elf House

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