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Curufinwë takes a deep breath, and knocks on the door in front of him.
He’s in his uncle Arafinwë’s palace, shortly after returning. Only three of his brothers had come to greet him when he had left Námo’s halls, along with their mother.
They’d brought him clothes, Moryo’s handiwork of course, and they’d brought him to Tyelpë’s place where he had finally gotten the chance to apologise to his boy. His son had pointed him in the direction of the Palace in Tirion, and so he had left after a few weeks.
And now, here he stood. Telvo, who was going home to his husband, had joined him and guided him through the palace, greeting their uncle, but he had left Curufinwë to his own devices. A part of him was reluctant and he longed for support, but none could fix this but himself– if it could be fixed, that is.
The door swings open.
All breath leaves his lungs at the sight he is greeted with.
“Findaráto–” he starts, but his words die in his throat when dark eyes meet his own. “Ulion,” Ingoldo’s voice calls. “Enter.”
He does.
He ducks his head down, not meeting Findaráto’s unreadable, impossible gaze. He enters the room, and there sits the woman he has tormented with his every choice.
“Amárië,” he whispers reverently. She is staring at him, her frame shaking. Findaráto’s hand is low on his back, and he follows his guidance, against his every instinct, slowly approaching Amárië.
When he’s close enough to touch her, he stops, and Findaráto’s hand falls away. He sits next to her, and Curufinwë stands in front of them, his golden lovers.
He can’t–
He can’t stay on his feet, not in front of them. It’s not right, how he’s standing tall in front of them. He should be on his knees, grovelling. So he does.
He falls to his knees, and bends forward, his forehead in front of their feet. They both have powerful legs, he thinks grimly, they could crush his skull with ease. He would let them.
A hand shoots out and wraps in his hair, tugging it, commanding him to sit up to look up at them. “Curufinwë,” Amárië says, still shaking. She is furious at him. Her hand clenches around his dark hair, pulling on it. It hurts, and this new body is still unused to hurts, so the pain shoots through him like lightning.
His mouth hangs open just a little while he struggles to breathe. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, and Amárië lets him go. He doesn't bend for them again, instead he sits on his heels, his hands next to his thighs. He meets Amárië's gaze, and flits away again. He can't hold it, can't handle the rage in her eyes.
“You took everything from me, Curufinwë. You took my happiness, you killed my people, you took my husband, both of them, and you took my son, and you didn't even keep them safe. You abandoned Findaráto and he died because of it. What kind of person does that to his husband? And you left Tyelpë to fend for himself, you left him for those stupid fucking jewels, you didn't even succeed in taking them back in the end, and then you died, and then Tyelpë died.”
Her voice breaks when she repeats, “You took everyone, and you didn't keep them safe. They all died because of you, because they joined you. And I was alone, and left to pick up the pieces of what you and your stupid decisions have broken.”
Don't cry, he tells himself. Just don't cry. You don't deserve to cry. She’s right.
“I'm sorry,” he says again, echoing himself like a fucking well. “I don't– I can't– there's nothing I can say to fix it,” he whispers. “I destroyed everything because I wanted to make my father proud and then I was just– angry, and I wanted everyone to hurt like I did, and it didn't work, and I was so happy when I finally died because I thought that– at least I couldn’t hurt anyone anymore.”
Findaráto makes a broken little noise at that, and Curufinwë doesn’t understand him. Findaráto should agree that everyone was better off when Curufinwë was dead, not… not care about whether his shitty husband wanted to live or not.
He takes a deep breath, and a strangled sob leaves his mouth. He digs his nails into his thighs, and grits his teeth. His voice cracks anyway when he speaks again.
“I did everything wrong, I was wrong, and I'm sorry.”
“I hate you,” Amárië whispers, her voice tight. “I hate you, and I hate that I hate you and that I can’t just forgive you like Roinamalta can because I still fucking love you, but I didn’t get the luxury of dying and healing. I had to feel every single one of you die, and get my fëa torn to shreds, and then I had to rebuild again from nothing.”
He looks up at her, helpless. He can’t change it, he can’t, no matter how much he wants to. He loves her, he always has and he never stopped loving her, but he destroyed her life, and nothing he does can ever fix that.
“I can’t fix it,” he says, desperate for her to understand him. “I want to– Eru help me, I want to, but I can’t, it’s all done, I’m sorry.”
“I know!” Amárië exclaims. “I know, and that makes it worse! If you could fix it, I could stop hating you, and if you didn’t regret it, I could just hate you without complications!”
A stray tear falls down his face, and Amárië’s eyes are watery, too. He quickly raises a hand to wipe at the ticklish trail, and refuses to crack.
“You can still hate me,” he says, his voice unsteady. “You don’t need another reason to hate me, you can hate me. If it helps you.” The thought hurts, and his heart is screaming at him, because it hurts, it hurts, no matter how often he tells himself that she is right to hate him, that Findaráto is right to hate him, it still hurts.
Perhaps that is the goal. For it to hurt, when he thinks about how they must surely despise him and how they finally see how unworthy he is of them. It's meant to hurt when you’ve been so tremendously stupid, and hurt your spouses, and they hate you for it.
“I don’t hate you!” Findaráto bursts. Curufinwë looks up and stares at him. “I don’t,” Findaráto repeats. “I– Valar help me, it’s stupid, and every time I’ve bestowed you my trust you’ve betrayed me, but I still love you, and I still want to try.”
He stares at Ingoldo, but he can’t detect a single lie in his words. As always, Ingoldo wears his heart on his sleeve, and he’s so, so kind to him, kinder than advisable, and Curufinwë is so fucking selfish because he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t take this. He should refuse because he’ll fuck it up again and ruin everyone in the process.
“You won’t, Ulion.”
His breath stills, once again.
“I won’t let you ruin this. I won’t let you ruin this chance. I’ll keep you here, whether you want it or not. Trying is not an option, you don’t have a choice. I will make you,” Ingoldo presses, and a part of Curufinwë feels scared.
He has seen the sheer power Ingoldo possesses, and he knows that this man held his own when singing against one of the most powerful and skilled and underhanded and cruel Maiar of them all.
He could do anything to Curufinwë, and he’d be powerless to stop him. They’re no match against each other, one of the most powerful singers of their generation against the cheap copy of Fëanáro, the unaccomplished ‘son of’, the no name.
And he won’t let Curufinwë go.
He won’t let him leave.
Curufinwë sags, and when Ingoldo reaches out, he leans forward to lay his cheek in the man’s hand, and let him hold him there. Amárië has shifted to stroking his hair gently.
“You shouldn’t forgive me,” he whispers, against his screaming heart.
“No, perhaps I shouldn’t,” Ingoldo agrees. “But I will anyway. Because against better judgement, I love you, to death and in death and beyond death, and I want us to be what we always could’ve been. I’m not being altruistic, Ulion, don’t misunderstand me. I’m so fucking selfish for doing this, for forcing others to deal with my delusions, but I will anyway, because I’m tired of always caring so much about others, about the family. You’re mine, and you’re never leaving again. Nor are you pushing me away again.”
Curufinwë closes his eyes. Ingoldo will hold him. He won’t ruin it again. Never again. And maybe, maybe he has the smallest chance of fixing things with Amárië again. Apologizing, figuring out what she wants and needs from him, and giving it all and more, until they’re alright again.
“Don’t do that, Curufinwë. That’s what got you in trouble the first time around. Your unwavering loyalty, your willingness to do whatever it takes to please those you love. It doesn’t matter what you can make me, it won’t solve this. Only time, only proof that you’re doing better, that you won’t make the same mistakes again.”
He nods. Time. Proof. He can do that. He will show them he can be better.