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"She'll come around, eventually," Celegorm sighed, leaning on the windowsill before him and gazing up at the tower where Luthien was shuttered. She was a bird in his cage. At his capture, at his disposal, and he did have uses in mind for her.
He had proposed marriage to her. Purely for a political advantage, of course. But then, such a move had many personal advantages as well. Or so he thought it might, until she spit in his face, her expression twisted as though she’d smelled something foul at the mere suggestion.
At that, he was all the more determined to have her. No longer for her beauty, nor for the position of power, nor the chance at winning her father’s favors. Now it was about pride. Now it was about showing the brat princess that she should be lucky to have him; that he could have what he wanted and when, to his own whims.
It was not the first time he’d been denied a woman’s hand, but he was never one to lose at the same game twice. The last one may have slipped through his grasp, but this one was firmly under his thumb. Luthien may have been in some ways a consolation, but she was still a prize, and one he would have.
"She's perfect though, isn't she?" A dreamy look caught in Celegorm’s eye as he gazed up at her window, but he blinked it away and cleared his throat before turning to his brother, "For our means, that is."
“She’ll do.” Curufin didn’t bother to look up from the book in his lap that he was scribbling in.
“She’ll do ? Come on, Curvo, you’ve seen her. A perfect little spitfire, that one. I wouldn’t have anything else for a wife, you well know.” Celegorm walked away from the window, settling himself in front of the fire. “And that hair…” He tacked on under his breath.
"If I didn't know you better, brother, I'd say you were almost becoming attached." Curufin pushed up his glasses with a look of feigned innocence.
"Attached?" Celegorm scoffed, and then laughed, comfying himself in his seat with a grin. "Nay, brother; but what's the harm in mixing business with a little pleasure?"
Curufin did little to hide his disgust, his lip curling with a look of disdain, and he clicked his tongue. He returned his focus to his book, but fiddled with his pencil in his hand, no longer writing, but seeming to just stare blankly at the pages.
Celegorm stirred restlessly in the silence, and stood to pace, glancing out and up at the tower with each pass by the window.
"She won't ever be her , you know," Curufin muttered after a while.
Celegorm nearly tripped over himself with how abruptly he stopped. He didn't need clarification as to who she was, but he grit his teeth and ground out a " Who? " nonetheless.
" Who? " Curufin mocked and rolled his eyes, "You know who." He looked sharply up from his book to his brother.
"This Luthien is no-- no replacement , she's just another means to an end. This you know as well as I." Celegorm took a dangerous step towards Curufin, who held his gaze.
"Is she not? Or are you fooling yourself?" Curufin stood, setting his book down on the seat with a gentleness not found in his voice. "You said yourself I know well what you would have for a wife, or rather whom . And I do. And Luthien is not her ."
"Brother--"
"No matter how much she reminds you, no matter how tightly you close your eyes and cling to the shadows of her hair, all you're clinging to is the shadow of a ghost." Curufin's voice rose, and he stepped towards his brother challengingly.
Celegorm grit his teeth harder, his fists clenching as he fought to keep them at his sides.
"And face it, Irissë was no nightengale."
Something bright and hot burned like a flash in Celegorm’s gut for a moment, like acid in his stomach churning in his rage. Though with all the speed it flared inside him it cooled and settled like a piece of coal, heavy in his core.
“No, she was not,” Celegorm said quietly, and then with a somber, almost smile, “I suppose she was more like to a swan of the Teleri. Not a voice for song, but graceful and strong… and mean as one too, if you crossed her.”
He shuffled backwards, dropping himself back into his chair with a heavy, grieving sigh.
“No, you are correct. There is no replacement. Not for her. Not for anything.” Celegorm dragged a hand over his face, folding in on himself.
Curufin stepped lightly to his side, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I loved her too, you know. Not as you did, but just as much.” Celegorm leaned into his touch, and Curufin squeezed his shoulder.
Celegorm’s hand remained over his face, but the raw croaking of his voice belied his tears. “I know you did.”
There was another stretch of silence in the room, the crackling murmur of the fire and the occasional sniffle from Celegorm being the only sounds. He had been forever unashamed of who he was, of whatever path he walked. He never thought twice, or second guessed himself. Against all better judgement, or voice of reason, or advice from others, he had always done as he saw fit. Even now, despite the pit of guilt forming underneath him, he knew he would still walk forward on the path he planned.
The only thing that made him question himself now was her.
Aredhel would be disappointed in him, he knew. How could she not be, when he would damn a maid so nearly to her own fate?
He stood, shrugging Curufin’s hand from his shoulder, ignoring the glassiness in his brother’s eyes. He crossed the room back to the window, planting his hands firmly on the stone sill and gazing hard up at the tower once more.
Luthien was not Aredhel.
Their fates would not be the same.
No matter what Celegorm should do, he would have no lost lovers to answer to in the end. Only the void.