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Despite what a few of his cousins might suggest, Finrod wasn’t stupid. Nor was he blind, which he would have to be in order to miss Celebrimbor’s… infatuation.
At first he’d thought it was mere gratefulness. The youth had been pouring blood when the survivors of Himlad had arrived in Nargothrond, and Curufin had been nearly dead himself, barely able to keep himself upright. But he’d been clinging to his wounded son, shouting that he would slay anyone who tried to touch him.
So Finrod had stepped in.
That had been his first mistake.
He’d gathered up Celebrimbor, the cousin he’d barely met twice in passing, and promised Curufin that he would personally take care of him. His cousin had seemed reluctant, still gripping Celebrimbor’s fingers, but he had finally relented.
It wasn’t that he liked Finrod - they loathed one another - but he liked the idea that the King of Nargothrond himself was caring for his son.
So Finrod had gathered his youngest cousin up and swept him from the room, sitting with him and holding his hand as the healers had stitched him back together. When he’d screamed in pain, Finrod had crouched beside his head and told him he was a good boy.
Maybe… maybe that had been the problem.
Curufin loved his son, dearly, but he seemed to have trouble expressing it in ways Celebrimbor could understand. To Finrod, it was clear that Curufin’s idea of love was to correct his son and push him to be better. Celebrimbor seemed the sort who would rather be coddled and praised.
But Finrod couldn’t help himself, not through that first long night as fever had wracked Celebrimbor’s body (and he hadn’t known better then, hadn’t realized what he might be encoraging). So he had held his cousin’s head in his lap, stroked his hair, and praised him for his smith craft and exploits on the battlefield, told him all the wonderful things he had heard about him. Anything to keep him conscious and breathing.
And Finrod hadn’t been able to tear himself away, making his councilors trek to Celebrimbor’s sick room the next morning while they planned the defense of Nargothrond. Because he had refused to leave the boy alone with strangers - not when he was still crying for his dead mother, as if he had forgotten her fate - and Curufin had taken a day and a half to have enough strength to drag himself to his son. Only when he had finally arrived, supported by Celegorm because the fool could barely walk himself, Finrod had finally allowed himself to leave.
And then they’d had more battles, more defenses, more relatives to track down, Finrod’s own brothers to bury, an uncle to mourn, letters to send to the new high king…
He’d been very, very busy, and yet he had always made time to stop by Celebrimbor’s room to check on him.
So yes, the boy’s infatuation was mostly Finrod’s fault.
He’d wanted to blame Curufin, tried to tell himself that it was part of Curufin’s ploy for power, but even Curufin wasn’t sick enough to encourage his son to pursue Finrod.
No. No Celebrimbor was just horrifically lonely and misunderstood.
And Finrod wasn’t the sort of man who could say no to such a weary soul.
Finrod looked up as his young cousin stumbled into his study, tears gleaming in his eyes. He didn’t ask, just held out his arms and beckoned the boy closer. He had heard reports of an… incident in the forge earlier. Celebrimbor had been experimenting (he took after his father and grandfather, after all) and something had gone wrong and he would have been horrifically injured if Curufin hadn’t stepped in at the last moment.
Curufin loved his son, dearly.
He also had a wicked temper when the things he loved were threatened.
Finrod let Celebrimbor curl beside him on the sofa, sitting aside the book he’d been reading to wrap his arms around him and draw the youth into the folds of his silk robe. He didn’t need to ask what had happened.
Finrod’s own father, Arafinwë, was perhaps the most gentle person he had ever met. He’d seldom so much as raised his voice at his children, let alone turned to physical discipline.
His uncle Feanor, on the other hand… Like Curufin, he loved his sons. Like Curufin, he didn’t always know how to express worry or concern in a proper way.
He picked up the glass of wine he’d been sipping and held it to Celebrimbor’s lips, wishing he’d thought to have herbs for pain on hand. He’d suspected Celebrimbor would come to him, he’d just hoped Curufin would have mercy on him. The youth drank slowly, then closed his eyes and settled into Finrod’s side, still sniffling softly.
Orodreth had been the one to tell Finrod of the incident in the forge. “I watched Curufin drag his son away and heard him order the boy to remove his own belt,” he’d said, his eyes glistening with anger. He’d clearly wanted his uncle to intervene… but how?
Finrod might be the King of Nargothrond, but it didn’t feel right intervening in discipline between a father and son. Not directly.
But if Celebrimbor came to him for comfort, of his own volition…
Finrod kissed the top of his head, held him close, and gave him a bit more wine. That had been his second mistake, letting the boy drink from his own glass, out of his own hand.
His third mistake had been the (multiple) kiss(es) he had bestowed on the crying child.
Finrod would kiss anyone. It was just who he was. His father, his cousins, his siblings, friends, strangers… he’d even kissed Celeborn of Doriath once, much to his sister’s amusement.
The Sons of Feanor - excluding the second - were not like that. They showed their affection in different ways, saving kisses for lovers and spouses.
So, to Celebrimbor, Finrod had apparently been expressing his interest.
Oops.
The next mistake (was he up to four?), was wearing the gifts the boy had given him.
Finrod liked things that shined, and Celebrimbor liked making shiny things. It was a good match. And perhaps he wore Celebrimbor’s jewelry more often than not, but that was because it was of Feanorian make and therefore extremely high quality. Admittedly, it was also because it made Celebrimbor happy to see Finrod wearing his gifts, and the boy always seemed to be in need of a few extra smiles.
And Finrod knew by then exactly what Celebrimbor was doing - or what he thought he was doing. The boy was practically courting him. But still, Finrod couldn’t help himself, because that was just who he was.
And he had thought - he had told himself - that it was just a silly little crush, as Finrod had once had on his cousin Maglor. He had thought it would fade, as his once had, before anyone needed to actually discuss it (like Finrod, Maglor had known of the crush, but hadn’t mentioned it until years later and then it had just been to tease him).
With that in mind, he probably shouldn’t have encouraged Celebrimbor to attend Mid Summer’s Eve.
It was a tradition he had picked up in Doriath, one that was unfamiliar to his young cousin, and he had just wanted to share it with him.
But he had forgotten exactly how much wine tended to be consumed, or how many couples would sneak off into the various gardens to… couple.
Finrod himself only stayed through the first eight or so rounds of dancing before making his excuses and slipping off to his own, private gardens.
He’d nodded at Celebrimbor as he’d passed him - and that had been at least his tenth mistake, he’d stopped counting them - because he wasn’t alone in his garden for less than ten minutes before his cousin followed him.
Clearly the boy had been indulging in the wine. Finrod had drank as well, but he had a much higher tolerance. He welcomed him in, set aside his wine and motioned for Celebrimbor to sit with him on the grass.
And his cousin had kissed him.
On the lips.
And Finrod could smell his arousal.
Was there an appropriate Vala to pray to when your cousin was apparently having incestious thoughts and you didn’t know how to prevent them?
Irmo seemed like a good bet, just because Finrod had always liked him (and if anyone understood complex familial relations, it would be the man who had Nienna for a sister).
Or maybe Tulkas could just summon a battle and let Finrod die.
But the Valar had sworn they would not hear the lamentations - or horrified pleas - of the Noldor, so Finrod was left quite on his own to pull back sharply as Celebrimbor tried to grab at his robes.
He locked his hands around Celebrimbor’s wrists. “No.”
Innocent silver eyes stared back at him. “I love you.”
Finrod closed his eyes, struggling with what to say, how to best respond.
He took too long, apparently, and heard Celebrimbor sniffle. “You- you don’t-“
“No! No!”he promised, opening his eyes and giving his cousin a tight lipped smile. “I do,” he said. “I care for you deeply Tyelpe… as I care for my brothers and nephew.”
“But-“
“I am your cousin,” he said firmly.
“Barely!”
“I think of you as one,” replied Finrod.
“But I love you,” Celebrimbor whispered, his eyes shining with tears.
Finrod did not let himself reach out to touch him, as much as he would have liked to. “No, Tyelpe.”
It very nearly broke Finrod’s heart as his young cousin fled from the garden in tears.
That was his… was he on his eleventh mistake?
No, the eleventh mistake had been letting himself get drunk. Letting his cousin leave the garden in tears had been twelfth. Probably. Only Namo would know what mistake he was on at that point.
He was too drunk to count, or to do anything, so he gave them both a day to cool off before he summoned Celebrimbor (he made a point to send for him while Finrod was in his audience chamber, so it wasn’t too personal, but he also had Orodreth clear the room and watch the door to give them space).
Celebrimbor looked haggard as he came in alone and bowed, reminding Finrod of the aged mortals that lived in Nargothrond. He stayed down too long, staring at the floor rather than looking up at his cousin, and Finrod chewed his lower lip.
Before he could speak, Celebrimbor did, saying, “I- I’m sorry my lord. Please, we- father says we have no where else to go, do not send us from this place, I-“
Finrod held up his hand to silence him and Celebrimbor flinched.
“Tyelpe.” His espesse, to make certain that Celebrimbor knew this was a family meeting, not an official one. “Straighten up and come closer, I don’t wish to shout across the hall at you.”
Celebrimbor stood, focused his eyes on a banner behind Finrod, and he walked forward slowly, until he was standing just in front of Finrod’s throne.
With the throne being on a raised dais, it put them nearly at eye level.
“Look at me,” Finrod requested quietly.
After a moment, and a great deal of inner turmoil that was written across his face, Celebrimbor’s eyes turned to him.
Finrod gave him a kind smile. “Dear child, let me make two things clear. The first, is that you are always welcome in my home at any time, no matter where I may dwell or what may befall. The second, is that - even though I will no banish you from this place - I want you to know that you have a great many relatives who would take you in.”
He reached out to touch Celebrimbor’s cheek, but his cousin pulled back. “Father-“
“Your father… I don’t know why he says that-“ Finrod did know, actually, it was because Curufin thought he was weak and sought to control him, something he wouldn’t risk anywhere else “-but let me promise you: our cousins, your uncles, any of them, would take you and your father into their home in a heartbeat. My sister, would gladly take you - possibly not your father or uncle - if it were not for King Thingol’s ban.”
Celebrimbor, his eyes watery, nodded slowly. “Yes my lord.”
Finrod sighed. “I have one more thing to make clear. My name is Findarato, or Ingoldo, or even cousin. Please, do not call me ‘my lord’ or any other such honorific.”
“Yes-“ he swallowed, his throat bobbing “-cousin.”
Finrod smiled again, reaching out to cup Celebrimbor’s cheek. This time, he did not pull back.
“I am not angry with you,” he promised. “You caught me by surprise, is all. We all- we cannot control our desires, but we can control how we act on them.”
Celebrimbor nodded slowly.
“Everyone falls for someone they cannot have, Tyelpe. Even if you were not my kin, you are not… I am promised to another.”
“I’m sorry. I- I didn’t.”
“There is nothing to be sorry for, Tyelpe.”
Celebrimbor’s hand raised, coming to rest against Finrod’s, forcing him to continue touching his cheek, as though savoring his touch. “I- I won’t trouble you anymore-“
“Trouble me? You’ve never been a trouble-“ somehow that didn’t seem like the right approach, so Finrod changed to say, “-well, never been more of a trouble than my own nephew, and I insist you continue to come to me and trouble me. Your troubles are a pleasant distraction from everything else in my realm.”
For a fraction of a second, Celebrimbor almost seemed to smile. “True- truly?”
“Yes.”
Celebrimbor dismissed himself, after that, saying he needed time alone with his thoughts, and Finrod let him go.
The next evening, a knock sounded on the door of Finrod’s study, and when he called for them to enter Celebrimbor stepped in, a board clutched under one arm. “Do you play chess, cousin?”
Finrod beamed at him.
For a while, life was alright in Nargothrond. His cousins - the older two - were still a pain, but whenever Finrod seriously considered exiling them he would recall the younger cousin, take a deep breath, and decide to tolerate them.
And he didn’t once regret the decision, not even when his followers betrayed him and he threw his crown at Orodreth’s feet.
Celebrimbor found him as he was reading himself to go with Beren on his fool quest. “I’m coming with you,” he said.
“No,” Finrod replied firmly, grasping Celebrimbor’s hand and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “Stay here, Celebrimbor. Stay alive.”
“But-“
His last act - not as King, because he’d already thrown his crown at his nephew - was to have Celebrimbor arrested, just long enough that he would not be able to follow.
Finrod’s only regret was that he hadn’t killed the damn Maia before the monster went after his little cousin.