Five Times Caranthir Fought With His Brothers (And One Time He Didn't) by grey_gazania

V

Caranthir's head aches from Ulfast's blow, and sudden movements are still causing fits of nausea; only the swift intervention of Celegorm had kept him from falling under the hooves of the man's horse and dying on the battlefield.

Now that the brothers have found one another, he is beginning to wish he had.

Curufin pauses in re-bandaging Amras' arm to glare at him across the fire, and his gaze is far too much like Atar's for comfort.  "They were right under your nose, Moryo.  How could you not notice?"

"There was nothing to notice," he says. Curufin may be the only one voicing it, but he knows they all blame him; he can feel it like the stinging spray of sparks that would fly up from the blows of Atar's hammer. But it is the truth – he saw nothing, felt nothing, not so much as a twinge that would have revealed Uldor's plans.

"A plot by the Enemy got more than half of us killed," Curufin says,  "and you call that 'nothing'?"

"Shut up," he groans, closing his eyes. "I learned their language, Curvo. That's more than any of you bothered with. And I'm telling you, there was nothing. The Enemy must have taught them to mask their thoughts before they even crossed the mountains."

Curufin merely snorts; it is Amras who answers. "You didn't find that suspicious?" he asks, frowning. "That you couldn't read them?"

"I said mask, Telvo. It's not that simple." He pushes to his feet, trying to ignore the way his stomach flips and lurches, and makes to leave. "Now stop talking about things you don't understand."