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

VI

"--He has no right to it," Celegorm insists. "None! He did not cut it from the Iron Crown. It is ours, and if he will not surrender it, we will take it by force. That is what we swore, to Eru himself!"

Maglor rounds on Celegorm. "Was Alqualondë not enough bloodshed for you? Or is it that you are still so bitter over Luthien's rejection that you would take it out on her child?"

"Makalaurë." Maedhros's face has grown pale and pinched these past weeks under the dual assault of Curufin and Celegorm. "We have tried to reason with Dior, but he will not listen. What choice do we have?"

"You cannot possibly be considering this," Maglor says, and Caranthir is reminded of another meeting, when those words were lobbed at Maglor himself.  No, he had said. I am not considering. I've decided.

The rest of Maglor's retort is lost to the noise in his head as he walks out. Maglor can shout himself hoarse, but it will accomplish nothing. Fear of the Void has been rising in Maedhros for days, as unstoppable as the swells on Helevorn. If he drowns, they all drown, and with Fingon dead there is no one to stop him from sinking.

One oath, twice sworn, for three jewels. And four dead kings and five battles have yielded six men shouting in a tent in the southern wilderness, and nothing more.  Better to get this attack done quickly than to waste time fighting the inevitable.

The winter sun glitters on the icy trees, and it is a few moments before he realizes that he is twisting his wedding ring with enough force to leave an angry weal.

Suppose they win this fight. Suppose they go home. Would she even know him now?

Would he know her?

He stops. Slowly, slowly, he works the ring off his finger, for the first time in over four yéni.  I will not carry her with me. Not to this battle.

A dull crunch, the sound of a foot falling on frozen ground. He turns to see Amrod leaning against a tree behind him, face carefully blank.

"We ride west tomorrow," his brother says.  "We don't want to give Dior any more warning than we must."

Caranthir nods and goes to hone his sword.