Be more cruel, Love, and so be kind. by Agelast

---

I am gall, I am heartburn

---

They left Findaráto at the harbor of Aqualondë, surrounded by many people who clearly adored him. Over the noise of the fast-growing crowd, he shouted one last farewell to Carnistir, and something to Tyelkormo and Curufinwë. Carnistir watched with a pang as he disappeared, while his brothers quietly joked amongst themselves.

“Are you ready to stop moping?” Tyelkormo said, as they wandered up the harbor road, waiting for the carriage that would take them back to Tirion.

“I’m not moping,” Carnistir said miserably. He picked up a pebble from the road and tossed it away. It hit an upended swan-ship that was resting on the side of the road. The boy who was painting its side turned to glare at him, and Carnistir glared back.

“There’s no point in talking to him now,” Curufinwë said, bored, as the carriage came in.

Carnistir sat on one side of the carriage and his brothers sat in the other. To avoid having to talk, he looked out of the window to see Aqualondë and its harbor, shining in the distance. He thought suddenly of Findaráto’s dream, half-forgotten in everything that had come after. As stubbornly prosaic as he was, Carnistir could not shake the feeling that Findaráto had dreamt true. But what did it mean for them?

He rubbed a nervous hand against the inside of his wrists, observing how his tan was fading already.

Curufinwë nudged his feet and Carnistir jerked away with a sigh.

“So, I was wrong,” Curufinwë began.

“Must you speak?” Carnistir said tiredly. Tyelkormo had fallen asleep by this time, his only contribution to the conversation was a quiet snore.

“It wasn’t Amarië you were interested in, after all,” Curufinwë went on, as if he had not spoken. “It was Findaráto! How stupid of you, you have to know it’s never going to go anywhere. He’ll be married, eventually, and where will that leave you?”

“Mm. What are we talking about?” Tyelkormo had shaken himself awake by this time, and peered at them owlishly.

“Carnistir’s made a fool of himself over Findaráto, that’s all,” Curufinwë said casually.

“I’ve done nothing of the sort!” Carnistir said hotly.

Tyelkormo gave him an understanding smile. “Nevermind. I’m sure Moryo was only playing at it. Weren’t you?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Carnistir said, and Tyelkormo shrugged.

Curufinwë gave him a bored look. “You’re hardly the first to be unlucky in love.”

“Leave off him,” Tyelkormo said easily, and Curufinwë did.

But it was too late. Carnistir felt a sudden, sick sense of doubt, as if his stomach had turned inside out. Findaráto would go back to Amarië, and only to her. Carnistir was a fool to hope otherwise, clutching hard at the remnants of a summer infatuation that meant nothing. He felt as though he had been tricked, made a fool of, his heart had been taken and then tossed away like a worthless bauble.

+

Amarië came up beside Carnistir and took his hand.

“Come along,” she said.

He hesitated. The people who were milling around them on the garden path had stopped and were watching them.

“Let them stare, if they haven’t anything better to do,” she continued on, walking briskly on, her steps making sharp little clips on the walkway. He followed her, curious as to what she would say.

Autumn had faded into winter -- even in Aman, there was winter. It was mostly for variety’s sake, to see the landscape change from vibrant greens to something more subtle and cool. A hint of chill came with the wind, invigorating rather than cold.

Winter also gave the Elves an opportunity to wear more elaborate, heavier clothing and be more comfortable in them. Such as the one Amarië was wearing: a silk dress edged in lace and pale blue ribbons, with a pattern of semiprecious stones stitched into the collar. She caught him eyeing it, and rolled her eyes.

“My father insists that I dress more formally when I am at court. To make a better impression.” Somewhat impatiently, she picked a ribbon that had escaped from its bow and now trailed down her forearm.

“Ah,” he said. It was not improbable that Amarië’s parents were ambitious, and had definite hopes about their only daughter’s prospects.

“Not everyone was born at the top,” she continued on, rightly reading his expression.

“Quite. But that’s not something you have to worry about, with you and Findaráto...” he said, trailing off awkwardly. Suddenly the gravel beneath his feet became incredibly fascinating. They wandered through a gate of a sprawling hedge-maze.

They went in, and did not speak until they were completely alone, near the center of the maze.

Amarië said, “I understand, you know. More than you think.”

“There’s nothing to understand,” Carnistir said, stopping. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s quite wrong. Findaráto and I are cousins, that’s all. Half-cousins at that. We are not even especially close. In fact, I hated him when I was younger,” he said, pausing to examine a statue of Varda Elentári that stood in a small alcove cut into the hedge. “I was famous for it.”

“But why Findaráto?”

“And his brothers too, I should say. I can’t expect you to understand it -- you’ve probably never disliked anyone in your life, have you?”

“I’m starting to,” she said, tartly, and he smiled at her. He had been told long many times that his smiles tended to discomfit rather than reassure. But Amarië was not cowed. She looked at him, her arms folded.

Carnistir sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He would have liked to lean against something, anything, but the statue was one of his mother’s, and thus could not be trifled with, and he knew better than to lean against a hedge, however thick it may might seem.

He said, “You should be careful, hate can be just as steadfast as love, at times. I cannot even remember how it came about, my dislike for Arafinwë’s children. Something small, something petty must have sparked it. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. You can have him.”

He turned to go down the path again.

“For the love of --”, Amarië exclaimed, glaring at him. “Is everyone in your family so maddening, or is it just you?”

“I’m not sure,” Carnistir said, honestly.

“Ridiculous!” she huffed, hurrying to catch up his long strides. “Stop. We needn’t do this, you know,” she said. “Findaráto told me everything, from the beginning. He always does.”

Carnistir stiffened in -- what? Shock? No, not that. Anger, perhaps, but that was a familiar emotion for him. His heart seemed to shrink until it rattled in his ribcage. He said nothing for a time, as they walked further into the maze. The dark green leaves of hedge brushed against the velvet of his sleeve and he almost stumbled over a pebble on the path in front of him.

“Morifinwë?” Amarië said, her voice tentative.

“I should have known. My brothers were right,” he said a low, intense voice.

Amarië looked bewildered. “What do you mean?”

Ignoring her, he walked on blindly, still speaking. “That first day. Did you plan it -- the both of you? Why would either of you give me the time of day otherwise... Was it funny to see how quickly I fell for it, how much I wanted -- But I am so ugly, I am so repellant, my tongue is so sharp, my temper so harsh. Surely I can’t be loved. I’m not worthy of it, I --”

“No! Carnistir, what are you talking about?”

“It was a joke, only a joke -- this whole time, he was laughing at me. Tell him --” His voice shook, but his eyes remained dry. “Tell Findaráto that I hate him and I’ll hate him until the end of Arda.”

+

 

Hours went past, or perhaps it was days, before there was a knock at his door. Carnistir stayed where he was and didn’t reply to any of Maitimo’s questions. His brother let himself inside, though Carnistir could have sworn he had locked the door.

Maitimo said, quietly, “Moryo, I have your supper here.”

Carnistir didn’t stir from his bed, nor did he lift the blanket that covered his head. “I’m not hungry.”

Maitimo came in anyway and set the plate down on Carnistir’s writing table. Then he perched on the edge of the bed. “Do you want to talk about what happened today?”

“No. Never again.”

“Moryo, come here so I can see your face.” His voice was still soft, but there was a note of command in it that made Carnistir sit up and look at him. He knew that his eyes were runny and his face was red. His hair was surely a bird’s nest.

“Seen enough?” he growled, but Maitimo only shook his head and patted the empty spot beside him.

“I’m not a child,” Carnistir said as he crawled over his twisted bedsheets and came to where Maitimo was sitting.

“I know you aren’t,” Maitimo said, as Carnistir sighed and curled up next to him. Despite his words, Carnistir did indeed feel like a child, a small, scared one, frightened by things he could not understand. Like he had done as a child, he found a sort of refuge with Maitimo, who was, at this moment running a hand through Carnistir’s tangled hair, like he would do in the old days.

Unlike some of their brothers, both Maitimo and Carnistir knew the value of silence.

Time slipped by, slowly, until finally, Carnistir said, “What’s wrong with me?”

Maitimo said, instantly, “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Don’t lie, Nelyo. Please.”

“All right, all right, I won’t lie. There is something wrong with you. There’s something wrong with me too, and with everyone else you will ever meet. Even the person you’re thinking of has something wrong with him. Or her.”

Carnistir made a face at Maitimo’s hasty addition. “I don’t think so. He’s widely acknowledged to absolutely perfect.”

Maitimo gave him a slightly crooked smile. “There is no such animal, believe me.”

“Do you think I will be alone forever?”

Maitimo yawned, exaggeratedly, and shrugged. “How can you be alone when you have so many brothers to keep you company?”

“That is the definition of cold comfort, I think,” Carnistir said, giving him a watery smile.

“Go to bed, Moryo, and tomorrow it will be like it never happened." He paused and then said, "And I trust that the other person will say nothing about it.”

“People. No, I don’t think they would.”

“People? Oh Moryo, you have been busy,” Maitimo said and got up and was gone.

+

 

It was another wretched ball, one Carnistir had been forced to attend to prove to everyone that he had not died or done anything equally drastic. It was when the music had started up and the dancers began to fill up the ballroom that he saw Findaráto again. His cousin was, of course, dancing with Amarië. They both turned to look at him, and Findaráto came towards him, saying, “Carnistir, wait! Please, I need to speak with you.”

But Carnistir was determined to cut Findaráto dead, and this he did. It was satisfying to see Findaráto’s face fall. Soon they were both swept away by a rising tide of dancers. Nothing more was said about that summer, never again.