A Story of Seven by NelyafinweFeanorion

---

Chapter 4

Feanorian Week Day 4: Caranthir

---

Caranthir:

Greed

He had always been like this. It was challenging, being the middle child, in this family. It was challenging being any child in this family, he reminded himself, but his role as the fourth had been frustrating more often than not.

It wasn't just his older brothers' worn out clothing; it was the books-Nelyo used to write in the margins, underline the text, put his thoughts down at the end of the chapters. Caranthir couldn't read a storybook, a historical text, a treatise on language, without having Nelyo's thoughts and opinions forced on him. He treasured having a new book, one of his own-the pages fresh and clean, none of Nelyo's precise writing or Kano's dreamy sketches or Tyelko's grimy fingerprints marring it. A book that was his.

Until the other three came along and then nothing he had was safe, least of all from the twins.

It was his toys as well. More cast-offs from his brothers, used and worn. Or battered to bits and not working anymore at all, if they were Tyelko's. The wondrous mechanical toys his father made for each of them were treasures. He had safeguarded his, wary of the younger ones by then, so it was a white-hot rage that overcame him when he found Curvo dismantling his favorite one day 'just to see how it worked.' His father had laughed at Curvo's audacity and easily put the toy to rights but that just made him angrier. It was his toy. Let Curvo take his own apart.

It was his skills as well, or lack of them, he amended, that singled him out. He didn't have Nelyo's way with words, Kano's skill with music, Tyelko's utility at providing for their table. He just had his way of keeping track of things, that seemed to drive his family to distraction rather than be seen as useful.

Was it wrong to keep a running tally of who was supposed to do the washing up? It wouldn't be fair if they didn't track it. Wasn't he supposed to note how much coin Tyelko borrowed from him-how was he supposed to get it back if he didn't know the exact amount?

Even now, how could they show such little interest in how much it cost to garrison a fort, transport grain from Thargelion to Himring, arm these men who kept the trade routes clear?

He couldn't help it. Numbers, patterns, schedules, organizing things fascinated him. He was the one who had laid out his mother's garden every year, keeping track of the orderly rows, the various packets of seeds saved from the year before, the yield histories and expected production.

He was the one who now organized their supplies, their food sources, their trade with the Green Elves and the Dwarves of Belegost. He knew exactly how much wood he needed to keep his halls warm in winter, how many bushels of grain Himring utilized in a year, how many heads of cattle, herds of sheep and flocks of fowl the Edain raised for him each year.

He had done well in Thargelion. The land was rich, the location ideal. He controlled the road to Nogrod and Belogost, had the most advantageous trade agreements with the Dwarves and the Edain. He had created that. He had made it a success. Not his brothers. Did they really expect him to just give his hard work away?

"You cannot seriously expect me to pay that much, Caranthir," Maedhros said again, frowning at him from across the table.

"You want grain. I have grain. It is a fair price," Caranthir answered, his face impassive.

"I am your brother. This is grain to keep our people fed so we can man the fortresses that keep your lands safe. Spare me your transport fees and road taxes!" Maedhros said, an edge of frustration in his voice now.

"It would not be fair to treat you differently than my other customers."

"He's not one of your other customers, you miserly shit," Celegorm growled. "He's your brother and your general and the one that's letting your sorry ass sit in comfort in Thargelion while the rest of us struggle to keep our men fed and our lands safe."

"I believe it was Maedhros who suggested I take Thargelion?" Caranthir answered.

"Because you proved the best at organizing supplies and working out trade agreements! Why else do you think you got that choice little spot? Your job is to keep our armies going. Not make a profit off of all of us. And what does Maedhros get in return for letting you have the best of it all-you gouging him on costs and prattling on about taxes and transport fees." Celegorm smacked the table with his hand. "Same as always, with you."

"Let it go, Celegorm," Maedhros said wearily. "I will pay your damn fees, brother. Seems I have no better option."

---

 

Charity

He had first seen her in the midst of a raging battle.

Word had come to him that Orcs roamed his lands, raids and stealthy crossings not unexpected, but this time they had crossed into the southern woods of Thargelion and a large force had besieged the dwellings of the Edain there. Caranthir had gathered his host and marched to their aid.

They had done their best, he could see that. Dead Orcs filled the valley and the remnant of Haldad's people huddled behind the failing stockade. Except for a few who stood their ground against the crazed horde of Orcs and she was among them.

He came down from the north and swept the Orcs away, to the river and their deaths. Caranthir returned to survey the desolation of the settlement and to meet with the survivors, once the Orcs were destroyed.

They met before the ruined stockade, her clothes still covered with the blood of battle. "You have my thanks, Lord Caranthir, for your timely arrival. Had you not come we all would have been lost, I fear." She inclined her head slightly before looking up at him again, a curious look on her face.

"I am no lord, my lady. Caranthir is fine. I wish word had come sooner of your plight-I fear your losses are many."

Her face hardened. "I have lost my father and my brother this day. This is all that is left of the Haladin and I am by rights their leader now."

"I can give you shelter at my fortress-you and all your people." He looked around at the ruined dwelings, battered stockade and bodies of the dead. "This is no fit home for your people anymore."

"I am grateful for the offer, my lord, but we are not ones to stay within a fortress' confines," Haleth answered.

"Come but for a little while, my lady, to let my healers care for your injured and provide some food and shelter for your warriors and their families," Caranthir offered. "And it is Caranthir, not lord."

She tilted her head to the side as she looked at him, a thoughtful expression on her face. "I will gladly have the respite, for our wounded are many and our homes destroyed." She gave him a small smile. "And I am Haleth, Caranthir, not my lady. I thank you for your offer."

Haleth brought her people to the safety of his halls. As their days in his fortress passed he found numerous reasons to meet with her; strategic discussions on the southern reaches of his lands, careful inquiries as to the state of the survivors, tentative questions as to what her plans were to be. And sometimes he sought her company for no reason at all.

Two weeks into their stay he came to her. "I have been thinking on your people," he said, as they walked together on the battlements of the fortress. "The southern reaches are not safe anymore. It will be hard to rebuild your settlements with the threat that lingers over those lands. I have increased the border guard but I feel it will not be safe for habitation."

"I have thought the same," Haleth said, but stopped as she realized he had not finished.

"Your father and your people have been good stewards of the land and valiant in their defense of it. The lands further north are closer to us here and you would have the protection of my people." Caranthir paused and looked at her intently. "The lands would be your own-I give them to you freely. You have more than earned them with your sacrifice."

"Freely, Caranthir?" Haleth asked. "You mean for us to work the land for you, do you not? In recompense for the use of it?"

He shook his head. "I said freely. It is for you and your people, with no conditions, taxes or expectations otherwise. They will be your lands, Haleth. A home for you and the Haladin who follow you, with whatever protection I can provide."

She reached out a touched his hand lightly. "You do me a great honor, Caranthir." She stepped back. "But everything comes with a price, I have learned."

"Not this. The lands I give to you, in honor of your valor and the hardship your people survived. My protection I give because I choose to do so. There is no debt between us."

"You are generous. But my thought is to go west, leave these shadowy mountains and seek out our kin in Estolad," she said.

"I cannot change your mind? Estolad is a fair realm but it is closer to the Dark One's fortress than the lands I speak of. You may find yourselves besieged again," Caranthir said.

"There are many of our people who dwell there still. The realm of Doriath is not far and that is reckoned safe by all accounts." Haleth frowned at him and reached out for his hand again. "I do not take your offer lightly, Caranthir. But my people are proud and independent and I am unwilling to be ruled by any, other than myself. It is best if I go to Estolad and leave your lands."

"I do not desire to rule you or your people," Caranthir said. "I have only your safety and prosperity in mind."

"You are most generous, as I said. But even a gift or token of charity must be repaid and I am not willing to bow to or submit to any Edain or Eldar." She smiled at him. "And I am not willing to let you give so freely without being able to provide something in return. It is better this way, I think."

He thought of her often in the years that passed. He traveled near her lands on his rare visits to Himring but when he inquired of her he learned that she and her people had moved on and dwelt now on the far side of the great forest, in Brethil.

His brothers continued to harrass him for his ways, his careful accounting of debts and costs, his meticulous tallying of the money owed him. None of them ever realized quite how much he had been willing to give, to the right person.