The Revenge of Curufin's Horse by Moreth

Chapter 1

A faint whicker came from the scrub north of the camp site. Celegorm instantly and instinctively moved behind the thick bole of the oak tree, beneath which the brothers had made camp. One thing was certain, whoever rode south would be no friend of theirs and he wanted time to assess the danger that the rider presented. Lifting his face, he checked the light breeze and then drew his bow. He would wait.

After the winter's fiasco in Nargothrond and the shame of that encounter with Beren, he had felt a need to take some time to reflect on his choices. Despite Curufin's impatience, he insisted on remaining for a few weeks in the forest, thinking of his future plans and refusing to consider Lúthien and the failure of his suit to Doriath. This morning, since Curufin had taken his bad humour off hunting, it seemed the indulgence was going to cost him dearly. 

Nothing could have shocked him more, therefore, then to see his mare lift her head and give a greeting in response. He frowned and stepped out from behind the tree. If Nárë said the rider approaching was a friend, then he was prepared to believe her. Nevertheless he kept an arrow nocked, experience having taught him that not everyone known to them was to be trusted. Following his horse's lead, he looked towards the rustle in the undergrowth and waited for the visitor to emerge.  

As the horse broke clear of the hazel brush into the clearing, he sucked in his breath with shock. Rámatal was muddy and matted and looked terrible. After Beren had taken her, he had never believed they would see her again. Stunned, he dropped his bow and ran forward. "Ah, melanya, sweet one, what have they done to you?" he murmured, running his hand down her neck as she dropped her nose to nuzzle his shoulder in gratitude. After a quick check he was satisfied there was no serious harm, and returned to stroke her cheek. "My clever girl, you found us again. But what happened to you out there? Look at you, covered in mud!" He moved over to the tent and unrolled the pack containing the brushes. "Let's get you cleaned up, and you can tell me about it." 

Pleased that the horse had taken no harm from her adventures, Celegorm began to give her the grooming she needed. While he kept up the murmurs of approval, Rámatal spoke to him of all that had happened on the journey northwards... and all that she had heard.

~~~ 

Twenty minutes later, when Curufin finally returned to camp with the successful result of his hunting, he was amazed to find his horse... and also his brother shaking with laughter. Dropping the deer by the firepit, he raised his eyebrows in query.  

"... with lissom limbs did run," gasped Celegorm, doubling up with glee again. "Oh brother, it's too good... Beren the tragic poet! Wait, let me get my breath - you really need to hear this! Valar, the whole of Arda needs to hear this!" He took a deep breath and began to recite what he had learnt from the mare. 

For the first time in many days, the woods resounded with the mirth of the sons of Fëanor... And Curufin's horse dropped her head to crop at the sweet green grass, satisfied that the long journey north and back again had been avenged in a manner only the Noldor would truly appreciate.