The Seven Gates by Laerthel

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The Servants of Eöl

Curufin continues to hold all his grudges, quite heroically so -- until strange news of Eöl and Aredhel travel to the Himring, and Caranthir must rely on him and Celegorm to avoid disaster. (An oxymoron right there).

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Chapter 36. – The Servants of Eöl

The same morning, the Fortress of Himring

Someone knocked sharply on the smithy’s door and Curufinwë, once again, refused to acknowledge it. The last time he had answered such a call, Tyelkormo had barged in, desperate to make him talk. Today, Curufinwë was nearly as desperate to talk to him; but his brother was never home.

The wastelands were quiet outside those thick stone walls, Curufinwë knew; the hills stood quiet, and the scarce mountain-grass slept under a blanket of snow. But Tyelkormo had ridden out there with the scouts, his vigilance never ceasing, renouncing the comfort and shelter of the Himring – and with that, the company of his brothers.

Which meant that Curufinwë had his peace at last; and that peace has proved fruitful.

Day and night he worked in the forge, and the House of the Star once again had new weapons and armour. His apprentice, Maril was growing swiftly in skill, and the Dwarves sent their best materials for him to work with. His restless spirit found solace in the weight of the hammer as it fell; the heat of the smelters as it rose; the red gleam of hot steal as it smouldered. Only occasionally was he reminded of the raw talent of his son, the wit of his daughter, the ingenuity of his father or the wisdom of his mother; and even less of Tyelko’s laughter, or Nelyo’s stern orders, or the sound of Káno’s harp as they wafted into his workshop from the courtyard.

Yet often, much more often he remembered his conversation with Findekáno before he rode west and took Nelyo with him once again; for those words were beating in his chest where his heart should have been, and those words moved hammer and chisel in his hand when his body was too tired. This was the first and last time he had made a deal with the House of Nolofinwë; and he intended to make it count.

And he would – if only people let him work instead of bothering him.

The door, however, could not keep the Regent Lord of Himring out much longer than it had kept out Tyelko; it opened with a loud crash, and Maril raised his eyes from the dagger-hilt that he had just finished decorating.

“Leave us,” Carnistir told him brusquely, and after a swift bow, the apprentice complied.

Curufinwë considered calling him back, defying his brother; but Carnistir’s face was white and his eyes distant, and his annoyance dissipated like smoke in the air.

“Moryo? What is it? What happened?”

But his brother kept his features stern and lordly, like Nelyafinwë whenever he acted as Warden of the East.

“I need your opinion on something,” he said, “and Tyelko’s. It cannot wait. I have sent for him as well.”

“Bad news,” Curufinwë decided, studying his face closely.

“The lack of news, more specifically,” Carnistir sighed. “It could be nothing. Or it could result in the worst diplomatic disaster we have ever seen.”

“And you wish to discuss this with your disowned brothers, because…?”

The air in the smithy seemed to grow cold.

“Because I am at an impasse,” said Carnistir, “and I wonder what Nelyo would do. I cannot decide.”

“Well, I can tell you what Nelyo would certainly not do,” said Curufinwë sharply, “he would not follow my advice. It was his wish, after all, that I should be exiled to the smithy and shut my mouth. If you truly intend to carry out his will in all things, you should respect that.”

“Nelyo had no such wish,” said Carnistir. “Any exile you might be in is of your own design.”

“Ah, but of course!” Curufinwë slammed his chisel on the table. “It is always me! And no one else. I should be happy to be stripped – and publicly so – of any last morsel of power I still had. Our people do not answer to us anymore; so why would you seek my counsel, or Tyelko’s?”

“Our people do not answer to you, you say?” Carnistir looked at him long and hard. “You are the Master of the Forge, leader of craftsmen, first of our smiths. You have a new apprentice, tools in abundance, and the Dwarves all but throw their precious ores at you. And Tyelko leads the watch, ceaselessly so, followed by all who dwell out in the wastelands still: and on their own accord, at that, for no one follows trails and hunts Orcs the way he does. Is this truly a life so detestable? I think you are way better off than you deserve.”

“Of course I am,” said Curufin, succumbing to the foul mood that seized him. “My apologies, Lord Warden.”

Carnistir stared at him silently for a minute, and Curufinwë watched a vein as it pulsated angrily on the side of his neck. The fires of the forge burned high, the heat rising to his cheeks.

Or maybe he managed to truly anger him.

But when Carnistir spoke, his voice was low and shrill, closer to exasperation than ire.

“Are things always going to be like this from now on, Curvo?”

Curufinwë turned away from him.

“No,” he said. “The fires will burn out, this blade on the table shall be broken in battle, the snows will melt upon the hills, and flowers shall blossom in the fields. They call it spring.”

“Alas, I am obliged to swerve from the cutting edge of your most ingenuous humour, and rephrase this,” his brother retorted. “As – are you always going to hate me?”

“I hate you not,” said Curufinwë softly.

“You act like it.”

“I act like it? I do not know, Moryo – did I humiliate you in front of a Hall full of allies? Did I call you names and judge your deeds? Why would you come to me now, when my word is no longer law among the Noldor? Why would you even care what I thought?”

“BECAUSE THIS IS A FAMILY MATTER, FOR VALAR’S SAKE!” Carnistir bellowed. “Grief and strife notwithstanding, we are still brothers: I hope you agree with that, at least,” he said then in a softer – albeit forced – tone. “There are some decisions that I am unwilling to make without you and Tyelko. You will understand.”

“I am staying out of your way, Moryo, as much as I am able, and for as long as I am able,” Curufinwë snapped. “And yet if the Orcs broke in here, and held you captive, I would smash their heads with my sledgehammer and burn them in my smelter; and if any of them escaped, Tyelko would strike them down in the full might of his fury as they fled for their lives. Is that not enough for you? Must we pretend that there can be no love where anger flares, and exchange pointless pleasantries as well?”

“Well,” said Carnistir, “it would not kill you to be pleasant every now and then, would it?”

“My heart would stop beating,” said Curufinwë. His anger subsided as fast as it came; a sense of foreboding clutched at his chest instead as he took his brother’s hands in his and kissed his forehead. “Now tell me, what is important enough for you to interrupt my work so rudely?”

But still Carnistir said naught; and he led Curufinwë out in the courtyard, and together, they climbed the wall of the Himring.

The afternoon had eluded Curufinwë again without him realizing it; the hills in the winter landscape rolled out in front of his far-seeing eyes like waves in a white sea, frozen into place. The chill in the air slid its prying fingers under his cloak, and before he could stop himself, Curufinwë shuddered. He was no stranger to the cold, but already he longed for the hungry fire of his smelters. Below them, the day’s gloom blended into grey-blue dusk, and mist settled over the hills of Himlad like a veil; thin but treacherous, promising wisps of clarity where there were none.

Above the gates, the horns were sounded. Tyelkormo rode up to the fortress with a swarm of returning scouts; and Curufinwë silently scolded himself for the overwhelming sense of relief he felt upon seeing him again as he rushed down the stairs to meet him, Carnistir in his heels. Surely a hunter of Oromë can manage a few scouting missions? Why would his heart tremble for his brother so, if there is nothing among those hills that could hurt him anymore?

It only occurred to him then that Tyelkormo should not have come so soon after Carnistir summoned him; and he seemed to be in a great hurry for one who returns home after weeks of service. He continued spurring his horse even as it carried him through the courtyard, his hair flowing like a trail of silver in the dusk.

Something was amiss.

“You look like you have been tasted by a Troll and then spit out for your foul taste,” Curufinwë told Tyelkormo as a manner of greeting.

“And you look like an Orc rolled in coal dust,” said his brother in return; but his smile did not reach his eyes. “Moryo, a word. And I would like you to be there as well, Curvo.”

“I have sent for you as well,” said Carnistir, “although I imagine that the summon has eluded you. The messenger started looking for you near the northern watchtowers.”

“I came from westwards,” said Tyelkormo. “There is a matter we must discuss immediately.”

“Unpleasant, I am sure,” said Curufinwë.

“Somewhat – but not in the manner you would expect,” came the grim answer. “Come with me.”

And Tyelkormo turned his horse’s head, galloping back to his dismounting scouts and letting his brothers follow him on foot. Coming closer, Curufinwë saw that not all of his companions wore the Star of Fëanáro: there were twelve hooded riders among them with steeds smaller and heavier than what the Noldor usually rode.

“Doriath?” Hope flared in Carnistir’s eyes, if only for a moment; but Curufinwë shook his head.

“Nan Elmoth,” he said. “If I had an ounce of metal for each time I have caught them scrying my lands, we could arm every soul in Beleriand. Why would you bring them here, Tyelko?”

“They sought us out,” said his brother, “asking for Nelyo’s protection.”

Both Curufinwë and Carnistir stared at him as if he had grown a second head.

“Excuse me?!”

“Let us go someplace private and hear the whole story,” said Tyelkormo impatiently. “I do not know half of it myself.”

Carnistir cast a wary glance upon the newcomers, then stepped forward.

“Who speaks for Eöl, the Dark Elf?”

The rider on the front threw back her hood, showing her pale, austere face.

“No one, my lord,” she said. “We speak for ourselves.”

“Are you here without his leave, then?”

“One cannot take orders from a lord who is not present,” said the rider. “We are here out of our own will and initiative, for our Lady told us that should a great peril come upon us, and should all other hope fail us, then the Warden of the East shall aid us upon her bidding.”

Nelyo, thought Curufinwë bitterly. Of course it is always Nelyo that people rely on.

He had to agree, however, that he would perhaps not be bold enough to ask for his own aid if he was a Moriquend.

“The Warden of the East is not here,” said Carnistir. “I, Caranthir, fourth son of Fëanor act as Regent in his stead; but I promise you that whatever aid I can, I shall give freely and willingly – and so shall my brothers Celegorm and Curufin.”

Curufinwë could feel the piercing eyes of the Moriquendi as they bore into him from under their hoods – with little love, to be sure, for there was no love to be had between the Noldor and the strange, silent Elves that lived in the solitary island of dark woods at the borders of what once had been his realm.

“Dairiel is my name,” said the Moriquend, “and I have served Aredhel, the White Lady of the Noldor ever since the Lord of Nan Elmoth had taken her as his wife.”

“And just how did he do that?” Carnistir snapped. “Blackmail? Dark magic?”

“I have as little understanding of it as you do,” said Tyelkormo truthfully.

“You both knew of this,” Carnistir’s eyes narrowed.

“I did,” said Curufinwë, “and I told Tyelko; but then the Flames came, and I’ve had little opportunity to think about it.” He turned to the Moriquendi. “I take it that no one returned to you, then? Not Eöl, not Aredel and nor their son?”

“Their son!” Carnistir exclaimed.

“No one returned, my lord,” said Dairiel. “Once, when Eöl left for a great feast in Nogrod, our Lady and young Maeglin set out to visit you – and not two days later Eöl came back in a great hurry and went after them. We thought that mayhaps –”

“Mayhaps?” Curufin stared at her. “What did you think, pray tell?”

“Well, some believed that you had slain him, of course,” said a stern, dark-haired Elf with a longbow hanging from his shoulder. “It would not be the first time.”

“Silence!” Dairiel snapped, but the harm was done; Carnistir’s face reddened in anger, and Tyelkormo’s knife flew out of its scabbard – not exactly helping to dissolve his reputation as a bloodthirsty kinslayer, as Curufinwë observed.

“How dare you!” He hissed. “I did not lead you here through hidden paths to insult my brother!”

Curufinwë would have liked to grab the hammer that still hung from his belt and throw it, just to strike some fear – he had a great aim –, but the fury that descended upon him was of a different kind.

Colder.

“Peace, brother,” he said, surprising himself with how mellow his voice sounded. He cast a pointed glance upon Carnistir, who seemed to have swallowed a dozen scathing comebacks at once, and went on, “I know Eöl’s heart. I know that he hates us, envies us, and never sought to be friends with us. He probably told you that we slay every Elf upon sight at the first minor inconvenience… but that is not true. What happened at the shores of Alqualondë was a terrible disaster, borne of the lies of the one you call Morgoth.” He swallowed as the much hated Sindarin language broke on his tongue. “But no such thing shall happen again as long as we can avoid it. You, on the other hand, have not been very good neighbours to us. The only time Eöl extended any courtesy towards my person, he merely did so because he wanted something from me. Behind my back, he calls me a murderer, and to my face, he calls me kin. He hates the Lords of the West with all his might, and yet he takes a wife from the House of Finwë. And what of your King? He who never answers letters, sends back envoys without response, and steals our father’s Jewel? One of them is in his Halls now – and yet, do you see us pounding on his gates with swords and lances? Nay and nay. We wage war against the Enemy to take back the other two instead. We kill your enemies and guard your lands. We protect your lives – and yet the only recompense we ask for such deeds is that now, just for a moment, you hang your heads in shame before you let us save you from your perils once again.”

Silence settled in the courtyard as Curufinwë uttered these words; and Dairiel looked at him with a strange mixture of wonder and apprehension in her eyes. His brothers’ gazes, however, were bright and piercing; but Curufinwë paid no heed to it. They were not the ones he sought to bend to his will.

“Why do you not come inside,” said Carnistir with an effort, “and have a square meal and a warm drink to lift your spirits? Through our cousin, the one you call Aredhel, we are kin now; and among war and ruin, it might be time for us to start acting like it.”

“As long as you do not scorn the hospitality of our House any further, it shall not run out,” said Tyelkormo, his voice still harsh. “Now follow us.”

And the Elves of Nan Elmoth dismounted as well, one after the other, and followed the Sons of Fëanáro behind the strong walls of the Himring. After a brief respite, they were summoned to the Great Hall; the table was loaded, and Curufinwë and his brothers took their evening meal with them. The reason for their coming was neither asked nor mentioned while they ate and drank; then, the fire was fed in the hearth, the flames sprang high, and they all eased closer to the heat.

“In happier times, our brother Maglor would sing for us now,” said Carnistir, “but he rode north with the Lord Warden and the High King to cleanse Dorthonion and Hithlum of the Enemy’s filth. You might not even meet him before we march upon Angband; he has much to do.”

“If all news have been exchanged, and we still have our spirits high enough for such amusement, then I shall sing instead,” said Tyelkormo. “But before that, you must tell us what brings you here.”

“Well – our Lord, our Lady and their son all seem to be missing,” said Dairiel. “We have not had tidings of them since before the Flames – decades now.” She looked at Tyelkormo and Curufinwë. “The last thing I know is that the Lady Aredhel departed from Nan Elmoth to seek you out, for she wished to see her cousins, and have you all meet her son Maeglin.”

“I was away, hunting,” said Tyelkormo. “I would not know.”

“This never came to pass,” said Curufinwë. “My men brought me news of Aredel and her son riding through my lands; and so great was their speed that I thought they were fleeing some enemy – and indeed they were, although not in the manner that I had expected. I did not try to intercept them, for Aredel always knew how to find me if she had need of me. Nay, Dairiel: she had no intention to seek me out. She might have had when she departed; but something changed. As I said, I did not pursue her, for no one catches the White Lady of the Noldor lest she herself allows it; but I had her steps watched until she left my lands. And lo! Not entirely two days later, Eöl was caught trespassing. Then, I felt a sense of doom, and I chose to listen to it. I had him seized – for he would not come willingly – and escorted to my camp; and so we have met under cloudy skies for what might have been the last time. I admit that I spoke harshly to him, for there had never been friendship between us, and I thought that he was trying to deceive me. I understood too late that my taunts turned out to be simple truth: Eöl himself had been deceived; and Aredel sought to leave his lands and make for her brother’s hidden kingdom. Eöl then scolded me for not helping a kinsman in need – he, who at any other time, might have called me a rogue and a murderer. Then my wrath was flared, and I denied our kinship, dismissing him; but through my ill mood, a sudden clarity pierced my heart, and I advised him to return to Nan Elmoth, and cease pursuing Aredel, or else he shall perish. He must have believed that I sought his ruin; but I had no desire to hurt him. Why would I? He had not harmed me with anything else than words, borne of ignorance, for all his hatred towards our House, he has based upon hearsay.” Curufinwë sighed. “I cannot exactly say why I gave Eöl my counsel, true and honest. It may be that I pride myself in having insight, or that my love for my cousin honeyed my tongue. Be that as it may, Eöl did not, of course, listen to me – and so it appears that no one has heard of him ever since. Alas! For your sake and for my cousin’s, I wish I had erred.”

“Maybe Turgon took him in his hidden kingdom of wonders as well,” said Carnistir, “and they reconciled.”

“Aye,” said Tyelkormo, “and then they made peace with the Valar, and our Exile ended. Any moment now, Eönwë’s trumpets shall be blown, and our Father released from the Halls of Mandos to make everything right again.”

“There is no need to be scornful, Tyelko,” Carnistir sighed. “I am merely voicing my wishes. After all, Turgon rarely, if ever, sends messages. Why would he do such a thing for the people of Nan Elmoth?”

“Aredhel would not leave them behind so,” said Tyelkormo. “Never. She would move Turgon’s heart to take them in, or if that was to no avail, then she would annoy him out of his wits until she gets her way.”

“When was this again?” Carnistir sighed.

“Before the Flames,” said Curufinwë. “Sixty Sun-Years ago now, or so. Maybe closer to seventy – so either they reached their destination long ago, or something befell them.”

“We followed Eöl’s trail while we could,” said Dairiel, “but we lost it near the great mountains west of Dorthonion, and never found it again. When the Flames came, we were leaderless, and survived only by chance. There was nowhere to go: the lands between Nan Elmoth and the Himring were swarming with Orcs. This has been our very first opportunity to visit your people.”

Curufinwë propped his chin up with two fingers.

“Do not take offense if I ask,” he said, “but what of Thingol, the Woodland King, and Melian, his Queen? Are you not their subjects also, the way Eöl is? Is it not their duty to provide you aid in such perilous times? Why would your thoughts turn to Maidros, first son of Fëanor to protect you instead?”

Dairiel fell silent. It was one of her kinsmen who spoke up instead: the same stern Elf that had called Curufinwë a kinslayer.

“We have tried,” he said grudgingly, “but the gates of Menegroth are closed for us, or so it would seem. We searched for the path through the woods of Doriath for years, to no avail. Then we returned home and prevailed; but provisions are hard to come by, and this winter has been the harshest in years. Spring is still far.”

“And Thingol would not even deign to hear your plea?” Carnistir’ eyes widened. “He lets you starve and freeze without a single word? You should have come sooner. Curse it, you should have come see me in Thargelion! My castle was taken, and I lived like a savage for years with my men; yet if you came to us in such a dire hour of need, we would have taken you in.”

“Or any of Fëanor’s terrible, bloodthirsty kin you would have come across,” said Tyelkormo. “Some king Elwe Singollo is, to abandon his subjects so!”

“It grieves me to say this, but such a deed might have been necessary,” said Dairiel. “The Enemy’s treachery knows no limit. We have had our own share of it: kinsmen and kinswomen who were captured, and then released to seek us out again, and carry out the Enemy’s evil designs – unknowingly and unwillingly, no doubt, but it happened nevertheless. It hardened the Lord Eöl and deepened our mistrust towards your people; for many years we have dwelled in peace under the stars before your coming. And without knowing anything of your own quarrels with the Enemy, it seemed to us that you were seeking your own ruin, provoking him. The King Thingol thinks likewise; it is said that he had suffered so much treachery that when the Flames struck, he shut the gates of his realm in front of anyone and everyone, be they friend or foe.”

Like Turukáno, Curufinwë thought, but he said nothing. A plan was gaining shape in his head: one of many perils and pitfalls, but a plan nonetheless.

Careful you be, Findekáno, he thought, for I might put you to test, and see if you keep your word the way we do in the House of the Star.

“You have given us much to think about,” said Carnistir to the Moriquendi, “but it goes without saying that you may dwell here, and you shall be fed, housed and garmented. Also armed if you so desire. We protect our borders quite fiercely, and soon we shall go to war.”

“Thank you, Lord Regent,” said Dairiel, and other thank you-s were murmured as well.

In the settling silence, a servant entered the hall to refill their cups; he left the door open behind himself, and from the courtyard, the merry singing of the scouts wafted into the Hall.

And Tyelkormo raised his chalice with a sudden smile.

“Hear,” he said, “they sing of my brother’s deeds before I could have. Go and listen! And whenever you think to shun one who escaped the Enemy’s shackles instead of helping them, remember the Warden of the East, mighty and unbroken.”

*

It felt wrong to walk into Nelyo’s study and sit around his desk; and for a moment of silent desperation, Curufinwë felt as though they were back in the Blessed Realm, in their family’s halls, playing King in a castle made of pillows.

Carnistir did not seem well at ease, either; and Tyelkormo’s boots left mud stains on the floor, as Carnistir’s black hound carried them around, one after the other. She shook them as if they were prey, visibly dismayed that no one thought to play with her.

“Cease this, Egnor,” Carnistir scolded her. Upon hearing her name, the hound let out a muffled bark, still clutching one weather-beaten boot between her teeth, then put her large head into Curufinwë’s lap in hope of ear scratches.

“You are coating me with filth,” Curufinwë told her before he gave in. “It shows that no one gave you a name in the proper tongue yet; but just you wait.”

Behind them, Tyelkormo opened the shutters with a loud crack, letting the chill of the winter night seep into the room.

“What did you do that for?” Carnistir sighed. “We are running short on firewood swiftly enough without you turning the whole castle into a block of ice.”

“There is no air in here.” Tyelkormo settled on the windowsill, stretching his long legs. “A little cold shan’t kill you.”

“It shall, however, kill you if you fall down from there in your great wisdom,” Carnistir countered. “You have the choice of five different empty chairs; why must you lounge in front of the window of the highest tower like some Laiquend?”

“Laiquendi never fall,” said Tyelkormo. “I think they can fly.”

“Your new friends would know for sure,” said Curufinwë. “When they do not flee your terrible kinslaying vices, that is.”

“That comment should not have gone unpunished,” said Tyelkormo, his glance turning to Carnistir. “Not to mention it was completely uncalled-for. They have come to ask for our aid, for Valar’s sake!”

“They have come to ask for Nelyo’s aid,” Carnistir sighed. “And wrathful as I had become, I could not risk doing any harm to Thingol’s subjects, not now.” He looked at Curufinwë. “You scolded them with great skill,” he said. “That was cunningly done. It almost felt as though you knew.”

“Knew what?” Curufinwë’s eyes narrowed.

“I think Thingol has Pityo and Telvo.”

Clank. The hilt of Tyelkormo’s dagger clashed against the window-frame, and Curufinwë released the tip of the boot that he had been trying to pull out of Egnor’s mouth.

“You mean – holding them captive?”

“There is no other explanation,” said Carnistir. “I am as sure now as I am able. As you both know, the twins are late now; late by several months. I sent a search party to Nargothrond not two moons ago – Dwarves, not Quendi, to better escape Artaresto’s vigilance –, and Azaghâl’s servants informed me that they never arrived, which means that they are still in Doriath, if they even reached it.”

“They might have been waylaid,” said Tyelkormo slowly. “Those lands are not safe –”

“They are good hunters!” Carnistir shook his head. “Almost as good as you. There is no way the Orcs could have captured them, not without an organized army. They did not go alone, either; in fact, three of their men have returned to inform me that they have had the wonderful idea to leave their entourage to wait for them at the Falls of Sirion.” Carnistir sighed. “To be quite honest, I can see the reasoning behind it; but Thingol is worse than we thought. If he has no regard to his own subjects, what mercy do you think he shall grant our family? Most likely, he has taken the twins prisoner, ready to threaten us if we try to reclaim the Silmaril.”

“Or all of this could be hearsay,” said Curufinwë. “A forgery of the Enemy, made of half-truths.”

“You have a plan,” said Carnistir slowly.

“What I have,” said Curufinwë, “is a proposition. Bold, certainly: but with a little tact, it could be done.”

“What has happened to powerless Curufinwë who shan’t give me sound advice?” Carnistir asked sharply.

“I am still furious with you,” Curufinwë sighed, “and yet you are still my brother, and I still love you. All these are true at the same time. It is called a complexity of emotion – you should try it. In any case, Moryo, you need my help, and I am here to give it.”

“How could you help, Curvo?” Tyelkormo cried out in dismay. “If he truly has our brothers, Thingol thought this out masterfully. We would need to go to war to free them, to the dismay of our allies! Findekáno and Azaghâl would never help us again, not even if Nelyo himself led us.”

“When we came here,” said Curufinwë, “and I made the grievous mistake of trying to use my voice against him, Nelyo read us a letter. Do you remember what it said?”

“Some of it,” said his brother, annoyed. “Should he do justice against the captors of Lúthien, Thingol would suddenly become a good and generous king, and so forth.”

“Exactly,” said Curufinwë. “And Nelyo has done that, has he not? He kept his word. He punished us. Me most of all.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “But Thingol does not know that. It might be time to show him.”

“Show him how?” Carnistir was looking at him sharply.

“He needs to see how much I changed, and how much I forsook my wicked ways,” said Curufinwë. His heart was pounding in his chest. “In fact, his whole court needs to see. What will they think if Curufinwë Atarinke takes Eöl’s Moriquendi with him, and goes to the Woodland King, begging him to take them into his protection, and release his brothers? With no mention whatsoever of the Jewel he stole?”

“Curufinwë…” Carnistir stared at him wide-eyed, almost afraid. “You do not beg. You would choke on your own words if you tried!”

“I begged Father not to die,” said Curufinwë. “I begged Nelyo not to give up his crown. I begged Findaráto not to go and have himself killed. I can and will do it again, even if begging Elu Thingol shall mean my death and ruin. May it work this one, last time!”

“This is madness!” Carnistir shook his head. “What am I to do if he seizes you as well?”

“Then you shall know that the Enemy has many faces,” said Curufinwë. “But I must try. There is no other way for our little brothers to survive: or do you see one? You have heard Dairiel of Nan Elmoth: no one can find a path through those woods, not unless the Lady Melian allows it. And I believe that if I try to reach her, she shall grant me passage: out of spite, if nothing more.”

Carnistir was looking at him gravely. “Curvo – if this goes wrong…”

“I know.”

“If you lose your temper…”

“I know.”

“If you do them any harm –”

“I know,” said Curufinwë. “I cannot ask you to trust me; but it seems that you have no choice.”

“It does seem like that indeed,” said Carnistir. “But my heart trembles at this. To send you there alone…”

“Not alone,” said Tyelkormo.

“Do not even think about it,” Curufinwë glanced at him.

“Indeed?” His brother snapped. “And how do you think this shall play out exactly? Have you known me as one who would abandon you, and let you atone for my sins as well as yours? Thingol has more reason to hate me than you; and having you in his grip shall not suffice. We must go together.”

“I cannot allow that!” Carnistir banged his fist on the table. “If none of you shall be released, that leaves me alone!”

“You shall still have Nelyo and Káno, even if they have not yet returned,” said Tyelkormo. “And Findekáno,” he added. “I do not think he shall take it very kindly, either, if Thingol starts collecting his cousins as prisoners. The Lords of the West are not to be kept in cages.”

“Do not come with me, Tyelko,” said Curufinwë. “You are much needed here.”

“And so are you!” His brother crossed his arms. “But now you must go and put this right: and come with you I shall, through death and peril if I have to! I will not leave you, Curvo: not again, not while I draw breath.”

“My heart would be gladder if you stayed,” Curufinwë lied, “but if such is your wish, then your decision is made; and the Regent Lord of Himring shall grant or deny it.”

“There are many ways this could go wrong,” said Carnistir grimly, “and yet something must be done. So be it! To Menegroth you shall go, with as many of Eöl’s servants as are willing to go with you, and somehow, you shall try to parley with Thingol and Melian. Do not mention the Jewel, though, if you can avoid it. That might cause quite a bit of confusion, as they both see us as bloodthirsty killers and nothing more. In the meantime… I hate to say it, but some basic cartography could be useful for later reference. As many observations as you can make.”

“Ai, brother,” said Curufinwë with mock indignance. “How could I do that? I am crawling there on my hands and knees to repent, remember?”

“Just don’t overdo it,” said Carnistir. “I do not like this, Curvo, not one bit… but I thank you for what you are willing to do for our family. I did not think you had it in yourself to swallow your pride.”

“Neither did I,” said Curufinwë. He could feel Tyelkormo’s eyes on him, piercing and cold; and Egnor let go of the much-suffered boot, letting it fall into his lap.

And Carnistir stood.

“Get some sleep,” he said. “That is what I shall do as well before I go through the provision counts again. We might need a second supply of flint from Belegost. This winter is harsh indeed.” He stopped in the doorway. “I wonder how Nelyo does this several times every year. It is maddening.

“Tyelcano would do it for him,” said Curufinwë. “Some complex counting system of Atar’s. I can do it before I depart if you trust me with the counts – I use it sometimes.”

He made the offer without thinking about it; and he barely noticed the strange look Carnistir gave him before he said thank you. His foul mood had dissipated; all that remained was the crystal-clear conviction that he was finally needed.

He had a cause to fight for. He had an opportunity to hold Findekáno to his promise; and do something that no one would have ever expected him to do.

He descended a long flight of stairs, stole out of the castle, and walked through the courtyard to go back to his workshop – that half-forged sword had to be finished, after all –, and Tyelkormo followed.

“Moryo would have never asked you to do this,” he said, as the fire flared up once again in the smelter.

“Which is why I offered,” said Curufinwë. “Mostly, anyway.” He glanced at his brother. “Will you find me a larger chisel, at least, if you must remain underfoot?”

“You are plotting something,” said Tyelkormo. “Something other than what you have told us. You have a design of your own.”

“Chisel, Tyelko!”

But his brother caught his wrist, his gaze bright and fearsome as it bore into Curufinwë’s.

“Thingol is not the one to fear in Menegroth,” he said. “There dwells Melian, the Maia as well; and hers is the real power. It is through her enchantment that our brothers became so entangled in those woods, and it is her mercy that could potentially save them, not Thingol’s. You know this; and you would be wise not to forget it.”

“That doesn’t change anything,” said Curufinwë.

“Yes it does.” Tyelkormo’s voice was hard as stone. “You are a great deceiver, Curvo: cunning and ingenious, and your voice holds power. But know this: you cannot deceive the Lady of the Woods, not even if you make all her subjects drink your every word like nectar from a golden chalice. If you want your plea to be heard, you must mean it. You have to truly repent. For our family. Do you think you can do that?”

Curufinwë stared into the smelter for a long time.

“I do not know,” he said. “Can you?”

“We will find out,” said Tyelkormo.

They watched the flames, together and yet alone, until they dissolved into tiny red tongues of fire, then embers, then cold ash.

* * *

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Chapter End Notes

Author’s Notes

Dairiel (S) would mean something like “The daughter of the shadow of the trees”. In standard Sindarin, the name would be spelled ‘Daeriel’ (similar to ‘Daeron’), but I chose to approach her name to the Doriathrin dialect.

Curufin’s POV will still not give up its gratuitous use of Quenya. Whenever Sindarin names are used, there is either no Quenya name in use for those people or places in particular (like Doriath or Nan Elmoth), or the characters themselves are using Sindarin.
 A Quenya name, in fact, does exist for Doriath (Lestanórë, ‘Land of the Girdle’), but I think it is extremely unlikely that anyone – even Curufin – would use it at this point. I also toyed with the thought of having him say Tindómenandë instead of Nan Elmoth (a translation of my own, don’t trust it too much!), but I found it likewise implausible. (Notice, though, that he says Maidros instead of Maedhros, and Aredel instead of Aredhel. These choices might not be phonologically well-founded, but I really just wanted to express that he has a terrible accent. :D).

The gratuitous use of Quenya also extends to the even more gratuituous – and in some cases, completely incorrect – use of the term Moriquend(i) by the Sons of Fëanor.

One last thought: this chapter might seem over-apologist towards the Sons of Fëanor; but on one hand, I think it makes Curufin’s POV a lot more exciting and believable, and on the other hand (sorry, Maedhros), part of the tragedy of this story lies – I hope – in the fact that the Reader can root for all POV characters despite everything.

I must admit that Curufin is growing on me. A little bit. How about you?