Title: First Blood

Authors: Talullah (talullahred@gmail.com) and Tigerlily
(hobbitpilesaregreat@yahoo.com)
Authors’ websites: www.secretstigma.net and
http://tigerlily_grubb.livejournal.com

Pairing: Curufin/Orodreth.
Summary: Orodreth visits Curufin after their first separation. They inflict their
first heartbreak upon another.
Rating: R.

Feedback: Concrit is highly appreciated.
Archive: LoM; AFF; Of Elves and Men. Others are welcomed, but please ask first.
Disclaimer: The characters are not ours; they belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien
and God knows who else. No disrespect intended. No profit made.

Authors’ Notes: Written for the Fi(r)st Time Challenge at the LoM Message Board. ;) 
We stand by the family relations as published in The Silmarillion. The names of the
characters are in Sindarin, except in dialogues and direct speech.
The verses are from Shakespeare, Sonnet 30.


Prologue
Tirion, Valian Years of the Trees 1490
~~~~~~

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past


Seeing and believing should be the same thing, I had thought, but I could not
believe my eyes or my ears as I saw my eldest uncle drawing his sword on his
brother. In that sour afternoon I saw the measure of me as my thoughts raged,
swirled about destruction of what was known to us: Trust. Trust, and peace.

Nothing had been well with them for a long time and none of us would deny it, but
none would ever believe that such a day would come. What would become of us, with
such shadow hovering, I wondered. I could not fathom the possibility that my uncle’s
deed would go unpunished. True, I had always favoured uncle Nolofinwë over uncle
Fëanáro, but even my predilection could not account for judging harshly my uncle’s
act of madness.

But my thoughts circled in a closing spiral, in its centre the one burning flame,
Atarincë. Punishments for Fëanáro passed thought my mind, terrible, harsh,
appalling, and all having effect on my cousin, my lover. Where would I be, then? I
cannot feel shame at the selfishness of my thoughts. I doubt there was one soul in
that square who did not consider how Fëanáro’s actions would impact in their lives.
An earthquake would have not have been so unsettling.

On the background of this swirl of emotion, I felt a vague relief that it had not
been my father at the end of Fëanáro’s sword, but that was not enough to stop the
hate from burgeoning. Nothing would ever be the same.

But hope also sprung. Could it be that the shadow of Fëanáro’s disapproval would
finally be lifted from my love’s heart? Would that my uncle lost his power. Would
that he would no longer be ever there, expecting, demanding, moulding. Would that he
would let us free from dissimulation, scrapes of love in hidden glades, misery.
Would that I could hold my lover’s hand in the open square.


I. Hope
~~~~~~

Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,

It had not been easy... it had taken months of planning and dissimulation and
Orodreth had always loathed dissimulation. Planning was more to his manner. In spite
of all the little white lies, omissions, blushes and stutters, he had finally found
a way to convince his uncle Fingolfin that it would do no harm seeking Fëanor and
sons and try to break their isolation, to remind them that they still were family,
quarrels or not. His true motives, however, were solely his and his cousin's. Two
birds with one stone, was it not? He would test the waters, bring news both ways and
quench the burning in his heart. Which made three birds, actually.

Despite his words at the Council of the Valar, his uncle Fingolfin was still hurt
and, understandably, had not been overly supportive, and neither had his cousin
Turgon, but his father, Fingon and Galadriel had helped him find solid enough
arguments time and again. He wondered how much they knew or suspected. Probably all
of it, but it did not matter; they were kind and loyal, and he would have trusted
them with his very life.

His younger brothers had, at one point, insisted that they needed some adventure,
but by the time he had finally set all the proper wheels in motion they had already
recalled exactly why they disliked their cousins and had decided instead to pester
Finarfin with the idea of a trip up north to visit their Teleri kin in Alqualondë.

So one morning Orodreth headed north to Formenos with a light heart and bright eyes,
and a few servants and soldiers as escort.


II. Coming down
Formenos, Valian Years of the Trees 1491
~~~~~~

And weep afresh love's long-since-cancell'd woe,
And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight.

“So, my little brother has sent me a spy,” Fëanor said from his lifted chair,
drumming his fingers in the armrest. He looked as if he sat on a throne and Finwë
was nowhere to be seen. Orodreth saw a king before him and the thought irked him.

He was well aware he had never been his favourite nephew and the circumstances were
tense indeed, but he had expected more from his uncle than outright scorn in front
of his courtiers. He tensed, he felt that his uncle would clearly see his throat
swallowing dry, his jaw clenching, but he mustered himself. He was not here for
Fëanor’s sake, not would he let his seething hate touch him.

“I am not a spy, uncle,” he replied in a cool even tone. It was hardly polite to
contradict his elder, but he had known Fëanor for long enough to recognize a
challenge and to know that his uncle did not respect subservient cowards.

Fëanor pursed his lips. “We will see.” With a glance he called one of his men and
whispered something in his ear. The man walked to Orodreth’s escort and started
instructing them in a low voice. Good, they had been accepted, at least for now.
Orodreth stood waiting for Fëanor’s next move, but his uncle gazed for long at an
indefinite point above his left ear.

“Your cousins should be arriving from hunting,” he said at last. “You can see them,
if you wish so, while your escort prepares your tent. We do not have yet better
accommodations for unexpected guests.”

Orodreth bowed and left the stuffy room none too soon. In half an hour his dislike
for his uncle had increased tenfold, this when he had thought it could grow no
further. He could hardly remember the days of his childhood when Fëanor, despite his
blazing temper, had been kind enough to dazzle him and the other elflings of the
extended family with stories and toys.

He roamed through the camp, astounded that his uncle would call him a spy and then
leave him on his own. Maybe Fëanor wished so intensely to ingratiate him with his
rudeness that he would forego security. Maybe his uncle knew he was no spy. Or maybe
he was as mad as some had started to say. He saw his people being lead to the
farthest part of the camp, away from the construction site and sighed in relief. At
least he would not have to wake at dawn every day.

Like a storm coming closer, hooves thundered faintly in the distance, growing louder
and louder. Orodreth trod under the sun in the direction of the noise, until he
found the paddocks and saw riders heading home. Leaning into a tree he watched them
becoming clearer under his eyes, an unmistakable red mane flowing the wind, rich,
musical laughter following and way behind, and closely behind, his prize.

Upon reaching him, Maedhros jumped from his horse and landed a congenial slap on his
back. “Cousin! We were not expecting you,” he said in his plain manner, but with a
welcoming smile. 

Likewise Maglor came and embraced him in greeting. They had never been close but his
older cousins had always showed him some degree of affection. Celegorm and Caranthir
nodded coldly from behind, barely disguising their annoyance at his presence. Amrod
and Amras apparently were not with the group, a pity as he had always liked his
youngest cousins. In the back of the group stood Curufin, thin lips, furrowed brow.

Maedhros and Maglor showered him with the proper questions about his coming, his
stay, their families and friends. Celegorm and Caranthir left as soon as politeness
allowed. Curufin stood silent, chewing on his lips. He was abiding by their silent
agreement, of course, but as Orodreth answered his older cousins’ questions
absently, he wished that for once conventions, decorum and secrecy could be ignored.
And none of those forced Curufin to be cold and silent in any case. He felt a wall
of weariness abating on his shoulders.

“But we abuse of you cousin,” Maglor said. “You look tired, cousin.”

“I am a bit, yes. I arrived just a couple of hours ago.”

“Then you must rest and will continue catching up at dinner.” Maglor looked around,
but before he could find a servant, Curufin intervened, breaking his silence for the
first time.

“I will lead our cousin to his tent.”

Curufin lead him through the orderly lines of tents, always one step ahead. Orodreth
followed in silence, feeling tired and dusty after the journey, but once they were
well out of earshot, Curufin's mood began to show.

“Why have you come here?” he asked as soon as they had devised the tent and
Orodreth’s escort left them, his eyes positively setting sparks.

Orodreth’s smile waned. He had not missed the tension and Curufin’s shoulders as he
walked ahead of him, nor how his cousin had pulled the flap of the tent more
energetically than needed, and he could even guess the reason, but he was
disappointed. It had been a long time, at least for him, without a single word
exchanged between them and not even then could Curufin stop worrying for one second
about everyone else but him, his friend, his cousin, his lover. If he still was
that.

He said the truth. “I came to see you.”

Curufin's eyes flashed once more and he looked away, setting his jaw, and said
simply, "You should not have."

Orodreth fought to conceal his disappointment in such a response, saying quietly,
"And why is that, cousin? Did you wish never to see me again?"

"If I told you that was so, would you turn back?" He looked squarely up at Orodreth,
his face softening.

Orodreth shook his head. "I would not turn back for anything you said."

"I expected no less." Curufin turned his back on his cousin and walked out of the
tent.

Orodreth sighed and sat on the bed. Curufin would never change, but that was part of
the allure, those unexpected reactions that kept him on his toes. His last words had
sounded more like a promise than a dismissal but still he would wait a long time
before he knew for sure. He smiled. Curufin was like that; he fed on his hunger for
him that had always been so. Orodreth reclined in his bed and rested for a while
before dinner. He would need his strength to face his uncle once more and to keep a
composed face while he waited the night away.

Dinner was just as tedious as he had imagined. Fëanor did not seem as cold as he was
earlier, owing to the half-smile that crept up on him from time to time. Curufin was
silent, barely daring to meet Orodreth's eyes the entire time, as much as Orodreth
fought to make eye-contact. Needless to say, Orodreth was relieved to be heading
back to his tent at the end of the evening.

He waited a while, awake in his tent, for Curufin to come. After some time he
realized that he should not get these ideas into his head that things were back to
how they used to be, and he just got tired of waiting, and put the light out,
undressing, and got into bed.

Being more tired than he had known he was, he was asleep in a few minutes, though he
slept fitfully. He tossed and turned for an hour or so until he woke back up,
hearing a noise. He sat up to find Curufin standing, closing the tent. Turning
around, Curufin found Orodreth awake and, smirking, began to undress. 


III. First blood
~~~~~~

I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste


Orodreth lay in his tent, sweating the late afternoon heat, in a vain attempt to
rest a bit before the evening’s celebration of Midsummer. Since his arrival he had
hardly acknowledged the passing of time, his nights spent in lust, his days with his
older cousins in friendly companionship. He stared at the canvas above him, thinking
on his time in Formenos and in the past.

One afternoon, long ago, he had lain in the grass under the sun, smelling like skunk
after a whole day hunting in the woods. The hunting trip to the Woods of Oromë,
organized by Celegorm, was one of the rare occasions when all of Finwë’s
grandchildren were together, and while it had been fun, Orodreth felt the need for
some solitude after spending so many days in close contact with his cousins. Instead
of running to the stream and bathing with the others he drifted to the forest and
found himself a glade to rest in. After a while a faint rustle caught his hear but
he did not turn or open his eyes. Maybe if the cousin or brother who had found him
thought he was asleep, they would go away. The rustle came closer and a thud
announced that he had been joined on the ground by someone. He stayed quiet. A hand
picked a lock of his hair and played with it. “Artanis, stop it,” he said wearily.

“Only if you open your eyes,” an unexpected voice replied. His eyes flew open with
surprise. Curufin stared at him, mirth in his lips and a strange fire in his eyes.
He felt confused. Curufin dropped the lock of hair and cupped the crook of his neck
with his dirty hand, his face so close it made Orodreth’s heart gallop. That thumb
running up and down his throat, that quirky smile that would not stop taunting him…
Orodreth felt like prey, but moving to escape implied coming closer to those lips.

“It will be our little secret,” Curufin had murmured into his lips after that first
kiss. Curufin’s boldness and interest had amazed Orodreth in equal parts, although
boldness was nothing unaccustomed in his cousin. His own reaction was no less
surprising, but he had left his cousin’s fire burn him and for the first time in his
life he had felt truly alive. He had hated deceit from the very first moment, even
when he could not avoid drawing a malicious pleasure from it, but had made the
sacrifice for the love of his cousin.

Love, yes. It had always been all consuming love he had felt, obsession, tenderness,
desire, friendship, all mingled, all parts adding to a love of a different kind from
one he had ever felt. Even when he suspected he was nothing but a pastime for his
cousin that love did not diminish. Even when again and again Curufin reminded him
that he would never admit to his father on loving a man, and worse even, close kin,
the son of his half-brother, even then Orodreth felt love, one bigger than fear,
doubt or hopelessness.

They had become closer to the outer world, spending more time together as normal
cousins would, but never so much that their apparent friendship could be remarked
upon as Fingon’s and Maedhros’s. Orodreth had learned to live with constant
deception without letting it ruin his happiness.

Now somehow, he found that the equilibrium had shifted again. His nights were
perfect but his days left much to be desired. To say that Curufin completely ignored
him would have been inaccurate, when he in fact completely avoided him. During
daytime Orodreth only saw his cousin at meals and even then Curufin made a point in
sitting as far apart from him as possible. He had tried to understand and endure as
he always had but earlier in that morning his grandfather had called him to the side
and asked him if perchance he had fallen out with his cousin. Orodreth had denied
it, but his voice had lacked conviction even to himself. 

He had hated the kind looks Maglor and Maedhros had dispensed him when time and
again Curufin found excuses to reject their invitation for company. He had hated it
when in the dark, he had tried to plan some diurnal activity with his lover only to
be outright rejected. He had hated his stay in Formenos when he found that excepting
the nights, his best hours were always spent with others. 

For the first time he had felt that he was indeed alone. His feelings meant little
to Curufin. He had to face it, whether he liked it or not. He was relief in the
night, a willing body, something of little consequence. He was not even what one
would call a friend; it was plain to see even to his grandfather, who rarely spared
anyone but Fëanor a thought.

Lost in his reverie of past images pervaded by more recent ones, he had dozed of to
that twilight realm that is not quite sleep when he heard “… Artanáro,” just outside
his tent. The mention of his name sent a jolt of alertness throughout his body. He
recognized Celegorm’s voice, but instead of rising and going outside to greet him,
he lay quiet in the bed. There was no point in pretending a friendship that had
never been there and would never be and his cousin was probably just passing
through. He turned to the side, slowly and closed his eyes, but the voices did not
go away.

“Do you think what they say about Atarincë is true,” he heard Caranthir asking and
his heart raced.

“I do not know and I do not want to know, but it had better not,” Celegorm replied
in a menacing tone. “He had better marry Nénheri by the end of the year. We already
have to bear the shame of the rumours about Nelyo and Findekáno,” he added.

“I do not think those were just rumours. I am actually surprised that Artanáro came.
I expected Findekáno in his stead, and sooner,” said Celegorm.

Caranthir swore under his breath some obscenity that escaped Orodreth’s ears.

Celegorm laughed. “Do not worry brother, Atarincë will marry and he will behave
while Artanáro is here. He does not want to be skinned alive anymore than you or me
and he especially does want to lose his place as father’s pet.”

“You had better be right, Turca.”

“Oh, you will see that tonight. True, ever since Artanáro came he has spent a lot of
time alone in the woods instead of courting Nénheri, but tonight he has no choice if
he wants to keep her.”

They started moving away and Orodreth lay in the bed panting, trying to reason his
thoughts. That his cousins had meant for him to hear the conversation was blatantly
clear. They had never showed him any kindness whatsoever, only disdain, so why would
his feelings matter? That had been a clear warning. But that Curufin would have lain
with him night after night without a word about courting another cut deep.

Hope told him that perhaps his cousins had lied to create some misunderstanding and
chase him away from Curufin’s life. He would soon know. His hands trembled while he
bathed and combed his hair and his stomach clenched so hard while he dressed that he
felt his whole body shrinking inside the clothes, but he was determined to look his
best this night, whether it was to ingratiate his lover or to receive the blow.

Night fell, dinner came, formal for the family and dignitaries, happy and free for
the people. Orodreth sat between Maedhros and Maglor, looking around in search for a
girl that could be the one his cousins had mentioned but whoever she was she seemed
to be absent from the king’s table. He could not suppress a petty thought: if she
was a commoner or smaller nobility, Curufin’s courtship would not meet with his
father’s approval. But then his brothers would hardly be so favourable to the match.
Or would they? He could see Celegorm searching for Caranthir’s eyes when Curufin had
chosen a place in the far end of the table and the mutual understanding. Rage
flooded him and threatened to spill, but instead he answered absently a question
Maglor had posed.

They finished dinner and went outside, to join the merry-making by the fires.
Orodreth kept searching but he could not find Curufin, alone or with his would-be
bride. He excused himself from his cousins and walked alone, on the colder, darker
rim of light, ill with tension but still battling with a hope he deemed unwise.

And there he was, suddenly revealed by a turn in the dance, holding a tiny hand in
his. The dancers kept hiding and exposing the pair alternately. She was tiny and
dark. Delicate bones and a soft jaw suggested some Teleri blood. Her eyes sparkled,
lighting her otherwise unremarkable face, and her laugher could be heard every time
Curufin spun her in the air. Orodreth stood frozen in the shadows. He had expected
an extraordinary beauty. He had hoped it had all been a big lie from his cousins. He
had even dreamed that Curufin would finally hold his hand and show the world what
they were to each other. An ordinary flirt with an ordinary girl was too devastating
to comprehend.

The song ended and the pair drifted off to a group of friends. Curufin was not
longer holding the girl’s hand but she stood much closer to him than Orodreth would
have liked. He had seen enough. Not enough to eliminate that silly hope that
insisted he had seen nothing that proved Curufin’s intentions, but more than enough
to break his heart. He slid into the night and avoiding couples and drunkards, he
followed the familiar trail to his tent.

He undressed in the dark, popping a button, ripping a seam, and dropped into his bed
naked over the blankets. The pain covered him, squat on his chest taking all air
from his lungs. Gasps that were not quite sobs left his lips but his eyes were dry.
He set his jaw, shut his eyes tight and turned to bury his face on the pillow, his
fists clenching the coverlet. The noises from exuberant life outside only made the
hurt harsher to bear. No excuse he could think of denied with enough conviction what
he had seen. Curufin himself had told him many times that they would have to marry
eventually. He knew it would end one day. He had just never thought that day would
come.

A hand run from his shoulder to the small of his back and his skin crawled. “Do not
touch me,” he said without turning.

The mattress shifted under him as a weight was added to his side. He had not heard
him enter, let alone undress, but now naked, warm skin pressed and rubbed against
his. He moved away.

Curufin followed him. “A very inviting pose, I should say,” he whispered in his ear.
Orodreth could feel him hard and wet already pressing against his hip. His body
reacted as it always had, blood running down to fill him with need. He felt anger
surging, dampening the pain for a moment and dwindling the excitement.

“Go away,” he said.

“Drank too much, eh?” Curufin asked, his voice laden with laughter and his hands
presuming too much.

Orodreth had to escape them. He rose from the bed in one swift movement. “I thought
you had some dancing to do.” Only a fool could have ignored the anger flying like
sparks from him, but Curufin slowly sat up on the bed, the perfect image of
tranquillity.

“Ah,” he said and his laconic manner only fuelled Orodreth’s anger further.

“Ah, you say? How about, ‘I am sorry for having played you a fool?’”

“Lower your voice,” Curufin warned.

“I will not,” Orodreth replied louder.

“You knew I would seek someone to marry sometime,” Curufin said unapologetic, his
voice still controlled.

“Yes and meanwhile you would keep your fool of a lover quietly waiting to satisfy
your urges. Were you going to tell me at all? Perhaps when you sent me an invitation
to your wedding?”

“I was not planning on inviting any relatives but my brothers.”

Orodreth gasped. “So it has come to that point?” All of a sudden he felt very
vulnerable. Somewhere inside he had still hoped to the last minute that Curufin
would pull him back to the bed, call him silly, say that the girl was a mere decoy
for his family. But no. He reached for a tunic left on the chair to cover his groin.

“Get out,” he said, in a tense, low voice, ignoring Curufin’s eyes.

“I will not.”

“Apologise and leave,” Orodreth insisted, his voice rising again. “Or forget the
bloody apology, just get out from under my sight.”

Curufin jumped from the bed and tried to hold his arms, but Orodreth pushed him
away. Curufin bumped on a table and the silverware that lay upon it fell to the
ground with a loud clatter.

“Listen, for just a minute, you fool!” Curufin shouted, but then he lowered his
voice and tried to come closer to Orodreth, who kept circling away from him. “Before
you make the whole camp aware of what is going on here, just listen. You always knew
it would be like this. I told you a million times.”

Orodreth swung a fist at him in reply. Curufin ducked him but made a chair fall in
the process, producing more noise as it hit the silverware. He jumped forward and
wrestled with Orodreth until they were both rolling on the ground. He fisted
Orodreth’s hair and in return received a black eye. He pushed Orodreth away and saw
him land badly, the leg of the fallen chair digging in him back. He straddled him
and held his hands. “Are you hurt,” he asked. Orodreth spat on his face and rolled
him off with an impulse from his legs.

Orodreth stood quickly to his feet and reached for his sword. The swishing sound it
made leaving its scabbard barely roared above their panting and the noises outside
to Curufin’s ears. He saw with disbelief as its gleaming tip came closer and brushed
his neck.

“Leave, I said.”

“Orodreth, you do not know what you are doing.” The blade felt closer and something
warm dripped down Curufin’s neck.

“Now.”

The sword trembled almost imperceptibly, but it was enough. Curufin, quick as
lightning, held it by the blade and rose from the ground. He tossed it to the ground
and put his hands around Orodreth’s neck. Orodreth could feel the viscosity of blood
on his skin and the sharp iron tang of blood in the air. The hands squeezed and
Curufin pulled him into a kiss, so fierce it broke blood on his upper lip as teeth
cut it, but then softer and softer.

His hands responded and he felt himself moving closer, holding his naked, sweaty,
bloody cousin in his arms. He was hard again and he could feel Curufin’s body
moulding to his in anticipation.

Curufin continued kissing him along his jaw, his thumbs now rubbing just beneath his
ears. “I love you,” he whispered into Orodreth’s ear.

Orodreth kissed him one last time, putting into that kiss everything that he felt,
every love that he would ever have, then gently pushed his cousin away.

“I have loved you,” he said, looking into Curufin’s eyes with equal measures of
regret and resolve.

His lip and his back hurt tremendously, but not nearly as much as his soul as he
stepped to the far end of the tent and quickly donned a pair of breeches left there.
He walked into the night, his torso naked, his feet bare, his long hair dishevelled,
and blood all over his neck and chest but he did not try to conceal himself from the
few that passed him on his way. He walked into the woods without a defined direction
until he fell of exhaustion. Then, for the first time in his life, he wept for love
lost.


IV. Leaving
~~~~~~

Then can I grieve at grievances forgone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er

Orodreth woke to an unfamiliar voice calling his name. He slowly opened his eyes and
groaned, unhappily finding that the voice was coming from outside his tent. He
peeked out and the servant he found there bowed and told him that his uncle had
summoned him. He quickly dressed, nearly tripping several times on the mess left on
the ground, disoriented from lack of sleep. As he went to the flap of the tent and
unfastened it, he tried to remember how he had returned to the tent. He squinted at
the sunlight; he had slept very late. 

Following the servant to Fëanor's work room he kept his head down, ideas running
through his head about what exactly had reached Fëanor’s ears from the previous
night. The servants were dismissed and Orodreth was left alone with his uncle,
expecting the worst, until Fëanor finally spoke.

"And just what," Fëanor demanded harshly, "did you think gave you the permission to
romp about in such away with my son?" Orodreth kept his head bowed as Fëanor
continued. "Curufinwë does not need someone such as you fawning over him. He will
soon be married, as you should know."

"You forget, Uncle," Orodreth said softly, "that we come from the same bloodline."

"All the more reason! And what a terrible waste of my father's line you all are." 

"We all choose our own paths and alliances, Uncle."

The emphasis Orodreth imprinted on the last word visibly enraged Fëanor, and his
hands tightened on his chair. "And you have not chosen as I have, therefore you have
chosen against me."

"What do you know about alliances?" Orodreth spat out bravely. "You yourself have
forsaken your kin out of greed alone!"

"Yours is a foolish mind to think that you could stand before me and accuse me of
such things."

"What would you have me do, then? Hold my tongue while you show your sunder your
father’s people this tyranny?"

"I would have you leave us and return to your own pitiful father."

Orodreth's rage surged at that, seeing this as an argument he could not win here, he
suppressed his urge to challenge Fëanor. "I am having my things packed already," he
lied. "I had planned to leave this morning." 

He bowed and retreated hastily to call his escort. They were kind and efficient,
avoiding his eyes, speaking in low voices. By noon they were riding out of the camp.
No one came to see him off and he was grateful for that. He thought he had seen a
flash of red hair behind the trees but if it was Maedhros, he chose to stay quiet.

Orodreth could think of nothing to say to his father or his uncle. His one constant,
coherent thought was ‘Never again.’ Never again he would give Curufin anything more
than very cold courtesy and even then only when he had no other choice. Never again
he would be content with less than what he deserved. And never again would he submit
to what people called love.


Epilogue
Gates of Nargothrond, First Age 465
~~~~~~

But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restored, and sorrows end.

Some people are pragmatic while others hold on to grudges for far too long. Not for
the first time I have been humiliated and not for the first time by him, but being
thrown out of the city like a flee-ridden dog after all I have done for him has cut
deep.

For long I had thought that when we would meet again he would have forgotten his
bitterness. We both have grown older, he has married too and fathered a child. There
has been time enough for him to understand the contingencies of our positions and
the needs, but in Artanáro’s heart there is only room for two things: love for his
daughter and hate for me.

In love there is want and there is need. I have ridden myself from need, but
Artanáro never understood that. He does not forgive me things of the past and I do
not seek forgiveness. We did what we had to do. Leaving him was a pragmatic decision
fully justified under the circumstances. 

But not even as I held Sauron’s host at bay at Tol-Sirion, allowing his to flee for
his life, did he concede me more than a stern recognition on behalf of his men. Upon
reaching Nargothrond I had expected at least a note of warmth from him, I had
expected that we could at least be friends once more, but nothing.

I suppose he was expecting for his time to take revenge. Funny but I had never
thought him the kind, but else could I call this ‘justice’ of his? To turn on his
own kin, on one who he once swore love to and expel me like some common criminal.
Betrayal of his brother, he said. Usurpation of power. Atarincë, just like his
father. His words still ring in my ears. 

He turned on me for some man he had never seen and some witch we should have never
trusted. I hope he finds his revenge sweet. And yet, as I ride out behind my brother
under the cold, harsh rains I think the words. I would never say them to him now and
he would never believe them, but they are still there, residual, faded by time,
embittered by anger. They are there. I love you.

Finis
September 2005

~~~~~~
Nénheri = Water lady (Quenya - from Meduseld).