Elbows on his table, Caranthir watched his elder brother pace back and forth from one end of the room to another, then back again, then back again, hands opening and closing as though they longed to close on flesh instead of air. In all likelihood, they did.
"Hold still, Turco. You're making the room seem smaller than it is." Murmured Curufin. His eyes were half closed, enough that one who didn't know him might think his relaxed posture lazy. Caranthir knew better, if by nothing else the way his brother's fingers played along his sword hilt. Curufin was never unarmed. Caranthir privately suspected that his brother didn't trust him.
"Hold still, Celegorm snarled angrily, turning on his younger brother. "Are you not restless? Do you not - itch for revenge? Don't tell me you do not. I know you better than myself, Kurvo, and always have."
"Tyelko," Caranthir said, as quietly as he could manage, still trying to process what he had been told. "I think that…in this case, from what I have heard, care may be far wiser than impulsivity. Will you go over it again?"
His brother's eyes snapped, chin lifting slightly in his irritated-proud-and-haughty way. "Must I?" He sounded so put upon that Caranthir nearly laughed at him outright, but it would not have been the time – and it was more important, at the moment, to keep his siblings from doing anything stupid than to salve their wounded pride, much as his brotherly instincts might want to.
"Yes, you must. I need to hear it again to understand fully."
Caranthir watched Curufin's face as Celegorm began to speak. His voice was slightly strained, barely contained irritation snapping at the surface, but of course Celegorm had never been mild-mannered. It had been, however, some time since he'd been this outwardly agitated. Perhaps so long, in Caranthir's presence, as from what he privately thought of as Angrod's defection.
"We came upon them unexpectedly – on the plains, just outside our territory. I know not – nor care, in truth – where they were going. We took them by surprise, in anger."
"As we should not have. I advised against it," Curufin noted, still quietly, eyes still half closed in their mockery of laziness. Celegorm pretended not to have heard.
"We would have killed the Edain and taken Thingol's daughter. Huan turned against me." There, just the briefest of spasms of pain on Celegorm's face. "Kurvo would have been killed, but by the plea of Lúthien, we were…allowed to escape, leaving horse and dog behind." He turned his bleak, grey, angry eyes to meet Caranthir's. "We came immediately here, knowing that we might find aid from you."
Caranthir chewed on the inside of his lip – an ill habit from his youth that he'd never quite broken. "Aid from me. I see. Of what kind?"
"We will track them," Curufin said, unexpectly, now paring his nails with the short knife he kept at his waist. "And we will wait until they return from their questing North, it is said, to steal the Silmaril from Morgoth's own crown. On their triumphant return, we will be there, and they will die, and understand what the enmity of the sons of Fëanor means."
Caranthir was struck dumb. Logically, it made sense. Strategically, it made sense to let someone else take the risks and reap the benefits, as well as reaping what the fools had sown here before. But all the same…something turned over restlessly at the thought of it. He leaned forward on his elbows. "Both of them killed? Thingol's daughter as well?"
Curufin tossed his head disdainfully. "Yes. She had her chance at mercy and chose to refuse it with impunity." Your hand, you mean, my brother, Caranthir thought, not without a touch of bitter amusement. You are not, he wanted to say, The only Eldar to be rejected by the woman of his choice.
"You will provoke a war with Doriath."
"So be it." Curufin waved a hand carelessly. "We have might enough to overpower them in moments. They are a minor obstacle, and always have been." And that is why, Caranthir wanted to point out, we have never been able to penetrate their borders, we have never been able to establish any kind of truce.
"We know nothing about them, brother. How can you say that so confidently? Their numbers, their resources…nothing. And with Morgoth to the north, would it be wise to engage so foolishly to the south and turn our back on the real enemy?"
Celegorm turned again, pausing in his ceaseless pacing. "So? We have fought, struggled, died, for years. They are a soft people, used to their isolation and comfortable security. What fight would they put up?"
"Elu Thingol has a Maia at his side," Caranthir reminded both of them, and Curufin frowned. Celegorm looked stubbornly dubious, but Caranthir moved on before either of them could find more to argue on that point. "Besides, the point is moot. Our brother brings some word of stirring in the North. He will want you here and focused on a fight that will come." Caranthir shrugged. "They likely will not make it far in those wastelands. They will likely die there."
"By another's hand," snapped Celegorm, and Caranthir's mouth twitched in slight frustration.
"Yours or another's, they die just the same, Tyelko. Probably harder. The Enemy's creatures aren't known for their mercy." Caranthir found that he was clenching his right fist and worked the muscles to loosen them, dropping his hands flat to the table. "Wouldn't you agree?"
Curufin seemed thoughtful, examining Caranthir. "You want Nargothrond. Or Maitimo does. And the ties between Orodreth and Elu Thingol have been solidified too much already as a result of Findarato's unfortunate demise." He paused, seeming almost amusedly pensive. "If we say nothing…"
"They think us cowards," Celegorm said, slamming one hand down on the oak desk hard enough that it shivered. "They will see us shrink from our promises. There is weakness already in exile."
"And proof to be made in battle." Curufin smiled, just slightly. "It's easily possible, Turco, to arrange an accident, and just as possible to have it averted, when someone is placed correctly."
Caranthir watched them, feeling that same peculiar sense of something turning over in dissatisfaction. He wondered when he had gone from leading this to being a third party witnessing the plan taking shape between Curufin's craftsman's hands.
Tyelko nodded, slowly. "I…see. Yes. I suppose it is." He frowned. "It rankles to wait."
"Doesn't it always?" Caranthir cut in before Curufin could respond to that. "Come hunting with me. You are beginning to drive me mad with your pacing."
He was relieved to see his brother's expression brighten, clearing of thought and concern. "And there is," he acknowledged, with a more familiar grin, "Satisfaction in any sort of bloodletting." Caranthir looked at Curufin, who simply nodded, and smiled his thin and wry little smile.
"Don't wait for me, my brothers. I prefer to take some rest, I think. It appears there is much to do."
He hadn't said anything, but something made a shiver run down Caranthir's spine about the way those last words were said. "Such as, Kurvo?"
"Not making sure of Thingol's whelp, I suppose." His smile widened. "But there is nothing to say that there will not be time to destroy the arrogant petty-king when this fight is over. I will, at the least, make time."
And I will be there beside you, Caranthir thought. As always.
It was a sad thing, he thought bitterly, to be unable to trust one's own brothers.