Disclaimer: Arda and all that is in it belong to Professor Tolkien. I own only the mistakes.

The story and its characterization were not meant to fully comply with Sad But True. Subtle differences are expected.

Standing in front of the fireplace, Curufin pondered.

Embers still glowed in the hearth, giving off heat and a dim red light. He liked fire, especially the blazing fire in the forges: a symbol of creation, a source of inspiration, and the secret behind life and the world.

Some might argue that it was also the emissary of destruction, but he had no such concerns, for it would never bring harm to the sons of Fëanor. And there was another, not the evil fire of Morgoth but pure, bright fire born of light, how could it possibly hurt the descendants of its maker? Instead, it was clearly their emblem and weapon, and would hurt those who had betrayed or defied them, eliminating obstacles on the road of fulfilling their oath and vengeance.

So far it had done very well. A kingdom had fallen once, and soon would fall again.

He allowed a smile to flicker across his face. Naturally, he looked familiar to those who had once known his father, for among the seven brothers he resembled their sire most, not only in appearance but also in the talents of making. If Curufinwë Fëanáro was a wildfire as fierce as devastating, Curufinwë Atarinkë would be a furnace fire, no less powerful, but always contained and refined. After all, he was called Curufin the crafty; and he knew very well that it was not merely due to his outstanding craftsmanship.

Fixing his eyes on the dancing flames in the fireplace, he reviewed the tidings he had gathered. All pointed to one answer, and this time he would not give anyone the opportunity to challenge it. But first, he needed to speak with his brother: Turkafinwë Tyelkormo, or Celegorm the fair.

When Curufin found him, Celegorm had just returned from a hunt, with dust on his boots and horsehair on his breeches. Called 'the fair', Celegorm was truly fair of face, very impressive indeed; and equally impressive was his bearing, the definition of uncompromising and unconcealed pride. Seeing him enter, Celegorm did not even bother to greet him but simply pointed to a chair opposite him.

'How was your hunt?' he sat down and asked.

'A dozen Orcs; that is all.' Celegorm replied, fidgeting with a dagger, and the cold light of sharp metal reflected from his eyes. 'I have told Lachodir to burn them.'

Curufin knew this name. Lachodir was Celegorm's new herald; the young but capable Noldorin soldier, claiming he had been saved more than once by Celegorm in battle, offered his service to his brother when they were driven out of Nargothrond with no escort and had to go to Himring empty-handed. As the most loyal servant of his brother, Lachodir had shown unsurpassed devotion that even could be called blind - or it might not be blind at all, for Celegorm could be a powerful and charismatic leader if he had a mind to be one. None of the sons of Fëanor could be overlooked.

'I have news, Turko.' he came at once to the point, which had been proven to be the most effective way to deal with his brother. 'Thingol's daughter is dead.'

If Celegorm was surprised, he did not show it. Still playing with the dagger, he let the sharp edge dance between his deft, steady fingers, without the slightest sign of accidentally cutting himself. 'That is not news.'

'Her son Dior the Half-elven has returned to Doriath and intended to restore its glory.'

'That is certainly not news.' Celegorm set down the dagger and looked up. 'You came to me just to go through these trifles?'

'She did not take the Silmaril to her grave. It is now worn on Dior's chest.'

A silence fell. He watched his brother closely, noting every subtle change in his brother's mood. Celegorm was usually not elusive, but as small as the discrepancy seemed to be, there was a fatal difference between 'usually' and 'always'. If he took a wrong approach, his brother could become completely impossible to reason with. He would not allow yet another opportunity to be missed.

'Then our Silmaril is back in Doriath,' after a while, Celegorm gave a laugh, but there was no joy in it. 'Should we call that a coincidence, or fate?'

'Both.' Curufin met his brother's gaze, voice smooth. 'The time has come for us to fulfill our Oath.'

Celegorm nodded, lips curling. 'Doriath is destined to be our target.'

'If we convince our eldest brother,' Curufin said.

'If we convince him, of course.' Celegorm laughed. 'But it will not be difficult to convince him. He takes the Oath more seriously than any of us.'

As he had expected, Celegorm was insightful if he wished to be. A hasty-riser his brother might be, but it would be utterly wrong to think that Celegorm lacked sound judgment. He would never forget that Celegorm was first and foremost a great hunter, the most renowned among the Noldor.

'We should go to Amon Ereb as soon as possible; and we must notify Moryo and the twins as well.' he said.

Celegorm nodded again absently, and looked at the dancing flames in the fireplace. For a moment, the defined lines on his brother's handsome face seemed to be softened.

'So, we will attack Doriath.'

Words came, almost imperceptible, addressed to no one. But Curufin was instantly alerted by them, because last time he saw Celegorm like this was when he told his brother to prepare an assault on Tol Galen and recover the Silmaril that had been set into a Dwarven necklace. That time, Celegorm rebuffed his plan and refused to listen to any of his reasons.

'I know she has it.' said his brother, back then. 'But I will not attack her, nor will you.'

'I do not understand, Turko,' he tried to insist. 'Are you telling me you are actually fond of h—'

'I will not do it.' Celegorm interrupted him and would allow no further explanation.

He had to give up in the end, though unreconciled. He never believed that Celegorm was moved by the unparalleled beauty of Lúthien, for he knew his brother had loved another, though Celegorm would never admit it and would rather leave all to believe that he was enamored of Thingol's daughter. But would that mean Celegorm had also refused to attack her simply for the sake of misleading others?

It remained inconclusive, and since then he had been on guard. It was always fascinating to try to understand other minds, but frustrating to attempt to master them, for they were the most delicate things in the world.

Knowing it would be a risk to bring up the past at this moment, he weighed his options and decided to take the risk earlier than later. 'Keep it in mind, Turko,' he said, 'That we cannot afford to be generous with those we have to destroy.'

'Of course,' as if just woken from a dream, Celegorm straightened himself and gave him an easy smile, although his eyes were suddenly lit with a chilling light. 'Do not worry, Kurvo. I am not so generous as to indulge my feelings to that extent.'