After 'Celebration', Caranthir's miseries just got started…can be read as a standalone without reading 'Celebration'
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Caranthir was born ambitious. His family, few close attendants *cough 'minions' cough*, and enemies who are still breathing after he had 'dealt' with them can vouch for that. Ambitious not in the sense of acquiring political power or obtaining the power of knowledge, but he is attracted to 'wealth' - to the beautiful and cathartic sounds of clinking gold coins and the strategy of acquiring monumental piles of gold coins. In fact, mountains of them, as high as the peaks of Pelori please. He will never be weary of his favorite pastime – counting stacks and stacks of glittering coins and doing his accounts to tally his ever increasing wealth…hmm much better than pawing at gems or magical artifacts. He's so enamored by his obsession that he has no time spared to pursue romantic interest…bah, in his pragmatic opinion, the time spent on pursuing and forming a romantic bond is time that could be better used to create new product lines and financial instruments. In another word, Caranthir is a blissful, die hard, perpetual bachelor, and Eru be damned, proud of his bachelorhood – much to the chagrin of his parents. They were hoping to have mini red-faced imps (elflings) running around, as if Celebrimbor wasn't enough to satisfy their urges for grand parenting. Well his other single brothers can oblige them…Caranthir shuddered to think of mini red-faced imps screeching their demands at him or bawling out a storm, anger making their small sharp faces even redder.
After his re-embodiment, Caranthir was re-possessed by his fervent obsession to rebuild his mercantile empire, replicating his success in Beleriand by ruthlessly penetrating various different mature, established economies that have been long thriving and flourishing from collaborative networks, but vulnerable to a disruptive competitor, ripe for the taking, so to speak.
He reached out to his former employees, the indigenous Laiquendi he'd employed (ahem..exploited) as instruments in his machinations of domination in the Aman economies. They were practically begging to be taken back the minute he showed up at their doors. His 'minions' hadn't made much success in establishing their own business since migrating to Valinor, for the simple reason that they lacked Caranthir's intelligent brain, business acumens, and sheer ruthlessness. They had sorely missed their luxuriant lifestyles under his leadership and stern guidance, and were crying tears of joy when he agreed to rehire them back to his service under the original terms and rules, relishing leaving a life of simply scraping by behind. Swarmed by the enthusiastic welcome from his minions as the harbinger of prosperity, the Feanorion was feeling extremely smug.
Back in his elements, not a minute to lose, Caranthir bolted straight to the tasks of rebuilding his empire. First he investigated and researched what market is the most vulnerable to tackle, and easier for an aggressive competitor to sweep in and take all the profits. Then he reached out to his extensive network of top Noldorin smiths and artisans to create and build superior products at half the costs, and leveraging his Laiquendis to do door to door underselling what the Silvan and Sindar competitors were charging. He even commissioned Maglor to create catchy tunes for his workers to sing and promote the products while they are knocking people's doors. And that sniveler Maglor the Mighty charged him an arm and a leg for his compositions despite their blood ties, oh he's feeling some brotherly love alright.
Everything was executed to perfection, all according to his extremely detailed, fail proof plan. After taking the lion's share of the markets, the former Lord of Dol Caranthir can now be magnanimous in allowing small, independent suppliers to thrive, provided they don't surpass the market tranch he deigned more than appropriate for them to hold on to.
It is so simple - it is like taking candy from a baby elfling's hand. Everything was going swimmingly well and thing fallen into his plan accordingly, except….
Except Caranthir had encountered a serious, disturbing problem lately. A problem that had caused him to believe he has developed frown lines on his forehead, a truly shocking revelation since elves don't have frown lines, ever.
"Yooooohoooooo, Moryo dear, my precious sweet darling, time for lunch sugar pie!" A shiny, golden haired, vapid Elf flashing sparkling white teeth stood in his office bellowing such dreaded, embarrassing words with no shame whatsoever.
Caranthir put his head down in his hands, resigned. Bitterly he bemoaned being re-embodied to the physical world instead of enjoying the somber, monotonous and peaceful Hall of Mandos, which he sorely missed ever since the golden haired Elf decided his favorite pastime is to pester the fourth son of Feanor. He suspected this is a special punishment devised by the Valar, where Namo clearly is the chief conspirator, to torture the Feanorions further so they can be redeemed through pains and sufferings. The Valar are twisted anyway.
Wake me up soon, this is a nightmare sent by Irmo, yes, I'm stuck in a vicious, endless cycle of nightmares…His left arm were yanked up, beautiful blue eyes peered straight to his own jet-black eyes, for a moment Caranthir thought he was a little drawn to how expressive and mesmerizing these pair of eyes are. But…
He snapped out of this momentarily lapse of control, eyes locking at where Angrod is putting his other filthy paw on, right on the very stack of parchments freshly delivered by his assistant, he jumped and roared, "You are ruining the 3 year financial projections of my newest product! Get out of my office or face my eternal wrath."
"Being there, done that, not impressed or even alarmed. But sweetie I love it when you get flustered and feisty" wink, wink.
"Anyhoo, Lunch is calling, and you need your nourishment baby-poo." The Feanorion tried to twist out of Angrod's iron gripe but couldn't. "My name is not baby-poo, it's Morifinwe Carnistir the Dark, or the Overlord, you brainless fool! I am going to punch your face to jig your memory of why you should not cross my path!" Caranthir spat out furiously, struggling to free his poor left arm while trying to use his fist to punch Angrod's bright face to a bloody pulp.
Since when did Angrod have gotten this strong? Eru, please don't tell me he spent his free time in idleness, accomplishing nothing but pumping irons and bench pressing in Tirion Gymnasium. Sounds exactly like a scion of the most beautiful house of Finwe will do. Lunatic vanity runs in these golden idiots' veins, it's what they get for marrying a Vanya.
Moments later, the entire staff of Dol Caranthir Enterprise headquarter witnessed the rare sight of their egomaniac head boss (Overlord) being forcefully dragged out of his cavernous office shrieking loudly like an elleth. These elves quaked in fear. As for the blonde Elf that dragged him out, his facial expression can be described as sickening blissful.
An unhappy Feanorion with his very on dark cloud on his face was glaring daggers at his giddy companion who perused the Eldalote Restaurant menu with the excitement of a deranged puppy. Raising his dark eyebrow, Caranthir was perturbed by how unaffected his jailer was by his dark menace. The nervous wreck of a waiter scooted over to the pristine white clothed table, his hands shook, barely able to hold his chalk and paper pad, overwhelmed by the presence of the two magnificent elven princes, possibly feeling he's walking the last minutes of his life by seeing the deep scowl on the ex Kinslayer's fine patrician face.
"…Mmmy lords…may…Iii…takkke yourrrr orrrder pppleasse?" The waiter squeaked. Unconsciously he hunched his shoulders, trying to appear less visible to the two patrons. When the dark Feanorian's displeased gaze locked on the waiter's face, the elf almost ran under the table to hide…oh please don't kill me, please don't kill me was the thought running through his mind. Angrod laughed out loud, and patted the poor elf's arm to calm him.
"Don't be so nervous lad, we're not going to roast and eat you." Wink "I will have the daily special and Caranthir darling here will have the roasted pheasant."
"Cease calling me these silly names! How many times do I have to yell at you to stop!" The famous Moryo temper flared again. Meanwhile the frightened waiter scampered off to escape to the safety of the kitchen.
Flashing another brilliant smile to his irate companion, Angrod leaned forward and reached over to touch Caranthir's hands "Oh Moryo, why must you be so antagonistic to everyone?"
"That's not true, I am nice to grandfather, my parents, brothers, nephews, and my minions. I don't care for people outside of these, and that includes you Angrod." Caranthir scoffed, his piercing bright gray eyes turned to the windows to glance at the bustling street scene outside.
Hurt appeared on the golden elf's face when he heard his name mentioned, but it vanished quickly, buried under returned levity. Angrod shored himself up again to the daunting task of shoving himself inside Caranthir's impenetrable shell; he swears killing a dragon was easier than this. After several minutes of him prattling about the latest gossips at court to lighten up the mood, the waiter returned with two steaming dishes. Again the elf was overwhelmed by the Feanorian's presence, and his hands started to shook like a leaf caught in a maelstrom. One dish slipped from his shaking hand, then Angrod, trusting his great reflex, dashed forward to catch the dish and the delicious food from colliding on to the carpet, except his foot was caught in by the chair he was sitting, causing him to trip and collide with Caranthir, and collapsed the table in the process while he and Caranthir rolled down to the ground. Loud gasps erupted from all corners of the restaurant…because, because….
Caranthir felt he was stuck in the worse, horrific nightmare – he was lying on the ground, his backside hurts from being shoved to the carpet, and Angrod on top on him in compromising position. Angrod's grubby hand was touching his crouch. Matrons from nearby tables were gasping out loud at the indecency, their eyes wide. Some rose in anger to chastise what they deemed appalling behavior that should stay behind closed door. Some shook their heads, muttering about insatiable Finwean appetites.
His face flushed the darkest shade of red, reflecting his mother name aptly…he felt the urge to cry, and he didn't even cry when he witnessed his father dying and being immolated by his own fea. Gathering his remaining shred of dignity, Caranthir stormed off, vowing to skewer that golden prancing sprite 6 different ways with the bluntest dirk he could find from the forge of third-rate blacksmith.
This day finally hit rock bottom when he saw Nerdanel coming home with a smirk. Gossips must be flying like eagles in Valinor even the most boring fishermen would know what happened during lunchtime by now. She was brimming excitement, and couldn't wait to hassle him.
"Ah dear, Moryo, so I heard about your little tryst today from Laurewende (the local gossip queen and rumormonger), so should I start planning for a celebration to celebrate the happiness of two elves I dearly love?"
"Mother! I beseech you not to jump so rapidly into conclusion. Angrod is a pest, a dim witted, self righteous, walking hazard who doesn't know how to respect people's boundaries and keep his ickle hands to himself." Caranthir roared. How dare she siding with these people who are eager to malign his character?
Nerdanel patted his shoulder, smiled warmly. "Do as you wish, son."
She winked. "Mother knows best." She ruffled his hair just like before, when he's babe and sitting on her lap. He growled in defense, dancing out of Nerdanel's reach to protect his raven hair from being molested, yelped, "Don't touch my hair." Her face remained impassive, but there were tender sadness in her eyes. Inwardly, Caranthir cringed at hurting his mother again, after so many disappointments. "Children, they grew up so fast, so eager to leave their nests" she mused,
"I just want you to be happy. That is really what mothers wish for their children. No riches, no Silmarils, no titles. Only their happiness and fulfillment matter." She paused. "In this matter I would advise you to look into your heart."
Caranthir could not say anything. He had a fretful sleep that night, tossing and turning on his sumptuous bed, his mind got a few dragons rolling around. There's Angrod touching him, kissing him wetly, Angrod bickering with him, them punching each other at every public events, earth shattering screaming matches, hurt, the two of them as elflings pulling each other's hair, Angrod's river long shimmering tresses rivaling Arien's rays…him cupping that pale sculpted face, and mesmerized by the sparkling fea….
Right before Arien started her journey, Maedhros the traitor shoved him out of his warm bed, sternly told him to get dressed and meet Angrod after breakfast or face consequences. Apparently Finrod, the meddling pancy, begged Maedhros to persuade (force) his poor innocent brother to meet Angrod for an epic apology for yesterday's embarrassing incident that had Tirion housewives tittering like deranged sparrows.
Grudgingly Caranthir went through his early morning routines, ate a bland breakfast of cereals and porridge while trying hard to stamp down his desire to toss the empty bowl to wipe the knowing smirk off Fingon's too bright face, who had the gale to lounge right across from the dark Feanorion at the dining table and provoking him with his irritating presence. Briefly he contemplated strategic retreat to his Dol Caranthir Enterprise office to hide behind his usual work routines.
But then Maedhros gave him the look like the look he gave when he was madly slaughtering the massive armies of orcs and trolls in Beleriand, it brought chills down to his spine, sent his feet out the door instantly.
He trudged to the designated meeting spot. The dejected son of Finarfin was frantically pacing around the giant willow tree like a headless chicken. It was a laughable sight. Caranthir was about to crack a crude joke to jab at the source of his miseries when Angrod whipped his golden head around at the sound of his approaching footsteps. His normally beautiful face was a disaster, red and puffy from sleep deprivation. He then latched on to Caranthir, holding him like he's holding a lifeline, sobbed all over him, and apologized profusely for making Caranthir the yesterday's headline of Tirion's dirty rag. Then his teary, big, beautiful blue eyes stared solemnly at Caranthir and proclaimed his affections, just like he did at the after party of Maedhros and Fingon's wedding reception, except at that time Caranthir thought Angrod was stone drunk, missing his brain, or just plainly messing with him, or all of the above.
Now faced with the understanding that Angrod is serious, he wrestled himself away from the golden elf, moved back several steps, and purposely turned around to face the path he came from to take a few deep breaths. Angrod's stare was burning a hole in his back. The silence was unbearable.
It gave him time to struggle with the weighty question of how to move forward, and what he should choose…
Then Angrod crept closer, his wry laughter broke the dreaded silence. He spoke, voice hoarse from crying, "Moryo, we need to stop this dance of I chase, you moving away, and I chase you more. After wasted one life in fighting, killing evils, I want my second life to be with the one who holds my heart…"
"Come on, we're old news, its not like the hot buzz of Legolas' son knocking his head over Celebrimbor's son. No sweat off our back if this doesn't pan out in the way I hope, what say you?"
Not budging, Caranthir stiffened his back still facing away, huffing, but no biting comebacks, no vicious snipes about, his defense is crumbling down, he felt lame, weak…whatever the adjective for wimpy elf is.
Yet….
yet…somehow, it has been decided for him…..the Morgoth accursed cheery whistling started trilling, he felt Angrod's arm going around his waist, Angrod's hand rested comfortably on his back, a tempered heat different from those in the House of Feanor. And there were twinkling in Angrod's wide blue eyes, shiny just like the beautiful rich blue sapphires on Celebrimbor's work desk. He felt the heat rising to his cheeks…damn turning his cheeks red, and the want to be lost in these pair of shiny blue eyes, as badly as the desire to lose himself in doing his accounts all day.
"Well, I guess, I now have the permission to court you, darling."
"Imbecile!"
Oh Caranthir still need to have his last say.