Title: The Art of Crabs
Pairing/Characters: Ambarussa, Angaráto, Carnistir, Curufinwë, Fëanáro, Macalaurë, Maitimo, Nerdanel, Tyelcormo; mentions of the house of Arafinwë, Findaráto, Finwë, Ingwë, Nolofinwë, Olwë, Turukáno, and the Valar.
Summary: Curufinwë celebrates his begetting day. Angaráto is invited.
Notes: It certainly has been a long time since I wrote this. As such, some characterization is present that I don't use anymore. I still have a soft spot for this piece, though. Inspired by leftovers from Joe's Crab Shack.
The creature was not red. Angaráto could not help but feel slightly offended by the gray-blue-brown crustacean, as if it had wronged him, but it continued to exist in a non-red state. It waved its legs frantically, and one pincer reached out desperately to squeeze the fingers holding it. The fingers shifted every time the heavy claw came close.
"Well?" the boy demanded expectantly. Angaráto blinked up at his half-cousin blankly, utterly nonplussed.
"It's a crab," he said slowly. Curvo huffed, kicking his lumpy sand mountain aside and plopping himself down on the ruins.
"Just a crab?" he prompted impatiently. Angaráto supposed that his mound had not looked much like Taniquetil anyway, and that Curvo would probably make fun of him if he made a fuss about his trampled attempt. And then make a perfect scale replica of the White Mountain, including Manwë's palace. He decided not to mention it.
"From the ocean," he elaborated, instead. The crab, no longer dangling precariously in his face, snapped its claw shut on Curvo's pinky. The boy's lips twisted in a grimace, eyes watering. Angaráto held out his two hands, and Curvo deposited the crustacean in them. Apparently sensing that it had a new aggressor, it released Curvo and turned its efforts on him.
"Doesn't that hurt?" Curvo asked sourly as he began to emphatically suck his wounded finger, watching the crab attack Angaráto's considerably smaller fingers.
"No," Angaráto answered, wiggling his fingers to spite the determined grip on them. Curvo shook his head in disgust, muttering about his weird half cousins under his breath. It was possible that he thought he was being quiet, but more likely that he didn't care if Angaráto heard him.
Angaráto decided not to mention that Curvo's hands were probably so sensitive because he used them to feel imperfections in the metal he used in the forge. That would be too much like excusing a weakness, which was something neither Uncle Fëanáro nor Curvo did. Until Curvo acknowledged that he had an acute tactile sense, there was no merit in pointing it out- because Curvo would take it like an insult- unless he felt like being petty. But if he did, he might as well find a way to drop the crab down Curvo's underpants and have done with it, because his half-cousin would retaliate like he had.
His left middle and index fingers were starting to turn blue, and even the vague feeling of the sea breeze against them was starting to fade. Angaráto ignored the crab and hoped that Uncle Fëanáro wouldn't have to set any broken fingers before dinner.
"Callinectes sapidus," Curvo informed him smugly. His half cousin was very pointedly not watching the crab mutilate his fingers, which made Angaráto smile. "Turko could probably tell you a lot more unimportant stuff about it," he added ungraciously.
"It's a crab," Angaráto deadpanned diplomatically. "It's blue and eats stuff on the bottom of the ocean." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Curvo smirking.
"And we eat it," he declared. Angaráto made a face, which Curvo saw, unfortunately. "Don't you like crab?" he asked witheringly, like any alternative was impossible.
"No, I don't," Angaráto said shortly. There was a silence, during which Angaráto studied his fingers in the soft light. The mingling was drawing to a close as Telperion strengthened, making it more difficult to judge colors, but he was pretty sure that they were going dark purple.
"You're Teleri," Curvo finally responded, nose wrinkled in consternation. "The Teleri like crab." Angaráto scowled, upper lip curling away from his teeth before he remembered that Grandfather Finwë said he looked like one of Melkor's wolves when he did that.
"I'm half Teleri," he reminded his half-cousin long-sufferingly. They had had this conversation countless times before- and Curvo rolled his eyes as if to say that it was all the same, just like he always did.
"Well, I'm not," Curvo proclaimed, jumping to his feet and striking what Angaráto privately thought was quite an imposing stance, with his arms crossed and legs spread slightly farther apart than usual. "And I like crab, and it's my begetting day, and we're having crab." He finished this speech with triumphantly flashing eyes, daring Angaráto to gainsay him.
Angaráto grinned to himself, letting his thick hair fall over his face. Curvo really did act like a smaller (and much less mature) version of his father, sometimes. Turukáno always complained about this, saying that Curvo was too young to go throwing his weight around like an adult, but Angaráto personally thought it was funny. It made intimidating Uncle Fëanáro less scary, and made Curvo with his new adolescent body harder to laugh at, which was a good thing. It made life safer in the forge, where Angaráto relied on Curvo to warn him if his hands got too close to something that would burn.
"So there?" he offered wryly. Curvo snorted, lips quirking, and kicked wet sand into his lap. Angaráto made a wordless complaint, knowing that he'd find sand in his underpants when he bathed later. He lobbed a pitifully small handful of sand at his half-cousin and missed; Curvo laughed. Angaráto made as if to throw the crab at him and he shrieked, dancing away.
Angaráto supposed this had something to do with the fact that the crab's claw, releasing his fingers to swipe through the open air, had come perilously close to Curvo's groin. All of his other older cousins were extremely paranoid about their genitals as well, though Angaráto wasn't quite sure why. Findecáno had laughed the one time he asked, saying that he was too young to have offended any maidens and likely too short to have run into anything. Angaráto had pointed out that he ran into things all the time, and his cousin had ruffled his hair, which was annoying, because it had a habit of staying in whatever position it had been put in.
He stood up, stumbling a bit on bandy legs that didn't seem to want to hold him. Curvo eyed him warily, circling around him in an exaggerated way that Angaráto was used to seeing in the much older Turko. He pursed his lips quietly, a bit put off at how much Curvo seemed to be changing now that he had 'hit' what Findecáno had called 'puberty.' It sounded like an awful affliction that made Curvo snap at the strangest things (like his older brother Carnistir) and unpredictably moody (like his father.) He'd resolved to ask the Valar to come up with a cure for it the next time they visited Granduncle King Ingwë in Valmar.
Curvo followed him as he plodded too heavily down the shore, until he was immersed up to his shins in the cold push-and-pull of the tide. He submersed the crab, and when he pulled his hands back up it had scuttled away. Curvo, drawing up beside him, made an angry noise.
"That was the biggest crab I caught," he spat, making the inexplicable reversal from friendly to furious that seemed to have redefined the more amicable Curvo of before. Angaráto shrugged minutely.
"Sorry, Curvo," he said sincerely. He'd rather not say that Grandfather Olwë caught crabs twice as large on a regular basis. His half-cousin appeared only slightly mollified as it was, turning on his heel sharply and stalking off in the direction of the bonfire Uncle Fëanáro had lit. Angaráto followed clumsily, having to lift his legs much higher to keep up.
It seemed that for every over-pronounced step he took, Curvo took three more. Eventually Angaráto gave up and slogged through the water, trying to catch Curvo up, but the waves kept trying to sweep his legs out from under him, and the sand sucked at his feet. He felt his energy lag, and his delicate legs threatened to give out on him, and just as he contemplated sitting down to rest, Curvo swung back and scooped him up out of the water.
"You're so slow, Ango," he complained. Angaráto nodded, because compared to his sturdier peers this was an indisputable fact, no matter what his father said about 'slow and steady' and 'late bloomers.' He tucked his nose under Curvo's chin, sighing, and his half-cousin huffed, but didn't drop him as soon as they were back on the beach.
A playful gust of wind blew Curvo's hair into both of their faces. Curvo tossed it back irritably, but Angaráto snatched at the locks, making a curtain over his face and chewing on the end of a braid. If Curvo was still of perilous mood, the antics would earn him a wet landing in the sand. But it seemed that some of his black temper had abated, for he merely shook his head, radiating bemusement. Angaráto sucked contentedly on the end of the braid, unconcerned by Curvo's almost audible eye roll. Unlike his older brother Findaráto's hair- which tasted of Treelight and wind, a classic Vanyarin soap- Curvo's tasted like smoke and metal; Uncle Fëanáro, and therefore Curvo, preferred unscented soaps. He claimed they were less stifling, and that it was an insult to the One to try and mask one's true odor. Angaráto thought that it was all very well for Uncle Fëanáro- even when he got terribly sweaty and drippy he didn't stink.
Nevertheless, it was yet another trait that Curvo shared with his father. Not even perfect Findaráto had escaped the body's natural tendency to reek after a while- not that he ever neglected to take his bath. That was something Angaráto specialized in.
He peered out through his living drape, and was pleased to see that the darker screen provided by Curvo's raven colored hair made the colors easier to distinguish. They were making their way back towards the area Curvo's family had chosen to occupy, and Angaráto could see the somewhat blurry shape of Maitimo silhouetted black against the bonfire flames. His oldest cousin was easily the tallest man there, claiming half a head of height over his father, who was tall and slender for a Noldo who worked so extensively in the forge. Further away, reclining in the warm light of the distant fire thrown across the sand, Turko and Macalaurë lay stretched out on the sand. Both of them were topless, though Turko seemed much more at ease and natural. He was striking different poses, and seemed to be trying to coax Macalaurë to do the same. Angaráto looked, but there was no group of blushing maidens in the distance giggling over Turko's actions, so he assumed that Turko was practicing for his return to Tirion.
This was not unusual behavior- for Turko. For as long as Angaráto could remember, Turko had always been anxious to keep beautiful maidens well entertained in his company when he returned from hunting- or, as Curvo had once sourly put it, gallivanting- with Oromë. Macalaurë, though, had hitherto seemed oblivious to the existence of females in general, preferring his harp for company. Angaráto was baffled as to what had gotten into his previously most sensible cousin, and as to why Turko appeared to be trying to cajole Macalaurë into a similar state of relaxation as himself.
Angaráto politely spit Curvo's hair out after failing to puzzle the situation out. Curvo twitched, but didn't say anything as the wet strands slapped his cheek, sticking to his skin. "Curvo, what is Laurë doing?" he asked. Curvo looked, and again rolled his eyes so hard that Angaráto imagined he could hear them rattling in his skull, swinging up and falling down.
"Trying to learn to be cool," he said, in a tone that conveyed exactly what he thought of the endeavor. 'Not much' would have been an overstatement. Angaráto furrowed his brow quizzically.
"Why?"
"Because he's finally realized that he's interested in girls," Curvo sniffed scathingly.
"Are you not interested in girls, Curvo?" Angaráto asked hopefully. Nothing good seemed to come of his relatives getting interested in girls- even sweet-tempered Findaráto had looked like one of Melkor's wolves the one time Angaráto had been unfortunate enough barge into his room without asking. Findaráto had been furious, and refused to explain exactly why he and Amarië had been chewing on each other's faces. If Curvo retained his sanity, maybe he would have at least one fellow to keep him company while the rest of Aman went mad.
Curvo stopped abruptly, dropping him hard in the sand and whirling on him. Angaráto knew that that had been the wrong thing to say, though exactly how he had insulted his half-cousin he didn't know.
"Why don't you like crab, Angaráto?" he demanded in his retaliatory tone. He obviously expected it to be a sore subject. It was. Angaráto wondered again whether Curvo could read minds, like Grandfather Finwë, or if his expertise in metallurgy also allowed him to hone in on the weak spots in people.
"I don't mind it when it's been picked before hand," Angaráto answered, reluctantly, standing up and brushing sand off his bottom.
"Lazy," Curvo accused, leaping at the poor defense. Angaráto glared up at him, meeting his half-cousin's eyes defiantly, hands balled into fists on his hips.
"I don't like it because my damn brother always picks it for me because when I do it takes me so long that everyone else is ready for the next course!" Angaráto snapped, slamming his mouth shut a second too late to stop the words from tumbling free. Curvo looked blank, which was his and Uncle Fëanáro's version of stunned, fumbling for words.
Eventually, he settled on awkwardly muttering, "That's a bad word, Ango; where did you pick up language like that?"
"You," Angaráto stated succinctly, "say it all the time in the forge. And other things." Curvo scowled.
"Yeah, well, don't repeat them, you'll get me in trouble." They resumed walking, Curvo fiddling with the braid Angaráto had made slimy by sucking on. After a while, Curvo spoke up again.
"I didn't think anyone but Carnistir hated Findaráto," he confided, lips quirking cheerfully.
"I don't hate him," Angaráto gave Curvo a pointed look, "he's my brother. But everyone always goes, 'Oh, poor Angaráto! He's so delicate and can't do anything for himself; he's so lucky to have such a kind and noble brother!'" Curvo sniggered at the falsetto Angaráto adopted to mimic the lords and ladies of Tirion, perpetrators of the hated pity. "It's stupid. I can do things for myself. I don't need anyone to help me. Especially not Findaráto."
"Why are you telling me?" Curvo asked wryly. "I know you're capable of plenty of things your brother isn't." Angaráto paused, head cocked to one side, scrutinizing Curvo's back intently. While it was possible Curvo had just said it to soothe his obviously wounded ego, Uncle Fëanáro never softened the truth to spare others' feelings, so Angaráto doubted it was meant to be a purely comforting statement. Which meant that Curvo really did think he could do things Findaráto couldn't. Angaráto smiled.
"I'm not interested in girls, Curvo," he confided, snatching for his cousin's hand. Curvo looked down at him, and this time Angaráto could see him roll his eyes.
"You're little," Curvo explained in his barely patient, you-should-understand-this tone of voice. Angaráto preferred it to Maitimo's never-ending patience and simplification- it was easier to tell when something Curvo said was important. Maitimo always managed to muddle everything up, like the time when Angaráto had asked why Uncle Fëanáro and Uncle Nolofinwë never played games together. Maitimo had gone on some long spiel about competing flowers spilling over from two plots, and he seemed relieved when Angaráto informed him that his brain had fallen asleep, could he go now? Curvo had very simply explained it- Grandfather Finwë had been married to Curvo's Grandmother, but she died and Grandfather Finwë had married The Usurper and spawned Nolofinwë, who was jealous of his older half-brother. It bothered Angaráto to hear Curvo talk about Grandmother Indis like that, but it answered his question. (Curvo had also added that Uncle Fëanáro was completely justified, and never wrong, and obviously way better than Uncle Nolofinwë, but Angaráto knew to read between the lines. He still didn't understand why Maitimo felt the need to talk about plants when he asked about people. Findecáno said it was politics.)
"So?" Angaráto said, wondering if there was sand caked under his toenails. He made sure to keep his hand very loose, so that Curvo was the one holding it in place. The last time he had tried to hold hands with Curvo, he'd ended up squeezing too hard. Curvo had been nasty to him for a week, which meant Angaráto's mother made a fuss about the big, shiny burns he'd acquired in the forge.
"So you'll understand when you're older," Curvo sighed exasperatedly. Angaráto shook his head before Curvo had even finished speaking, having heard this particular line before.
"No I won't," he said confidently. "I'll never understand what's so great about girls." Curvo gave him an odd look, brow furrowed. He opened his mouth as if to ask something, but Carnistir called out.
"Did you have an accident, Angaráto?" he asked, mockingly concerned. Angaráto looked down, and saw that it did look like he'd wet himself where Curvo had kicked sand in his lap. He shrugged, unbothered, though Curvo tensed, discomfited by his brother's open hostility.
"Yes, Morifinwë," Angaráto answered. "I nearly threw a crab at Curvo's privates." Carnistir looked momentarily taken aback, frowning first at him, and then Curvo.
"What were you-" but he broke off as Uncle Fëanáro bounded up the beach, hair tumbling unbound and thrown over his shoulders. This Uncle Fëanáro was different from the one in Tirion, and Angaráto wondered what the lords and ladies would say if they saw him- if they would like him better, or deplore his even greater lack of decorum. For a moment, he stopped, seeing Angaráto, who suddenly wasn't sure whether his presence might summon up the guarded Fëanáro of court.
Instead, he grinned widely, flashing perfect teeth that appeared bloody in the firelight. "So I see you didn't drown, Angamaitë," he greeted cheerfully, leaning in to the bonfire and poking at the depths with a poker that Angaráto remembered helping Curvo make. Looking closely, he could see the flickering shape of a huge pot filled with water resting just within the flames.
Slowly, the rest of his cousins drifted over, Turko strutting and Macalaurë cringing as he followed, looking like he dearly regretted taking his shirt off. Turko made no move to reclaim his shirt, while Macalaurë nearly dove into his. Maitimo was sent down the beach to help his mother drag the small raft Uncle Fëanáro had constructed to go crabbing ashore, and he returned dragging the twins along on it easily. Aunt Nerdanel was keeping pace with him, and she held two pails that sloshed and sometimes sprouted claws from the tops. Towards the back of the raft, well away from Ambarussa, were more pails full of crabs. Turko and Carnistir vanished and reappeared with a driftwood log, worn smooth by the sea. Curvo set to unraveling the raft, breaking it into smaller halves for additional seating, and Angaráto realized that it was cleverly made to fold into two long triangular prisms, with two logs forming the base and one on top for sitting on.
Angaráto grinned at his uncle's ingenuity, and watched as Ambarussa upset a pail, shrieking as the crabs tumbled forth and attempted to escape. Aunt Nerdanel and Maitimo swooped the toddlers out of the chaos as Turko and Carnistir joyfully added to it, rushing and getting in each other's way as they gathered the crabs back up with exaggerated panic. Uncle Fëanáro was laughing, and Aunt Nerdanel attempted to scold Ambarussa without much luck; they were much too interested in Turko and Carnistir's antics to care about discipline. Maitimo intervened as they got the clever idea to increase the fun by releasing more crabs, and Ambarussa kept his hands full as they ran about, astonishingly coordinated, using Maitimo's height against him. Macalaurë protested, dragged into the fray as Ambarussa leapt over his harp and Maitimo flailed, trying to keep his balance and not fall on it.
Aunt Nerdanel tiredly demanded something of Uncle Fëanáro, expression somewhat exasperated, and Angaráto ducked out of the way as his half-uncle responded, obviously irate. He judged where Curvo would sit- on Uncle Fëanáro's right side, where Findecáno sometimes quietly remarked that Maitimo used to sit, leaving unspoken that he obviously thought this should still be the case. Angaráto disagreed, unable to imagine anyone else but Curvo in that spot- and curled up next to it.
The warmth from the fire was comfortable this close to the ocean, where the sea breeze was cooler than in other places, and it beguiled him into a state of drowsiness. He felt his brain going slightly fuzzy as he watched Uncle Fëanáro finally dive into the jumble of wild children and run away crabs, noting off handedly that Aunt Nerdanel was sitting further away than she needed to if she intended to sit on Uncle Fëanáro's other side. Angaráto struggled for a moment, trying to swim back to wakefulness so he could move, not wanting to get stuck near Carnistir or Macalaurë for the rest of the evening, but he floundered. It was hard to even scoot down the makeshift bench, and all he seemed to manage to do was shift into a more comfortable position, swathed over the log with his arm pillowing his head, and the scent of seawater filling his nose.
Then someone was carefully draping him in their lap, and Angaráto could smell Curvo, so like Uncle Fëanáro but inexplicably younger. He yawned when he tried to speak, and blearily espied Maitimo on Uncle Fëanáro's left side; Aunt Nerdanel was further down, an Ambarussa on each side, who were in turn flanked by Turko and Carnistir, to prevent any escape routes. Macalaurë's voice came from Angaráto's right, and Angaráto noted ruefully that he'd ended up next to the singer anyway. He snuggled sleepily into Curvo, and felt a hand comb through his hair in return. Curvo professed to enjoy Angaráto's hair, saying that it felt like threads of metal, and Angaráto felt that he was welcome to like it; at least one of them did. It was too heavy, and didn't stir beatifically in the wind like Findaráto's did, and the lords and ladies still did double-takes when they saw him standing with his family, startled to see his dark hair with the others' blond and silver.
"Wake up, Ango, it's time to eat," Curvo murmured lowly. Angaráto mumbled a protest, trying to squeeze into his half-cousin's arms. Curvo laughed, and held him back; Carnistir's voice came, oddly distorted from the flames it passed through.
"Maybe we should dunk him in the ocean?" it suggested, but Angaráto was already yawning, stretching his way back to alertness. Curvo's laugh was rare, often twisted mockingly or scathingly, and missing it for sleep was not an option. Firelight glinted off the crab pails, now shored up with sand, which were placed between every two people. And then something red was being shoved in his face, and Angaráto blinked.
"Look, Ango, it's a crab," Curvo teased. "It's red and is eaten by hungry Noldor." Angaráto grinned.
"Callinectes sapidus," he said primly. "And Turko can tell us a lot more unimportant stuff about it." Even Carnistir laughed at Turko's put-off face as he tried in vain to defend himself.
"Here," Curvo snickered, dumping the crab into Angaráto's lap. Before Angaráto could protest, he added, "And I don't care how long it takes you; in this family we pick our own crabs, Ango." Angaráto blinked, and then smiled when Curvo winked. Carnistir made some comment about spoiled princes, but Angaráto ignored him, accepting one of the small knives Uncle Fëanáro passed down the bench.
He was slower than almost everyone else, save Macalaurë, who couldn't seem to figure out how to break the shell without mangling the meat, and Curvo, who swore quietly under his breath every time he closed his hand over a spine or got his fingers caught in the shell, but it didn't matter. The only other course he had to worry about was a platter of baked potatoes and corncobs piled high and resting on Turko's left, which grew progressively smaller as the evening wore on, and wasn't really a course so much as a side dish.
Uncle Fëanáro chatted animatedly with Maitimo and Curvo, and Angaráto added the ability to hold two conversations at once to his half-uncle's long list of accomplishments. Macalaurë apparently shared this ability as well, for he hummed the tune of a song he was obviously composing under his breath as he and Turko discussed his lack of progress with the coolness lesson.
"It's all about confidence," Turko said, gesturing animatedly, splitting his attention between berating his older brother and fending off Ambarussa's attempts to steal his crab. Ambarussa giggled happily, far too involved with his thievery to bother picking his own crab, despite Curvo's assurance that his family did it for themselves. Angaráto supposed that Ambarussa was putting enough effort into it to be picking the crab himself, and decided that it still counted. Aunt Nerdanel was scolding Carnistir, apparently for threatening to stuff the other Ambarussa into an empty crab shell for trying the same thing as his twin. She didn't notice Ambarussa snatch the exposed crabmeat from the end of the claw she was holding.
"You're all crazy," Angaráto informed Curvo as Uncle Fëanáro broke off discussing tempering techniques with him to debate tengwar forms with Maitimo. Curvo smirked, plucking the crabmeat from his hand on the way to his mouth. Angaráto scowled, and swapped his empty crab shell for the new one in Curvo's lap when Uncle Fëanáro picked up his metallurgy conversation. Curvo looked confused when he glanced down to find the gutted crab in his lap, and Uncle Fëanáro laughed in the middle of a sentence, drowning out the rest of his words.
Dinner seemed to degenerate into a free-for-all, with everyone discreetly stealing everyone else's food while they were distracted by their separate conversations; Ambarussa won by virtue of the fact that they focused solely on nicking their neighbors' crabs. Even Macalaurë got into it, replacing Angaráto's untouched corncob with his finished one after Angaráto stole his potato. Carnistir snapped his teeth shut on thin air when Aunt Nerdanel deftly snatched a picked leg from him. Uncle Fëanáro demanded to know which one of them had stolen his crab, which he had carefully extracted whole from the shell. Curvo lazily fronted the deed onto Maitimo, who was engaged in a tug of war over his crab with Turko, whilst he and Angaráto jointly hid the pilfered meat, snickering to themselves as Uncle Fëanáro playfully rebuked Maitimo for taking his dinner. Maitimo's concentration shifted to protesting his innocence, and he lost his crab to Turko. Curvo and Angaráto split the crab between them, stifling giggles as Fëanáro solemnly stated that he just could not believe Maitimo in the face of the evidence.
"What evidence?" Maitimo yelped, indignant. Turko took the crab Maitimo had taken to replace his other one and gave it to Ambarussa, who traded for the last potato. Uncle Fëanáro grinned wryly.
"The evidence presented by your younger brother and his cousin, who are now devouring my stolen crab. It is obvious that you agreed to distract me so they could perform their diabolical deed." Curvo and Angaráto blanched, realizing that Fëanáro must have been aware of their actions. Curvo chuckled ruefully, offering the remains of the crab to his father, who laughed and selected another crab instead.
The crab pails eventually started overflowing with empty and discarded shells, and the platter for the potatoes and corn became bare as the supply of crabs dwindled. The decanters of wine and water grew lighter, and sloshed less, and Curvo made no move to pick the crab he'd grabbed, turning it over and over in his hands instead. Angaráto sucked on his fingers, which had become coated in the spices Uncle Fëanáro used on the crabs, watching Ambarussa snuggle up to Nerdanel, leaving Turko to peacefully continue eating; he had the largest appetite out of all of Angaráto's half-cousins. Carnistir yawned, tossing cracked crab legs into the fire to see what would happen; the other Ambarussa laughed, clapping at the sparks they threw off. Aunt Nerdanel appeared to be dozing, or she surely would have protested at Carnistir's antics, especially when Ambarussa tried to throw an entire pail into the fire.
Uncle Fëanáro stood, stretching, and produced a canteen of fresh water and bars of soap seemingly from midair. Angaráto realized he was hovering between waking and sleeping again, and that Curvo had flung an arm around his shoulder and was nodding off, cheek resting on the crown of Angaráto's head. Someone took his hands from his mouth and washed them unobtrusively, drying them and setting them in his lap. Angaráto grumbled, shifting closer to Curvo and wrapping an arm around his neck. He felt Curvo move, heard water hit the sand, and then he was being picked up again. Someone made an attempt to take him from Curvo, and Angaráto protested, clinging more tightly to his half-cousin. Curvo snapped something curtly, and Maitimo's voice soothed him, coaxing.
"Curvo," Angaráto reiterated, smacking the hands away from him sleepily. He heard Maitimo sigh, surrendering, as Curvo twisted away from him sharply. The roar of the bonfire was slowly fading, becoming smaller and evolving into the soft crackle of a campfire. There was a swooshing sound, and Angaráto had a vision of a blanket being spread out on the sand. Pillows joined it, and other, smaller blankets. Aunt Nerdanel suggested that they brush the sand off themselves, and Uncle Fëanáro's voice rose, surprisingly close, saying that there was no point; they'd track sand anyway.
Uncle Fëanáro's scent enveloped him, older and more experienced than Curvo's; he shushed Angaráto's complaints, rocking him gently. Angaráto roused himself enough to see Curvo settling down in the blankets, making a cocoon for himself. Uncle Fëanáro placed Angaráto beside him, and Curvo tensed, muttering an incomprehensible question softly. His father rebuked it gently, words intelligible, and Angaráto gave up trying to understand them, not even sure they were speaking any sort of Quenyan dialect. He nuzzled Curvo, curling up to sleep with his nose shoved firmly under his half-cousin's chin. Curvo sighed, shifted to accommodate him, and wrapped his arms around him, serving as pillow and blanket.
The blankets jostled as Turko tramped on them, followed more delicately by Carnistir, who bent over Curvo for a moment. They exchanged words, voices low and worried, and Carnistir's the tiniest bit angry.
"Father says…" Curvo muttered, voice fading out again.
"Moryo," Uncle Fëanáro's voice barked warningly, and Carnistir retreated a short distance, stretching out near Curvo's feet. Angaráto shifted closer to wakefulness, feeling his half-cousin's cold eyes on him, and then Maitimo dropped Ambarussa next to Carnistir, effectively distracting him.
"Keep them over here so Mother can sleep tonight, Moryo," Maitimo dictated. "Káno, there's a spot over here…" And then the night was silent, save for Ambarussa's muffled giggling and rustling. Angaráto lifted his head slightly, unfocused and only half-sure what he was looking for.
Carnistir's eyes glinted in the silver light, locked on to him watchfully.
"What?" Angaráto hissed softly, tasting crab on his breath. Carnistir's gaze was unduly irritating for some reason, accusatory and threatening. Curvo lifted his head too, following Angaráto's line of sight, and scowled, glaring at Carnistir.
"Go to sleep," he snapped, dragging Angaráto back down as he resettled himself. "You too," he added crossly, rolling both of them over so that Angaráto was closest to the edge of the blanket. Carnistir's eyes could no longer reach him, blocked by Curvo, and Angaráto yawned when he tried to compliment his half-cousin on the clever arrangement. "Sleep, Ango," Curvo repeated drowsily.
For the longest time, Angaráto resisted, fighting to stay awake, wanting to hear Curvo's breathing even out and feel him relax in sleep. But it didn't happen, and Angaráto found himself loosing the battle. It was too comfortable, too warm with Curvo cocooned around him. His eyelids slipped halfway, and Curvo's smoke and metal smell filled his nose, lulling him to sleep.
"So, Ango," Curvo murmured some time later. "Do you like crabs?" Angaráto meant to say yes, he loved crabs, Curvo, but it garbled and he lost half the words. Curvo's quiet laugh was the last thing he heard, and it was distorted, not with mocking snickers, but something else that, had he been awake, Angaráto was sure he could have identified.