No Hope
Carnistir very carefully schooled his face into the proper expression of impassiveness and steeled himself for the first cut. With a sharp movement, the first strand of his thick dark hair fell to the ground. It was far too small a strand. He would never get all of his hair cut if he went so slowly.
Fishing a tie out of his pocket, Carnistir wound his hair into a long braid and tied it off. When he released it, it fell with a dull plop against his thighs. He had chewed at the end of his braid as a child to stop the words that would sometimes spill out of his mouth without his permission. His parents and Nelyo would constantly brush it out of his mouth. "Your hair is not food, Moryo," Nelyo would scold and Carnistir remembered squirming under his brother's disapproval. He had a sudden urge to stick his braid into his mouth again now.
No. He had left that habit behind. And now, there wouldn't be a braid to worry about.
The blade was sharp, with a bone handle. It had been fashioned by Curufinwë not long after their father's death. Days after Maitimo had been taken. It had been made with anger and the edge gleamed with malice. It was, Carnistir thought, a very fitting knife for the purpose it was about to serve.
He raised the blade and quickly, cleanly sliced through the thick braid. It fell to the forest floor, coiling like a bizarre snake. Carnistir turned and left it there without a second glance.
He got into his cabin without anyone taking notice, which was for the better, he supposed. Carnistir made his way to his cot and opened the drawer of the bedside table. Two blood red beads lay in there. Carnistir had made them out of dark curiosity back in Valinor. He never thought that he would have to use them.
The two small braids behind his ears were very simple in design. Getting the beads on proved more difficult, but he managed eventually. They hung from his hair with a barely perceptible weight, banging against his chin or his neck if he turned his head too sharply.
Beads of no hope.
In the history books Nelyo sometimes brought home, the old ones, written in the Sarati that made his father sneer, the ones about life before Valinor- in Cuiviénen- there were detailed descriptions of mourning rituals. Carnistir had read them hungrily, drinking in every word about the ancient ways. One that had always intrigued him were the beads of no hope.
Two red beads, red for blood, for one who had been taken by the Shadow. Shorn hair mourning one who would be better off dead.
The beads had come in handy.
Curufinwë yelled at him for cutting his hair. "You look like a common criminal! You bring dishonor to the House and to Father!" and Carnistir almost screamed back at him that their father was dead but then he noticed Curufinwë's shaking lip and turned away.
Ambarussa just shrugged. His hair had been singed short by the fire he had tried to leap into. He had not needed to cut it.
Macalaurë had evidently read the books too because when he saw the beads he went pale and disappeared into his cabin. When Carnistir saw him next, there were two red beads in his long hair.
Names:
Carnistir, Moryo: Caranthir
Maitimo, Nelyo: Maedhros
Curufinwë: Curufin
Ambarussa: Amras
Macalaurë: Maglor