***
Celegorm paced around his horse, every so often glancing down at his boots and taking note of how muddy they were getting. Despite his - well, some called it vanity - when dressing for company or for dinners with father and grandfather, he disregarded dirt and grime when out on the hunt. Sometimes he painted his face with it, to become part of the forest, and stuck leaves in his shirt and in his hair. He regarded the progression of mud up his boots with a faint satisfaction instead of regret.
Besides, Aredhel would not be here. His eyes narrowing, Celegorm turned to face his horse. "It's not like he even loves her. He just won't admit it. So he takes her away from me..."
His horse whinnied, commiserating. Most of the time he felt no reservations in his affections for his brothers. And indeed, he spent the greater part of his days with Curufin. So he knew that his brother was not in love with Aredhel, try to convince himself of that as he may. He was no more in love with her than with the several mistresses he had kept - pretty maidens, willing to risk anything for a promise and a kiss, and Celegorm could tell from the glittering in Curufin's eyes that he liked not their faces but the looks of adoration on them, and that was what kept him coming back.
Until now, Celegorm had not cared what Curufin had done with them, but Narwen was a friend, and Aredhel - Aredhel was -
Aredhel was here.
Celegorm blinked several times to make sure that he saw truly. Then, walking to her, he wondered aloud, "Aren't you to be in the meadows with Curufin?"
"I decided I'd rather go hunting, and he has taken someone else."
"I can't imagine he would agree to that," Celegorm murmured.
Aredhel shrugged, but there was a definite guilty look on her face. "He didn't really get a chance to."
"Aredhel! Aredhel!" came two voice from behind them, and she turned to see the grinning, identical faces of Amrod and Amras. "Did it work?"
"You knew about this?" Celegorm exclaimed, barely able to believe it.
The twins smiled. Amrod said, "Aredhel needed some help pulling it off and thought that you might be too honorable to do it."
"Don't be angry," Amras soothed, seeing the look on his face change from shock to mistrust. "She's here, isn't she? Besides, she's Aredhel. She'll be fine."
"Of course I'll be," Aredhel snapped, nervous. "So, Celegorm. Are you willing to bring me on this hunt? I'll do what you say, I promise. I just want to know what it's like."
It took Celegorm but a moment to convince himself to agree. It was likely now that they'd catch no prey, not bringing along a first-time hunter, but as she had agreed to follow his word there was little chance of her being hurt. He sighed, giving in. "Do you want me to continue the shooting lessons?"
Amrod, Amras and Aredhel shared a smile.
"Oh, I had Narwen show me the basics. Nothing personal, Celegorm, but a woman shoots very different from a man," Aredhel's face colored slightly, remembering the lesson. Narwen had been quite surprised at how novice she was, but all in all was a decent teacher, explaining that when pulling the bow back a woman must be careful of her breast, and must also align her hips, and lean further for her arms were not as strong.
"Well, that's for the better, then," Celegorm replied. "It's time to go."
Four other elves were mounting their horses. Aredhel, Celegorm and the twins hurried to do the same. Once they were all ready they started at a quick trot towards an opening in the trees.
"We can talk now," Celegorm said, "for it will be a while before we reach our hunting grounds and dismount, and look for our prey. Is there anything you'd like to know?"
"How often have you hunted here?" Aredhel asked, speaking over the sounds of the horses' hooves.
"Not very," Celegorm replied. "It is an uncommon route, and the town is not often travelled to. But Curufin likes to come here to see Narwen, and the headmistresses of the town is wise and very loyal to our father, so Maedhros likes to pay respects to her when we come by. Thus, we've been here a few times, hunted this place rather well."
"And does Narwen come with you when you hunt?" Aredhel asked, curious to learn more about the girl she had so quickly made friends with. "Is she good?"
"Yes, and very," Celegorm answered both questions. "She is good at lulling the prey, pretending to be soft, safe and then suddenly lashing out with a wild attack. When we surround the prey, it often runs to her, the woman with the meek glance. But she is a sure shot, and never lets the prey escape."
Aredhel nodded, began to speak, but Celegorm continued, "You think you can predict her, but you can't. That's very dangerous, Aredhel. Once we went hunting and were having difficulty capturing the prey. She thought so many of us made too much noise so she slipped off by herself. She got the game, but one of us nearly got her. The thing was, we thought she was tired and had hung back. We never expected what she did. We didn't know to watch her." Aredhel knew the words he was not speaking: 'You, love, I know to watch.'
"I won't get hurt," Aredhel replied, Celegorm's worries making her feel both flustered and frustrated. The comment that Fingon had made the night before still stung. "And I won't hurt myself shooting."
"You'll hardly get a chance to shoot," Celegorm replied. "I doubt we'll get close enough. And even if you did..."
"Even if I did *what*?" Aredhel asked.
Celegorm looked like he wanted to take the remark back, but one of the other elves turned around and said, "He means it takes something to kill a living creature. Something inside of you. Something that maidens don't often have."
"Skill?" Aredhel spat.
"No. A lack of heart."
"That's ridiculous!" Aredhel said, and the other elf turned back, but she continued to Celegorm, "Why should it take any more cruelty to kill a thing than to eat it. It's dying on account of you anyway. Why, if I was such a maiden as you think I would eat nothing but fruit from the trees... and why think you that a maiden is more likely to care than a man? I tell you - "
Celegorm put a finger to his lips and Aredhel, despite her anger, quieted. For a moment she tried to read his gaze - he looked suprised and impatient and tender all at once. Then she turned back to the hunt.
***
Narwen knew, as she pulled her hood around her to hide her face, that this plan was not going to work out very well. Certainly, Aredhel's borrowed white cloak - nothing like what Narwen usually wore - hid her identity well. But eventually Curufin would realize who his companion was. Eventually he would want to see her face.
So what would she gain by coming? A friend in Aredhel, perhaps. A chance to hurt Curufin as much as he hurt her?
She had managed not to talk so far, escorted to the meeting place by Amrod and Amras whose excuses for her silence she barely remembered. One of them had purposely mentioned that they had told her the route, explaining in advance why she might ride ahead as she did now.
Curufin made a loud coughing noise behind her. "Aredhel?"
Narwen and Aredhel had practiced using eachother's voices while Narwen taught her new friend how to shoot. Narwen pitched her voice slightly higher, and immitating the Tirion accent answered, "Yes?"
For now, it worked. "Aredhel, do you want to come and ride by me?"
"I'd rather - I'd rather not."
"Why?" Curufin sounded wounded.
Narwen risked a longer answer, trying to maintain the same voice. "When you haven't said the words I long to hear..."
The hoofbeats of Curufin's horse behind her suddenly stopped. She paused, too, but did not look back.
"What do you want me to say?" Curufin asked, at length.
"If you do not know, I would not have you toy with me..."
"I know, Ar-Feiniel, I know. You long to hear them?" he seemed suprised, and almost unwillingly he began. "Shall I say them, then? Shall I say that I love you? Shall I say that each time we rested on our journey I watched your sweet sleeping face, and wanted nothing more then to watch you forever? Shall I say that when you gaze upon me I feel worthless, as though your eyes should not fall upon such a wretched creature as me, and yet also lifted, lifted up to something new and greater by your very prescence - "
His words were smooth, nothing like the proclamations of love Narwen remembered, where he had stumbled over himself in his haste and - she had presumed at the time - passion. But they were so beautiful, not to be uttered twice, and he did not know he was wasting them on her.
"Stop, Curufin. I am not Aredhel." And she turned and revealed her face.
The look upon his face was worse than she and Aredhel could ever have predicted. Narwen was now certain that Aredhel did not understand her cousin. At least Narwen had had some foreboding of how angry Curufin would be to be tricked, how humiliated.
"How - why - " Curufin spluttered, then resumed control and said coldly, "How dare you do this to me? Where is Aredhel?"
Summoning her strength, Narwen replied, "I think you owe me the same answer. How dare you do this to *me*?"
"I am not your husband," Curufin said. "I owe you nothing." But even as he said this he had to stop himself from moving to comfort her.
"And I am not your plaything!" Narwen cried. "No matter what you may think, I am not some foolish elf to be discarded when a princess comes to town. I thought you loved me, but now you say you want only Aredhel - well, tell me, to which of us do you lie?"
"Where is Aredhel?" Curufin asked, trying to avoid an answer.
"Answer my question!"
"Answer mine!"
But Narwen knew better than to do that. If she told Curufin that Aredhel had deliberately avoided his company, he would know he had no chance with her, and Narwen would always have to wonder whether she was the second choice. "How many times you have claimed me, Curufin, with your lips and your hands, and of course with your words. But never would you consent to join with me, and I know why. Because joining is giving as well as taking, and you are incapable of giving! Well, that is over. You will give me back my declarations of love and the pleasure I gave you, and most of all you will give me back my heart! I want nothing more to do with you!"
Curufin's anger melted into fear, fear of losing Narwen. How he wished she were of nobler birth, how he wished she could honor him before his father -
"Chose," Narwen said coldly, but the desperation was evident in her voice, and her body drooped as though she was broken.
And suddenly, it didn't matter anymore. There was no duty, no expectation of him so important as to stand between them. For a moment, he paused, and wondered whether his father had felt the same sense of release and glorious freedom when he postponed his achievements to marry Nerdanel - a flash of pain went through him as he thought of her betrayal - marry her at an age much younger even than the usual.
But no, impatience was not his crime. And every lecture his father delivered to Maedhros, of finding a woman to bear him a suitable heir, did not apply to him. So what if she was not the daughter of an important house - would not any wife be lower, for she could not be of the house of Feanor?
For all he wasted a precious minute reaffirming his decision, the choice was already made. "I chose you," he said, and in two swift steps he was before her, reaching out and crushing her body to him, lowering his lips to hers.
She moaned once, a gasp of pure and happy submission, then with a sudden, surpising spark of movement she was kissing him back, as greedy as he was for her.
Their lips parted so that they could breathe, but Curufin spent the moment instead raking his eyes across her face, taking in the beauty of her bruised lips and her eyes nearly black with desire as though it were air, and then they were kissing again. His chest burned for air as his skin did at her touch.
He knew that he could have her there, would have her if he did not stop himself from moving against her to the rhythm of their beating hearts, so he pushed himself from her, gasping at the breach of contact.
"What?" she asked, loss and desire evident in her voice. "Why?"
For a brief moment, the possibility of Aredhel passed through his mind. His father would have been proud, and their children would have been so beautiful -
He cupped his hand low on Narwen's belly, still tight and flat and virgin. The child she would bear for him would be beautiful, too, and the only one he cared to have.
She moved once again to join herself to him, and again he forestalled her. "I - I don't think I can stand not to have you here, but I won't. I want a ceremony - I want - they'll need a ceremony at least, because your family is so poor - but - and I haven't even ask you yet!" he faltered in his rambling, overcome with uncertain laughter.
"You don't have to ask," she whispered to him. "All you have to do is say yes."
He grabbed her hand, savoring the contact and not trusting himself with any more. "Oh, Narwen. Yes. Yes."
***
After Fingon had bathed - an offer to join had been extended only half-teasingly to Maedhros - and the two had eaten, they joined Caranthir and Maglor in the common room.
Caranthir watched the two of them casually but unceasingly. Oddly enough, it was Caranthir who seemed to regard them most knowingly. He sat by the unlit fireplace, humoring Maglor, watching the space between his brother and cousin as they came down the narrow stairs. Maedhros caught his eyes, tried to tell him, 'There is nothing here' but Caranthir only smiled darkly, 'What if there is?'
Maglor seemed outwardly oblivious but his tune changed to one of tension, the beat of his fingers on the table top quickening. The rhythm continued as the song broke for Maglor to ask, "Did you sleep well, Fingon?"
Fingon nodded. "I thought Caranthir was to aide you in singing me awake?"
"Aye, but he does not like to take the woman's part in the harmonies, and I'm afraid I cannot sing both."
"Why don't you take the high part?" Fingon asked. He knew little of music but parts in a harmony seemed easy enough to trade.
"The low part is the lead, and he does not know the tune."
"Then why not change it?"
Maglor smiled. "You are full of solutions, cousin, but a tune cannot be changed."
"Neither, aparently, can your brother."
Maedhros seemed about to speak up, but realized who the comment was aimed at. Maglor's grin widened. "No, stubborn as a mule and quiet as a songbird with a catch in its throat."
"I'm sitting right here, you know," Caranthir said mildly. "I feel no need to lift my voice so high when it is obviously meant for singing low. Besides, I resent your metaphor. A choking bird still makes the attempt to sing - I do you all a favor when I refrain."
"Don't disparage yourself," Fingon said, though inwardly he was glad that at least one of Feanor's son could admit a simple fault. And Caranthir, no less! The elf had spoken barely a word to him the whole trip. Fingon got the impression that he was now humoring him as he had Maglor. "I haven't much of a voice myself, but I would not be ashamed."
"I would if you were my brother," Caranthir replied easily. When his three companions froze he seemed to realize that his comment could be taken other ways, but he leaned back in his chair, determined not to care.
Maedhros put a hand on Fingon's shoulder, whispered in his ear, "Don't mind him" and again Caranthir's eyes were upon them, seeming to note every touch. Maedhros felt his throat tighten - did Caranthir know anything? No, there was nothing to know - yet. But if there was, would he tell their father? Maglor would never, Curufin would certainly, but Caranthir? Best not to give him anything to tell.
"Are you going out today?" Maedhros asked.
Maglor gave the question intense concentration. "I thought perhaps I should play in the town's center, and invite them all to come out and sing."
"And you, Caranthir?"
He seemed almost hesitant before speaking. With unnatural quietness, he asked, "I thought perhaps to ride ahead, to the next town? I have a friend - some friends, I'd like to see. Surely you know how it is, my brother." He adressed Maedhros but his eyes travelled over to Fingon.
"Of course," Maedhros replied. "We shall leave within a day and catch up with you then. Are you ready, Fingon?"
They set out along the street to Linedhel's house. He had decided that Mithwen was wise enough to appreciate the value of being last, whereas Linedhel might take it as an affront that the nobility did not come first to his door. He was on the other end of town, however, and the walk was rather uphill.
Maedhros was careful not to watch him cousin, but as he did so he had to wonder, why now? They had gone on so many trips together before, and while he often watched him while he slept, discreetly admired him while he bathed and ached deep inside himself when he saw the undeniably erotic visage of Fingon posting on his horse, while he lived with the fact of his attraction, it had never been placed so openly between them. Perhaps, perhaps if they weren't riding straight for his father's stronghold...
And perhaps it was because now he knew that his unwise affections were returned, and if he gave in, if he denied his duties both as the first son and today as an emissary to the heads of the town, he could spend the day -
"No." Maedhros told himself, ducking the bemused glance that Fingon sent him.
"We are here," he said, wiping the previous train of thought from his mind. Looking for a way to alert Linedhel to their presence, although of course the elf had learned of it the night before and now eagerly awaited them, but prorieties must be kept. Maedhros saw a wind charm of sorts, elegantly done out of soft metals. He leaned over and blew steadily on the the jeweled strands and a sweet, chaotic music emerged.
"Ah, Prince Maedhros!" Linedhel said, coming to the door very quickly. "And - ?"
"The Prince Fingon, first son of Fingolfin who is second son of King Finwe."
Linedhel bowed his head deeply, then rose. "Won't you come in?"
The floor they stood on was of neatly polished wood, bare and shining. Tables along the hall were filled with the area's finest wild flowers. Bunches of tamed roses in the colors of Feanor's house were the most common, but Maedhros espied several token knots of of silver white poppies with petals of pale blue. Maedhros smiled. A quick thinker, Linedhel was - or perhaps it was his wife.
"How may I help you?" Linedhel asked once they had looked around.
"Ah, rather the question is how we may help you. Is there anything you are needing from the King?"
"Not for myself," Linedhel replied, "but for the town - "
"Yes?"
"We are but a small town, my lord, but we are quite productive. Our hunters always give us a surplus of meat. And our flowers are quite marvelous to behold, and surely would look quite beautiful braided in the hair of the men and maidens of Formenos city. Yet the stress of travel erases all profit. And so our bounty is left untouched, and we miss the trade of other towns, and the merchants that travel to Formenos. Mostly we miss the jewel trade - ah, it would be such to our pride to wear the jewels of the Noldor! But they only enter our local markets when elves return from visiting."
"What is it you would have me do, Linedhel?" Maedhros asked.
"The forests to the north of here are difficult to travel through, yet seldom hunted anymore. The beasts of the woods have grown secure in their homes. We have no need for them, so cut them down! Yes, clear a better path through it, so that trade may come more freely to us."
"The felling of trees is not a task to be taken lightly," Maedhros frowned. "Yavanna protects them more fiercely than all the other creatures of the earth."
"Oh, come," snapped Linedhel, displeased at Maedhros' refusal. "Your father would worry over offending a Vala?"
Maedhros saw out of the corner of his eye a hint of anger in the tightening of Fingon's face. Nevertheless, he continued the discussion.
"There is compromise to be had here. I assume then that if trade were more open to this town, you would send your brightest younglings to the palace to learn?"
Linedhel frowned. "I - yes."
The school Feanor had opened in Formenos was, so far as Maedhros knew, unique. Mostly elves were reared in their own houses, or fostered, but Feanor had created the center in order to more quickly spread his own developments, his language and his jewel-making techniques, and with the more trust-worthy students, the forging and using of swords. Feanor also reasoned that it brought the people together, and made children as loyal to the house of Feanor as their fathers had been.
Maedhros knew his father would be quite pleased with the business he had done. Not only were they getting the younglings of a border town, they would increase their hold upon it through trade. Perhaps they could even make it dependent. If they left, the people of the town would have no choice but to follow. "Very well. I will take our proposal to my father."
Although the business was quite done, they stayed a little longer, for Linedhel seemed compelled to prove that he knew all the gossip of the cities. Often Maedhros had to direct his comments away from mentions of his father, for Linedhel, while enthusiastic, was not always discreet. Eventually he grew altogether too tired of listening to the elf and made his farewells.
"Where go we next, Maedhros?" Fingon asked.
"This way," Maedhros replied, leading them towards the finest house in the town where Mithwen dwelt. It was a ways away, back towards the inn, and they walked in silence. But it was not the silence of their past friendship, when to think side by side was as easy as to laugh and ride and play together - rather, Maedhros could feel Fingon as he turned to look upon him.
"Before we go on, please," Fingon said, turning and catching Maedhros' sleeve. Given the attention Maedhros had been paying, he knew of Fingon's movement before he made it, and so doing should have evaded it. At least, that is what he remonstrated himself with.
He longed for the connection, even through cloth, the way to hold on to his shirt Fingon must need step near. That is why he did not move, perhaps he had even wished for Fingon to place his hand upon his shoulder. Alas! Thought Maedhros, for a time when we would lie as children with our bodies pressed together, with no worry of passion, when we would ride together on a horse's back and he would wrap himself around me - why must things be so difficult? And yet he did not dislike the change.
Suddenly he felt a great detachment. How strange they must look, standing in the middle of a dusty street in their fine clothes, his own sleeve being stretched beyond bearing and their eyes holding a subtle torture unusual for such a simple place. Things were difficult because he made them so. Maedhros laughed. He made things difficult, yes, and the solution was easy - to divorce himself of all tenderness for his cousin.
The laugh which broke the silence seemed to put Fingon upon edge. He spoke quickly, "It has been but a few days since we last spoke of this, but I must bring it up again, though you told me to wait. And yet I think you have this conversation with yourself, this argument you always seem to lose - and it pains me, Maedhros, my Russandol."
"What argument is it?" Maedhros asked, turning to walk again. Fingon followed behind him.
"I do not know. I do not know why it is so important for you to have an heir. And I try to be patient, but I want to know why."
"Because - " Maedhros cut himself off. 'You fool!' He wanted to shout. 'Because we will leave this land one day, and who knows what security we will have? Who knows how quickly will fall our grandfather's line?' He wanted to make his reasoning clear, and he feared that Fingon knew he was not merely with-holding his body and spirit, but also his knowledge. He wanted to tell his friend everything.
But his father would not approve, and he would not gainsay his father. And yet, why then did he bring his cousin with him as he did business with the leaders of the towns, if not to show him why he refused his advances?
"Because what?" Fingon asked softly.
"I cannot say. You ask too much of me, Fingon."
In so public a place he could not move closer but Maedhros felt his cousin caress him with his gaze. Quietly, he said, "I ask only what you were made to give."
"I am not - "
"No, Maedhros. I know this does not change anything. We will go on as we were, watching eachother and remembering the sweetness of that one kiss, but one day I believe that whatever troubles your heart will be soothed. And then we will ride the fields of Valinor again, and we will not be friends as we were, or princes and burden-carriers as we are now. And we will explore this thing between us."
Maedhros wanted to weep for the dear reassurance of his cousin and the bitterness of it when he heard his father's words ringing in his ears, 'We should leave this Valar's prison! The jewels we mine are not ours, nor are the forests we hunt, nor the fields we ride. So let us leave them and find our own.'
He could not answer his cousin, could not even meet his eyes, and was relieved to see they were at the Mithwen's doorstep. He stopped in front of it, trying not to feel the hurt emanating from Fingon behind him.
The grey maiden needed no pretense. She opened the door as he was looking around for a way to announce their presence, and smiled warmly. "My lord Prince Maedhros," she greeted him, "and Prince Fingon, I presume?
They both nodded.
"It is an honor to have you at my household," she led them to a room with wide windows and gestured for them to sit. "I am sure you've adressed the needs of this town with Linedhel, however."
She nodded to someone in the doorway. Another woman, a dark and less beautiful shadow of Mithwen, stepped in to the room. She was very obviously with child.
"This is my younger sister, who is staying with me for a few weeks. It seems she needs help with something. I do not mean to impose, but - "
"Will you help her, cousin?" Maedhros asked. It was an unsubtle ploy, but Fingon was not known to have a devious mind. Amiably, he stood and left the room.
When he was out of earshot Mithwen began. "I must warn you of the stirrings in these border towns. Mind you what I say goes not just for our village, but many nearby, though I wish it were not so."
"What is it, then?" Maedhros asked.
"Your father's words are sweet to my ears, and to many of the nobility's, but around here people don't understand what your father means with his talk of free will. The lands here are too pleasant to leave on a principle so abstract."
Maedhros nodded. "He knows that. What do you suggest?"
"Tie the people to you with material means. With jewels and foodstuffs and means of livelihood. Encourage the elves of border towns to visit with the city. Educate those you can, so they better understand the truth of your father's arguments."
"I already did so with Linedhel, earlier."
Mithwen's mouth curled down, making obvious her opinion of the elf. "You should know he has been a voice for independence. He thinks trade will give us power, will help his cause. The fool."
Maedhros shifted in his chair. "I will make sure to give you acclaim for the trade deals, Lady Mithwen. He can be credited with sending the children of this town to the city school. That way, when they return and speak against him, the people will not belive his words."
"I thank you, Maedhros," the grey maiden replied.
By the time Fingon returned they had turned to a less controversial topic, and soon afterwards Maedhros stood to go. "It has been a pleasure speaking to you, Lady Mithwen. It is a pity you stay in a small place such as this. You would be adored in the city."
Mithwen shrugged, and even that seemed graceful. Maedhros was reminded that just as she refused to leave her town, she had not taken a husband, and wondered of the cause. How would she ever find someone worthy of her if she stayed in this little place? "It has been my privilege to host you."
And then he and Fingon were out on the street, walking back to the inn which was but a block away.
Fingon glanced at him, and from the look in his eyes Maedhros realized he was determined to try again. "I would leave you alone - "
"I wish you would," Maedhros snapped, trying to cut the conversation off before it started.
Fingon's hurt was turning to anger. "You were the one to invite me along in the first place."
"No," Maedhros groped for words. "I don't want you to go away, but please, stop bringing this up - I hold you very dear but - "
"I know, I know," Fingon replied, "you are the heir and you have your duty. Your duty be damned." And he went inside, to where the rest of their group had already gathered.
"So how did you meet Narwen?" Curufin was saying.
"I met her last night. She snuck into my room and tried to cut off my hair."
"She what?" Curufin gaped, but Aredhel waved off his apologies, her hands shaking with laughter.
"It was quite an experience."
"Aredhel!" Fingon cried, after a moment of speechlessness. "She attacked you in the middle of the night and you didn't even tell me this morning?"
Aredhel turned to him and said serenely, "Well, if I had told you, you might have guessed that we had switched places, and that wouldn't have worked out at all."
"Aredhel!"
"Don't shout my name so, you sound like father."
"Father should have yelled at you more often, it seems like."
Aredhel replied, slowly, easily. "Let's look at this calmly. I'm fine, you're fine, Curufin and Narwen are fine. It all worked out for the best."
"This time," Fingon growled, still perturbed.
Meanwhile, near the entrance to the doorway, Celegorm took Curufin aside. "Brother, I did not know of Aredhel's trickery, I promise you - "
To his surprise, Curufin gave him a slow smile. "If you had, I would thank you, but now I see my gratitude must go to the lady."
"I - I don't understand."
"You must keep this a secret for now, my brother, and you and Aredhel shall be the only ones I tell. Narwen and I are to be married - "
Before he could finish Celegorm had swept him up into a large hug. Curufin struggled to get away from it. "Celegorm!" he hissed. "How is it to be kept secret if you insist on suffocating me?"
Celegorm pulled away, amused. And how light his heart was that he heard Curufin had taken someone else! He turned to where Amrod and Amras were telling Fingon of their excursion.
"Not very good," Amras admitted. "Excellent aim, but it takes her forever to get the bow set up."
Fingon was nodding. "And there were no close calls with any, say, savage beasts, were there? She didn't almost fall off a cliff or run into a really large rock?"
Amrod assured him that nothing of the sort had happened. Celegorm chimed in to support the twins and added, "I didn't know she was going to do it, Fingon. I would have told you, otherwise."
"She's got a mind of her own, doesn't she?" Fingon replied, sounding almost resigned. "Well, she's right, though. Nothing happened."
"Nothing happened," Celegorm agreed, although in truth he wouldn't mind if *something* had happened, and Aredhel needed to be rescued by him, swept into his arms...
Curufin had gone over to Maedhros and was speaking quietly in to his ear.
"You know, brother, that it might not be the best of ideas to conduct politics with Fingon accompanying you."
Maedhros glared. "And what do you know about politics, Curufin?"
"I know that its not to be discussed around one of father's least favorite nephews."
"You say that as though father *has* a favorite nephew," Maedhros replied, trying to keep himself outwardly calm. "Everything is fine. I didn't speak of Araman in front of him, or of father's plans. I'm not a fool - so leave me alone."
Curufin did so, but perhaps only because right then Fingon walked over to them. "Curufin," he said, "my deepest apologies for the trick my sister played on you."
Curufin's eyes swept over his cousin, cool, calculating. "It is nothing that cannot be soothed by a different day of merriment. Perhaps you would like to come along next time, to see she gets into no more trouble?"
"Perhaps," Fingon replied, knowing he would much rather spend the time working on Maedhros. And, to be honest, he found the workings of Feanorian politics to be strange and interesting.
"Oh, come, I know my brother must needs go from house to house exchanging trivial blather but it is all in the name of duty. You are our guest here! You should have more fun. Next time?"
Fingon might have refused but Maedhros' words outside the inn had stuck with him, and he felt the sudden urge to get back at him. "Next time it is, cousin. Are you sure you'll be alright alone, Maedhros?"
"I suppose I'll have to be, won't I?" he replied. "I suppose you will," Fingon said. He looked at Maedhros and offered him an obviously fake smile. "But you'll be able to complain about the responsibilities of being an heir when you return, won't you? Won't that be worth it?"
Curufin actually laughed, a short, sharp bark of it that seemed to suprise even himself. "Why, you know him as well as his brothers do! Come then, let's set our plans with the others."
They approached the large group, which was discussing Caranthir. "So where is he, then?" Amrod asked.
Maedhros, his expression blank and his voice carefully controlled, explained their brother's plans without looking once at Fingon. He knew he deserved Fingon's jibe, but that didn't make it any easier to take.
Apart from the rest, Aredhel had taken a seat by Maglor and was explaining to him the events of the day.
"And so," Aredhel concluded, "I sent Narwen out to him and by the flush of their cheeks when they returned, I say I met with some success."
"I take it you have no interest in Curufin, then."
"No, Maglor." Aredhel shook her head.
"And what of Celegorm?" Maglor asked.
"I am afraid that I have led him on, but don't know how to disabuse him of my love for him without witholding my friendship."
"So to none of my brothers your heart's love is given?"
"No," Aredhel replied, softly. She had not really admitted this to anyone, except Galadriel, but she felt safe telling Maglor. "My heart lies elsewhere."
Watching the distant longing on her face, and how it mirrored Celegorm's across the room, Maglor could not help but laugh.
"Do you find this amusing?" she asked him, her voice low with something like hurt.
"Yes, and I am glad that I do," said Maglor after a moment. He regarded her with apprehension, as though he could give nothing to her but honesty yet hesitated to wound her. "In the song of the Vala by the dark sea, which I have sometimes heard, there is often the feel of lamentation. I am glad such sadness has not entered out lives. I am glad that the trials of young love are all we have do sadden us."
She smiled to assure him that she was not offended. "And have you never been in love, that you can laugh at it so?"
"No," Maglor replied, "or perhaps I have been in love a thousand times but only for a moment."
"But - but - what can you mean?"
"I mean that each time I hear an elf singing, I fall so completely in love that it buries any past emotion. I am one with that voice, my ears recieving it like a lover's embrace. To me, when a chest strains on a long note it is as though it was the arching of passion. My fea is my song, and it will mate with any other song of beauty. But when the song ends, when the voice dies down to a quiver, then the singer is nothing to me but the possibility of hearing the music again." He blushed to realize how he had gone on.
Aredhel was looking at him with surprise, and compassion, and somehow pity. "And are you never moved by anything else but music?"
"Oh, moved, yes. I am moved by your friendship, Aredhel, and your willingness to listen to me. I am moved by the companionship of my brothers, the fire of my father's spirit, the memory of my mother's nurturing and the knowledge of her love. Greatly am I moved by our grandfather's affections, for always he lets me stand my his chair and sing to him, and never tires of him - for him, more than anyone, do I sing."
"But passion - desire as I have related to you this night - "
"For no silent person have I ever felt it. No. But do not pity me, Aredhel, I am content with it. Perhaps I miss something wonderful, but not comprehending it, how can I grieve?"
"I don't suppose you can," Aredhel murmured. She looked at the gathered elves, realized they had all returned. "And now, my dear cousin, we had better continue our journey."
Her voice carried across the room, and they stood to go.
***
The Iluvatar-forsaken forest was past, and now he was on the open fields.
Caranthir rode quickly, wanting to waste no time on the ride. He was determined to gather every moment with his waiting lover, and would be damned to put on a public display like Curufin and Celegorm. Furthermore, he did not dare spend too long with Maedhros and Fingon, watching their unsubtle romance play out before his eyes. Every painful glance of his brother at his cousin reminded Curufin that Feanor expected grandchildren and a large and prosperous house. As time continued and his sons showed no sign of wedding, Feanor grew more obvious in his hints and gestures. And Caranthir felt deeply the need to please him, he who could offer the house no gift of jewel-making, no glorious song, no game from hunting. He could not please his father.
And yet, he thought, with a need that enveloped him when ever he though of his destination, and the elf who waited for him, he could not stop pleasing himself.
***