silwritersguild | Three Feanorian ficlets (Reply)

On a suggestion by

ithilwen I thought I'd post some ficlets about various Feanorians that I've done over the last couple of years. Two about Caranthir and one about Curufin and Celegorm. The First Age ones are set in the happy days before the Battle of Sudden Flame, before thigns started going seriously pear-shaped.

1 Caranthir(1)

In which Caranthir is sensible and competent

Caranthir surveyed his new home, pleased. The site was excellently defensible, being a peninsula jutting out into the chilly depths of Lake Helevorn. Walls had been raised on all sides, rising sheer from the dark waters, with a heavily fortified gatehouse on the landward side and successive lines of defences behind. The newly-planted trees were already showing their spring buds; kitchens, armouries, workshops, fish and livestock pens, herb and vegetable gardens and other necessities of a well-planned fortress were finished and stocked. Caranthir rather thought that even Curufin would be impressed.

One important thing remained. He had already made the arrangements with the local Laiquendi, whom he had cultivated with care. The trip up north that he had organised for their leaders had been particularly useful. The meeting with Maedhros, Himring's hospitality and the cautious, heavily-armed reconnaisance across Ard-Galen to show them Thangorodrim had been very persuasive. They were as helpful as could be desired and the joint border patrols were already running well.

Every fortress, however strong, also needed to have an escape secured for emergencies. Caranthir, the acknowledged pessimist of the family, had taken that into account too.

"I don't care what the weather is like," he said to his glum lieutenants. "Tomorrow morning, everyone who can't swim is going to begin lessons and everyone who can is going to learn to sail. And when summer comes we're all going to learn boat-building. We're not depending on other people for mobility, ever again."

2 Celegorm and Curufin

In which Curufin and Celegorm work on a military problem.

Curufin looked at the rough sketch with some doubt. "I'm not at all sure that this is conceptually sound, Celegorm."

His brother huffed impatiently, not unlike one of his own hounds. There were times, Curufin reflected, when Celegorm's identification with the hunt was a little unnerving. If he decided that something was Appropriate Prey, there was no holding him. It would get him into serious trouble one day, given the Enemy's fondness for exotic monsters. Curufin had refused to allow mounted wargs' heads in the refectory and the tentacled thing from Nan Gorgoroth had fortunately dissolved into nasty muck before Celegorm could get its carcass home. Aglon Gorge was a fortress, yes, but they were not Sindar barbarians yet. This idea, however...

"I realise that the problem is a real one", he said in a placating tone. "We have no aerial intelligence beyond what the Eagles condescend to dribble to us and the Enemy has a free view of our dispositions. But..."

"Exactly!" said Celegorm. His golden hair was practically standing on end with excitement; it made him look distressingly like one of their mongrel cousins.

"Those bloody bats fly too high for flame-throwers and too fast for catapults. We need to get them down within range!"

His brother sighed. "Yes, I know. It's not a bad idea in itself, I like the idea of the net-throwing arrows, but really, we can't stake our own people out on the walls as bait. It would be unethical."

Celegorm drooped a little. "Even if they were volunteers...I suppose not." He brightened. "We could use Secondborn!"

Curufin considered this, nodded thoughtfully and made a note on the sketch. "That might do. They're cheaper than cows, definitely. Just make sure that no-one tells Finrod."

3 Caranthir(2)

In which music fails to soothe the savage breast

The song was low and sweet and wordless, hardly louder than the murmuring of the waters of the lake or the gentle susurrus of the leaves of the wood. Across the gardens of Lorien all was still; the Valar listened in silence to the singer as they had once, long ago. But now she sang at twilight, in a land without the Trees, and instead of joy, her song spoke of anguish and grief and unassuageable loss. And all who heard it could not but weep.

"We are very concerned, Most Holy," the Maia said. Este smiled in an encouraging way.

"Ever since His Majesty King Thingol Returned and went into Lady Nienna's House...,"
(carefully not mentioning what both of them knew, that Nienna opened Her home only to those of the Returned whose psychological problems were serious enough that not even the Halls of Waiting could cure them)
"...Lady Melian has been singing here, and well," he waved his hands for emphasis, "It has been having a very, er, well, unfortunate effect on our therapeutic programme. The rate of Returned asking to go back to the Halls has risen by twenty-two percent in the last month!"

A very faint frown creased Este's pale brow.

"The only people who've been immune..."

But the Vala's wider awareness had already heard the furious voice from elsewhere in the gardens.

"...not surprised the Orcs ate you, you leaf-witted, Dwarf-footed, lop-eared cretin! Where are your ear-plugs, soldier???!!!"

"...are those of the following of Lord Caranthir."