Heart of Flame: A Tale Of Sauron

Arrival at Lake Mithrim

The Sinda removed his muddy glove, rough hand scanning the crudely drawn map laid out between the brothers. Their youngest, the last surviving twin who now went only by Amras, had knocked it together himself. He had taken to disappearing for long periods of time, exploring the land, and making friends with the natives. He was the only one of the Fëanorians that was truly accepted by the Sindar and other elves of Endor.

"Here. This is where their fires were last seen," Celonion said definitively, tapping a patch of wood not far from the lake.

Caranthir hissed through his teeth, drumming his fingers on the table with his unharnessed, natural energy. "Only a few leagues."

"They will be at your doorstep by nightfall, I expect," Celonion surmised.

"Too close for my liking," Caranthir snarled. He turned towards Maglor. "Brother, we cannot wait idly for them. Fingolfin will not have forgotten what happened at Losgar. We must arm ourselves-"

"Thank you for your services," Curufin spoke up with a cold smile for the scout. "You may collect your earnings from the guard outside."

Sensing his dismissal, the Sinda gave a faint smirk that Curufin tried not to let bother him. Thankfully, Caranthir missed the micro-expression entirely. He wouldn't have let it rest until he pulled a blade on the grey elf. The longer the absence of Maedhros, the more uncontrollable Caranthir grew. 

Once their guest had left them alone, Maglor sank into a nearby chair, cradling his forehead in his hand. As the acting head of their family, Maglor appeared more drawn than ever. Maglor was more like Curufin, better at pulling strings in the background than outright leading. Not like Maedhros. 

Besides, their exile had never sat well with Maglor. He had only been married a few years when they'd departed Aman. Though the passion Maglor had felt for his wife in Tirion had fizzled swiftly, their relationship one of comfortable formality, Curufin knew he felt as guilty as the rest of them for leaving their mother. 

"Now what were you blathering on about?" Curufin asked apathetically, satisfied by the rising tension in Caranthir's shoulders at his question.

"I am merely suggesting..." His nostrils flared as he drew a deep breath to appear calm. The red in his face gave him away though. "All I am saying is that we need to be prepared for the worst. I don't want to be caught unawares."

"Like the Teleri were caught unawares?" Maglor morosely surmised, his hand still covering his weary eyes.

Caranthir's tapping on the table started again. "They knew our intentions when father stood before their cowardly king-"

"The Lord Olwë deserves more respect than that." Curufin's voice was bored, but his heart pounded at the mention of the Teleri. "He was our grandfather's dearest friend."

Caranthir snorted. "Great friend indeed. Hiding in his pearly castle, letting others fight the battle for him."

"We got what we wanted out of that situation," Maglor stated firmly. "We got the ships, collected our spoils of war. Now let's be done with it."

"One of us certainly got his spoils of war," Caranthir snidely remarked with a wolfish grin in Curufin's direction.

Spoil of war. Of course, Curufin knew his brother was referring to Luimëníssë. Just as that damnable werewolf had done years earlier before the death of their father. He'd never told a soul what had happened that night on the banks of the Sirion, but the beast's words had gotten to him. 

"Huh, brother? Was she worth the precious blood of great Lord Olwë's people?" Caranthir pressed, seeing he had hit a nerve in his impenetrable younger brother.