Notes: A short part comes from a previous fic, but I've rewritten it from Curufin's wife's point of view. Also, my muse was channelling bitter!Amrod. I hope he does not come across as too awful, because he definitely has good reason to be angry.

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns the characters and plots. I'm just playing in his garden.

Most Like in Form and Face

"Curvo cannot be serious! Do you see that she cannot even sit a horse properly?"

"I wonder what has got into Aurehen?" Maitimo wondered. "She is usually so gentle"

"Perhaps we can find a mule more suited to the lady."

"Turko!"

"Well, it is the truth. You have seen the stone heavers riding their beasts to their work in Tirion."

Maitimo rolled his eyes. One could not reason with Tyelkormo on this subject. Behind them, Curufinwë changed horses with Martasinel, but rather than embarrass the lady, he did not mount Aurehen but walked beside her. After a few steps, he stopped and checked under her blanket. He frowned and spoke to Martasinel in a low tone. Her eyes met Tyelkormo's, and by all rights, he should have withered on the spot. Instead, he smiled.

When Fëanáro first looked upon Nerdanel, he saw her as he had seen no maid before her and as he knew he would see no maid again. So it was, he believed, for the son most like him in form and face.

She was only a generation removed from simple stonemasons, the unsung many who did the labour behind the great edifices of the Elves. Her father, possessing a remarkably beautiful hand, had risen to become the chief scribe at Finwë's library, and in hope that Martasinel would marry well, he had found a place for her as lady-in-waiting to Findis.

So, she was not wholly unsuitable, and Fëanáro maintained that one should measure an Elf's worth in talent, not blood. Moreover, he was grieved that though he had five grown sons, he yet lacked what should have been his in abundance. But Makalaurë had been long married and though no discord came between husband and wife, they maintained separate rooms. Maitimo still had not outgrown a young elf's preference for friends over romantic attachments, and was ever in the company of his cousin. Carnistir had suffered a string of ill-fated attachments to maids who did not return his affection, and Tyelkormo had an equally long string of passionate but brief love affairs. (1)

"Indeed, I should be equally pleased were she a scullery maid, if their bonding proves fruitful," he told Nerdanel, and in this they were of like mind.

"Tyelperinquar," Martasinel said. "He has his father's hands."

There had been no question, of course, as to his father-name; he would take the name of his father and grandfather before him. (2)

To the tired parents' relief, amusement and sometimes distress, Fëanáro was soon carrying the baby off to the forge, where he kept up a lively explanation of everything he did while the baby watched from his cradle.

"It is a bit worrying," Curufinwë admitted to his mother, "to find your child missing when you think him safe asleep. Martasinel is going out to the forge at all hours to nurse him."

"I will speak with him," Nerdanel promised, "but I may not be terribly persuasive. It is either that or give him more children myself."

"I think I should like a sister."

"Yes, that is just what your father says. I am afraid it is no use. My heart tells me that he will only get more sons."

The crash was followed by several choice words from Curufinwë. Makalaurë resisted the urge to cover the elf-child's ears. Tyelperinquar, labouring painfully (for Makalaurë) over his scales, paid no mind to the argument in the next room.

"Oh, sweet Varda," Makalaurë groaned, as the voices mounted in pitch. "I will be back."

Tyelperinquar shrugged. "They will stop."

'Preferably before Tulkas is summoned,' Makalaurë added silently. He entered the drawing room and fixed his expression in imitation of Maitimo's most forbidding glare. "Everyone in Tirion can hear you! Your son can hear you."

"Then you had best make your brother see reason," Martasinel said, and swept out of the room.

Makalaurë looked at Curufinwë, who held out his hands in innocence.

"Is it so unreasonable that I wish to go hunting with my brother?"

"You set them against one another, you know you do."

Curufinwë rolled his eyes. "You have been talking to Maitimo."

"Be careful, Curvo. You will not want to make a choice between them, should it come to that."

"Again. You are too old to be making these mistakes, Tyelpë."

Tyelperinquar closed his eyes, concentrating hard as he recited Rúmil's theoretical future past subjunctive, for an action that will be found in the future to have been uncertain in the past. The Elves had not yet found a use for this verb tense, but that did not unduly trouble them.

"Yé!" His father squeezed his shoulders. "I knew you would do it." (3)

He opened his eyes and basked in the glow. His father was stingy with praise, so it meant so much more to please him.

"Do not forget that we are to go with Tyelkormo tomorrow," Curufinwë said, standing. "Be sure that Ammë has packed your things for you. We will be gone for several weeks."

He would not forget. His grandfather thought Atto idled away time with his brother better spent in the forge, but Tyelperinquar looked forward to these hunting trips. He liked Tyelkormo best of all his father's brothers. He had an easy laugh, and if he might sometimes lose his temper, he was usually unworried and could always get his father to look up when his mood was low.

He thought he should pack his own things, however. Ammë did not like Tyelkormo, and though his parents never remained angry at one another, he thought it best not to start another quarrel.

"What do you mean she has left?"

Maitimo gave him the letter, addressed to all of her sons. "You may see for yourself. But Ambarussa have gone with her."

"I have long considered this, but would not do so while the twins were yet young," the letter began. Nerdanel asked for their understanding, adding that it had been no easy choice for her.

"We must bring them back before Atar discovers that they have gone."

"Curvo, they chose to go with her."

"It matters not. Is it not enough that Amil has betrayed him?"

"Did you not read her letter? She had her reasons."

"None of which excuse her actions. I am going to get Ambarussa. If you will not help me, I am certain that Turko will."

Telperion had begun to wane when Curufinwë and Tyelkormo returned. As soon as Ambarussa saw Maitimo, they shook off their brothers' grip and ran to his side.

"They marched us out as if we had committed some offense!"

"We had not even time to gather our things. Must we stay here, Russandol?"

"That is your choice," he said, with a hard look at his brothers.

"Someone will fetch your things. And do not snivel so," Tyelkormo glared at the twins. "You should be grateful Atar has not yet discovered you missing."

"Do you not see that this will only drive a wedge further between Amil and Atar?" Maitimo asked.

"And taking two of his sons will not?"

What was happening to his family? Maitimo feared his father was truly going mad; when he did not obsess over the Silmarilli, refusing their sight to all but his father and sons, he ranted of his brother's intent to usurp him. Maitimo could not make sense of it; Finwë was not about to give up the throne to any of his sons. And Curufinwë, too like his father in temperament, was not far behind. Of late, he spent all his time at the forge, making swords. Swords! What need had they for swords in a land with no enemies - unless their father had grown so fell as to see Nolofinwë as such? Small wonder Nerdanel had at last returned to her father's house.

As if summoned by some evil thing of Utumno, Fëanáro returned now with a face like a thundercloud. "The son of Indis has at last shown his hand," he announced. "But I was ready for him, and in craven fear he turned from me." He turned then to Curufinwë. "Get your son back from Aulë; it is enough that he has poisoned your mother against me. And others," he added, glaring at Ambarussa, huddled in Maitimo's shadow. "And you, Maitimo, you will " (4)

Before he could finish, the footman entered with a young Vanya.

"Heru, I bring a message from Manwë," he announced with a small bow.

Fëanáro took measure of the boy. "You run errands for them? Are you their servant?"

"I am proud to serve the Valar, heru."

"What is your message?" Maitimo interrupted, dread upon his heart.

"You are summoned to the Gates of Valmar, heru, to answer before the Valar for your words and deeds at the house of your father."

"I welcome it! For now, the truth shall be laid bare, and the son of Indis revealed in all his treachery. You may take that message back to your masters, young elf," he told the messenger.

Maitimo stepped aside to let his father pass. The brothers looked at one another in confusion.

"What has happened, Russandol?" Tyelkormo asked.

"I know no more than you do," he answered, shaking his head.

"Atar will take care of it," Curufinwë said. "He need only tell the Valar of Nolofinwë's lies, and then it will be his brother's turn to answer for his actions."

Shouting at Tyelperinquar had never done much good. Shaming worked better, in Curufinwë's experience. "Little have I asked of you, yonya. I gave you leave to join the Aulendili, though I knew it would be an affront to my father, for that was your heart's wish. But the Valar have betrayed us. It is now time for you to serve your kin."

"But - Amil is also my kin."

"Your mother knows her duty," Curufinwë said coldly.

Tyelperinquar looked confused, with good reason. Curufinwë would let him believe that she had agreed to follow him, and when he had secured his son, Martasinel could not think of remaining in Aman. Such was the game he had long played with his brother and wife, though at opposite purposes - by jealousy, he could persuade one to act in his favour to spite the other.

"You have been spoilt beyond reason," he continued. "You have had everything you have needed, been indulged in your every want. And now that something is asked of you, you think to refuse? Do not mistake yourself, Tyelperinquar - much has come to you because of who you are, and you owe that entirely to your grandfather. No greater duty there is than family, no greater love than loyalty."

His son looked stricken. Curufinwë could not fathom his struggle, and wondered if, despite their isolation at Formenos, Aulë had somehow interfered, as he had with Nerdanel. "None of the Valar can be trusted - do you not see how they protect their own, and allowed Moringotto to roam free while they banished us from Tirion? And even now, they will not pursue the thief, but condemn us who do what they should have done." He softened his voice. "I do not ask you to take the Oath, Tyelpë, but this I do ask of you: that you trust me, and follow me."

Her father had heard the speech of Fëanáro upon Tuna, and he was moved to follow him. "How can we not seek vengeance for the slaying of our King, who has done so much for us?"

But Martasinel had heard by now of the Oath, and it seemed to her that no good should come of it, not least for her husband.

"In what part of this oath did they swear to avenge their grandfather?'

"It matters not," her father said, with a wave of his hand. "Our enemy is the same."

"But you forget, Atar, that it is my husband who took that Oath. I want no part of a quest for jewels."

"You cannot think to remain in Aman, Martasinel?"

"I do and I will."

Were it not for the hypnotic light of the Silmarilli, she might have had recourse to reason or love. The jewels blinded all who looked too long upon them. All thought, they perverted to their own purpose; all love they claimed for themselves. Curufinwë, as caught in their spell as his father, would not hear her, and she would not go with him. They would quarrel, but this quarrel would be different; there would be no passionate lovemaking of forgiveness or apology for words spoken in haste. This would be the last quarrel they would have, one that neither of them could win. (5)

"Stay a moment to consider this Oath and quest of fools, for they shall bring you to ruin, meldanya."

Curufinwë did not look up from his preparations. Throughout Formenos, there was haste. Fëanáro feared that his less determined brothers and their people would lose heart if they did not go forth immediately. "What is there to consider? An oath may not be broken, and none should regret what cannot be undone."

"Then you seal your fate. But you do not seal mine. I will remain with your mother." (6)

He looked at her in surprise, as if it had never occurred to him that she would not stand beside him. "Do you forget your own oath? Do you forget that our fates are bound as surely as our fëar?"

"I never promised myself to this fate you have chosen." She kissed him then, and could not stop her tears. "Do not do this, Curufinwë. I cannot go with you and I cannot bear to have you go from me."

"Then you must choose between the two, for I will not desert my father." He turned from her, as if the matter were settled.

Tears turned to anger. "Small choice do you give me," she said bitterly. "I will not follow your father, and if I must then be parted from you, then so shall it be."

"Then let me ease your choice, and loose you from this bond you no longer desire." With rough hands, he stole the gold ring from her finger.

Shocked, she reached for his hand, but it slipped from hers. "Curufinwë! That is not your right, nor mine. Haughty have you and your father become if you believe yourselves above the Laws."

"And you? You forsake your husband? Do not pretend to a righteousness you do not possess."

Martasinel lost her temper. "Nothing in my bond requires me to repudiate the Valar, nor follow you into a reckless and certain death. I am not your vassal, Curufinwë."

"Indeed, for as such you would remain loyal to me. Our son, at least, is of another mind." He smiled coldly.

She would not believe it. Her son, who served Aulë? She could not see that he would rebel against the Valar. Yet he worshipped his father, too, and could never stand to displease him. "You will not take my son; he swore no oath, he is under no obligation."

"Nay, but bound nonetheless by loyalty to his kin you scarce understand," Tyelkormo said, entering the room. They exchanged hard looks of their long jealousy and hate for one another. "I gather your loyal wife will creep back to Tirion, forsaking her great love," he said to his brother.

Something inside her snapped. "Love is something you will never know, Tyelkormo. For all your fairness of face, no wife shall warm your bed and no son shall come of your seed!"

In the corridor, she paused, shaking with fury. She had expected to contend with the Oath and Curufinwë's loyalty to his father. In the end, however, he would always choose his brother.

"Now, we know why we are called the wiser sex," Makalaurë's wife said, slipping an arm through hers. "Come, sister. You are bereft, but not alone."

Martasinel allowed herself to be led away, but she could not say that she felt wiser. She had lost everything she held dear. She had one small comfort; Curufinwë had not removed his own ring. He loved her; to this he remained true. (7)

"Finish him, Tyelpë, or he will finish you." His son tried to fend off the Teler, but the other elf meant to kill. Curufinwë could not help him; in the moment he had looked for his son, Elulindo had put a spear in his side. Fortunately, Olwë's son had no knowledge of armour, as the failure of the spear to find soft flesh, and its subsequent tangling in the mesh of Curufinwë's mail seemed to puzzle him. While he desperately tried to extract his spear, Curufinwë swung his sword. (7)

In a moment he would see in his worst dreams for nights afterward, Elulindo's head flew from his shoulders. For a moment, everything stopped, as Noldor and Teleri alike stared at the awful sight. By some miracle, Tyelperinquar alone was oblivious, and while his opponent gaped at the severed head, he plunged his sword into his chest.

"Stay close," he had instructed Tyelperinquar, but now the Teleri converged on him, and he could only hope that his son could hold his own, for he found himself surrounded.

In fact, he was about to lose his own head when Tyelkormo cut his way into the circle. Together, they battled toward the ships. He saw an opening at last and pushed Tyelperinquar through. "Go." His son needed no second orders and scrambled for the ship.

Carnistir waited there with a long bow. He shot into the mob, clearing the way for his brothers. "Curvo! Turko! Now!" he screamed.

The mood aboard was grim, but looking sideways at Tyelkormo, he saw the tiniest smile of acknowledgement. Horrifying, yes. Yet secretly, their blood tingled for more.

For the first time since they had come to this hostile place, he could look at the land that would now be their home, and it was beautiful. The stars were hung over the lake as if some rather clever Noldo had rearranged them in a more perfect design than Varda's first attempt. Then again, that clever Noldo would probably have been his father, and the thought spoiled the perfect night.

Curufinwë, cleaning his sword by the lake, looked up at the sky. The too-perfect stardome must have also made him think of their father, for he murmured, "'Fair shall the end be'...I do not think this is the end you intended, Atar."

"'Say farewell to bondage,' Ambarussa countered, "but with his last breath, he tightened the shackles around our wrists." He knew better than to provoke Curufinwë, but the hatred for his father had no home now. (8)

"'Shackles' is hardly the word I would use." His brother put down his sword and stood. "It was our father's dying request."

He laughed softly. "Were it a request, we would have a choice: to honour it or not. Yet we are in bondage to an Oath we scarce understood at the hour we spoke it. He did not love any of us - not even you, Curvo. He gave his life for those damnable jewels, and he has given our lives as well."

"Have you no respect for the dead?" Curufinwë's voice was low, dangerous.

"I think I may have left that at Losgar."

"He was planning to desert us, or did you not know that? We certainly did."

Rage engulfed him. "It is no more than Atar deserved - one burning for another."

Curufinwë slapped him across the face, and then they were brawling. His brother slammed his head against the ground, and when the red haze cleared, he realised his brother might actually kill him. And then Makalaurë hauled him up by the hair and held him fast.

Several steps away, Tyelkormo had Curufinwë in a chokehold. "Get him out of my sight," he spat.

Makalaurë pulled him away.

"I am glad he is dead. I hated him. I have hated him as long as I can remember."

"I know, I know," Makalaurë said, in the soothing tone in which all of his brothers had spoken to him since Ambarussa had been found missing.

He stopped and turned to face his brother. "Káno, I am not a child, nor am I the one who has lost all reason. Do you not see how absurd this is, that we are bound to give our lives for a few pretty baubles? How could he do that to us?"

"Let me see your cheek." Makalaurë turned his chin and lifted a lock of hair. "You need that sewn up, or it will leave a scar."

'What does it matter?' he wondered wearily.

"Try to understand. You are too young to remember, but Atar was not always so fey."

"And Curvo?"

"He is upset, Ambarussa."

"Do not call me that. I have a name of my own." He tucked the lock of hair behind his ear. "Curvo is no better than Atar. He will drive the rest of us to our deaths."

He awoke to find his brother crouched next to his bedroll. He started to scramble away, but Curufinwë gave a twisted smile and held up his hand.

"Stay. I am not going to harm you, Ambarussa...Ambarto," he corrected himself, "I did not know. Neither did Atar. He could not have done it if he had known - a father will give his life for his son's.

"He would not have wanted us to fight amongst ourselves," Curufinwë continued. "I should not have said that." (9)

What Atar would have wanted - what about what his sons might have wanted? Surely, it was not this.

"But see here," Tyelperinquar pointed, "the radicals B-R-Z would indicate 'red', not 'valley'."

Curufinwë knew what it was to be the middle son. Not literally - his own son had been born and grown before he had lost his place as the youngest child. He and his brothers had treated the twins more like foster sons than brothers. Indeed, given the state of their parents' bond at the time, such fostering had been sadly necessary.

Yet he found himself in a peculiar place - between a father whose creations he could never hope to replicate, let alone surpass, and a son who had outdone him in the forge before he was come of age. Truly, he had never applied himself, finding Tyelkormo's pleas to go hunting more appealing than hot work at the forge. And what could he make, that his father had not already made first?

One would not have expected him to finally surpass his father in the library, but there it was. Long winters, and the opportunities presented by a land his father had not lived to experience had allowed him to learn a half-dozen languages. His father had spoken exactly two: Quenya and Telerin, with a smattering of Valarin. Tyelperinquar, conversely, had the ability, but not the will; he had learnt Khuzdûl readily enough, seeing it useful to him, but he had entirely dismissed the tongues of Men and his Sindarin was careless. Indeed, Curufinwë suspected that Sindarin was no more than a theory to Tyelperinquar, as useful as Rúmil's improbable verb tenses. (10)

Though he might be outraged at Thingol's ban on his native tongue, and think Sindarin its inferior, he nonetheless wanted to perfect it. Mighty might the sword be, but a few well-placed words, he had found, were worth a thousand swords.

Curufinwë examined the page and looked at Tyelperinquar. "We need to find Vigga," they said together and shared a laugh.

They had not passed so companionable an hour in more than an ennin. He could not explain where or how they had become like strangers to one another. Tyelperinquar seemed filled with resentment he could not explain, whereas his son's refusal to lift a sword at the Dagor-nuin-Giliath and Dagor Aglareb irked Curufinwë still. Now, they avoided one another as much as they could, and said little to one another when they met. If he looked at his son on these occasions, he wore a singular expression, and Curufinwë felt strangely as if the son had become the father. For the look was one of disappointment.

It was said that even Thingol could not abide Eöl, and Curufinwë could not understand how Irissë could have bonded herself to this twisted creature. He could only imagine that it had been a moment of staggeringly foolish passion, such that she clearly regretted now. The dark elf should count himself fortunate that his people, rather than Tyelkormo's, had intercepted him.

He could easily spare his cousin further trouble from her husband. Certainly, none would follow Eöl's tracks in search of him, and none would wait on him at journey's end. He would simply disappear, and the elves of Curufinwë's camp were those he completely trusted.

No matter how he turned it, however, he could not find justification. True, Eöl had taken Irissë to wife without asking leave of her father, but that was simply indecent and violated no law. Nor could Eöl's attempt to turn the Dwarves against the sons of Fëanáro be redressed by the sword - if telling tales were a capital offence, they would have long ago dispensed with their Arafinwian half-cousins. (11)

Curufinwë could only give him leave to go, and sooner the better. Yet he saw with uncommon clarity that no good might come of his charity, and not most because Irissë would not thank him for it.

Somehow, their cousin had escaped certain slaughter in the Fen of Serech. Curufinwë gracefully hid his displeasure, but Findaráto's unlooked-for return aided not in his design. They had expected to find Nargothrond without a king, and with Findaráto's brothers dead (of that, they were certain) and his brother-son dead or clinging to Minas Tirith, there was no heir. In any case, should Angaráto's whelp presume to take the crown, they had the elder blood. All of this, Curufinwë had explained, but to what end, Tyelkormo was not certain. At this moment, shelter for themselves and their people seemed most important, and Findaráto would not turn them away.

"So long as we keep low, I do not see that we will not be content here," Tyelkormo murmured as they left their chambers.

Curufinwë looked around them and pulled him aside. "On the contrary, brother, we will be as visible as possible. Show them your fairest smile, and be gracious, and we shall soon have the love of Findaráto's people."

"Kinslaying, grinding ice - perhaps you have forgotten? They despise us."

"The Sindar have all but forgotten it, I assure you. They have lost so many of their own they care little for some distant kin who left them here to fend for themselves. As for burning the ships, we did the junior Houses naught but a favour. Had we sent the ships back, they would be held equal in guilt by Thingol."

"Findaráto could turn us out. He is no fool, Curvo."

"That is why we must earn his people's trust. He will find it hard to force our leave if we have the good opinion of his people. And who knows? Perhaps they will decide that you would make a better king?"

He saw his father and Tyelkormo striding quickly through the Great Hall. Lúthien had eight hours' start on them; he could only hope that her cloak would keep her hidden.

Two days passed before they returned, battle-worn, for they had found orcs but neither elf-maid nor hound, and worried now chiefly for Huan. Lúthien, they presumed dead or taken, so perilous had the lands north become.

Tyelperinquar, listening outside his father's rooms, feared his help had come to naught, such little that he had been able to give.

As he slipped away from the door toward his own chambers, his father's voice stopped him.

"I am curious, Tyelperinquar. It appears that we may have lost one of our people through a way very few would know, and even fewer would have the knowledge to access."

He froze at the menace in his father's voice. Never before had he feared his father, but never before had he crossed the Oath.

"Dwarven doors are a particular interest of yours, are they not?"

He forced his features into the blandest expression he could manage and turned to face his father. "Indeed, yes. Why?"

"Do not interfere in matters that do not concern you, Tyelperinquar. The consequences would be very grave. Very grave." His father's gaze held his for a long moment before he turned his heel and left.

Tyelperinquar leaned against the wall, shaking, and not entirely from fear. He no longer knew this elf who had sired him. Like rot, the Oath had eaten away the better part, and would fester until nothing remained.

"I have sent polite entreaty to Thingol, notifying him of our prior claim, and have received his response. In summary, he will not yield the jewel and wants retribution in the matter of his daughter. (12)

"And then I have received another letter," Maitimo continued, "this from Findekáno, regarding the grievances of the Haladin. It seems that you shot Beren, Curvo? Is there anything else that you have not yet told me?" (13)

Tyelkormo had the good sense to look chagrined, though Maitimo doubted his sincerity. Curufinwë, however, hardly appeared to be listening.

"That is perhaps an idea," he said slowly. "Offer us to Thingol for the Silmaril."

"What?" Tyelkormo's head whipped around so fast Maitimo had to suppress a laugh.

"It is the only way we might gain entry to Doriath, Turko."

"Thingol wants your heads! Preferably not attached to your bodies."

"Thingol should be more concerned about his own head. So long as he holds what is ours, we are bound to pursue him with vengeance, even to his death," Curufinwë said grimly. "Indeed, I shall be glad to do it, for he has long been our enemy."

"Moringotto is our enemy!"

"That is strange in you, Maitimo, for did you not also swear the Oath?"

"Moringotto still holds two of the jewels. Findekáno and I believe he may not be so invulnerable as we thought. But we shall need all the strength we can summon, whereas the two of you have turned allies into enemies who will not aid us, for the evils you have done." Maitimo leaned forward on the desk. "The High King has left your punishment to my discretion. However, he has made it clear that the very least he expects is a sincere apology to those you have wronged."

"Never," Curufinwë replied hotly. "Had he not refused Turko's suit, he would not now have kinship with this mortal. I will not apologise to a fool."

"And I do not forget that it was Beren who assaulted my brother, and would have killed him but for the maid. We shall not apologise for defending ourselves."

"He was aiming at Lúthien!" Maitimo took a deep breath and stepped back. He had no idea what to do with his wayward brothers. In truth, they worried him, particularly Curufinwë, for he knew well that Curufinwë led and Tyelkormo followed. He was not immune to the weight of the Oath, but it did not excuse any action. Indeed, Curufinwë's thinking had grown so desperate, it could only be linked with effort to the Oath at all. Something had simply broken in his brother's mind. (14)

...And the sons of Fëanor wandered as leaves before the wind. Their arms were scattered, and their league broken; and they took to a wild and woodland life beneath the feet of Ered Lindon, mingling with the Green-elves of Ossiriand, bereft of their power and glory of old. (15)

They had fallen low, playing at lords though they had no lands and scarce any people left to them. This was their reckoning, the punishment Maitimo had promised, but he had not understood the crime. For they had become proud and complacent, happy to think themselves mighty so long as they had Moringotto chained within his own dungeon. They had forgotten why they had come here in the first place.

So Curufinwë told them, the Oath burning like a fever in his eyes. He had grown spare, obsessive, walking the perimeter of their encampment while they slept. Some of their people praised his tireless vigil, but Tyelkormo knew better; his brother could not rest.

Maitimo worried for him; Maitimo worried for all of them. And Makalaurë worried for Maitimo, because someone must hold him when he screamed in the night. None of them had pleasant dreams.

"I know you blame us for everything, Russandol, but you do not know...we fought so hard to hold the Pass of Aglon. We littered the field with their corpses, but there were more to take their place, endlessly, they came. The smoke out of Dorthonion was so thick we could not see or breathe. And Curvo just would not admit that we were lost. I do not think I would have got him out of there had he not finally been overcome by the smoke." Tyelkormo was silent a minute, remembering that horrible defeat. "We tried so hard."

Maitimo sighed. "We all did. None can say we did not represent ourselves in battle." He slid to the ground next to Tyelkormo. "Think you that I do not lie awake, wishing we had gone to war when Nolofinwë held his council?"

"Could we ever have won?"

"Have you conceded, then?"

Now, Tyelkormo began to worry, for if he was now the sane one... .

"I wish I had a mirror, that you might see your face," Maitimo laughed. "But I have ever had the curse of seeing things as they are, not as I wish them to be." He paused. "Sometimes, I envy Curvo."

Tyelkormo looked at him sharply. "He will be right, given time."

"Yes," Maitimo said, but it was not really an answer at all.

They now heard rumour of the Firebeards' sack of Doriath, and brief capture of the Silmaril. Thingol was slain, and Lúthien wore the Nauglamír not forty leagues from their camp. (16)

The six came together to hold council. Curufinwë spoke long in favour of an assault on Tol Galen, but Tyelkormo remembered too well that the wench had mastery of them once before.

"She is mortal, she will die soon enough," Ambarto said. "Considering the wrongs some of us have done, can we not leave her in peace?"

"She keeps a Silmaril from us. She will get no peace."

"From you, perhaps. I would have no part of this."

"You are late, Ambarto," Curufinwë snapped. "Perhaps you should have betrayed Atar from the beginning, and refused his Oath in Aman. But you did not."

Maitimo silenced him. "You would set aside the Oath, Minyarussa?"

Ambarto stared at the ground.

"Can you?"

"No," he whispered.

"She has yet the arts of her mother; it is only her fate in death that has changed. We dare not assail her, except with great loss. We wait," Maitimo decided.

Maitimo told him that he must not wander alone, that he was unwell. Yet he had never felt stronger, for the flame inside fed him; the flame gave him life even as it consumed him. Their people, even his brothers, kept their distance, in fear that the fire would burn them, but it was meant for him alone, most like his father in form and face. For he saw now that not the Oath but the jewels themselves hounded them. In the Silmarilli lived Atar's own flame, and only by fulfilment of the Oath could all the wrongs they had suffered be righted.

They waited only a little while for Lúthien's death, and then Maitimo sent notice to Dior of their claim on the Silmaril. Yet they received no answer. Makalaurë was sent to find Ambarto, for he would come to no one else, and the sons of Fëanáro gathered once more.

Tyelkormo reminded them of their Oath. "Dior will not honour our right and inheritance. Therefore, we shall pursue him with hate, as we swore to do, and take what is ours."

Maitimo and Makalaurë looked pained, but said nothing. Only Ambarto, ever the Traitor, was openly doubtful.

"To what end would it serve to have one when we know we can never get the others?"

"We have seen that none of Moringotto's creatures have dared to assail Lúthien or Dior while the Silmaril protects them. Yet it is Atar's by right, and no protection will it give those who withhold it from us," Curufinwe explained patiently. Yet, he saw that Ambarto was not without reason. They must have all of them. "With it, we would be the fair ones, and Moringotto then unable to resist."

"With what host-" Ambarto began, but Tyelkormo cut him off.

"Enough, Minyarussa. Stop." He moved to sit with Curufinwë. "Do not worry, little brother," he said, stroking his hair, as he might pet a dog, or a child. "We will get the jewel for you. We will get them all for you."

(1) Maitimo still had not outgrown a young elf's preference for friends over romantic attachments, and was ever in the company of his cousin.

Yes, Fëanor is clueless.

(2) named for his father and grandfather before him

Total fabrication on my part. To the best of my knowledge, Tolkien never gave Celebrimbor a second name, and it's not stated whether Tyelperinquar was his father-name or mother-name.

(3) Yé! (Q)

This is an untranslated interjection in LOTR - the meaning would appear to be 'Yes!', 'Awesome!', 'Hooray!'. (LOTR, p. 971 pub Houghton Mifflin, Kindle Edition)

(4) he [Aulë] has poisoned your mother against me

(The Peoples of Middle-earth, 'The Shibboleth of Fëanor' p 354 pub Houghton Mifflin)

(5) But the jewels blinded all who looked too long upon them

The Silmarilli were not by nature evil, but because they contained the light of the Two Trees, they were addictive to point that their addicts would do great evil to get them and keep them. (Think about Elwing diving into the sea with the Silmaril, abandoning her sons to the mercy of the elves who had killed her parents and brothers.) In 'Myths Transformed', Tolkien suggests that the Two Trees had a similar effect on the Valar, making them complacent in Valinor when they should have been paying attention to Melkor. (Morgoth's Ring, 'Myths Transformed' p 377 pub Houghton Mifflin)

(6) I will remain with your mother

According to 'The Shibboleth of Fëanor', Nerdanel stayed with her father and Curufin's wife stayed with the people of Finarfin. I'm not sure this is mutually exclusive, since Finarfin became High King and all of the Noldor who did not go into exile would have become his people. (The Peoples of Middle-earth, 'The Shibboleth of Fëanor' p 354; 'Of Dwarves and Men' pp 317-318 pub Houghton Mifflin)

(7) Olwë's son

In 'The Genealogies', Elulindo is identified as the son of Elwë, Lord of the Teleri (who is called 'Lord of the Ships'). 'Elwë' was later given to Thingol and the name Olwë was given to Elwë. As far as I know, there is no indication that a son died at Alqualondë. That part is pure fabrication. (The Lost Road, 'The Genealogies' p 451 pub Ballantine/Del Rey)

(8) 'Fair shall the end be'; 'Say farewell to bondage'

(The Silmarillion p 73 pub Houghton Mifflin, Kindle Edition)

(9) Ambarussa...Ambarto

Tolkien flipped around the birth order and his notion as to which twin died, and there is no making sense of it. To me, Amras died and Amrod lived, and Ambarto would become Amrod in Sindarin, so Ambarto he is. The epessë Minyarussa is given in the same excerpt regarding the Sindarization of the names of Fëanor's sons. (Vinyar Tengwar No 41, 'From the Shibboleth of Fëanor' p 10)

(10) Indeed, Curufinwë suspected that Sindarin was no more than a theory to Tyelperinquar

No, I still haven't forgiven Celebrimbor for his grammatical mistake on the doors of Moria. However, I did put some thought into this. It does seem likely that he would have learnt Khuzdûl, since his father did learn the language, and it would have enhanced his friendship with Khazad-dûm in the 2nd Age. (The Peoples of Middle-earth, 'The Shibboleth of Fëanor' p 358 pub Houghton Mifflin)

It seems unlikely that Sindarin would have been spoken by anyone in the lands controlled by the Fëanorians. The sons of Fëanor had no hope of appeasing Thingol, being the reason for the ban in the first place. According to 'Maeglin', their lands were not occupied by the Sindar when they took them, so all of their people would have been their own. (Amrod's realm did have many of the Laegrim, but they primarily spoke Nandorin.) Since they were Elves, and would have needed to know it to communicate with others, they certainly learnt it - I just don't think they used it in everyday life. (The War of the Jewels, 'Maeglin' p 327 pub Houghton Mifflin)

In my head-canon, Celebrimbor didn't bother much with it until he had to use it at Nargothrond. And that would explain why, some 1,500 years later, he made a mistake that would nearly get the Fellowship killed. (Helge K. Fauskanger, Ardalambion website, 'Sindarin - the Noble Tongue')

(11) No matter how he turned it, however, he could not find justification

Poor Curufin does the right thing and still can't get it right. Regarding the story of Maeglin, Tolkien writes:

'The meeting between Eöl and Curufin...is good, since it shows (as is desirable) Curufin, too often the villain...in a better and more honourable light... .'

Further on, he writes:

'Curufin could have slain Eöl (as he greatly wished!) and no one beyond the few men with him at his camp (who would never have betrayed him) would ever have heard of it... . But this would have been in Eldarin law and sentiment murder... .'

(The War of the Jewels, 'Maeglin' pp 327-328 pub Houghton Mifflin)

(12) I have sent polite entreaty to Thingol

Er, no, it was not, but we will humour Maedhros.

(13) the grievances of the Haladin

By this time, the people of Bëor had been absorbed into the people of Haleth in Brethil and the people of Hador in Hithlum. In this version of the Fifth Battle, half the people of Haleth refused to join the Union of Maedhros because of Curufin's arrow. (The Lost Road, 'Quenta Silmarillion' p 340 pub Ballantine/Del Rey)

(14) Indeed, Curufinwë's thinking had grown so desperate, it could only be linked with effort to the Oath at all.

The whole, 'let's get our cousin killed and then force Thingol to give Lúthien's hand to Celegorm so that we will control both realms and then launch an assault on Morgoth for the Silmarilli' is just flat-out insane. (For one thing, just how did they plan to convince Lúthien to wed Celegorm? Unless he had very bad intentions.) In the 'The Lay of Leithian', Tolkien writes, 'it is Curufin who put evil into Celegorm's heart', making it clear that Curufin was the genius behind this crazy scheme. (The Lays of Beleriand, 'The Lay of Leithian' p 293 pub Ballantine/Del Rey)

(15) ...And the sons of Fëanor wandered as leaves before the wind.

(The Silmarillion p 194 pub Houghton Mifflin, Kindle Edition)

(16) Firebeards' sack of Doriath

(The Peoples of Middle-earth, 'Of Dwarves and Men' pp 301 & 322 pub Houghton Mifflin)