Whispering Winds

******
He rode heedless of direction, heedless of time,
heedless of fatigue, heedless of hunger, heedless of all save a burning desire
to get away. If one had asked him what he was fleeing from, he could not have
answered, but there was something he was fleeing. Yet he had to stop, if only
because Narolaman, refused to carry him further.
So Caranthir got off his back and allowed him to
graze and rest. It was then that he saw the deer gazing unafraid, conveniently
within spearing range.  Slowly Caranthir went back to his horse and drew
out his spear from where it was stowed in his saddle. Silently he took aim,
his prey completely unaware of his intentions. Then he froze.
‘She wouldn’t like this,’ he found himself thinking,
‘She would want the deer to live.’  He tried to think of the roasted flesh
of the deer on his plate, tried to think of how it would taste after his long
fast, but all he could think of was, ‘she wouldn’t like it.’ He clenched his
teeth and cursed himself, “What do I care what she thinks?” he demanded, but
the spear did not leave his hands.
“Grrrr….AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”
he screamed as he smashed the spear into pieces. The deer started at the sudden
noise and turned towards Caranthir, surprise evident in its eyes. Obviously,
it was not used to seeing elves behave as he was. He took a threatening step
towards it and bellowed, “Go away! I am no Laiquendi!  I eat flesh. I kill,
I maim, I destroy as much as I make. GO AWAY.”
The deer bounded away and Caranthir collapsed down
on the ground and gazed up at the darkening sky. His mind was blank and that
was the way he liked it. The heavens roared, as dark threatening clouds began
to gather. The night would be a violent one. Caranthir did not mind, or, rather,
he did not care.
***
He had been watching their approach for some time
now.  He noted with great displeasure the absence of his wayward middle
brother. The fact that all of Caranthir’s followers were with the twins did
not escape his notice either.
As soon as they were near enough, they exclaimed
joyfully, “Maglor!”
Maglor regarded the Ambarussa with unreadable eyes
that did not blink. The two redheaded twins began to fidget. It was only a short
time before one of them cracked. It was Amras who lost his nerve first, “Caranthir
is in love with Ninglorrîn and asked her to marry him; she refused and now Caranthir
has become more fey than usual,” he blurted out.
Amrod shook his head at his brother’s lack of nerve;
they hadn’t even got off their horses yet! Amrod promptly dismounted and approached
Maglor, “We do not know why she refused him. We know she loves him,” he explained
to Maglor. “We had hoped that you would be able to sing some sense into him,
but he was most reluctant to meet you. He rode off just as we were setting out.
I do not think even he knew where he was going.”
Silence, Maglor turned to the nearest elf and said
in a calm, quiet, but commanding voice, “Get my horse.”
***
Footsteps, loud and heavy, roused him from his blank
compliance. It was raining hard now and Caranthir was totally immersed in mud.
For a moment he wanted to just lie like this and let the orcs pass him by. 
For orcs they were, and Caranthir knew that because of the rain and the mud
that covered him, they would not be able to see or smell him, Then he remembered Narolaman. Swift
movements got him to his feet and beside his horse. Gently he led the horse
into the thick canopy of bushes nearby, “Stay here my, friend,” he whispered
into Narolaman’s ears.
He could hide as well, but the moment of lethargy
had passed, now he just wanted to taste the rush of combat, and as the orc band drew near, all he could feel was bloodlust.
***
More than once, Maglor wished that Celegorm were
here to aide him since his wilderness skills paled in comparison to most of
his brothers. The rain wasn’t helping either, but what he lacked in wilderness
skills, he made up with an innate ability to sense his brothers. In was only
a matter of time before he found Caranthir.
***
Caranthir stood among the dismembered bodies of
his kills, covered in blood, mud, and soaked through. Some the blood was his
own, but most of it was the black blood of the foul children of Morgoth. He
raised his hand to wipe some of the blood away but stopped. The rain had ceased
and the stars were burning bright, as their light hit the shining blade of his
sword, he could see his reflection. His skin black from the mud and blood, his
fair features obscured by the cuts and bruises, his eyes filled still with bloodlust,
in the light of the stars he looked like an orc. He
looked like and ORC. He had to get the blood off of him. HE HAD TO GET THE BLOOD
OFF OF HIM.
Caranthir fell on his knees next to the nearest
puddle, scooping up the water in a vain effort to clean himself. The muddy,
blood soaked water only made things worse. Panic seized his heart, but than
the faint sound of running water reached his ears. There was a river near by;
there was a river near by.
***
The stone had no jagged edges, but its surface was
very rough. It was perfect for the purpose he intended. Naked he stood waist
deep in the water, vigorously he used the stone to scrape his skin clean, heeding
not the broken skin or burning cuts. Busy with his task he did not hear the
other approach, but soon enough he felt bright eyes burning into his back. Slowly
he turned to come face to face with his brother’s pained gaze. He turned away
almost immediately, once gain starting to scrub his skin raw.
“Caranthir,” called Maglor softly; yet there was
a silent, powerful command weaved into the word that Caranthir found unable
to disobey. Maglor was not called the Mighty for nothing.
Reluctantly he waded to the edge of the river and
stood in front of his brother, stubbornly refusing to meet his eyes. “Don’t
be so stubborn,” whispered Maglor as he pulled his rigid brother into a comforting
embrace. “Don’t be so stubborn,” he repeated. After a moment Caranthir sighed
and melted into his brother’s arms; once in awhile even he, Morofinwë Carnistir Caranthir, needed the comfort of a warm hug.
******
Translation:
[i] Narolaman
– This is quenya. Naro –fire,
laman – animal, so Narolaman
is fiery animal (well fire animal literally).
[ii] Morofinwë is
Caranthir’s father-name in quenya and Carnistir is Caranthir’s mother-name in quenya.
Caranthir is the sindar form of Carnistir.
Author’s note:
Big thanks to Lady Legrace
for beta reading.
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