Lower

Mellow Soulmate AU.  Caranthir is quick to anger, but also quick to forgive.  Most of the time.  Quenya names used (Caranthir = Carnistir, Maedhros = Nelyafinwë or Nelyo, Fingolfin = Nolofinwë, Fëanor = Fëanáro, Fingon = Findekáno, Turgon = Turukáno and Finrod = Findaráto).  This is a companion piece to yesterday's "Awkward" from a different POV (obviously) and thus shares some of the same sentences as well as the same quotation from Of the Return of the Noldor* with one minor change (because why on earth would Maedhros be calling Fingolfin "lord" at this point?  Well, it's debatable, but this is fanfiction, so I changed it 'cause it was bugging me.  Takes place somewhere on the shores of Mithrim in the First Age.

AN: for those of you who care, I am back from vacation.  No more wacky updating stuff.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Silmarillion

Pairings: none

Characters: Caranthir, Maedhros, Fingolfin, Fingon, Turgon, Finrod (mentions Fëanor and Nerdanel)

Warning: canon-compliant AU, canon character deaths, dysfunctional families, politics, mentions torture, abduction, incarceration and mutilation, fantasies of strangling hinted

Song: Kodoku

Words: 1,356
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lower (verb): to move down: drop, diminish; to let descend: let down; to reduce in value, number, or amount; to bring down in quality or character: degrade, abase, humble
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/lower

Carnistir could be quick to anger and could smolder to put even his sire to shame, but he was also quick to forgive and forget.  Of all his family members, he held grudges with the least vehemence, his upset but a flash of lightning in a thunderstorm rather than a long-lasting vein of fire in the earth.

There were very few happenstances that could fuel such a flame of vindictive hatred in his heart, let alone a flame with such a long life and hot need for vengeance or counteraction.

And the sight before him was one of those few.

It was not that his brother was injured which infuriated him such, though in its own way the abduction, torture and mutilation of Nelyafinwë had fueled the burning rage in the hearts of all their people of the House of Fëanáro--and the brothers not the least of them.  But the eldest had come out of it alive, had rediscovered his spark and had somehow managed to keep moving forward through cobwebs of horrific memories and the agonizing pain of recovery.  And that recovery was a testament to endurance and strength--an example to all their people--though still Nelyafinwë was exhausted and disheveled.

His hair was still rather ragged where it had been sheared off upon his sickbed, so tangled and dirtied it had been that it could not be brushed or washed.  His arm was also in a sling, as the muscles and tendons of his shoulder had yet to recover enough to bear the weight of his limb without help.  But the most noticeable sign of his stress and fatigue after such an ordeal--and dealing with political upheaval on top of his own problems--were the dark rings about his tired gray eyes, bruises that beat their purple color into sickly pale flesh as marks of sleepless nights filled with shrill screams.  It was clear that Nelyafinwë hadn't been sleeping enough and was not rested enough for the tribulations of a family gathering.

What really bothered him to the point of fury was none of these things, though it hurt to see his brother in such a sorry state.  Rather, it was the line of relatives on the other side of the room that pulled all his strings in the wrong directions.

It was their eyes as his brother apologized for sins not his own.  As the eldest took responsibility for not only himself, but his father and his brothers and his people.

It was the lie in his uncle's voice when he spoke the damning acceptance.

"I would not hold you accountable for your father's actions.  You have shown willingness to begin mending our torn family branches, as has my eldest son and heir, and that I would not begrudge you, my nephew."

But he would.  And he meant to.  No compliment had ever been more treacherously backhanded.  Against a downtrodden opponent who wished to only sue for peace and mend broken bonds. 

It was clear that Nolofinwë had no intention of following the examples of the heirs of the two Houses--had no intention of forgiving, though Nelyafinwë had done naught wrong.  Though, of all of them, he alone had spoken out in protestation against their father's actions.  Though he had suffered and struggled through more than any of them could even imagine.
 "I hope that no grievance then lays between us, Uncle."  His brother's voice was low and ragged.  It would never again have that velvety softness Carnistir so well remembered.  And he shuddered at the knowledge that it was screaming that had rent and torn that voice into tattered remains.

And none seemed to care.  He could see his uncle's eyes--his cousins' eyes--and they did not hold sympathy or understanding or caring.

They were flat and dull and distant. "I should think not," was all his uncle replied, and Carnistir had never wanted to strangle someone so badly in all his life.  Because there was that little hint of a smile blooming.

All they had wanted was to see Nelyafinwë lower the Crown Prince's line to the mucky ground and kiss their boots as a thrall as payment for being left for dead.  But the sins of the father were not the sins of the sons.  And it was not Fëanáro being lowered like a slave begging his master for forgiveness, but Nelyafinwë.

Nelyo.  His wonderful, loving older brother who had been through so much pain.  Nelyo.  Who tucked them in at night and sang pitchy lullabies and read stories and baked cookies and gave the best hugs.  Nelyo.  Who cared about them more than their father and mother combined.

Nelyo.  Who wasn't a bad person.  Wasn't malicious or ruthless or cold-hearted unless in defense of his family.  And those eyes...

They laughed.  They mocked.  They looked down long, straight noses with scorn at the oldest son, as though he were something nasty that was not to be touched--something toxic or contagious that might infect them if they breathed the same air.  And Carnistir would admit that they had earned the right for disdain and scorn.

But not the right to heap their troubles and blame upon innocent shoulders simply because the true victim of their stubborn hatred was passed beyond their reach.  Beyond their punishment.

It made Carnistir's blood boil.

No, not often was he drawn to hold a grudge.  But in his chest he felt the constriction of rage, the suffocating blanket of cinders layering the insides of his lungs until he longed to gasp.  The clench of his fists in the soft fabric of his leggings, twisting the fabric helplessly lest they try for something vital and fleshy in its stead.

And then...

"If there lay no grievance between us, Uncle, still the kingship would rightly come to you, the eldest here of all the House of Finwë, and not the least wise."*

He would have been relieved.  If only he had not been watching so closely.

Watching how Findaráto's shocked eyes lightened in half-hidden revelry.  Watching how Turukáno's pure malice drained away into shocked silence and satisfaction.  Watching how Findekáno's gaze narrowed in disapproval but how also his lips frowned rather than parted in dissent.

Watching how Nolofinwë's eyes brightened and how his lips twitched up ever so slightly at the corners into a half-sneering and half-smirking demonic visage.  For it was no secret that he desired the crown--desired to put his older brother in his place.  Below.

And that had not changed.  Except it was not Fëanáro's humbling which brought that purring voice forth to accept after a feigned, half-hearted "Are you quite certain, my nephew?" For there was none of that hesitance that should have been present at a caring family member stealing the birthright of another--none of that hidden guilt gnawing or discomfort itching that would have soothed the fury of the fourth son.

Rather, Nolofinwë enjoyed seeing Nelyafinwë's shadowed eyes meet his and stare into unforgiving ice.  Enjoyed hearing the answering "I am, your majesty" from the lips of his enemy's heir and successor.

And Carnistir would hate all of these pathetic creatures forever for the pleasure they took in his brother's crippling and lowering and bowing and scraping.  Those eyes.  Blue and gray--fey and bright.  Accusatory and sadistic in their observation.  They were not the eyes of friends or family, but the eyes of enemies and traitors waiting to stab unprotected backs.

And if Nelyafinwë would not protect his own, Carnistir would readily do so in his stead, as his older brother--and only father of the heart--would have protected his.

It was the one grudge he would always carry in the back of his dark thoughts.  The one dark promise which he could never release or forswear.  The one slice of revenge for which his body and soul would always hunger. 

The one slight he could never forgive and never forget.  Never.
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Do you not just love characterization?  Obviously, this tidbit was half-inspired by yesterday's story, which was written from Maedhros' POV and has a distinctly different take on the other family members as well as the truth of Maedhros' actions and their meaning.  However, Maedhros correctly predicted that some of his brothers might react badly--he just didn't get the reason why correct in this case (though I'm pretty sure he nailed it with Celegorm).

The other half was inspired by Caranthir's actions in this chapter of the Silmarillion, particularly how he acts out against Angrod (seemingly for no reason) and how he moves away to the middle of nowhere on his own while many of his siblings seemingly stuck together.  And he has his own mention--a whole entire paragraph LOL!--in Of the Return of the Noldor.  Somehow, that created this, so there.

The song today is one of my favorites from Naruto Shippuuden.  I was watching the full battle between Naruto and Sasuke (right after Danzou's death) on YouTube, and it had sad music when they have their sappy heart-to-heart moment in the middle of battle.  Then I just had to go and dig up sad Naruto music, and Kodoku (by Yasuharu Takanashi) from the Naruto Shippuuden OST was number 5 on my list.  And I love this song.  Damn, I blame the string duet in there, though the entire thing just gives me chills.  And it's got just that little bit of bitterness in there, and enough strained sadness.

Sorry I'm such a dork about this.  Music freak is leaving thee alone now.