The past few weeks had been long and exhausting. By some miracle, Belethoriel's party did not run out of supplies, and made it to Gath Forthnír alive, though spent and battered. Though Cúrandir had sustained no serious wounds, some of his comrades were not so lucky. Their healer, Laurelindo, had fussed over the injured, and became very irritated when some, like their quartermaster Ancalasse, refused to admit they needed treatment. Cúrandir had merely scowled at them, wondering why anyone would refuse medical attention just to keep up appearances of being a tough warrior.
He had mixed feelings about leaving Angmar; on one hand, he was more than glad to leave that foul wasteland behind, but on the other, the memory of his slain friends would forever linger there. And what would he do when he returned to Imladris? The idea of confronting his parents and family again filled him with guilt and unease. But as the company had passed through Aughaire and to the evergreen forests of the North Downs, his worries were momentarily eased at seeing the verdant woods which he had so loved.
Belethoriel called a halt at Meluinen, a small haven of the Elves just north of Nen Harn. Saddles creaked as they all dismounted and went to seek rest for their horses. Laurelindo and some others paused before several graves of their fallen kinsmen. Cúrandir stood in silence, watching them honor their dead. It was a sobering reminder of the peril that he, and those in the company, had escaped in Angmar. Afterwards, they dispersed, each to his own task, as Ancalasse bustled around securing food and shelter for the company.
Resting in an evergreen glade carpeted in wildflowers, Cúrandir set his bow upon the ground and began inspecting the bowstring. Dolthafaer wandered over, several moments later, and sat down in front of him. They stayed in companionable silence for a time, until Cúrandir saw a flash of silver on Dolthafaer's wrist. He was fiddling absently with a small bracelet tucked under his wrist. Cúrandir's eyes widened.
"Where did you come by that?" he asked sharply.
"T'was a gift. Why do you ask?" Dolthafaer retorted. Cúrandir unwrapped his right gauntlet, revealing a gold chain bracelet set with a emerald.
"My father gave me this for my fiftieth begetting day. The twin of this bracelet is silver, set with a sapphire, and is with my sister in Imladris... or as it appears now, was."
"The brother of Uilossiel is dead... or, as it appears now, was, " Dolthafaer remarked.
Cúrandir raised a sardonic eyebrow. "Yes, and what is that to you?" Dolthafaer narrowed his eyes and held his silence for a moment, but gave no response for a long while.
" ... She still grieves for you. Your loss broke her heart." Cúrandir bristled. Who was this Dolthafaer, that his sister would confide such things to him? He glared defensively back at Dolthafaer, before dropping his gaze and mumbling,
"Well I know it."
"Do you?" Dolthafaer snapped. He shook his head, looking away into the distance. "What fool game did you play? You saw it necessary to break the hearts of your family in order to leave the Valley?"
Gritting his teeth together, Cúrandir huffed. He did not need to be reminded of his past errors, least of all by him."Say what you will. I have suffered more than enough for my foolishness."
"I will not judge you, but know that you were not the only one who suffered. You best be prepared to make amends in Imladris, Tancamir." Cúrandir froze at the last word, turning to Dolthafaer who eyed him knowingly. The name he had taken for himself - Cúrandir, the Wandering Bow - suddenly rang hollow and false in his mind. He was , had always been Tancamir, though he had been running from it most of his life. He winced slightly, and gave a sigh.
" My father ... does he still live?"
"Aye. I do not know him, but he lives."
Cúrandir thought of his father, first of their heated arguments and bitter words, but then of his father's kind hand, guiding his own small fingers as they learned the Fëanorian letters. Of his encouraging smile, when he got a lesson wrong, or of his delight when his son had finally bested him at sparring. To his father, he had always been Tancamir, the steadfast, if sometimes stubborn, jewel of the family. He buried his face in his hands. He had resolved, in Angmar, to return home, and he would hold to that resolution, and be Tancamir once more.
"I have been such a fool," he breathed raggedly.
"Perhaps. But you live; no matter how difficult it might be for your family to forgive you, forgive you they will, " Dolthafaer said, face softening. "Your sister once told me that she still hopes you live. She will be happy to see you. Hurt, certainly, but... happy." Tancamir made a mental note to ask his sister about Dolthafaer sometime. He nodded wryly at Dolthafaer.
"And she will be happy to see you too, I gather," he replied. "She did not give out favors lightly, when we were was young. Actually, I do not believe she ever looked twice at another ellon. Always liked her books better."
He watched the other's face carefully as Dolthafaer broke into a crooked little smile, tucking the bracelet back into his gauntlet. There was something between them, he could see, from the way Dolthafaer looked at his wrist, slightly flustered.
"Nay, she - well, she gave it to me for luck, you see, before a tournament. There was no time to return it before I left. She will be pleased to know it brought some luck after all."
Tancamir rolled his eyes. Apparently Dolthafaer was just as clueless as his sister. It would be entertaining to watch them tread circles nervously around each other in Imladris. Their talk turned to lighter matters; such as the state of the weather, of Imladris, and of the house of Bar-en-Vanimar to which many of the company belonged. As they parted ways for the night, Tancamir could not help thinking that perhaps his return to Imladris would not be so unpleasant after all.
