"Are you certain this is a good idea?" Cúrandir frowned at Falasgil, who was busily closing up the windows and door of the hunting lodge.
"Of course! Do not even worry, Ningloriel can never refuse me a favour after I have been away for so long. " Falasgil flashed Cúrandir a grin. "Now come and help me with this window, unless you want to stay in a mouldy lodge when we go hunting next summer!"
Cúrandir rolled his eyes, but picked up a hammer and began helping his friend board up the windows of the hunting lodge which had been their home for most of the summer. Strange how the days passed without monotony here, whereas they had seemed to drag in Imladris. Cúrandir had only expected to stay a few days in Falasgil's lodge, after their first chance meeting, but Falasgil had other ideas. There was so much more to see in Lindon than just the forests and the shore, he had argued. And Cúrandir needed not doubt the hospitality of the Falathrim - he was welcome to stay as long as he wished. And so they had whiled away the entire golden summer together, hunting, laughing, and talking late into the night beside the ashes of their campfire.
Now the wind blew chill in the still-verdant branches overhead, laden with the promise of autumn. It ruffled Cúrandir's tawny hair, shoulder-length now but still as ragged and uneven as the day he had cut it with the blade of his dagger. He looked over one shoulder and motioned for Falasgil to hand him a few nails.
"I cannot believe it - after all the crazy things we have done this summer, this has to be the most absurd," he said. "How exactly did you talk me into this?"
"More absurd than cliff-diving?" Falasgil retorted with a roguish grin. "Ha! You should have seen your face, Cúrandir, when I told you that I had been diving as soon as I had learned how to swim. "
Both looked at each other and then burst into laughter. A moment later, when he had regained his breath, Cúrandir put down his hammer and stared at Falasgil apologetically.
"I really must thank you, but do you not think that inviting me to stay with you and your sister in Mithlond for the foreseeable future is a bit much, Falasgil?" He shrugged. "I am sure I can find some work as a bowyer in Mithlond and procure myself a place to stay. I would not want to impose on your hospitality so much, after this summer."
"Oh no, you are not imposing in the least. You cannot imagine how dull it becomes at home, when Ningloriel is weaving away at her loom, and Súlrohir is off sailing round the bay. They will not mind you, I am sure." Falasgil gave Cúrandir a rakish grin. "If worst comes to worst, I can always hide you in the basement."
Cúrandir punched Falasgil's shoulder lightly in mock outrage. "No one is hiding me in the basement! I will go with you to Mithlond, but if your sister objects to your absurd proposal (which I am sure she will) you must let me find lodgings elsewhere."
"Fine. And leave me to the monotony of being the 'only child' again? I thought we were friends." Falasgil pouted melodramatically. "I shall go off to join the Guard, then, and seek an honourable death in battle. "
Cúranir snorted. "If the sergeant does not kick you out first. And you think being the only child is terrible? I grew up with two younger sisters. Two of them, Falasgil. Anything has to be better than that. Think of all the blasted tea parties, and dresses, and hair ribbons you have never had to live with, and be thankful."
"There is nothing wrong with hair ribbons!" Falasgil protested. "They are an essential part of any formal hair-style. I often braid blue ones into my hair for festive occasions. In fact, I think emerald green ribbons would go marvellously with your hair. You ought to try it, sometime." He finished boarding up the last window and began to stow away the tools and nails.
Cúrandir cast Falasgil a mildly horrified glance. "No, thank you. I prefer my hair as it is." Handing over his hammer to Falasgil, he stalked around to the front door, which they had locked and boarded up as well. Their various belongings lay stacked on the doorstep, including a magnificently mounted stag's head, complete with a full rack of antlers. Whistling under his breath, Falasgil continued to fuss over the assortment of satchels and parcels before the door. When he was content they were in order, he snapped his fingers twice and Limros came trotting around the corner, tossing his foam-white mane.
"Saddle up, Cúrandir. Once our things are packed, we make for Mithlond! There will be a few days' camping on the way, but in four days' time we shall see the lights of home over the bay." Still whistling, he began to load his belongings onto his steed's back, securing them in a cross-wise fashion with straps of leather and lengths of lightweight rope.
In a moment, Amloth poked his chestnut head around the corner of the lodge, whickering softly to his master. Cúrandir grinned and set about saddling his own horse for the coming journey. There were bulky packages of dried venison, as well as a few pouches of dried herbs and berries that Falasgil insisted he carry. Finally all was packed away save the great stag's head that lay on the doorstep, staring at them with glassy onyx eyes. Falasgil gave a low whistle.
"Stars, I had forgotten about that monstrosity. Who is going to carry that home? " The two looked at each other for a moment.
"You gave me the greater share of food to carry, you scoundrel," Cúrandir laughed. "Just because you ride without a saddle does not mean you must carry less of your share. I would like to see you try to fit the stag's head on that mess of rope and leather you call your 'saddle-bags.' "
Falasgil returned the teasing with a smirk. "Fine. Watch and be impressed. " He lifted the trophy onto the bags that already were secured to Limros' back, and tied it on deftly with strands of rope. "There, secure as a topsail in a gale. And now, let us be off!"
He swung onto Limros' bare back, and Cúrandir mounted Amloth as well. Both turned back for a moment to look fondly at the lodge where they had spent the summer, and forged a friendship that would not be forgotten. Cúrandir drew out his steel flask, which had since been emptied of miruvor and now contained a potent wine of Lindon. He took a sip, corked it, and tossed the bottle to Falasgil.
"To the passing summer, and to the autumn that comes." Cúrandir winked at Falasgil. "And to your sister Ningloriel and her hospitality, which I hope we will have."
Falasgil took a swig of the wine and grinned broadly. "May our arrows always fly side by side. To adventure, and Mithlond that awaits!" He made a great show of pocketing the flask for himself, than urged Limros on to a trot. "You may have your wine back when we make camp for the night ... if you can catch up."
With a joyous laugh, Cúrandir spurred Amloth onwards, and the two riders vanished into the trees.
***********
That evening, as they stretched out their bedrolls under the stars of Lindon, Cúrandir managed to sneak past Falasgil and steal back his flask from where Falasgil had hidden it. He held it behind his back, feigning innocence when Falasgil turned his head and raised an eyebrow in question.
"What? I have stolen nothing, why do you look at me so seriously?" Cúrandir quipped. He shook his head slightly, and a few leaves that had caught in his hair fluttered to the ground.
Falasgil grinned. "You can have it, I was only bluffing. It is yours anyway. " He sat down, smiling contentedly. "I cannot believe I am saying this, but I am glad now that the summer is over and that it is time to return to Mithlond."
Cúrandir arched an eyebrow. "Sudden change of heart towards serving in the Guard? How very unexpected of you. " He smiled lopsidedly, not wanting Falasgil to take offence at his words.
There was a beat of silence, and Falasgil's face took on a serious expression. His blue eyes were tinged with sorrow, and in the starlight his face seemed paler than normal. Cúrandir stared, taken aback. He was used to the Falasgil of light-hearted jests and laughing manner, who danced with the wind and wound rowan flowers into his hair. This Falasgil was altogether different, and bewildering.
"Did I ever tell you that I used to call Ningloriel 'mother'? " Falasgil's voice was barely above a whisper, yet each word seemed to weigh on him as he uttered it. Cúrandir shook his head 'no,' and motioned for Falasgil to continue.
"My sister is much older than I - in fact, she and Súlrohir were wed before I was born, yet that is not the reason. Our own mother fell ill shortly after I was born. It was a sickness of the spirit, the healers said. They said she had wearied of life on these shores and no manner of medicine would recall her will to live. So my father decided to sail West with her, in hopes that she would find healing and peace in Aman. I was only a babe at the time - and Ningloriel cared for me as her own. " Falasgil sighed, then glanced at Cúrandir and smiled wryly.
"It was a strange household, just the three of us - but I cannot say that I lacked for anything. I was quite a troublesome child, Ningloriel tells me, and I can easily believe her. All these years she and Súlrohir have been the best family I could ask , and yet I sometimes wish I were not so alone. "
Cúrandir gave his friend a strange look. "You? Alone? I am sure you have plenty of friends in Mithlond, as you yourself have told me. You spoke of your famous parties, of the dancing and merry-making all the winter long. Surely someone such as yourself finds no shortage of friends and acquaintances wherever you go. You have even managed to convince me to regard you as a friend, when I was only interested in getting my fair share of the stag that I had shot down."
"Stop flattering me, you rogue," Falasgil said with a laugh. His face took on a slight tinge of melancholy. "Have you never felt alone in the midst of a crowd? I envy you, with your parents and your sisters. Why did you ever leave Imladris, when you truly had a family to call your own?"
"You did not know what it was like, Falasgil," Cúrandir said slowly, eyes never leaving the smouldering fire before them. "My father and I were never close - and it seemed as I grew older that I was ever a disappointment to him. He is an eminent scholar in Imladris, and one of the Lord Erestor's trusted colleagues. I had no choice, from the day I was born, it seems, than to eventually fill his shoes. "
"So you would leave home simply because you and your father were at odds? What of your mother, and your sisters? Did you not love them, even a little? Perhaps your father cared for you somewhat, in his own way. Do you ever think of going back? They must think you wounded, or lost, or even worse." Falasgil's voice had taken on a steely edge, and he gazed steadily at Cúrandir's downcast face.
"I cannot go back," Cúrandir breathed. "Not now, when I have come this far. I love my mother more than anyone else I have known - she encouraged me to roam the wide woods and the green hills which reminded her of her homeland in Lórien. But even she could not convince my father to put off his plans to make me a scholar. I was not a poor student as a child - I would have submitted to any amount of lessons if only he would have allowed me to do something else for the rest of my life, such as joining the Guard of Imladris as an archer. Imladris was no longer home, Falasgil. It was a cage - ever closing in on me day by day. " He drew a small dagger from his right gauntlet and turned it over meditatively. The steel glinted blood-red in the firelight.
"Do you see this dagger? I have told you of the trolls I slew that day I left home, but not of what other blood this blade has tasted." He drew a deep breath, face twisted in remorse. "I had dislocated my shoulder and would have fallen at the hand of the foul beasts, were it not for a Man that found me unconscious and drove away the trolls."
Falasgil leaned forwards, brows knitted in a frown. "No, you never told me what happened afterwards, or of meeting a Man. I still do not see how this has any bearing on why you insist on not returning home, though."
"I never met him, Falasgil. I know not when he dressed my wounds, but when I awakened I thought him a foe." Cúrandir threw his dagger to the ground and glared. "I stabbed him with my dagger, slaying him like any other beast, when he was the one who saved my life. I remember little of the days that followed, save that I hid by day and travelled by night, always riding west. When my shoulder had healed, I was already far from Imladris. And then I came to Lindon, and did not wish to leave."
Falasgil put out a hand and rested it on Cúrandir's shoulder, all suggestion of judgment gone from his gaze. "Do not fault yourself. You had no way of discerning who he was." He gave Cúrandir a crooked grin. "I suppose I should count myself lucky that you decided to leave home and come to Lindon. This summer would have been so much more dull if I had not met you."
"Dull? I do not think you have ever had a dull moment in your life, to be honest." Cúrandir returned the grin and picked up his dagger, securing it in his gauntlet. "Three days' journey left to Mithlond, you say? I do not think I have ever seen the city, unless in passing. I turned north and west after crossing the Baranduin, as the wilds of Forlindon seemed more appealing to me at the moment. " He gave Falasgil a sharp look.
"Do you still insist on my remaining with your family as a guest in Mithlond? I would not do so, unless I had some way of repaying you. I am not the worst of bowyers; perhaps you might know of any craftsmen in Mithlond that would welcome an apprentice?" He frowned slightly and brushed back a stray lock of hair.
"Ah, there is no need for that, I have already told you," Falasgil admonished. "It will be like having a real brother in the house, after all those years of being an only child. I have never had a brother my age; imagine all the fun we could get up to in Mithlond. " Suddenly his face fell and he sighed. "Well, I suppose that I will only have time for merriment after my training for the Guard finishes. I ought to be glad that they do not require the recruits to live in the barracks until they have passed their training. We will at least have the autumn together, then."
"Please, do not try to divert the subject by flattering me and then listing your own problems," Cúrandir said with a chuckle. "Why cannot we both join the Guard together? I would vastly prefer a life as an archer in the service of Mithlond than as a bowyer's apprentice. "
Falasgil's mouth dropped open, then curved into a wide smile. "You, my friend, are an absolute genius. I could not have thought of a better plan myself. It is not too late to enlist, if we return before the turning of autumn. Joining the Guard is mostly a ceremonial affair now, and nearly all the youths of my age have been recruits at one time or another. I intend to leave after a few years of service and return to my family's trade, which is sail-weaving."
Cúrandir frowned slightly at Falasgil's light-hearted words. "Be not so quick to dismiss this opportunity. Ever have I dreamed of defending my homeland and those I love. I would have offered my bow in service to the forces of Imladris, had I been able. "
"Perhaps you will think differently after a week of drills and such," Falasgil quipped. "I have heard that the Sergeant in charge of the archer recruits has a temper more capricious than Ossë during a tempest."
Cúrandir laughed and tossed Falasgil a roasted chestnut he had retrieved from the ashes of the fire. "We will see. But I am sure our training will not be so unbearable, if we face it together."
Falasgil whistled merrily as he stretched out on his bedroll, eyes gazing upwards at the stars. "I have a feeling we will be facing much more than just a grumpy Sergeant together, indor*. For brothers in blood we may not be, but I would venture to call us brothers in heart."
" Indor ... I like the sound of that, " Cúrandir grinned. "Brothers in heart, soon to be brothers in arms when we reach Mithlond. And may nothing divide us!" The stars above twinkled and nodded as if in agreement as night fell upon their camp.
Notes:
*Indor from Sindarin ind "inner thought, heart" and tôr "brother", similar to muindor (dear brother)
