A Rather Chaotic Revision of The Fellowship

~Eight~

High noon, and Caranthir found himself leaving the "library." At least, that was what those pretentious Sindarin dark elves called it. There were so many gaps in the "lore," it was funny. There was little to no detail on the rebellion of his father, Thingol had for some unnatural reason been written as just and mighty ruler: mightiest and of all the elves excluding Fëanor (and since when was he taller than Maitimo) unlike the spiteful, cowardly scum he was in person. As a plus, he and his entire house, with the obvious exclusion of Tyelpe and Nerdanel, had suddenly been written out as insensitive, dirt-eating losers (these words could just as easily be used to describe the entire Moriquendi) who acted much to rashly for their own good, which certainly lead to their violent and gory deaths (of this last part Caranthir could make no comment). And one not simply forget the errors of the mapmaking: Thargelion was clearly larger than those unschooled dark elves had recorded.

The breezeway worked itself in sloping coils down to an open circle, a garden floating above the elven fords. The view was quite nice. Caranthir leaned an arm to the rail.

"By the Trees, it is awfully curious to find Arwen Undomiel sneaking up behind me," called Caranthir in a monotone, and not looking backwards.

The elleth hissed a sharp gasp. Caranthir felt the corners of his mouth tilt.

She spoke back, having (apparently) regained her composure. "I did not intend to run into you."

"Then what a nice coincidence."

Arwen crossed, stiffly, to meet him at the rail. Apparently, she lacked the manners to return another sarcastic quip. "Your presence concerns many."

Caranthir turned to her sharply. "Like you, for instance?"

Arwen bit her lip. "I did not say that."

"Funny, you even speak like her."

She did not need to ask who, but did bring up something different. "How did you even get the chance to see her?"

"Everyone knows what they tried to do," he spat.

"I thought you had nothing to do with the matter." She said all this staring over at the landscape.

Caranthir went slightly stiff. "I met up with them riding, they had taken a wrong turn back." He did not voice certain suspicious circumstances, how their maps had mysteriously vanished, and the odd glint that had seeded in the eyes of Tyelko's hound. The animal had always shared the greater store of sense. "She tried to slap me," he added awkwardly.

Arwen threw her head back and laughed, to Caranthir's surprise. "I dislike it when people look at me, and all they see is Tinúviel."

Caranthir lifted his head in intrigue. "I shall count myself shocked."

"Why so?" she challenged, going slightly stiff.

"Wouldn't everyone like that be proud?"

"You could call me proud," she scoffed. "Until it gets to this. Even my grandmother is becoming terrible about it."

"Your grandmother?" he asked.

"Yes, Galadriel," she answered. "It's disturbing. Tell me, do you know a man named Aragorn?"

"I traveled with him back to Imladris," said Caranthir, "but you know that already, don't you?"

"He was brought up here. As Elrond's foster son. He is the heir of the lost kings of Gondor and Arnor," she said. Caranthir, despite all his time brooding in the library, had studied little in that area.

"Interesting." He tapped a hand to the rail. Suddenly he glanced suspiciously back to Arwen.

"I was in Galadriel's realm during the time he was raised."