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The first time he encountered the race of men, he had been seated upon his warhorse, cresting a hill in Thargelion. Below, they had danced like ants; like swirls of dust kicked up underfoot. They were flashes of flushed skin and hacking blades amidst a horde of orcs sent south by Morgoth in their ongoing encroachment into his lands.
He had searched for the head of their clan as best he could with his head down against his stallion’s neck, braced against the wind. He had heard of the man, Haldad, in fractured, desperate reports which he had been convinced must have reached him too late to save so frail a people. But there they were, a surprisingly well structured group of fighters, rallied behind a lone figure at the front whose broad shoulders proved a body used to fighting. He had not had time to consider it further as his battalion had come crashing into the wall of orcs which had seemed to barely shrink no matter how many of their grotesque bodies piled upon the floor beneath their horses’ feet.
----
The last time Caranthir saw one of the world of men, he had watched his elder brother plunge a silver blade through the chest of a traitor. He would have done it himself; he would have. If Maglor had given him but a moment, he would have understood exactly what was happening and he would have rid them all of the wretched worm for good. But Maglor had not waited, he had been decisive and vicious and dangerous – as the war had made them all. He had done in that moment, what Caranthir could not. He was not so blinded, had not been so duped into thinking these creatures were loyal or brave or good.
----
The first time he met Haleth, she was darkened with the black tinged blood of so many orcs, he could not have been certain quite what she looked like beneath it all. But her eyes, they were bright and filled with flame. In them was certainly the light given by Iluvatar to all of his most beloved creations. She had laughed when he asked her if she was harmed, high and fey and strange. For a moment, his anger had bubbled up to the surface, not a difficult accomplishment certainly, but it had never quite broken. Men were strange creatures, unknown to him. Perhaps their customs were different. Perhaps, poor thing, she hadn’t even understood his question. When he had asked her where their leader was, the man who had called for help, she laughed again. Bitter, where before it had been wild. Haldad, her own father, was dead. Her twin brother with him, he learned later. She alone was left to lead her people.
And lead them she had. He had watched them as he fought, and they fought alongside him. A steadfast, unmovable force of nature cleaving a bloody trench through the enemy forces which had surely besieged them for days.
While he had been wondering as to her sanity, she had struggled out of a leather glove and held out her hand, sun-touched and small, to him. When he had taken it to shake, a mannish sign of respect he assumed, the rough callouses had grazed the still perfectly smooth skin of his own palm.
----
Caranthir could not rightly remember the first time he had met Uldor. The man had been born to his father who already served within the Noldorin ranks. He had likely met him as a babe, as a boy. But he remembered him as a man. Eyes dark, dead, even in life. There had been no spark in them. No light as he recalled it. It was easy to ignore. Not all men could be as Haleth’s people were.
The first time he had ever seen that flash in Uldor’s eyes was in the moment they realised he had betrayed them. The moment he realised they would not reach Fingon’s forces in time, that their battle, so long planned, had been reported back to the enemy and turned on them in butchery. It was a dark light, a cruel gleam which had filled the part of him so warmed by the odd presence of the race of men with ice.
----
He was not sure he could recall the first words he said to Haleth, after she had disappeared to soak the worst of the days gore from herself. Whatever it had been, he can assume it had not come out in a complementary fashion, for he saw one or two of his captains’ wince as he spoke. But Haleth had laughed again. Warm now. Her hair was curled around her face, straggled in places she had obviously had to work to remove blood. A honey gold colour which lacked the lustre his Arafinwean cousins had but was infinitely more lovely. Not, he had to suppose, that it was hard to beat out such brats as Angrod and Aegnor in his mind. Her face had a glow to it, despite the obvious grief etched into her brows and under her eyes; wide and brown and quick. He could tell immediately. Her heart. Even if she would not show it to him in words, he could see it, had seen it in the way she had led her people. He hoped, when he thought of this day, that he had said as such, for he knew he had never managed to speak it afterwards. But he could no longer recall remember his words.
----
He could still hear the first words he could recall speaking solely to Uldor. The whispered request for secrecy. The promise was sworn back to him in the darkened hallways of Himring. They had each of them come together, along with Fingon’s people from the west, to plan. He was still choosing the correct people to let into the room.
He had chosen poorly.
But elves did not break their vows, even in the very darkest of times, and it had not occurred to him that the man before him would speak falsely to him, already ensnared in Morgoth’s dark power. So, he had gripped the man by the shoulder and led him into the diplomatic fray.
----
He had not abode with the human encampment long, but each second of it seemed burned into his brain, accompanied by the calming scent of woodsmoke. Their faces were blurs lit by firelight. Undying, at least in his mind.
Haleth alone stood out in his memory, perhaps because she had been seated beside him – to the surprise of his own soldiers. She had played him off for a long while, but eventually, she had begun to talk. She spoke of her father and his violent death at the hands of orcs. Of a brother he had not even known she had, the way he had led them for only a few hours before his own death. Of the long seven days she had stood fast against the tide, had held out against all expectations of her own endurance, and led her people through a full week of siege and battle before he had arrived.
She did not thank him, he recalled noticing. Did not throw herself and her people upon his good grace, few and far between as shows of it were. He had not known what to expect of men. He was more familiar with his own kind, as well as dwarves, but he had heard they revered the eldar whom they met. Or, he supposed, they revered Finrod at least. His lip curled. But he did not think Haleth would have thanked Finrod either. She was proud, and that, he understood.
----
He did not spend too much time in the company of Uldor outside of his presence in those war councils. He was a hard-headed but seemingly clever man. Powerful amongst his house and people – the perfect person to have at the head of the men they would take to the plains of Anfauglith. But he was not witty. His intelligence was strategic and cold.
He stood opposite Caranthir through many of Maedhros’ plans, through Fingon’s long speeches of unity. He watched them with a calculation that implied attention. Good, Caranthir had thought at the time, at least he will remember where he is supposed to be when the time comes. There was militaristic comradeship there, but no friendship of which to speak. Uldor knew nothing of him, and he knew nothing of the heavy-browed man in return. It was fine by him. He did not need the acquaintance of men to fill his days, especially not one so cool and dispassionate as this.
----
He understood pride. His own and Haleth’s. But that didn’t mean he liked it.
He had asked her to stay. Of course he had. Her people were strong, and she was a wonderful leader. They were destined to become one of the great houses of the world of men. He could sense it. But she would not stay.
It had burned him. He had offered her people land, protection, yet still they would not remain. She would leave, and they would follow. He could never have said what sense of connection tied him so strongly to them, but the threat of it severing after those few weeks was enough to torment him. He argued the point with Haleth for as many hours as she could handle, before she would whirl on him like a wolf and he would stand down, put in his place. He liked it. Liked that she would stand her ground against him, that she would snarl and order him. That he never quite rose to meet her. His blood sang in his veins when she did so. It soared and whirled in excited loops throughout his body. He would feel his face flush, red over his dark smattering of freckles. But that fury which lived in his throat like an ill-trained dog did not surge upwards, did not long for her blood, or the burning skin of her throat.
They would stay, she repeated, time and again, until those of her people who were wounded or unfit to travel had recovered. Then they would leave.
He asked her if it was him. A strange, vulnerable question whose source he could not discover. He had a habit of pushing others away, of isolating himself. But he had not meant to do so here. Not when she had told him of her family’s deaths, of the weight of leadership, of her past and her hopes of a future. Not when he had replied in turn, of family and oaths and grudges long held. Her face had softened when he did so. Melted into something less fierce but no less strong. Her hand had settled onto his shoulder so that they sat bent slightly together as her fingers squeezed and she smiled. But it was not him, she said. Simply that she and her people would not live under the thraldom nor guardianship of any. They would continue west, as had been their goal before the bloodshed, to lands of their own. He argued that there were hardly any unclaimed lands left that way, not between the elven princes and ever growing swathes of orcs. She had grinned, toothy and sharp. We will make some.
Despite the impending loss, he couldn’t help but smile back.
----
He had thought he understood pride. But neither in the moment, nor in all the years since, had he understood the sheer hubris Uldor had exhibited. In betraying him, in believing any promises made by Morgoth.
He knew he would never respect any element of the wretched betrayal of his trust, no matter how many centuries he struggled on for.
----
The sun was just cresting on the horizon, when Haleth gathered the last of her people to her and turned towards the west. He did not call out to her. Did not raise a hand in farewell. There could not have been anything left to say. Not after the weeks of arguing and of not arguing and the desperate hope he could convince these strange people to stay, if only to have alleviated his own half-conscious loneliness.
She stayed at the back of the train of marching humans, sword out and on guard. Some lesser captains and trackers had taken the front. But Haleth would not have left even the weakest of her people behind, and so she was the last figure he watched crest a small slope. All others had disappeared into the valley below. Gone from his sight. She turned at the last moment, the light of the sun caught on the golden sheen of her skin, the honeyed tint of her wild hair. Her lips had broken into a grin, wild and gleeful. Pain had lanced through him, so happy they were to be free of him. Unsurprising, yet hurtful, nonetheless.
But in the last second, he had caught it. The cause of her smile.
Freedom.
That which she valued for herself and her people above all else; and that, he could understand. Was it not what they had all been clamouring for?
He hoped she would find it.
He had felt his own lips as they curled into that expression, so unusual on his features. Haleth smiled at him, and he had found he could do naught but smile back. When she turned to begin the descent after her people, she did not once look back.
He had slithered back into the quiet of Thargelion, colder now, without Haleth and her people to light it. But all the while there was a peace in his heart he had seldom felt since the darkening of Valinor. Whatever became of the rest of them, he had discovered that there was such strength in the world of men.
----
The last time Caranthir laid eyes upon that faithless band of men, was upon the fields of the Nirnaeth. His feet were dragged down by the mire of filth and blood around him in that cruel moment both he and his brother’s realised the betrayal. He did not know what Morgoth must have promised them for such traitorous behaviour, but the bitter glee with which Uldor had turned to face them seared itself into the very recesses of his mind. Those dark eyes had rested upon Caranthir’s face and, in the moments before Maglor moved forwards to block him from view, he had seen the way Uldor’s expression had twisted into something so unnatural he barely resembled a creation of Iluvatar at all.
Even as the man had fallen to the floor, pierced by Maglor’s blade, he had been smiling. Wild and strange. He had barked out a laugh at Caranthir, a choking sound which spewed forth blood and spittle as he collapsed with a horrific squelch into the gore that surrounded them. Someone near to his left, he had not turned to look, could respond only with confusion. For the man had all but sealed his fate with the revealing of his own treachery. But Caranthir had seen it once more. That strange light of freedom which plagued the race of men, which held fast in their eyes, though not always in their souls, even as they fell to death unending. Uldor had fallen, but he had won his victory all the same.
He had won his victory when Fingon had fallen, far to the western flank of the battle.
He had won when vast swathes of their army fell to the monstrous creatures let loose from the bowels of Angband.
He had won as the brothers, with what was left of their men, tracked southwards for days with no end. When they had turned one morning and seen in the great distance through gaps in the northern peaks, a pile of bodies which grew and grew with almost comedic levels of horror. A great mound of the dead raised skywards in mockery.
He had won, when Caranthir stared deeply into his own eyes, so dark grey many had thought them black. When he had searched, ceaselessly for what it was which had seemed to drive others from him. Which put impassable barriers between himself and those he had thought to trust.
Uldor had won most of all, when he sullied the memory of those the elf had met many years before. When he made a complete mockery of Caranthir’s hard-won trust born of the valour of Haleth and her people.
For now, he knew it. There was no strength left in the world of men.