Chapter Text
The crimson surcoat is too wide around the shoulders and the hips. Curufin is of a lighter build than his brother and furthermore, he lacks the armour to wear underneath.
However, it is less humiliating than to be clad only in his undergarments for any longer.
He sits down on the root of a beech tree, his back resting against the trunk, and grimly glances at his bare feet.
"You wouldn't happen to own a spare pair of boots, would you?"
Celegorm is crouching at the foot of the slope, struggling to light a fire from rain-soaked wood without tinder.
"I do own two boots", he snarls through gritted teeth, "would you like the right one or the left?"
Curufin gives a disgruntled sigh. "This must surely be what Mandos had in mind when he named us 'the Dispossessed'?"
Acrid smoke wells up. Naturally, the wet wood has caught fire in the end. Celegorm rises and climbs the slope.
"We lost our people. You lost your child and I lost my heart. And Huan and your horse. And your weapons and armour and our supplies and the last of our gold in your saddlebags. And a huge part of our dignity. But yes, Curvo, Mandos especially thought of your boots when he cursed us." His mouth twists into a joyless grin that fades quickly. "At least," he adds, groaning as he sinks against the tree trunk next to Curufin, "things can't get much worse."
Curufin swallows hard. His throat feels as if a hand were still throttling him. He longs to lean on Celegorm's shoulder. But to do so would bring them both to tears they have not shed for a long time.
"Indeed. There is hardly a chance for things to take yet another turn for the worse."