#fainloth

Curufin’s grip on his sword was unnaturally still as he waltzed into the throne room. Coated in blood was his mail, and though his hair was tousled and wild, there was a dangerous certainty in his eyes. Here, today, with the rocks and forest as his witnesses, someone will be slain— and every calculation which ran through his mind told him it would be Dior and Nimloth.

“It is regrettable that this is what our negotiations had come to,” he mused, his monotone voice reflecting none of the emotions that someone who had just slaughtered hundreds should have. “But still, even now, I am willing to put this behind us. You—”

Lifting his sword, he pointed it to her breast.

@fainloth "That would be wonderful," Dior did have such skilled hands. Nimloth picked Elurín up and rested him against her hip. Her boys were growing fast now, and soon she would not be able to carry them at all, "I am so lucky to have a family that spoils me so."

Dior had worked in secrecy to create a gift which would please all of his family, from his wife to his children. Naught had he told of his plans, except for craftsmen he charged with creating what he had imagined. The family lived now in Doriath and in the underground palace of Menegroth, which was so very different from their previous home. They all so adored the clear streams, green meadows, and majestic trees from where they had come from. Wherever he could, he found what was similar in their new home. He had found what pleased them about the kingdom of his grandfather.