He had to admit that it had been a clever ploy on his father and brothers' part. Once they landed, Curvo had been sent with two of his father's most trusted henchmen to survey the land around their encampment. Fëanor's trusted warriors had led Curvo high into the foregrounding barren hills on horseback.

It wasn't long before they found sign of the enemy. They came upon a troop of creatures heading east, foul beings in the semblance of the Eldar but with ruined bodies. After the Noldor had slaughtered their screaming foe, Curvo realized they were the orcs his grandfather had once spoken of that inhabited these lands, once elves but mutilated beyond repair by Morgoth.

As Curvo wiped the black blood from his blade on the sparse vegetation, he scanned the alien landscape down towards the ocean. The signature glow of raging flames lit up the waters. Curvo stumbled forward, narrowing his keen eyes.

"The ships..." he murmured in horror as his two comrades turned towards him. 

One of the warriors grabbed his forearm. "This is for your own good and the good of our people," he tried to convince him, his tone calm but firm. "Your father is only doing what is best."

Curvo eyes widened in shock as he realized he had been tricked by his own companions, his own kin. "This is no accident then."

The elf confidently shook his head. "Our King knows his half-brother will only bring him treachery and pain. Fingolfin and his people will find their own way, if they so choose."

"My- my wife..." Curvo stuttered. He had given up his life's passion in the forges of Tirion, left his own mother weeping and utterly abandoned. Luimenisse stood on the opposite shore of the sea, waiting. He had told her to trust him.

"I left my wife back in Tirion. As did your brother Makalaurë. This is the way of our people in times of war and strife, things we have not known in many years until the Valar allowed the return of Morgoth. She will never cease to be your wife, only from afar." The other ellon spoke this lightly as though it were a comfort.

With a disgusted growl, Curvo sheathed his sword and ran a hand through his shorn hair. "But I made a promise to her, an oath."

The closest scout grabbed his shoulders and shook him firmly. "My prince, you made an oath to your father and brothers first. You may find that these two promises are not compatible. Someday, you may need to break one in order to keep the other. I hope you remember where your first loyalty should lie on that day."

Curvo tore away from him and raced towards their horses on the other side of the rocky hill. They did not try to stop him. They knew the deed was done and he would not make it in time to stop anything. Anyway, Curvo was the strongest and most agile of riders among his brothers, they would not have caught him if they tried. There wasn't much that Curvo did not succeed in when he put his mind to it. He refused to let marriage become his first true failure.

He rode his black steed hard down the mountain side towards the water's edge. The bay was eerily calm with no wind. The only sound that filled the smokey air was that of the raging inferno and the shouts of the warriors of Fëanor, whipped into a frenzy as they waved their torches and swords towards the stolen ships. 

Fëanor loomed on the highest rock, his countenance illuminated by the flames like a balrog, eyes glowing like his coveted silmarils. Curvo felt the breath knocked from him as he peered up at the one elf he had always idolized. Fëanor paced like a cat before it's prey, his blood red cape whipping in his wake. He gleefully pointed to one of the elegant swan ships as it's sails danced with heat, the swan headpiece black and charred as it sank into the sea. Tyelkormo and Carnistir were the only two sons who stood by him, smirking with satisfaction as the fleet was destroyed.

"Burn! Burn them all!" Fëanor urged to his followers below.

"Atar!" Curvo called out as he struggled up from the shoreline towards him.

Fëanor blinked at Curvo as though he didn't recognize him. Then a smug expression invaded his fair face. "So I see from the blood on your armor that your scouting venture was a success. Tell me, little father, how many of our enemies did you slay?"

Curvo ignored his father's biting reference to his loathed mother name. Carnistir didn't bother acknowledging his younger brother, he'd always been jealous of him and now seemed to think he was the superior one. Tyelkormo could barely restrain his excitement as he pointed towards the ships. "Curvo! What do you think old Fingolfin will say to this!? You always said you hoped he would receive his just rewards. I know you're sorry you won't be there to see the look on his conceited face."

With a steadying breath, Curvo turned to his father. "Atar, why would you do this to our own kin?"

Fëanor sneered at him, tossing his cloak as he strode along the razor edge of the cliff. "My son, I am well aware you harbor no warm feelings for my father's other sons and their children. Sometimes I wonder if you harbor warm feelings for anything not made of metal. But perhaps this brood mare of yours, this half teleri who has shaved you like a dog, she has bent your will in a way I never thought possible. My only conclusion is that she must ride well, for there is no other reason I can perceive that would hold your attention."

Curvo's blood boiled to a breaking point, his icy exterior cracking as he lunged towards his father. A pair of strong arms braced behind him as Carnistir stood in front of Fëanor with his hand on the hilt of his sword, Tyelkormo pushing him away. Fëanor merely laughed as though they were talking about an innocent mistake made in the forge and waved a hand, turning his back to survey his handiwork.

"Be still, little brother," a harsh voice said low into his ear, his grip on Curvo tightening as he pulled him away. "Don't do anything rash"

"Maitimo? How could you let this happen?" Curvo accused his eldest brother. "I promised- I swore to protect her, to be at her side!"

Maitimo led him partway down the rock, dismissing Tyelkormo with a glare. "I tried to stop it but I was given similar treatment. I've made promises too. I told our kin that we would not leave them, Fingolfin and Finarfin's sons. I even swore to Findekáno on our ancient friendship."

"Why did he do this?"

"Because he hates his brothers, he always has. You know this. We hated them too in Valinor, you were notorious for your acidic remarks."

Curvo roved the craggy waterside like a caged beast. "Everything from our lives before doesn't matter anymore, none of it. All that matters is our honor, in how we hold to our oaths."

"For father, there is only one oath that matters," Maitimo replied tonelessly, his thick shoulders slumping in defeat. He appeared smaller than Curvo had ever seen him in that moment. "Surely you understand that."

"Brother!" A strangled scream came from the shore.

Maitimo and Curvo both looked towards the water. The eldest of the twins, Minyarussa was struggling to wade out to the flaming ships. Makalaurë was holding him back best he could, helping him as he tripped and went under the ashen waves. Curvo and his eldest brother rushed to aid him and helped drag Miyarussa back to shore. Minyarussa's teeth chattered as he wailed, fighting to claw his way back to the ships.

Maitimo slapped him, bringing him to his senses. "What has happened?"

He pointed a trembling finger towards one of the ships most far gone in the blaze. "He said the ground was too hard to sleep on... he said he kept seeing the faces of the Sea-elves he'd murdered... that he saw our mother crying. Nerdanel called him 'fated'. Our father has made her prophecy now truth."

Squinting through the stinging ash and smoke, they peered up towards the boulder where their father stood, his face clearly visible in the inferno's glare. The gleeful madness in his eyes faded as he studied them on the beach, one twin present and the other sorely absent. They didn't need to tell him what had happened. In that moment, Fëanor knew.