(Edit, arr, in my enthusiasm, I rushed things a bit...)


Through the falling snows two huddled shapes trudged slowly deeper into the grasslands. The owner of the last house leaned out, his voice filled with concern, and disbeleif."You're crazy if you do this Old Timers!" But the old men walked on.

These two, last of the five, had come to this place, near enough to the centre of Ea with a purpose. They helped one another wordlessly, each busy with lifetimes of thought and memory. But the arms that they had wrapped about one another's shoulders spoke more fully than any length of words. For if there was one strange phenomenon to have arisen from Curin of Neiruthaun being able to clone himself it was that he had become his own very dearest friend. First looked across at Second, whose crooked nose, peeking barely through the deep and icicle encrusted beard, was stung an intense red, but the eyes, they were dark, and shot with bright points of light. FirstCurin chuckled, "You're enjoying this! The farmer was right, you are crazy!"
Second reached across and flicked Firsts nose. "Maybe I am, but can you blame me at my age? Now be quiet and help an old man."

So it was they reached the preordained place, and Second settled down, laying with his head on Firsts' knees. He looked up. "So, as we have all passed, and whence you were linked to our Others, in their place is left their special affinity; Fifth, who could light a fire out anything has left you fire; Fourth water; Third the Earth. So, as I pass: what now?"
First Looked out over the frozen plain, and through their bond he could feel his Second self relinquishing his hold on life. "Well, you were ever the woodsman amongst us, you knew the plants and the beasts and loved them most deeply; so I can only imagine..."
Second smiled, as his lips turned pale. "Aye, mayhaps once I'm gone, you will be one with the growing and living things. That would be a fine enough legacy for me. Farewell Curin, if that is who you will remain once I have passed. I remember the first time you and I looked one another in the eye. It was one of the best things fate could have ever granted us."
"Aye it was. I will be lonely without you." Said First
Second shook his head. "No, you will be even more filled with life. Live it to the fullest for me, for us all. Make life, give life, live life. Farewell."

In the spring, once the snows had melted, he that was Curin of Neiruthaun laid stones over his beloved Second. And the part of his mind, which had ever reached without thought towards his others, felt the rumour of something else. The eye of his mind, with which he had been able to pass his Will between the Other Curins was now able to pass from the blades of grass, to the bright-winged eagle. Almost as if he held them in his hand, he felt the heart-beat of the nearby deer; he felt the quickening sap if the trees, whose earliest green could be seen at the tips of their branches. He felt the long murmur of the earth beneath his feet, and the voice of the whispering clouds overhead. In passing through the door of the afterlife, the Others had opened something between Curin, and the Earth. Curin placed the last stone, and rested, musing wordlessly on this vast new range of perception in his mind, and felt the stir of something terribly wonderful inside. A little flower of hope, like the daffodil, as it stretches up from the frozen waste of winter.

As the cold swept the land, it left little to survive in its wake. Each of the bare trees wore caps of snow or were draping icicles from their branches. With the quick passing of fall, the snow fell remarkably fast, but what was more remarkable was the vegetation still reluctant to wane to the passing seasons. The tiniest of buds lay rooted to earth at the edge of the grasslands. It’s stem was thin, but as green as spring grass. Its petals were drooping slightly and in their beginning stages of shriveling from the chilly morning mists; and are stained with the most soft of sky blues. Crunching through the terrain, several paces behind the delicate flower, were the heavy boots of Vaudeux Jupiter. He trudged through the fresh layer of snow, arms folded into his chest, creating his own wind that whipped the flakes across his handsome face. A face that was contorted in a strained look of concentration, his eyes gazing off in the distance, empty of all but his thoughts. His body seemed to know where it was going though and tramped forward, ignoring anything in his path, which now included the sole blue bud.

Leaving the flower imprinted in his wake, Vaudeux searched out into the plains, before spotting a figure in the distance. His direction changed slightly, but his speed did not for the weather was unfair towards him. Normally he would have avoided trekking out in similar conditions, but the day was a different day, one that could grant him important knowledge. Lately he had developed a calculating hobby of giving into the call of the flame, which left him staring into its depths for hours at a time. In return, it would give him what he wanted, which was not unlike those magical mirrors spoken to over the centuries. A mere moon cycle ago, he had been atop his throne, gazing into the flame on one of his torchiers when such an occurrence ensued. From the cool red fire did the image of a dear friend proceed to combust. He continued to gaze until his mind grew weary of the image and his patience for understanding was worn thin.

Soon, the fire could burn nothing else, which expanded Jupiter’s concern that something more sinister was going on. So, that night, he fetched his cloak and journeyed onward to find the face of his friend. He burned by leagues on his journey, until he had finally made it to the appropriate location. The notion of importance was the only thing that kept his body pressing onward, for his mind was made up about the cold and the wet- he didn’t want to handle it. And so, he moved through the grasslands, he could feel the truth at the tip of his tongue as he neared his quarry, as his shins parted the drooping vegetation and as Curin of Neiruthaun became clearer in view.

Their journey through Alulanta was long behind them now, as was the first feast of his shrine, but Vaudeux now felt as if Curin could be someone entirely different. Enough time had passed between them he couldn’t be sure, if the mortal he once respected, would still remain eye-to-eye with his half-blooded friend. They were within shouting distance now, but Vaud offered no audible greeting as of yet, though, he continued to watch Curin’s profile. As he did so, his insides sunk, and a queasiness gripped them at once. When he moved closer the feeling only intensified. Jupiter was starting to recognize the sensation; he was a child, he was weak. Once they were within arms length, he could not push away the emotions any longer and his countenance dropped into an uncharacteristic look of melancholy. His arms hung limp, but he managed to grip his abdomen and keep his attention on Curin - his mind whirling, What’s happening to me? And besides the man he stopped, unable to produce any words, for it was fear that gripped him now- a fear he would never be able to produce.

Curin listened intently, as one does to the throb of their own ears, and perceived, a horizon away, the rattle of thunder upon the green hills, and he felt the lightening calling him, enticing him to leap from heaven to earth with the same reckless abandon, to arch across the distances in a moment of brilliance; and indeed, a part of him did.
So too a part of him walked beside Vaudeux Jupiter, his long friend, and an increasingly mighty power in the changing world.
Curin could feel Jupiter, the embodiment of fire. And as Jupiter walked closer, Curin could feel Jupiters powers singing out to him, begging him to gather them up, and wield them.
Curins' imagination blossomed with the myriad uses of such elemental power; and Words of Command appeared in his mind, with which he could bend fire to his Will. And Curin marvelled, and was filled with awe. Looking down at his hands, and seeing that lo! They were brimming with power! Curin gave in to the call of Fire, and seized control of more and more of the Ainur, Vaudeux Jupiters, power, until he held it, leash-like, in its fullness. In that fateful moment, Curin perceived a terrible thing. He was Master. He knew The Words.

Then he let it pass. He allowed the utter rush of fire to pass from his control, and perceived it rush back into Jupiter, who had been holding his stomach. Curin might be Master of Fire, but he was not its' Guardian. It had its' rightful place with this mighty, and terrible Valar; he who had been a charmer, and a murderer. It was only appropriate, Curin mused; for is not fire the most beautiful, and perilous of things?

Curin turned to Jupiter, and held his hands, looking into his friends eyes."You found me, dearest of friends. I am glad you're here with me; I have such need of your strength. Something terrible has happened; the Others, as they have passed, they have left me broken open, and something has flooded in, where they once completed me..." Curin lifted Vaudeuxs' hands to his brow, touching the knuckles of the great fists to his head, an ancient custom in Neiruthaun of brotherly love and utmost respect. He stared down at them, once this was done, perceiving the flooding powers that flowed in Jupiters veins like blood. Jupiters blood was fiery red, reflecting the power in it; but Curin could see his own blood, and he trembled. His blood was like lightening, and the rage of oceans; his blood was earthquakes. It burned inside him like the fire of the sun, mingled with the ice of the poles. It was too bright to look at."...power. Power, Vaudeux. Why has it come to me? I never asked for it."

In a single, unidentifiable moment, the fear loosened its hold upon the Maiar, which produced a stunning visual effect. The weight seemed to lighten from his insides, as did the churning cease, and so his normal posture returned. Vaudeux could almost call himself normal, if it weren’t for the tremendous vacant feeling that now accompanied his bemusement. It was almost as if he was back, laying on the floor of his shrine for the first time, after encountering the spirit calls from his mother, in his dream-like state; it was a time when he didn’t know what to do with himself or what he was capable of. Even so, this moment was different. Rather than swelling with a sense of might, his soul, instead, seemed to step aside within him for a moment. And now, he felt nothing but a peculiar sensation warming his fingers, which slowly filtered its way up the rest of his body. A sensation that was met, by a pair of fearful and child-like emerald irises.

His ears seemed to hear nothing but Curin’s voice, but they did not make sense. His mind was working too slowly now, it could only take in the man’s words rather than feed him the usual façade. Never before had he been without a shield for this length of time, and it scared him. Those wide eyes turned on their friend, doing the only thing their master could - watch and listen. At one moment Jupiter seemed to be waning to some unseen power, but then Curin grasped his hands and, at the next, the control returned to him like someone flicking a switch. Now he was watching the man speak, yet, rather than soaking in the words, he examined their owner. The lines of the man’s face were as aged as he had ever seen them. The cracks running out the sides of his eyes, across the skin that had strained for many years into any variety of overused expressions, but none of this mattered under Jupiter’s critical gaze. It was almost as if he couldn’t help but judge the woodsman, for it was all he had left.

The part of his mind that pursued on weighing Curin was the same part that, at the same time, hid him from the world and led him to the power within it. A man, so dreaming of an authority of strength, Vaudeux, could ultimately recognize it. As his mind returned, so did his perception - the burning voice of the ever-suspicious Wyrm. It looked upon the young Jupiter and pried open his ears, to forcibly listen to what he was being told. If he couldn’t understand what was being uttered before, the message was clear now. What he had encountered approaching the mortal, was not a mortal strength at all. Of everyone lurking in the dens and scattered across the continent of Ea, a someone most unfitting of power, unconcerned of power, to be given it in grandeur. Vaudeux would not believe it. He slipped his palms from the pulsating grips of his friend and jerked them into his body, revolted, with eyes that flashed sinisterly red. He then breathed, hardly containing his skepticism,

“Power? What power?” But it was undeniable, his reaction was proof enough that something was awry. Before he knew it, his very skin was beginning to heat with the realization, a physical reaction to his anger. Suddenly they were back outside the Sanctuary of Angels, a moment before they were to meet the Smith, a split second where Vaudeux had gripped his dagger with the intentions to plunge it into Curin’s back. A second between, finding out the truth or acting venomously towards it.

The exquisite Ainur of Fire could not conceal his rage, and Curins' heart quietly broke inside him, for he could dimly perceive all of Jupiters tumultuous emotions.

It was as if Curins mind had been unseated from the meagre confines of his head and heart, and lifted into a vastness beyond reckon. His thought and perception was only as limited as his imagination.

Thusly Curin perceived Jupiters anger, that Curin, and perhaps not someone more obviously suited for Power was instilled with The Words. And Curin struggled with how he felt in this regard, for he had a strange emotion about power. There were times he had held it; and it had as much burned him as given him pride and glory. Power is best invested in serving others, in life; The Master should be the greatest servant. He mused, for this was his own personal belief.
Curin, in that vast timeless space where he could consider, wondered, how did he see himself?
He saw himself as the tree, which does not resent the wood-cutter his timber.
Curin looked at Vaudeux, who seemed even to steam, with his outrage. Was Vaudeux worried that Curin would ever seek to outshine him? Probably Curin admitted to himself. Vaudeux probably feared that Curin would seek to govern and steer him, to Curins own ends. But Curin was not that kind of Master.
Curin could not guess what Vaudeuxs' Fate might be; for he was not the Master of Fate; but Curin had every faith that Jupiter was an important player in the changing world. That Jupiter would be an important catalyst in the worlds constant death and rebirth.
The Refining Fire.
So it was, the inspiration came to Curin, and he reached out with his Will, and fuelled Jupiter. As if carefully tending the tiny spark amongst the tinder, and blowing it until it grew healthy and strong. Curin carefully held Jupiters soul and body intact, and pushed as hard as he was able, to overflow Jupiter with the utmost extent of the vitality and energy to which his latent Power could be stoked.
He wanted Jupiters' spirit to soar to the height of the stars, to glow with all the heat and power at the worlds Core.
He wanted Jupiter to perceive the warmth of every hearth in every home; the fire in every black-smiths' forge. Curin fuelled Jupiter with the little spark in the beating heart of every living thing; and the glint of the sun on every living eye, face, or feathered wing; He wanted Jupiter to burn with the passion of every heart, good or evil, for this is what burned within Curin himself.

As he did this Curins' roots dug down into the earth, and spread thick through the air around him; and he perceived his place in all of this.
His role as Master, was to know the name of every last leaf and stone; and when Jupiter had risen to his utmost height, and the world waited, ready to be resown, Curin would recall the names,and Lothlomendil would bring them all to life.

"Aye, my dearest friend, you are right. I am sorry; I can see clearly now.
"The Power is not mine at all. Rather it has only been leant to me, for a time, until the world is remade.
"Now is your time Vaudeux, I feel it in the earth, I hear it on the wind, it is now your hour: the balance, I can feel it, it waits for you. You... and another, but I can not see him yet from afar." Curin now released the powers that he had been forcing into Jupiter. "If I can help you Vaudeux, I will."

As the silence arose between them, Vaudeux found that his breath, louder than ever, was beating against his lower lip and clouding the air. He watched Curin before him, seated and saying nothing, but apparently deep in thought. Expectant of an answer, he was disquieted to find the man unresponsive. It was as if he expected this to calm Jupiter, yet his anger continued to rise with every passing second. From each cord of muscle, Vaudeux could feel the fury heat rise; like a fire building itself atop a great pile of logs. And, just when it seemed as if he could reach out and grasp the spires of energy, it was Curin who took him out of his reality once more.

He was sucked into those vortex-like brown irises, dropping into the pupils until his vision was lost in their blackness. From there he looked about, with his head unnaturally light and outside himself. Out of his peripherals he caught sight of the tiniest of flames, un-nurtured, but standing as erect as a spout of steam. Vaudeux approached the flame and knelt at its side, staring into its depths. It’s blue base and golden tips did not light up the blackness that encompassed him nor did it comfort him in any way, yet it was still the most beautiful thing that he had ever seen. He watched it closely, as if he expected it to speak to him, and found that he was salivating. Though the flame did not speak, something seemed to be whispering to him from a distance. A voice, so soothing and calming to his ears, that he could do only to please it. Take what is yours, It said, before echoing away.

Vaudeux bit back his bottom lip, only to pout it back out, now moistened with salvia. His eyes grew wide with entrancement as he reached towards the spout, until he was near enough to grasp it, entwine it between his fingers, and, finally, crush it into his palm. As it disappeared into his hand, so did the blackness. And instead of being surrounded by a dark nothingness, the world seemed to move itself around him. Scenes whizzed by at lightning’s pace, until they became nothing but static blurs. Jupiter found himself standing in its midst, his wide eyes reflecting the images’ brightness within their wet. Suddenly the static shifted, as if someone had spilt a ginger liquid, dying the world orange. It flashed by him, until it sunk deeper and deeper to where it was snatching the Maiar up in its mayhem.

He let the flame-waves carry him through space, weaving new images from its foundation. Jupiter lost all sense of direction and speed, having only what was created around him. The static blew a fireball, twisting in a circular path and descending towards the earth. As the conflagration disappeared below him, its entrails transformed themselves into pixie-like creatures, flying off in formation into the chaos. From out of the sea of flames came a terrible cackle, but from an inhuman voice with tones of choked thunder. Then, it felt as if he was going faster, spiraling through the nightmare of energy. The friction hurt his eyes, the pressure threatened to cave in on him, and the horrors of power began to unveil themselves. First it was transparent. Gliding up the sides of the tunnel that ensnared Vaudeux, but then it appeared; the giant red eyes under a low, scaly brow; a head that held a series of sharp horns jutting out in every twisted direction, and it’s great, snake-like maw beginning to open, threatening to swallow him whole.

"If I can help you Vaudeux, I will."

Jupiter opened his eyes at once, to find that he was on the ground. The wild grass was blackened or reduced to ash around him. Beneath his cloak, his cotton shirt was drenched with perspiration and as warmed as the air that hovered over them, amid the chilled winter air. He looked up and around him for the source of Curin’s voice, a feeling of defeat rising to his expression. He turned and found the God of Nature, still sitting as he was when Jupiter had first arrived. The fire Anuir gripped his sweaty chest and jumped to his feet in alarm, merely to find that he was weakened. His heavy knees buckled and threatened to throw him back to the earth, but Vaudeux staggered to remain upright. There, he mustered a glare towards the formal mortal, more ignorant than anything. “What- What have you done-” He gasped, with a voice that was rough in texture. “to me?!”

And the worst began to surface on the shores of his mind. His worst fears were concluded. In a selfish act, his God, took control of him in an attempt to purge Vaudeux of his power. Curin was no man he knew anymore. His assumptions were far from the glory of it all, the bonding of a God and Guardian, and the gaining of strength rather than its diminishing. But, ignorant of it all, he cursed the imposter that called himself Curin and let his anger swell like a bonfire. He gazed at his palms, attempting to call a flame, but, with him mind clouded, none came. Vaudeux’s piercing look returned to his former friend, full of malevolence. And from out of his parted lips, he uttered in a low and deadly tone, “How could you?”

He wanted to rage at Curin, unleash all of his vengefulness, but he was nothing anymore. The Anuir brought his fists to his temples in frustration just as he bellowed to the sky, a long and strain-filled scream, with clenched eyes. Just when he thought his vocal cords could handle no more his skin began to react, lighting up a vibrant shade of orange. Beneath the wintery skies, grey and cold, did his skin glow, brightening until it appeared as if Jupiter was excreting lava from his pores. He thrashed in his turmoil, continuing to feel heavy and weakened, but his flesh then burst into flames. The grasses gave into their heat, roasting before the fire. The snow did not fall around Vaudeux, but rather dissipated in midair. It was a painful sight as much as it was brilliant. The fire roared onward until it seemed to combust upward to the sky, exploding away with some unseen force, and then darting off into the surrounding lands; taking the Fire Guardian with it.

Curin bent his ear to the skies, listening for where Jupiter had gone, but he could not guess.
Curins' ever growing roots were passing unseen under, and through everything. He would sense Vaudeux soon enough. With a frown he dragged a hand through his beard, wondering how Jupiter could have misinterpreted what had been done.
Certainly Vaudeux would experience a short period of diminished power; but what had been built within him, it would render up power Jupiter had yet even to imagine. And Curin could refine it so much further, and much more painlessly than if Jupiter struggled with what had been sewn on his own. The white brows knitted with the thought: Curin had given Jupiter exactly what he had always wanted, and yet he was sad for his friend. For Curin could not imagine what the Power would cost Jupiter before the end; and as Curin grew in his understanding and strength, he would fuel Juipter to even greater extremes; for the Guardian would need it all. It was not the Fire of Success that Curin required of the Guardian; nor the Fire of Glory. It was a Fire beyond good or evil. For neither the principles of good, nor of evil were enough to fuel the Refining Fire. So many people misunderstood Lothlomendils vast purpose; wishing that she would make the world a place that made sense; in which things were balanced; in which each thing had its rightful place, and where it could flourish without pain or struggle. But Lothlomendil was the Goddess of Life; and a vast reality of Curins long life had been a simple one: Life lives hand in hand with pain. And the struggle was linked inseparably with the purpose that gave life meaning; almost to a point that the struggle was life's purpose.
"So." Curin spoke aloud, though his friend had gone. "I'll let you struggle, then." But his voice was filled with sadness akin to regret.

Veiled by a shadow, at length Curin thought he sensed Vaudeux, and he relented; content to let Vauduex grow into the fullness of what he had been given in his own way. If Vaudeux chose to fulfill his purpose in aligning himself with the Dark, then it made every bit as much sense: for the dark would only help Jupiter to perceive his inner flame all the more clearly. Even still, Curin felt a longing and a sadness, for he had hoped that they could still come together in friendship. But then, perhaps in the end, when all was done, and Curin had fulfilled his own calling, they would.
Curin looked down at his hands, seemingly so old, and yet imbued with unimaginable power. As he watched, and the Names and the Words all came whispering to him, Curin thought he could see them written there on his palms. The thought made him smile, for throughout the length of his life, his hands had always been marked and scarred, and dirtied by the labour of living in the wild. It seemed some things were not going to change.