"Prince is a very rough translation of the Elvish word. It doesn't mean royalty in the sense that later ages meant it. In my time, the First Age, it merely meant those who were descended of one of the three great leaders in our Great Journey from Middle-earth to Valinor. My grandfather, Finwë, was one of these, and he led one-third of the Elvish people who made that journey, and this group became known as the Noldor clan. And so he was called King of the Noldor, and later his children and grandchildren were called princes. It was not supposed to be simply because we were of that line, but because we were very powerful beings, in the sense of our gifts. That was the essence of our aristocracy. But even then, I think we made too much of it. It didn't take long for my father and my Uncle Fingolfin to begin quarreling over precedence and over whom Finwë loved the most."

"I was the fifth of my father's seven sons, and therefore never destined to be a king. It did go by birth order. My eldest brother Maedhros was king after our father got himself killed, but he didn't keep the title long. He yielded it to Fingolfin, whose son Fingon inherited it after his father's death. That's a long story, which I won't tell at the moment, but we Fëanorions thereby lost the kingship and never got it back again." He chuckled darkly. "And much good did it do Fingolfin's line! Their luck was almost as bad as ours."

"Of course I chose to be a warrior. My father was one, by nature, and I was very much like him, so naturally I followed suit. Once we were in Middle-earth, war was the natural condition of life, and I could not have been a leader on the Marches if I had not been willing to be the first to draw sword, the first to charge into a horde of Orcs. I liked that role."

And he laughed. "Oh, I would cheerfully pose for your Klutz of the Month issue! But I am not sure about these hirsute gentlemen you speak of -- they don't sound like my type. The last time I met one, he tried to strangle me. It was not what I would call a romantic encounter!" Of course, Curufin is leaving out a few facts -- such as that he tried to kill Beren son of Barahir and help his own brother Celegorm steal the man's bride. But, let the past be past.

"Besides, I am not exactly meager." And he lifts an arm and flexes his bicep, which is as solid as you might expect of the arm of one who worked at the forge all of his life and was furthermore, a mountaineer. He grins.

And he follows Yukari down the path. "Oh, really? And what might be the price of this meal?" he asks, blithely.

{{ OOC: I laughed, too. Yes, Curufin tends to get REPETITIOUS at times. XD }}