No words could describe the pain and emptiness she now showed as she faced her true love being brought home. His lips had turned ice blue and his eyes were covered with a bandage, which did not help to stop the bleeding, as Elrond could imagine. A day ago, his sons rushed in from the Misty Mountains, delivering the chieftain in his care, but he died shortly before he was brought to him and was pronounced dead by his words. Words cut through the air as his wife tried to word her grief.

“Why can I not see them? What have they done to you, my love, my everything?”

Elrond watched how she fell down on her knees next to the bier while he raised his hands to stop his sons. A glimpse of agonised looks reached Elrond, making it clear to him that they wanted to rush in and comfort her, knowing that no words could ease her pain of being robbed from her husband so cruelly. Had he not felt the same pain too? Maybe losing a brother to death might not be compared to what she had to face now, but still he could remember how he clawed at his clothes in an attempt to rip them off as if the fabric reminded him that his body was still whole and healthy. Elros’ death still had come so swiftly for him, but alas, his brother died of old age whereas this ranger’s demise had been different. Celebrian at least had been returned to him alive and they could have exchanged their final words upon her parting. What was left to this widow instead? Blessed with the gift of foresight, fate had abandoned the creature before him, would her apparent grief be different if she had known? Would they have whispered words of imminent parting, where her world would be sundered from his?

“See to the young one,” Elrond quietly ordered to his sons and knelt down next to Gilraen who now silently wept while she clutched her husband’s hand in hers. What consolation could he bring to her? This young woman now bereaved of her happiness by one arrow. It only took one arrow to change their lives in bliss so brutally.

“Gilraen…” Elrond gently spoke, but he could not reach her.

“Gilraen…” he tried again, but now pulled her close to cradle her in his arms, offering her solace and protection in unspoken words. With a sob, she finally relinquished Arathorn’s hand and accepted his shelter while she trembled from her pain to cry no more.

---

Written for the Aragorn Angst Prompt: 39 Cradle. My thanks to my fabulous beta Trekqueen.

In the aftermath of the kinslaying at the Mouth of Sirion, Maglor found his brother Amrod barely breathing and struggling for life. The chaos subsided and from the corner of his eye, he watched how Maedhros found Amras; their eyes met briefly and Maglor knew that Amras was no longer amongst them. Looking down at his little brother, he saw that his eyes were bound to something invisible. With a cry, Maglor cast aside his sword and fell down next to his injured brother.

‘Pityo, hold on little one.’ Maglor moved Amrod’s arms from his belly and spied the fatal wound. For a brief moment, he shut his eyes and cursed the Oath they all took once more.

I have buried too many.

Like a whisper, Maglor sang a lament, expressing his woes, putting all his weariness into those few words he could find for his brothers who fell today.

‘Kano, you sing of sorrow for me. But what about my wife and my children? Who will look after them now that I am called by Namó?’ Amrod’s eyes lost focus; blood escaped his mouth.

It would not be long now.

‘We held true, did we not Kano? But was it all worth it? What world am I leaving my family? Who will look after them?’ Amrod hung onto him, fighting for every single bit of life left in him.

‘I promise you, Pityo. I will look after them.’ The words almost choked him, how could he, Maglor, take on another Oath?

This dreadful oath came at such cost and pain.

‘Tell her…’ His voice rasped, ‘tell her that I will wait for her when her time comes. Tell her...’ Now with every word spoken, more blood was lost. ‘Tell her that she is my everything, tell her that I am a fool, and tell her that I love …’. The final words were left unspoken. Maglor howled and did not hold back his grief.

It was Maedhros who heard him swear: ‘I promise you my brother, that as long as I walk these shores, I will look after them.’

‘Maglor, we have to find the little ones.’ Maedhros spoke painfully.

‘Then let us perform at least one good deed today, before I commit myself to another lifelong oath.’ He closed his brother’s eyes and laid him down on the docks. The remaining brothers exchanged a look and said no more.

Pityo= a nickname created from Pityafinwë, Amrod's father name.
Kano = a nickname created from Kanafinwë, Maglor's father name.

Author's afterword and thanks

This amazing vignette has made it to the Mithril Awards 2005 finals for 'Best Best Vignette or Short Story' and ' Best Silmarillion'. Besides that, I am deeply honoured by winning the 1st place in the MEFA 2006 general subcategory for First Age and Prior.

I owe you so much, my wonderful readers & reviewers, friends who shook their pom poms all the way and have shown so much support that I cannot put it to words right now. Many thanks go to my friend Isil Elensar, for the inspiration and her request to me, to write Amrod's final moments. My love and thanks goes out to my husband and son, for giving me the wings to fly. And not the very least Sophia Silfaery: thank you for the beta-read and encouragement.

My brother always used to sing about fair maidens finding true love without a doubt. This was when we were still living on Valinor. Now – if he sings – his songs are filled with battle and strife, meeting with new races as Dwarves or the Edain, or successful hunts where one of my brothers would bring home game and other wildlife.

Love. I often wondered why Maglor did not speak of his own love, but always of others, making it the most important tale to him and his crowd, who would be completely engrossed in it after mere seconds.

I remember the young maidens sitting around the many fountains in Tirion, claiming their sadness that a man would not look into her direction, or worse, dissecting flower petals one after another in a staccato rhythm saying: “He loves me, he loves me not. He loves me…”

If life was just that simple, I softly speak to no one beside me. The weather has been harsh this winter: the wind roars around my stronghold and many couples find each other in a passionate embrace, retreating to their own quarters. Midwinter is almost upon us and I know that next year we will be blessed with many children of Iluvatar.

Should I get a cluster of Mistletoe and pick off the berries, one by one, to determine if she indeed loves me? Or shall I try to see if I can commit my thoughts to paper, a gift which comes so natural to my brother. My other siblings are on their way to our midwinter fest, but I want to ask her before my fair brother, with his outspoken mind, claims her attention first. Or the more cunning one, who knows well of the joys of marriage. Or my younger twin brothers, too young to know the proper customs of Tirion’s courts. Have I become just like my dark brother, who hardly speaks or feigns interest in matters outside his realm?

Maitimo is something I am no more, and I wonder if she will express concern if I ask her to become my consort, lest I should be too late. This winter set in early and maybe she did find someone else by now due to my lackadaisical attitude. Maybe I am doomed to remain alone. Maybe it is a song my brother refuses to sing for me.

What I am not is a wavering man, and I know that I have to seize my moment today. It is now or never. The quill and ink have to wait for another purpose, for I am no writer. A hunter, artisan, or warrior, but I do know that I was born to lead. Maybe, if Iluvatar is willing, I will lead my lady into the dance of life during the festival. I will tell her that she has my heart. I will ask her to become my love and I will speak of my desire to be her mate until the end of Arda.

This vignette is written as a Christmas gift for Maedhros Rising. Beta: Isil Elensar.