Listening

"Atto?" 

Olwë looked up from the ledger he was perusing, took one look at his son-in-law and immediately dismissed the clerk of the exchequer, promising that they would meet later in the day to discuss restoration of the war-battered fleet.

"Come in, Arafinwë."  He busied his hands with pouring wine as the haggard High King of the Noldor crossed the room.  "You look like you could use this, hinya."  He carried both cups to the broad window seat that graced his study, and beckoned to the younger elf to join him. 

He'd rather expected the golden-haired Noldo to speak to him before this.  His own sons had come, one at a time, in the first few days after the fleet's return, to softly tell of their experiences while across the sea; seeking comfort in confession in their father's arms. 

Some of what they had related made Olwë's blood run chill, for even though they had not fought in the many battles that led up to the capture of Morgoth, there had been conflict along the shorelines, and they'd had to defend the ships.  But Arafinwë had not only fought, he had seen the horror of Thangorodrim when the Hosts of Valinor had broken through.  And Olwë suspected that he'd not unburdened himself to anyone since his return.

The wine eventually loosened Arafinwë's tongue and tears. Olwë closed his eyes, repulsed by the images that arose in his mind as the words of things an elf should never have seen or experienced poured out.  He didn't want to know of such dreadfulness, but as he held his son-in-law close, golden head tucked beneath his chin, he listened; taking on the burden willingly as penance for the years of peace he'd had in Alqualondë, while those he loved had endured the war.

A/N: I was thinking today of how many times I've hugged and listened to my foster-brother who was injured by a mortar-round in Baghdad about a year and a half ago. His physical injuries are long healed, but he is still healing from the mental trauma of his war. Then Olwë began to tell me of Arafinwë's return...