Day Will Come Again by Narya

Furred grey clouds gathered over Barad Eithel. The dying sun tinged their folds flesh-pink. Stony air hung stale in the plains, and Sirion whispered over frozen rocks.

Fingon cradled a goblet of fortified wine. A good vintage – rich; silky; almost sweet. A favourite of Celegorm's. Carefully he reached for his cousin's mind, and was rebuffed with a swipe and a snarl like a wounded bear.

Leave us, cousin. Curufin, his voice as sharp as winter's teeth in Fingon's mind. We have no need of your pity.

As you wish. But Fingon ached for them both, for everything they had been, for all that they had shared – and for their golden kinsman who had died in the dark.

The fire pulled low as though taking a breath. The day was over; the clouds' soft underbellies glowed with the red of blood and old wine. Fingon stared into the gloom of the longest night, remembering waves of yellow hair, eyes wise and still beyond their years, a smile that put Laurelin to shame. Grief tightened like a whip around his chest. We will meet again, dear one. He rose, and arranged his face into the kingly mask he could not quite grow used to. I believe that even now.

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