Voices of Despair by ford_of_bruinen

I

The sand shines at Alqualondë, washed by sea during years uncounted. They commemorate death here; a few feet away lie the ruby shores. Your brother gave them the jewels they asked for, set them in stone and sand, as far as the eye can see to the north. A sickening reminder of your sins.

Their pipers stand here, always, playing sad tunes of betrayal on their silver flutes. They see you clearest here, as do our own people. I have heard of their memories, how they revel in the wrong against them but I had not seen it before today. It sickens me. How can they glorify death, celebrate it in loving hatred, the way they do?

I feel their eyes on me, their vengeful glee at seeing your widow thread over rubies, revelling in nausea I cannot hide as me feet slide over cold jewels the colour of blood. They can no longer reach you or our sons, all save one dead, so they reach for me, digging their claws in my soul, watching my pain.

I close my eyes.

Our people taught me this lesson long ago, mistakes are paid by those that stay, not those who leave.