Alone by ford_of_bruinen

Alone

And yet again I watch the sea, the movement of the waves pounding against the sand. There is something strangely comforting in watching the violence of a storm. The dark clouds, the heavy rain and lightning, even the sound of thunder comforts me. Why would it not - my life has been like a storm, harsh, violent and beautiful. I have seen the world change so many times, seen a multitude of wars scar the beautiful face of Arda. The world is flawed. I can feel the ancient evil stirring again and this time, who will stand against him? There are not many left of my kindred, the Quendi are almost all gone as are many of the younger races, leaving only men.

Too long have I dwelt here, alone, with my singing as my only companion, and now I weary of the sound of my own voice. Weary of the many lamentations sung during centuries, millennia of loneliness and pain, always lamentations. Yet what is it that I lament? The accursed jewels which should never have been made, the loss of innocence and joy, or my tormented family? There is no one left but me. My father and brothers fell a long time ago, some I could not grieve, and the thought of others still makes my heart ache.

I close my eyes against the storm around me and remember. The silken feel of red hair running through my hands, grey eyes clouded in passion, the strong muscular body beneath me, around me, and his only hand wrapped in my black hair. Yes, we were brothers, yet that did not stop our love. My Nelyafinwë, my Russandol, my Maitimo. He is the one I miss, the one my soul still screams for, calls for each time my voice is lifted in song, and each time I fall silent. Why did I fling the Silmaril in the sea instead of throwing myself into it? As my Maedhros threw himself into the molten fire, then I too would have passed from this existence and found peace.

Tears burn behind my eyes and another song works itself out from the depths of my soul, despite my attempts to contain it. Another lamentation. Wild, desperate grief shakes my whole being as tears, uncried for far too long, run down my face and mingle with the rain. He is lost to me. No matter how long I dwell here, he will remain lost. Maybe he has even found peace.

The storm and the tears pass and I sink down on the wet sand, exhausted, as memories haunt me. We were so young once, so very young…