If Flaithriaoh were a child, Ilúvatar would have explained that Eibhear died fighting nobly for a cause in which he believed. But that was not the truth. Eibhear never would have fought fighting nobly for a cause in which he believed. Eibhear died because someone else made a mistake, or an intentional oversight, and that mistake ... or intentional oversight ... cost Eibhear his life. It was a damned thing to tell a young man still fresh from the loss of his father. Ilúvatar knew the feeling all too well. And now that he was older, he could look upon Flaithriaoh and think that all soldiers lost their fathers in the end, especially if those fathers were also soldiers. That civilians had at least one thing in common with soldiers - the death of a parent. Ilúvatar wondered if that was merely his way of avoiding the pain too easily remembered from his own father's demise. The answer to the question might have crippled his tongue.
He ignored it.
"They've taken prisoners before," Ilúvatar's voice was rougher than he would have liked. "But only to cover their escape. We spend time looking for our captured, you see, and they take advantage of this. But on the attack? They would not know what to do with a hostage, any more than they know what to do with our dead."
They certain did not bury them, as he ordered the Elves to bury the Perub dead. Of course, Ilúvatar ordered it because it was considered blasphemous in Perub culture, and those bodies were thought to be tainted - never again capable of ascending to the throne where the gods assembled. Ilúvatar left their hands sticking out of the ground so the Perubs would know. And if the sand buried those hands, the Perub would still know, even if they could not find the patch of ground where the accursed slept. Perhaps not a holy infraction. Aeotha would have been outraged if she knew.
All of those hands, reaching for a heaven they would never find.
They'd killed his friend.
Let them all suffer forever. Ilúvatar would not have cared.
"So... no," Ilúvatar shook his head twice. "We... will try to find the field where your father fell. His armor can be entombed on your estate, and his sword can be used in your ceremony. You are entitled to the colors no matter what Polas might say, Flaithriaoh, but only the king can make you knight and lord in the eyes of the court. For some there is no difference. For others... my father began as a line soldier, and built my house with his own hands. I see nobility when it is before me, and have no need of a king's word to show it to me. You will find that others feel the same. Guyther, despite his tongue, was a firm ally for Ei... for Caoimhin."
The name he could not say was most bitter of all. It laid a coating of ash upon his tongue.