Who: Elenwë & Maedhros What: Mourning, talking! Where: Maedhros' rooms. When: Sometime after the funeral pyre burned out. Warnings | Status: Mentions of death | Complete!
Hope fades Into the world of night Through shadows falling Out of memory and time Don't say: «We have come now to the end» White shores are calling
Maedhros looked at the glass of wine, lost momentarily in the depths of the red liquid while his thoughts drifted back and forth without much purpose. So many things had happened in such a short time. He'd spoken with his brother but days ago, shared with him such pleasantries as had not happened in more than two-thousand years. To Maedhros it had felt like a bond, one they hadn't had before and then.. to discover him that way. Gone. He had been ripped from Maedhros' hands and heart for the second time in less than a year.
His grief was palpable, for though there was little love between them Maedhros felt for his brother's loss. He mourned Curufin, and mourned for all of his brothers' deaths as they had come. The emotion was too deep, too raw to bear and Maedhros thought he might die of it himself.
And then Elenwë had appeared and it was so unexpected that he hadn't known what to do. Or what to think. She had disappeared from his life the night they betrayed Fingolfin and his entire house and host. He hadn't thought of her much since then, though she lingered in a few distant memories of the past. She sat now beside him, and he eventually looked up from the wine to meet her blue eyes. Still filled with hope and happiness. Love.
Maedhros looked away. His spirit was broken and burning, it smoldered in his eyes in far darker ways than she would remember or understand.
"It is a poor way to greet you," he said quietly, "with the death of my brother."