I was a fool. I know that, now. And I knew it then.

I'd loved Gwindor – thought I'd loved him – despaired of his returning. I missed him. I wept. I spent nights pacing, and wishing that I could see the stars, instead of carved stone above me.

And I listened, to the tales and songs. No one ever thought I could hear, when they'd speak of how he watched his brother's death, and beat upon the doors of Angband in his rage.

And his grief. I knew him. I knew that he had grieved.

And I gave up hope.

Then there he was, suddenly, bent and aged and so, so tired. I watched the shadows flicker, the walls and torchlight, red, and saw them in his eyes. Only Eru knows what he had seen in the darkness. He loved me still.

And I – I was a fool.

Many say that, in these halls. Many say it truly. As do I. But I had known all along.

Faelivrin, he called me. Sunlight. And warned me. And forgave me. And that – more than any act or word or thought in this shattered world – it broke my heart.

I will never be forgiven.


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