#anyway celebros best friend 10/10 they Get It

[sweetearthandnorthernsky]

the war is over and we are beginning (grief, morinel)

spoilers for mordor sidequests potentially??? anyway, morinel is having fun during the reclamation of mordor lol

Saelinriel objects vehemently to leaving you at the hill alone – this is Mordor after all, are her words almost exactly – but you wave away her concerns.

With Sauron gone, most creatures are still weary and wary both, and you reassure her that you have your runes, and that you have Celebros, who lingers near the bottom of the hill.

(They – of all people – understand why you have to do this.)

Saelinriel studies you with a huff, before shaking her head. “Fine, but be careful.”

You watch her go, before turning to the spear that shines through the gloom of Dor Amarth. 

It is not, after all, as if you have much of a grave to sit beside, so the spear will do.

You sit cross legged beside it. 

There is only silence as you watch the dust swirling through the desolate land.

The spear thrums with power and light, and while it shouldn’t surprise you, there is a very small part that is surprised that it survived all these years – especially when its owner... did not.

"It is done," you say, quietly, almost so quietly you cannot hear yourself as the sliver of glass labeled grief slips a little deeper into your heart, knowing you can say these words only to a lifeless weapon on this shore of the sea. "He is gone, for good this time."

Wind tugs at your hair but you do not feel it.

You understand now, ages later, what your father told you, so many millienia ago, on shores that now lay foundered beneath the sea: Our people are doomed to repeat the same pains, to know the same loves and endure the fickle hammer of fate. We are fated to watch our greatest shine brightly only to fade. Know this well, daughter of the Noldor, for it is also your doom.

You push those thoughts from your mind as you dig handfuls of rust-red dirt and ash to ground yourself in the moment. Dust scrapes your cheekbones, and your eyes water as the splinter wedges itself deeper and deeper.

The weight of the three thousand and twenty five years that you missed -- where you could have done things, could have helped -- weighs like great piles of lead on your shoulders, and you take a heavy breath.

"I am sorry," you say finally, quieter than the wind.

As the wind calms, the weight lifts slightly and the knot of emotions tangled in your chest loosen.

You cannot bring yourself to say: I miss you.

But the splinter eases all the same, though it still hurts.

You think it might always, until you sail.

But, for now, you are content to sit in silence, and let the feelings wash over you.