Of Loss
They sat together in the woods, two brothers, one tall and auburn haired, the other shorter, dark haired one. Rain was falling, hard, and heavy drops fell from the leaves onto the ground and the huddled cloaked figures. Their hoods were off and the rain mingled with the tears on their faces. The younger one's shoulders shuddered as the spasms of regret and sorrow shook him.
"Our fair cousin…"
"Makalaurë…"
"Is it worth it? Are they worth it Maïtimo?"
"Makalaurë…"
"I loved him! Do you remember that day in Nargothrond when that little girl asked me to play The Kingfisher in the Falls? Do you remember that day? You lifted a girl on your shoulders. And you smiled! You were happy."
"Makalaurë, we swore an oath. And oath even the Valar can not release us from."
"A stupid oath! A stupid oath that made our brothers betray our cousin! Brothers! " He spat the word. "Traitors! Murderers! That is what we are Makalaurë!" We have no honour but the keeping of that oath, we are not welcome in Nargothrond. Never again will I play for children in that garden, never again will that little girl think of me with pleasure as she hears that song! What are we? We are puppets! We have made our selves instrument to the will of the Dark One!"
"Makalaurë!" The tears ran down the older man's cheeks. "Makalaurë… I know."