You may have wondered what happened to 'Little Bird'. Well, the story was getting a bit too Mary-Sueish for my liking so I kinda replaced it...Sorry? If you are sad then...*Sobs*OH MY ERU I DIDN'T MEAN TO MAKE YOU SO SAD!*Sniffle* Have a cookie. Listen to the sad song. I feel so gulity...

The Story is also up on Archive of Our Own! Here's the link: /works/935864

Disclaimer: No, I do not own Tolkien's work, so stop rubbing it in my face! *Pouts*

Losing what was found, a world so hollow.
Suspended in a compromise.
The silence of this sound is soon to follow.
Somehow, sundown.

And finding answers.
Is forgetting all of the questions we called home.
Passing the graves of the unknown.

-Trading Yesterday, Shattered

Empty blue eyes, only reflecting her pair back at her. Her fingers slid over his eyelids, closing the dead pools to the world forever. Nairiel bit her lip as a fresh wave of pain rocked over her tired body.

Her fingers now lay on empty wound in the middle of his torso, covered by his re-forged armor. She rested their father's swords on his chest, and clasped his cold fingers over the hilt and kissed his forehead. She stepped back and allowed the Elves to lower her only sibling into the mass grave.

"Alyë?"

"Lindir, it's Nairiel." She acknowledged, staring at a sword, her grey eyes reflected in the naked blade. "He is dead." Nairiel said, turning to face him, then casting her glance to the sword. "I never expected it."

Lindir moved from the small opening of the tent to sit beside the grieving elleth.

"Who returned the sword?" He asked.

"The Lord Glorfindel." Nairiel repiled, stroking the edge of her brother's sword. "Finya is already buried. In the grave, six feet under."

Nairiel could not fathom that her brother was dead. She could only stare, unblinking, at the mound of dirt. She could not even cry! Nairiel bit her lip, her eyes flashing with hate for herself. My brother deserves my tears. I did not even look out for him! She passed a hand over her face roughly, heaving a loud annoyed sigh.

Nairiel could not fathom that her brother was dead.

"Lady Alyë?" A soft voice broke her thoughts. She turned to face the approaching golden haired lord. He held a sword in his hands.

"Lord Glorfindel." She nodded at him.

"They say this is your brother's sword, milady." Lord Glorfindel said, handing the hilt to her. She grasped it and nodded.

"It is. I thank you. And my name is now Nairiel."

"That was…very nice for him to do so." Lindir said slowly. "But I was under the assumption that it was buried with Finya."

"I wanted his sword. So I gave him Atar's." Nairiel said.

Was it so bad to desire her brother's sword? Nairiel thought as she slowly made her way back to the tents, feeling the stares bore into her back. The men have no right to stare at me like that. My brother died defending one of them! Surely they could show some remorse or regret at the very least. Her hand curled around the hilt, the other clenching into a tight fist. I will kill them. I will kill those cowards!

Hate stirred in her chest. She cast a burning glance, full of loathing at the group of men. It was brief and fleeting, but it spoke her mind. It is your fault. And just like that, those hard grey eyes turned ahead and away from the Edain's eyes.

A horn broke the silence.

Lindir stood.

"We are to fight." He looked down and offered a hand to Nairiel.

Nairiel took it, and together they walked to the battle.