"Maka!" The childish voice rang across the courtyard as the elf turned to greet his young brother. The slight movement drastically changed the scene as their father's house faded to a cold silent fortress, and a joyous call morphing to a pained whisper.
No… That mutilated body could not possibly be Tyelkormo. It wasn't, shouldn't be, his little Sunspot, ever clamoring for music in his shrill tones, now dying in his arms as he gently cradled the golden head.
"Sing," The cracked voice requested pleadingly. "Please, sing me to Námo."
So Maglor sang as night fell, his brother's fëa fled, and his aching heart started to crack.