Stained Hands
I noticed his hands when I first met him, travel-worn and grass-stained. In time I came to know that his hands were always stained with something or other.
I held his hand upon Aredhel's deathbed. I watched curiously those hands work with anvil and hammer. Such graceful, artistic hands, devoted to crafting fine jewellery and weaponry; hands metal-stained.
Now, he looks at me with piercing eyes. His hands are reaching out towards me, begging for help. My husband pushes him and Maeglin falls.
His hands are stained with the blood of our people. And mine are stained with his insanity.
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