You stand still, contemplating Aranruth resting in your hands. The wind roughly ruffles your hair, which you have not bothered to braid.
"Are you sure you want to do that, brother?"
"So you have chosen. There is nothing I can do to bend your will, is there?"
"I'm sorry, little brother. As little as I can do to bend yours."
"Even if we had sworn to always stay together, one day long, long ago?"
You turn your eyes away from mine. I know it is unfair, little one. I know life is unfair.
You voice is a whisper, barely audible in the wind. What can I say?
"For everything it means. Brother, I am not a warrior like you are, I am not a fighter, I am but a humble scholar who has nothing but his books to live upon. I am but a scholar who wants not to burn nor rage, but to sit in a library and devour not lives and glory, but knowledge and dreams. I am but a scholar who desires not to live, but to remain."
You stay silent for a moment, your eyes vague on the gleaming Ocean.
"And all because of him? Is that what you want to do, ever mourning the mourner, weeping for what is gone, knowing, just always knowing?"
But I at first cannot realise what you are speaking of. Or rather, I know, but I cannot accept the fact that you, too, would know. Seeing my consternation, you smile.
"Well, if you ever see him again, bid him farewell for me. Tell him that I, too, would have loved to have met him once more. Tell him that even if the Father-Star shines down on us every morning till the last, making us shed unwanted tears, it is his memory that will forever be in my heart as that of a true father, making me smile each time I think of him."
"You…" Yes, you. You saw, you knew, you did? And yet you were silent, my brother. You were laughing all day and running about, screaming and billowing in joy, and your greatest pleasure was when Maglor let you blow the deep horn, hearing it ring on the surrounding wall of mountains, and yet you kept silent, you too knew how to watch and guard it all inside yourself; you, eight years old, waking up alone in a cold bed and an empty room, maybe wondering in your little head where your big brother had gone…
“I was young, but I wasn't blind, brother." You raise a devastating eyebrow. Again, what can I say, my brother? You have silenced me. I have always been so proud of my ability to talk; to write and to talk.
"A sad smile. You tell him.”
With an artistic gesture, you sheathe the beautifully crafted sword to its scabbard, hanging off your belt. I feel uneasy somehow, once again missing the familiar weight on my own waist.
But I have decided.
And you laugh at last, a youthful, golden laugh, and then turn from me, walking towards the Seashore; leaving me alone, but for the Morning star that shines dimly in the sunlight.