The Midhavens :: The Writing and Artwork of Dawn Felagund 



The waterfall fell over the mouth of the cave in a shimmering curtain, and Elrond backed against the damp rock. His hands slipped over it; he was loath to touch it. One of them was whimpering: who? His cold hand found his brother’s, which was warmer than the rock but not much. Elrond wanted to shush the whimpering, but his throat was tight with unshed tears.

I am not afraid.

Behind the curtain of water came a ripple of color, an apparition: red cloak, black hair. A water-bright sword washed clean in the pool.

I am not afraid.

So why did he quiver, why did his heart flutter, why did the tears race down his face? He imagined that he could hear the teardrops as he could hear the waterfall, the whisper of water caressing rock. A second apparition joined the first: same cloak but red hair and a sword still crimson from battle.

The whimpering grew louder, and Elrond realized: It is both of us.

The curtain parted, water pattered raven-dark hair and rang against armor. Elrond struggled to step in front of his brother even as Elros tried to step in front of him.

I am not afraid.

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