Guilt

(300 words)

The stench of wood smoke and death tainted everything. Hollow-eyed and heartsick, Olwë made his way through the city, escorted by guards carrying torches and swords. The rage that had incited him to fight those sworn to protect him still burned within, but the terrible thought that he had almost broken the Sere Valeron turned his blood chill. He'd refused to don his own weapons when he'd dressed for the day for he was not sure that he could keep his anger contained.

The torches left the white, pearl inlaid walls streaked black with soot, and reddish fitful shadows danced in the corners and across the pavement. Above, the stars glittered over the devastated city, and Olwë paused in his progress to the harbour as he absorbed the silence of the streets that was broken only by the songs of lamentation that swelled up and then dissolved into weeping. Most shops were dark, and no elflings raced up and down the pavement, escaping from their tutors, nor apprentices running errands for their masters. Ellith stood red-eyed and mourning in the doorways of their homes while frightened elflings clung to their skirts.

He could not meet their eyes as he passed by, sure that the torches carried by his escort would illuminate their condemnation. He should have done more to keep the Oath-sworn from killing his people. How could they forgive him the loss of their loved spouses, fathers, brothers and sons?

Avoiding, for the moment, the main quays where the stone was stained red-brown although the injured had been succored and those hröar whose fëar had been sent untimely to Mandos were being removed from where they had died, Olwë turned towards the shipyards. He was not yet ready to put names and memories to the faces of the fallen.

(written Nov. 18th - 19th, 2008)