Anti-OTP: Finrod/Edrahil
Finrod Felagund closed the door to his chambers behind him, sank into the chair at his desk, and buried his head in his hands. He'd known from the moment Beren spoke the name of the Silmarils that it would go poorly, but he hadn't wanted to believe that it would go quite this badly. He hadn't expected his cousins to betray him or his people to abandon him so completely. Only ten...dear friends all and he feared that he was only leading them to their deaths.
He pushed himself up with a sigh and picked up his sword, drawing it half out of the sheath and staring into the light reflected from the blade. A cold, lifeless light. He saw no hope in it.
He pushed himself up with a sigh and picked up his sword, drawing it half out of the sheath and staring into the light reflected from the blade. A cold, lifeless light. He saw no hope in it.