[anotp: helen] but something keeps you faithful (when all else turns and runs)
Nerdanel never mourned in public. She did her mourning for her husband-sons-grandsons in private, alone, away from the shame she felt for their actions among the others of her race. Alone, she could treasure the memories of peace, of small children smiling, of pregnancies full of joy and love that was young and pure and beautiful.
It is alone, now, that she does her own small grieving. Two of her sons are absent, and Maglor she knows too little of. A third does not speak to her and she fears never will. And they are all...so heavy, with sorrow and guilt, so broken by the years, her boys.
She keeps her head high and her dignity like armor, but alone, she gives herself some room to sorrow, and be weary. She is sitting in the kitchen, hands curled around a cup of tea, very nearly looking her age.
It is alone, now, that she does her own small grieving. Two of her sons are absent, and Maglor she knows too little of. A third does not speak to her and she fears never will. And they are all...so heavy, with sorrow and guilt, so broken by the years, her boys.
She keeps her head high and her dignity like armor, but alone, she gives herself some room to sorrow, and be weary. She is sitting in the kitchen, hands curled around a cup of tea, very nearly looking her age.