“Arafinwë probably would say that fools rush in where the Valar fear to tread,” Maglor said, looking out across the plains towards where their brother had gone.

“Are you saying that Nelyo was a fool?” The only sign of Caranthir’s displeasure, for once, was the tightening of his fists. His cheeks had been flushed for days due to burns from the heat of the balrogs and their father’s body as they had brought it back to camp.

“No, merely that I fear that is all they will say of him and father in the future, because those left behind will probably be the ones to write our history.” Maglor continued to look out across the plain, but clasped his brother’s shoulder as he spoke.

Caranthir gave a short nod, before shaking his shoulder free and stalking off. Neither could think of anything else to say.