Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings and the Silmarillion are not in any way, shape, or form my own, nor do I make any attempt to claim either them or the characters mentioned herein. They belong to the Tolkien Estate, and I am merely dabbling in the universe for my own enjoyment.

Rating/Warnings: Teen. Rated Teen for implied character death(s), language, and maybe some themes? I dunno. Honestly it would probably be K+ save for the language.

Time frame: After the Battle of Dagorlad, at the end of the War of the Last Alliance, when Gil-galad fell.

A/N: So I have had a pretty rough day. I shan't go into it, but a friend of mine suggested that I try writing some angst. So I did, and this is what came out. And, what do ya know, but it actually kind of helped. In any case, any and all feedback would be much appreciated. As I said, rough day, so any kind words would be especially appreciated and loved right now. Most importantly though, I really hope that you enjoy this.

Gil-galad was an Elven-king
Of him the harpers sadly sing
The last whose realm was fair and free
Between the mountains and the sea

His sword was sharp
His lance was keen
His shining helm afar was seen
The countless stars of heaven's field
Were mirrored in his silver shield

But long ago he rode away
And where he dwelleth none can say
For into darkness fell his star
In Mordor where the shadows are.

-The Fall of Gil-galad

~Lost Light~

How many people had he lost? Four? Seven? Forty? A thousand?

It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. He'd lost someone else. Someone else.

Everyone. He'd lost everyone now.

His mother.

His father; his fathers. All three of them.

His brother.

And now this. Now there was blood frozen on the blackened sand of Mordor. Blood and ash.

His king.

His cousin.

His best friend.

Gone. They were all gone. All dead. All slaughtered. All passed on. All gone in a burst of great light or a soft sigh or bright flare of flame, leaving only ash and blood and a fading echo behind.

Alone. Empty. Nothing.

He feels nothing.

Shouldn't he feel pain? Sorrow? Anger?

He should have been expecting it. He should have known it would come.

They all leave him. All of them. Everyone does. Everyone will.

He screams. He can feel blood running down the side of his face as his nails dig into his scalp. But there is no pain. There is nothing. Only emptiness. A void.

He screams, until he has no breath left, and then he only keeps screaming. Silent. Tortured.

Tears mix with blood and ash and more blood.

And he thinks he's falling, but he can't be sure.

Falling. Yes, he's falling. There's nothing beneath him. Only darkness. Only emptiness. Only loneliness.

Death. Despair. Darkness.

That is all that is left to him.

He should have known. They all leave him. They always leave him.

But it's not their fault. He knows it's not.

Which means it must be his.

He screams again. Somehow, somewhere, he must have drawn in a breath. But he can't feel. Can't sense. All he can feel is the emptiness. The loneliness. The void.

He's falling. And so he looks up.

And there, above him shining brightly, gleams a star from between the clouds. A single ray of light. Of Hope. That is what it was meant to be, was it not? Hope?

"DAMN YOU!"

Damn them all! Every single last one of them.

Damn every star. Every cursed ray of light.

"Damn you."

Damn every star.

Damn himself.

And he's falling and he's screaming and there's blood streaming down his face but he can't feel, can't see, can't care. He's falling, but perhaps falling is the best. While he's falling he doesn't have to look down.

x

Light.

It hurts. It burns.

Light as bright as the sun and moon intermingled. White and gold and silver all at once.

It reaches for him. Seizes him. Holds him.

And then a voice as soft as a whisper.

"I've got you Elrond, I've got you. You're not alone."

And he begins to weep.