[littlemanpoet]

Pio, could you please place this post in post # 109, in between Feanor's and Meneltarmacil's? Thanks!

POST PLACED ~*~ Pio

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Mabalar knelt by Lothlômé, watching Cerveth intently as their daughter's life slipped away. They were safe in the hold of Elendil's ship, already moving ahead of a strong wind, which was gaining strength with each minute that passed. The roar of the wind and surf grew louder outside, but did not drown out the sound of Cerveth's shallow breathing, nor the sound of Mabalar's own beating pulse in his ears.

"Cerveth!" Lotha called. Mabalar took up the call, holding his wife's warm hand in his left, and his daughter's cold, cold hand in his right, completing the circle the three of them made.

If sheer will were enough to bring her back, she would be whole and laughing with them this moment. But there was nothing he could do.

Elendil had seen to the binding of her wound, and had spoken gravely of poison. He had tried to prepare them for the worst.

Mabalar was not prepared. "Cerveth! My dear! Stay with us!"

Tears stained Lotha's face. His eyes were painfully hot and dry. He refused to let his daughter die.

"Cerveth!"

She was so pale. Her breaths came shallow and ragged, and too few. Mabalar's heart beat heavy doom in his breast; but he refused to accept what his heart told him.

"No!" He dropped his wife's and daughter's hands, rising. "This was not meant to be!" He stood rigid, his hands fisted, the muscles in his legs knotted, his stance wide against the movement of the ship. He looked westward. "Mandos!" he yelled. "Take me instead!" Anything to save his precious Cerveth. "Let me have the sword thrust and the poison! Spare her!"

But Mandos gave him no sudden wound, no exchange of place or pain, no vision; not even a sound.

Mabalar fell to his knees again, and looked again at Lotha's anguished face.

His throat clenched on his words as he murmured, "I do not want to lose her," and he wept. For long moments, husband and wife hung upon each other, their shared grief their only comfort.

"Mama! Papa!" The voice came to their ears barely above a whisper, using their names from her childhood.

"Cerveth!" They knelt again by her side, hoping against hope that she was reviving.

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Well, Feanor, definitely not easy to write, but worth it to at least try, no?