They sit by the sea, as they always have.
He twists a branch savagely between his fingers, and Saedhruin's soft singing is barely heard above the sighing of the water. Lehtion sits with back straight, legs crossed, in an exaggerated version of the elder Elf's posture. Another day he might have sprawled flat on his back to watch the bloodied sky fade to black, but today he is angry.
"Too angry for a sunset?" The branch spins ever faster in his hands and begins to crack in places. The small fire crackles, the sea sighs, and Saedhruin's singing returns unburdened.
The branch breaks, and is tossed to the flames.
"Navaer, heryn Anor." Saedhruin says softly, and despite himself Lehtion snorts, entirely ruining the blank expression his face had been forced into. Wiseman, the people here call him, yet Lehtion can remember countless songs to praise each sunrise and sunset, crafted in the forebidden language of his childhood and sung from every throat with reverence. Farewell, Lady Sun, is all this Elf will say, and in the language of the grey Elves. He cannot hate him, for all his wishes.
Saedhruin's gentle smile across the fire catches him. Reflected fire, bright and piercing, he can see and name and know for itself. The light of Aman is visible in every Elf it touches, and Lehtion's own gaze scatters before it. He has never seen the light of the Trees, and never will. He settles for glaring into the fire instead, even as the last traces of blood fade from the sky overhead.
