Yet Were Its Making Good, For This by LadySternchen  

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Grief

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Once upon a time, before the delving of Menegroth, stone had just been stone to Mablung- lifeless, cold, uncaring. That stone could do something like mourn had then been beyond his imagination. Yet Menegroth did mourn now, not just its inhabitants, but the living rock itself, its brooks, even the river. The birds of the Queen would no longer sing safe in lament, keen and beautiful but hauntingly so, and Melian herself seemed so very withdrawn these days. All her focus went into the Girdle now, into keeping safe who could be kept safe.
Mablung could not even try to guess her pain, having no children of his own. But Thônwen and Elmo could, so it was a good thing that her sister-in-law was with Melian to support her now. That was, if any elf within Doriath could master their own grief enough to comfort anyone else.

For the briefest moment, it had seemed that they had been spared. When Beren had taken Lúthien’s hand before the thrones, the possibility of escape from their doom had been within arm’s reach. Laughable, really. As if anyone could escape. Slowly but surely, fair Beleriand was turning into a pit filled with frantic game, and wolves prowling around its rocky edges, waiting, savouring in anticipation the feast that was to come. There would be no escape. For no-one. Not anymore, not now that Lúthien was dead.

Even thinking it was painful, and Mablung quickly bowed his head to hide his renewed tears, his insides numb and cold. Everything seemed cold, even while a glorious summer caressed the lands in warmth and gentle winds. Whatever the weather was doing, though, Menegroth seemed to be caught in the ice of the north, like the Helcaraxë had suddenly decided to come down into their green lands. And there was no escaping it, ever. Lúthien had been the bringer of spring. Even in the cold of the starlit years, flowers had sprung at her very touch. And that spring had now been taken from them forever.

Mablung forbade his thoughts to stray back again to the childhood of the princess, but failed dismally. She had ever been so lively. Even as a babe in arms, she had never wanted to miss even a moment, and so Elu had spent evening after evening walking through their camp, rocking and singing her to sleep. His lullaby for Lúthien had been picked up by the elves of his court and become all their evening song, a ritual beloved and cherished for as long as it had lasted. And later, when she would no longer be carried around but roamed freely, it was Lúthien herself who brought to them the melodies of their songs, and who danced through their midst like a draft of balmy winds. So how could she, who had never ever kept still, be dead, her body lying still and silent in her cold grave, with her husband just as dead at her side?

Ai Beren, what have you brought upon us?

There was no accusation in those words even in Mablung's head, and how could there be? He had seen the true and sincere love in the man’s eyes and known then that Beren and Lúthien belonged together, and that nothing would keep them apart. He had much liked Beren, too, and grieved for his passing almost as much as he did for that of Lúthien, yet still, there was no denying that doom had followed thee man's footsteps to Doriath, disguised as love.

But all that mattered little now. They had looked almost peaceful, their bodies lying side by side, Lúthien with one slender arm still around Beren’s bloody chest. Whom had this fool of a man thought to save when he had thrown himself before the wolf? Proud the son of Barahir had been, and valiant, but why cast away his life to prove an already settled point? Had he forgotten, then, that he and his beloved only had what time they had in Middle-Earth? That their paths were forever sundered by death? Had Beren considered even for a moment what his death would mean to Lúthien? And what horrendous consequences it would have on those who loved her as well?

Mablung cursed Morgoth for it, for this most hideous robbery, for his accursed beast that had stolen away so much bliss, a life not even half lived, a love, and Lúthien, their Lúthien. And, it seemed, also their king. Mablung shuddered as he thought of Elu, his chest contorting with fear. He had not been seen among his people since that dreadful night, and judging by the royal house’s utter silence concerning him, it was going ill for them all.

It was for that very reason that Mablung set out to talk to Elmo in the first place, needing to know the truth and hoping that Elmo would remember the time, so long ago, that he had come to seek him out while everyone else slept, to bid him aid their search for Elu, and so would not see his questions now as intrusion into the royal house’s affairs. 
He need not have worried, though. Elmo embraced him like the friend he was to him, and Mablung tried to put all that he could not find words for into that hug, in addition to all the comfort he could muster.

“You want to know about Elu.” Elmo said in a hollow voice as they broke apart, a statement, not a question.

Mablung nodded, trying his best to keep his fear in check.

“Come with me, if you really want to. But be warned, Mablung- I know how much he means to you, and you will not like what you see.”

Again, Mablung nodded, falling into pace beside Elmo. He had not expected anything else.

“He is like… I do not even know how to explain his state. He is not himself but like a dumbfounded child that will do as you tell them while their mind is paralysed with terror. Nay, even that does not explain. It is like his grief and guilt drove away all his will to live, all himself, if you get me. He will do as I tell him, but he rejects all touch, all attempt at closeness. Even Melian…”

Elmo’s words caught in his throat as he uttered his sister-in-law’s name, and it took him a moment to pull himself back together.

“She needs him.” He went on “Desperately so. They just lost their daughter, is that not enough? Must he… he would not even let her enter the room until I made him. Oh, do not misunderstand me, this is not at all aimed to wound her, he simply despises himself and his actions so much that he fails to see how much he is loved regardless. Melian tethered him to life, and I understand why, of course she could not bear to lose him as well. I was so grateful for it at first, but… but if this is how life is going to be from now on for my brother, for us, then truly, I think it would have been kinder to let him die, too.”

Mablung said nothing, but only silently laid an arm around Elmo’s shoulders as the latter wiped his eyes, composing himself enough to go on.

“He talks now, at least. Ever since I convinced him to let Melian at least stay with him at night, he will answer questions when asked. If that is so much of an improvement, though, I do not know. See for yourself. 
But there are more pressing matters, too. I am not sure how much longer Doriath can be held without anyone ruling it. Melian cannot do so, even less now that she needs every last bit of her strength to keep the Girdle, and Elu just does not care, or cannot care, I would not know.”

They had reached the entrance to a chamber that had natural light, and Mablung guessed that it had been Elmo’s aim to let his brother at least have the light of the stars by night.

“Who’s there?” someone asked as soon as they had entered the room.

Had Mablung not known that it was the king himself, he would not have recognised his voice, but that was hardly the most frightening thing about the whole situation. Elu sat in his chair like a statue of marble, cold and still, and indeed Mablung might have taken him as such but for the bloody scratches on his arms, cheeks and neck that Mablung knew were the marks of Elu’s own fingernails. He started when Elmo beside him answered, having momentarily forgotten that he was there.

“It is I, and Mablung.”

The look Elu gave them as he turned made Mablung quail, and he lowered his gaze quickly, unable to bear the loathing in his king’s expression.

“What do you want? What is it that you deem of my interest?” Elu asked coldly, and yet Mablung made himself move, made himself step up to Elu’s chair and sink to his knees beside him.

“Nothing lord, I merely…”

“Then leave.”

“Lord…”

“I told you to leave, did I not?” Elu asked with a dangerous note to his voice, before he turned away again, making Elmo hiss in anger.

Mablung however bowed low, trying to keep his face concealed, for tears ran down his cheeks and dripped onto the floor. He would rather Elu had taken a knife and run it through his heart than send him away in scorn like this.

“If that truly is thy will, Sire, I shall obey.”

“No!”

Mablung had seldom known Elmo to shout, much less shout at his elder brother, but as he turned now to face him, he saw the wrath in his face and intuitively stepped between the siblings.

“See?” Elmo strode around Mablung, crouching down beside Elu and grabbing him none too gently by the arms. “Do you see, you ungrateful oaf? Mablung here is so loyal to you that he would even fight a friend to keep me from ripping your head off. Have you any idea how much you are adored? And direly, direly needed? But you do not care, do you? Nothing matters to you but your own grief, and I get it. Oh, I get it. There is nothing within Arda that hurts as terribly as the loss of a child. Remember, brother, that I lost my only son, too? That Galadhon was my only child as Lúthien was yours? I know of the pain that threatens to tear your heart into pieces with every beat life forces it to beat. But even that most profound grief does not give you permission to hurt everyone around you even more. Because guess what, Melian lost her only child, too, and Thônwen and I lost our niece. Do you need to add to that pain by pushing everyone away who reaches out to you? Have you ever comforted your wife? Maia she may be, but she is still a mother, and make no mistake, here grief is by no means less than yours. But she bears it, and holds the Girdle regardless, and then you will not even give her the comfort she needs.
But fine, have it that way if it so pleases you, my King. You know, you hurt me too, as I care about you more than anyone safe Thônwen now. I have sat by your side night in, night out, holding your hand and begging you to return to us, but if all that is to be achieved by that is you snapping at everyone, then I will leave you to stew in your own misery!”

Elmo released his brother and scrambled back, his chest heaving. Mablung had expected Elu to raise to the challenge and argue back, or else command them from the room once and for all, but he did nothing of that sort. Instead he sat as Elmo had released him, showing no reaction whatsoever, until tears slowly started to run down his pale cheeks. It was pitiful to watch, and Mablung turned in dismay, only to see Elmo smack his own forehead with his palm.

“Oaf I am, too, it seems.” he told Mablung with a grimace “For there goes the work and achievements of days.”

He took deep, steadying breaths, then walked back to Elu’s chair and put his arms protectively around his brother’s trembling form.

“Hush. It is alright. I got frustrated, that is all, I did not mean what I said. I have got you. I’m fine. It’s alright.” And when Elu struggled feebly, trying to free himself, Elmo added: “I know you do not want to be touched. But you need it. And I need it. So that is what we will do.”

Mablung made to bid them farewell quietly, but as he made to stand up, Elu’s fingers closed over his hand.

“Stay. Please.” the king whispered hoarsely, and Mablung felt his heart be flooded with sudden emotion. Elmo looked at him over Elu’s head, his eyes wide with wonder, as if he could not believe what he had just seen and heard.

“Of course.” Mablung whispered back, his heart pounding in his chest.

Again, he sought Elmo’s gaze, and they tentatively smiled at each other. Small victory it might be, but to Mablung, it just now meant everything.