I loved her first

On the feelings of Ephel Brandir, Lord of Brethil, when he saw the maiden Níniel, brought to his lands by Túrin, son of Húrin, known to him as Turambar.

They brought you to me on that fateful night. The storm had not abated, nor did it for a long while. I remember it so well…I saw Turambar enter the hall, carrying you in his arms, but a frightened girl, swathed in his cloak. He had found you, naked and alone, on his Haudh-en-Elleth, under the wrath of the elements. And he brought you to me.

You were a weak, pitiful shell of a maiden, bereft of speech and movement, and witless with fear. I sat by you for hours on end, tending to you, your comfort and warmth, feeding you from my own hand and setting all my skill to your benefit. I was taken by your beauty. Golden hair, eyes the color of a flawless spring sky…

You could not speak. Your words were unknown to us, a language no one yet knew. And you were never at ease, unless Turambar was near. Your eyes were all for him, and you would not have him out of your sight, though I was always near you to tend you, but you never looked at me the same way you looked at him.

Then you began to heal, to learn the names of things, learned to walk and talk again. And you sought me out to teach you the names of animals and plants. And you had grown strong again, and you always offered your shoulder to me so that I might walk faster despite my limp.

And I loved you.

Yes, I loved you. I had loved you from the first moment I saw you. I had always been at your side, never leaving you. Turambar spared no extra time for you, yet you never rested when he was not near you. But I was there, though you did not notice me, the cripple, always tending you. But I loved you.

Oh, I would give anything to have the affection you felt for Turambar! To have you look at me the way you looked at him! Your heart was for him…and I knew it, but would not acknowledge it, because I wanted you.

Ah, Níniel, maiden of tears, you do not realize what tears I have shed! The knowledge that you do not love me…you cannot know, for your heart is all for Turambar. But I love you…and I know I cannot have you. But tears…yes, you have brought tears to me, for many I have shed when none are looking, but they are wasted. Tears of longing, tears that embody the grief I feel. For you do not love me. You call me 'brother'…but I would have you call me 'beloved'. Many times, when I speak with you, you will leave, and I will whisper after you, though you cannot hear, 'beloved'.

Why do you love Turambar more than me? What has he done to earn your love? Was it he that sat by your side when you were shivering from facing the elements? Was it he who fed you from his own hand? Was it he who would comfort you in your fevered dreams with his voice and gentle hands? No…it was I, Brandir the Lame.

Oh, Níniel! I may not be the ablest warrior…I might not delight in the sword, but I delight in you! You are my remaining joy. I live to see you, and only wish I could call you mine. Turambar has stolen the favor of my own people…but I would willingly give it up, along with my lands, if only I could earn your love. But the Master of Doom has stolen that, too. He's stolen everything I ever loved. You are all I love, now. And you are not mine.

Turambar loves you. I know he loves you. But I loved you first! I loved you truest! I love you still, even as your heart is given to someone you hardly know.

My body is broken.

So is my heart.