DISCLAIMER: (Peter Jackson brandishing a carrot) (Peter): "Say it. " (Me): "I do not own Lord of the Rings."
He had fought many battles, slew countless men and orc, he had swept the fair maiden off her feet, and sat crowned in spendour as a king.
But in the bitter end, he was still mortal.
He was immortal, and a archer unparalleled, a god among men, who gave his friendship to a tall reserved man, and an axe-wielding creature.
He mocked them, but would die for them. But he could not resist the alluring call of the sea god's domain. In the bitter end, he was weak.
Loud and uncouth, fond of beer and beef, this small strange person forged a bond with the most unthinkable beings, and clung to them through every trial. But he would never sit and tell his tall tales to any children. In the bitter end, he was selfish.
A nobleman from a once great city, this man's intentions were pure. But raised from a early age with the words honor and strength ringing in his ears, he could not ask for help, when that is what he needed. In the bitter end, he was proud.
Rash, reckless too young to take part in any war, and like a child he was fasinated by deep, dark, forbidden objects, and consequently was hurt. But he recovered, never knowing the magnitude or impact of the things that had befallen him. In the bitter end, he was ignorant.
He was more patient, more practical than some people, that may have made him seem responsible, but time and time again, his words and actions prompted people to give him what he wanted. He saved his friends through his manipulation. In the bitter end, he was calculating.
He was a exellent cook, but people only asked for his food when they were hungry, he was a good friend, but people only asked for his friendship when they needed support. He was always right, but no one heeded his advice, and still he was their friend. In the bitter end, he was blindly loyal.
He was nobody to the world's great powers, until he did something they could not do. He braved fire and ice, water and snow, sword and bow, evading every encounter with death, by the help of people, who in the the bitter end,were as expendable as he was.
He was a old servant, weary and grey, trying to acheive a little spontainety with fireworks and old friends. Children cheered the fireworks, old friends said he he had disturbed them, not knowing he was the reason they were still alive, and they were the cause of his endless vigil. Never thanked, never understood. In the bitter end, he was tired.
AN: My excuse for this LOTR bashing , my muse was depressed.
Review and you can own the Lord of the Rings. (Peter Jackson comes after me with carrot, shouting ("KIDNAPPING!")