The Last Elf
Aranel; 2004
Disclaimer: Non-canon. This was part of a contest: a friend and I each had to write an angst story in five minutes and this was mine. You can really tell I was rushing. I just have this dreadful fascination with angst...
The elf sensed movement behind him and whirled without a sound. The brawny man he saw stopped dead in his tracks, obviously caught in the act of skulking.
Neither spoke a word, but simply regarded each other. The elf carried a look of despair in his weary green eyes. They had seen far better days that had now passed into oblivion.
The man was indifferent. He had been hired to perform a task and felt no emotional attachment to this bedraggled figure. All he cared for was the payment he would receive for completing his unpleasant deed.
The elf sighed once and looked away. He was ready to die. Avoiding it for a time had proved futile, and he knew he could not go on another step. Fatigued and wounded, his body weak from loss of blood and a severed arm, he knew it was his time and he would meet it with honor. He would take it nobly, like an elf.
The man's features betrayed no emotion as he stepped forward. He knew his prey would not fight back. This would be an easy kill.
What had this once fair elf done? His only fault was that elvish blood flowed through his veins. Now, men had failed to remember their ancestors' kinship with the Elves and were envious of the fairness of the almost forgotten people. Hence, the few that remained were hunted down and slaughtered like animals.
Perhaps this lone elf was the last that lingered. Nevertheless, he would not be alive long.
The man drew his straight, jagged-edged blade, the dark bloodstain still visible from where he had severed the elf's wrist earlier. He slashed swiftly and the once stately head of the being fell back. The dead elf plunged to the grass, his blood pouring forth profusely to pool on the ground. It was the last elvish blood it would drink.
The man blinked in wonder. The elf had not cringed or flinched at the brutal blow. Though it nearly moved him to pity to slay the last of the Quendi, he strode from the barren glade, back to his many other pressing tasks.
Finis