Farewell
Disclaimer: Nothing from the realm of Middle-Earth belongs to me, but to the master of literary prose, J.R.R Tolkien.
Author's Note: It's movie-verse, I'll admit, and a part of the movie which I hated for being there. But nonetheless, it inspired me enough to write this.
* * *
He fell.
He fell with the archers, their faces bloody and their armor now useless, with the quivers of arrows strewn across the trampled, muddy ground.
He fell with the orcs, their grotesque figures riddled with Elven arrows. Elvish aim was true, but so was the stroke of an axe.
He fell with the battle cries and rip of flesh, with the stench of spilt blood fresh in his nostrils. His own blood now mingled with that of his people and with the foul bleedings of the Uruk-hai.
He fell with Men, when he had wanted to die at Lorien, wanted to die in battle, defending his Lord and Lady. But Helm's Deep was far from Lorien. And the end was near.
* * *
//Farewell to Lorien, to Caras Galadhon, to Celeborn and to the Lady of Lights.
Farewell to the trees that grew ever taller, ever on, to the blossoms that scattered over ground, to their scent in the spring.
Farewell to the hills of my youth, to memories of former winters, of birds and innocence and coming of age.
Farewell to the river that flowed through our lands, that fell over rock and treeroot and carried off the leaves, fallen like warriors in battle, to the sea. I beg you to take me with you, carry me there as well.
Farewell to the skies and the sun that guides during morn and to the moon and stars that lead by night. To the Evenstar, true and faithful in her path, even and steady as Time.
Farewell to the arrow that, singing, is released from the bow. To the arrows that quiver as they fly, to the arrow point that stings. To the sword.
Farewell to all that was known and to all that was not yet revealed.
Farewell to the fallen, whom I join.
And to the living, left to linger here in this torn and bruised Middle-Earth.
To the Elf-kind and Mortals both, farewell. //
* * *
He fell with the axe stroke, with the alliance of Men and Elf-kind.
And he fell before Aragorn, Heir of Isildur, could reach him.
He fell, his eyes unseeing and blinded by a death that peaked too soon, that tugged at him and tripped him until Haldir of Lorien too had fallen with all those who had gone before him.
* * *
//Farewell to dreaming.//
Disclaimer: Nothing from the realm of Middle-Earth belongs to me, but to the master of literary prose, J.R.R Tolkien.
Author's Note: It's movie-verse, I'll admit, and a part of the movie which I hated for being there. But nonetheless, it inspired me enough to write this.
* * *
He fell.
He fell with the archers, their faces bloody and their armor now useless, with the quivers of arrows strewn across the trampled, muddy ground.
He fell with the orcs, their grotesque figures riddled with Elven arrows. Elvish aim was true, but so was the stroke of an axe.
He fell with the battle cries and rip of flesh, with the stench of spilt blood fresh in his nostrils. His own blood now mingled with that of his people and with the foul bleedings of the Uruk-hai.
He fell with Men, when he had wanted to die at Lorien, wanted to die in battle, defending his Lord and Lady. But Helm's Deep was far from Lorien. And the end was near.
* * *
//Farewell to Lorien, to Caras Galadhon, to Celeborn and to the Lady of Lights.
Farewell to the trees that grew ever taller, ever on, to the blossoms that scattered over ground, to their scent in the spring.
Farewell to the hills of my youth, to memories of former winters, of birds and innocence and coming of age.
Farewell to the river that flowed through our lands, that fell over rock and treeroot and carried off the leaves, fallen like warriors in battle, to the sea. I beg you to take me with you, carry me there as well.
Farewell to the skies and the sun that guides during morn and to the moon and stars that lead by night. To the Evenstar, true and faithful in her path, even and steady as Time.
Farewell to the arrow that, singing, is released from the bow. To the arrows that quiver as they fly, to the arrow point that stings. To the sword.
Farewell to all that was known and to all that was not yet revealed.
Farewell to the fallen, whom I join.
And to the living, left to linger here in this torn and bruised Middle-Earth.
To the Elf-kind and Mortals both, farewell. //
* * *
He fell with the axe stroke, with the alliance of Men and Elf-kind.
And he fell before Aragorn, Heir of Isildur, could reach him.
He fell, his eyes unseeing and blinded by a death that peaked too soon, that tugged at him and tripped him until Haldir of Lorien too had fallen with all those who had gone before him.
* * *
//Farewell to dreaming.//