A fan fiction set during 3434, the Second Age, based on the Battle of Dagorlad. I apologise for any error that may be present within this text.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. All themes used in this text are entirely the property of J.R.R Tolkien.
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Blood.
So much blood.
It slides down my arms, stains my sleeves, and brings with it a torrent of memories.
Beautiful black hair, as gloriously dark as the finest ebony, spills onto my lap, and I see his eyes.
Cold.
Lifeless.
The tears slip down my face, mingling with the crimson liquid, and I wail as I collapse onto his body, the thick shafts of the Orc arrows scratching my pale skin; but I do not care.
"Do not go."
"I must."
"Alagos, do not go. Please."
"I shall return. I swear it, Osellë. I will return to you."
"Do not lie to me! You will die, and how then will I survive? A life for me without you is no life worth living!"
His fingers trace the line of her cheek, and he feels her tears. "Oh, meleth-nin."
He kisses her, and she melts into his arms.
The song of the trees drifts through the air, and the stars that dotted the sky above them shone as brightly as the day they were created; untouched by evil.
The blade of his knife glints as I hold it to the sunlight. A tear drips onto it, and I shakily draw in breath as I slide the sharp edge of the dagger across the delicate skin of my throat.
There is pain, but it is nothing; for now I know that I will join him in the halls of waiting.
And there will be no more blood.
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