Disclaimer: see ch 1
A/N: Sorry for the long absence. Bunnies couldn't stay alive. Thankfully, Anborn was found when looking up LOTR characters. In case anyone's wondering, he's the one that finds Gollum at the pool when Frodo and Sam are captured by Faramir. Anyways hope you enjoy.- Damon (Banshee Secretary, Wakabe Writing Firm)
WARNING: There is a bit of gore, so those who haven't the stomach, like Sephora (nudge) please don't. Not terribly explicit, but enough that some might be a bit disquieted.
Anborn: Vase
The vase is on its side, the lone rose in it, a soft yellow that has not yet lost all its softness, except for where the petals have soaked in water for too long. Still yellow, except for a single drop of red that has been soaked up and started to turn brown.
It's not what he should be focusing on, but Arborn can't bring himself to look away, to look back at the horror of the house, forever empty of the family that lived here. The family he was too late to save.
Arborn stares at that flower, wondering how long it can keep its gentle color before water corrodes its delicate petals. (He doesn't want to look at the blood splattered walls behind it, with a bloody hand print forever branded into a once white and clean surface. It hurts too much to look at it. It hurts too much to look at the results of his failure.)
His eyes trace the green stem, which even now has begun to show the veins of brown, death and decay having finally found the proper veins to slip into so they can slip in and destroy the beauty of this delicate life. (He doesn't want to look over at the fireplace and see a mess of entrails left over by creatures he's supposed to be able to protect his people from.)
Arborn looks into the clear vase, glass, expensive, no doubt a wedding present for the couple by friends or family. The vase is not smooth, but has curves and bends the images behind it, for which he is grateful for. For it bends what is beyond it beyond recognition in the right places, makes it so he doesn't have to see. (He doesn't want to think about what the rest of the house must look like, with what is left of the people that lived here. He doesn't want to see what really is behind the vase, doesn't want to know of the horrors he has seen too many times before.)
He wonders who gave it to them. Was it the bride's mother? (How would she feel, knowing her line was gone, that the daughter she had raised was now dead, before her? Was the mother even alive, or had she too died by the inhuman hands of such heinous creatures? Was she another failure of his, or would she be alive and be another face of heartbreak to add to the long list Arborn has already created in his too few/too many years of service?) Or perhaps it was bought by the husband for his wife, something to remind her that to him, she is worth every penny spent for such finery. (Did he know that his time with her would be short and so he tried his best to ensure that she knew that their time together was worth every second?)
He makes the mistake of looking just to the right, where he sees the small hall that would take him to another death scene, where the remnants of children will be. Where he sees the carcass of the mother lying prone, partly eaten, in a final attempt to save herself and her children, no doubt hidden. (He doesn't want to go into the bedrooms, doesn't want to see sheets stained red, doesn't want to see broken glass littering the floor in the only sign of a struggle to survive doesn't want to see, doesn't want to see-)
A hand falls onto his shoulder and it is only his years of training that keeps him from attacking the man who has but has not been able to sneak up on him as he stares at the flower drowned and rootless. He turns tired brown eyes to his captain, the only weakness he lets show anymore, in this war against a bloodthirsty darkness that has taken too much from him already. Already depleted his reservoir of hope and takes more from him every time he comes upon a scene like this; a scene that tells him that for all his dedication, he will never be enough to defeat this enemy. That they are not enough. That he is not enough.
His captain says nothing. What can you say when faced with the failure of your duty to a people you are willing to sacrifice your life for?
What can you say to the dead when they can't hear you anymore?
Arborn goes to the table and gently puts the dying rose bud into his palm, lifts up the flower and vase and stands them up, the light from the window highlighting its beauty in the den of death. A final prayer for better things to come, not much, but it is all he can give.
Arborn might not have words to say to comfort the dead, but he sure as hell can be a final prayer for better days in his duty as a Ranger of Ithilien, and a wrathful vengeance against those that dare to take life where it should be allowed to live.
And he will not fail that duty.