Comments: This idea came to me during a boring session of math class. What
can I say? I hope this works, this is almost a first draft, which means
that after I post this and read it, there will be changes made. Bear with
me. Thanks. :)
~*~
Elrond Peredhil gripped the smooth marble rails of the balcony, his star- grayed eyes gazing out into the dark of the night. Orcs were invading again, their numbers rising and their evil doubling. Sauron had no part in this, as the High Elves had discovered in confusion; no evil powers were directing the creatures this time around. But something else they had stumbled onto unnerved them.
Orcs and Uruk-Hai alike were scouting all corners of Middle-Earth, nearly outnumbering those in their wake. It was almost impossible to comprehend how the gruesome numbers of the hideous beings enlarged in a short amount of time. Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn of Lothlorien proposed a take of leave, but Elrond, Cirdan, and Mithrandir refused profusely.
Celeborn was confident that even now that Sauron's Ruling Ring had diminished, his evil was still widespread across the plains of their home. The Three remaining Rings could not even destroy it, the Elf had said, not even if they had tried. Mithrandir countered back by telling Celeborn he was a fool to believe it, and a coward to draw back. Nonetheless, Celeborn stayed his ground. He urged Elrond to join him, however, the Half-Elf found he could not. Even in his respect and love for the Lord of Lorien, he could not muster the strength to leave.
Elladan and Elrohir, ever the faithful sons of Elrond, chose to remain with their father and sort the problems out. Legolas Greenleaf of Mirkwood stepped forward for an alliance of Rivendell Elves and Mirkwood, and even Thranduil, with difficulty, boldly stated he would help. Mithrandir collected the remaining armies of Gondor and lands around, hoping for a miracle.
However, Celeborn and Galadriel fled. As both were wise and strong, they knew what would be the outcome of this madness. They bid farewell to the grounds they once loved, giving their own armies of Lorien into the hands of Elrond. Haldir was reluctant to see his Lord and Lady go, but he found he must fight for them. Finally, with troops assembled and plans made, the Elves and Men charged in full front.
Elrond tore his eyes from the sky, turning sharply around to see Glorfindel in full armour, awaiting his orders. The Twins stood at his left, both decked in the golden armour of their House. Elrond himself bore his old army uniform from when he strode alongside Gil-Galad, the late Elven King of the West. Nodding promptly to them, the four made their ways through the deserted hallways, once neatly occupied with inhabitants, to the grounds below.
Legolas Greenleaf stood awaiting their arrival, bow in hand. Mirkwood Elves were lined in defense of the Last Homely House, along with Imladris' own. Hideous shrieks and shrilled screams filled the pointed ears of all, the visible glistening of weapons in the air. Elrond held up his hand. As the Orcs and Uruk-Hai drew nearer, Legolas lifted his own. Arrows were cocked, swords drawn. Finally, as the creatures neared them, their hand went down and the battle began.
Tiresome and bloody it was. Countless lives were lost from all points of Middle-Earth, each race diminishing quickly. Impossible as it may seem, it was happening. Elrohir and Elladan, brave and true, fell to their deaths against the swords of Orcs, Glorfindel slowly following suit. Legolas was killed from behind, and from the other side of Middle-Earth, Mithrandir and Cirdan were lost in battle. Hobbits were invaded and murdered, havoc raged across the land. Finally, Elrond felt he was the only one left.
It was even growing colder and barren in the once majestic plains of Middle- Earth, crops dying, trees dwindling and food supplies lowering. It was almost obvious there was something going on, that everything was going to end up in chaos. The winters grew longer; the days of sun were few. Ice gripped the very landscapes, cutting off all hope for anything.
He was certain he would die, that Middle-Earth would be gone forever. He cursed his life, he cursed his home, and he cursed his King. He regretted he did not heed Celeborn's sage advice, but nothing could be done about it now. This was the end.
In the midst of battle, Elrond Peredhil guided his sword into his heart and died upon the ground as a brilliant snowstorm suddenly swept the Valley of Imladris.
~*~
TBC…
~*~
Elrond Peredhil gripped the smooth marble rails of the balcony, his star- grayed eyes gazing out into the dark of the night. Orcs were invading again, their numbers rising and their evil doubling. Sauron had no part in this, as the High Elves had discovered in confusion; no evil powers were directing the creatures this time around. But something else they had stumbled onto unnerved them.
Orcs and Uruk-Hai alike were scouting all corners of Middle-Earth, nearly outnumbering those in their wake. It was almost impossible to comprehend how the gruesome numbers of the hideous beings enlarged in a short amount of time. Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn of Lothlorien proposed a take of leave, but Elrond, Cirdan, and Mithrandir refused profusely.
Celeborn was confident that even now that Sauron's Ruling Ring had diminished, his evil was still widespread across the plains of their home. The Three remaining Rings could not even destroy it, the Elf had said, not even if they had tried. Mithrandir countered back by telling Celeborn he was a fool to believe it, and a coward to draw back. Nonetheless, Celeborn stayed his ground. He urged Elrond to join him, however, the Half-Elf found he could not. Even in his respect and love for the Lord of Lorien, he could not muster the strength to leave.
Elladan and Elrohir, ever the faithful sons of Elrond, chose to remain with their father and sort the problems out. Legolas Greenleaf of Mirkwood stepped forward for an alliance of Rivendell Elves and Mirkwood, and even Thranduil, with difficulty, boldly stated he would help. Mithrandir collected the remaining armies of Gondor and lands around, hoping for a miracle.
However, Celeborn and Galadriel fled. As both were wise and strong, they knew what would be the outcome of this madness. They bid farewell to the grounds they once loved, giving their own armies of Lorien into the hands of Elrond. Haldir was reluctant to see his Lord and Lady go, but he found he must fight for them. Finally, with troops assembled and plans made, the Elves and Men charged in full front.
Elrond tore his eyes from the sky, turning sharply around to see Glorfindel in full armour, awaiting his orders. The Twins stood at his left, both decked in the golden armour of their House. Elrond himself bore his old army uniform from when he strode alongside Gil-Galad, the late Elven King of the West. Nodding promptly to them, the four made their ways through the deserted hallways, once neatly occupied with inhabitants, to the grounds below.
Legolas Greenleaf stood awaiting their arrival, bow in hand. Mirkwood Elves were lined in defense of the Last Homely House, along with Imladris' own. Hideous shrieks and shrilled screams filled the pointed ears of all, the visible glistening of weapons in the air. Elrond held up his hand. As the Orcs and Uruk-Hai drew nearer, Legolas lifted his own. Arrows were cocked, swords drawn. Finally, as the creatures neared them, their hand went down and the battle began.
Tiresome and bloody it was. Countless lives were lost from all points of Middle-Earth, each race diminishing quickly. Impossible as it may seem, it was happening. Elrohir and Elladan, brave and true, fell to their deaths against the swords of Orcs, Glorfindel slowly following suit. Legolas was killed from behind, and from the other side of Middle-Earth, Mithrandir and Cirdan were lost in battle. Hobbits were invaded and murdered, havoc raged across the land. Finally, Elrond felt he was the only one left.
It was even growing colder and barren in the once majestic plains of Middle- Earth, crops dying, trees dwindling and food supplies lowering. It was almost obvious there was something going on, that everything was going to end up in chaos. The winters grew longer; the days of sun were few. Ice gripped the very landscapes, cutting off all hope for anything.
He was certain he would die, that Middle-Earth would be gone forever. He cursed his life, he cursed his home, and he cursed his King. He regretted he did not heed Celeborn's sage advice, but nothing could be done about it now. This was the end.
In the midst of battle, Elrond Peredhil guided his sword into his heart and died upon the ground as a brilliant snowstorm suddenly swept the Valley of Imladris.
~*~
TBC…
