End of Days
A shadow of a breeze across cold, thankless stone... memories held locked in trees and the very runes carved upon them. Time grows old, the people have gone; carved arches weigh heavy with the burden of loss.
Gentle leaves brush the tears from the face of Rivendell, though they are paid no heed. It is in mourning, and there is nothing that can console the heart of one so abandoned.
A harsh whisper of regret echoes around its broken valleys. Even the rivers cannot bear to speak too loudly, lest they shatter what fragile thoughts remain.
Vines embrace the stoic figures of those gone long before, drawing the essence of these likenesses into themselves in some vain hope it will return them to this place once again. The birdsong has wizened and faded, like the flowers that once turned their sweet faces to the now-cold sun.
And here I remain.
To the end of days.
----
AN: Inspired by a very brief flash-forward scene from Two Towers. I leave the narrator's identity to your own imaginations.
A shadow of a breeze across cold, thankless stone... memories held locked in trees and the very runes carved upon them. Time grows old, the people have gone; carved arches weigh heavy with the burden of loss.
Gentle leaves brush the tears from the face of Rivendell, though they are paid no heed. It is in mourning, and there is nothing that can console the heart of one so abandoned.
A harsh whisper of regret echoes around its broken valleys. Even the rivers cannot bear to speak too loudly, lest they shatter what fragile thoughts remain.
Vines embrace the stoic figures of those gone long before, drawing the essence of these likenesses into themselves in some vain hope it will return them to this place once again. The birdsong has wizened and faded, like the flowers that once turned their sweet faces to the now-cold sun.
And here I remain.
To the end of days.
----
AN: Inspired by a very brief flash-forward scene from Two Towers. I leave the narrator's identity to your own imaginations.