NOTE: Sorry I haven't posted in so long. I've been extremely busy. No
really? Anyway-here's more!
A Tragic Find
Screaming, crying, shrieking. People running everywhere. Blood in his eyes. Where was Hithlain? Where was his daughter, Simbelmynë? Everything was spinning; things began to grow dark. The once piercing screeching faded away into whispers.
"My lord! He is yet alive!" It was a light, airy, man's voice. "Just barely breathing."
The man did not know what was going on, but as he heard strange, yet somehow comforting words, he started to come back to his senses.
He was lying on the ground and was in great pain. There were several tall men, no, elves, with long golden hair standing around him. One who was taller than the others and had dark hair approached the man and asked him something. The man did not respond; he did not hear. The man looked around at the desolate town. Houses were burnt to the ground, the remnants still smoldering. Frantically he scanned around for any trace of Hithlain or his daughter. His eyes swept across the ground until they came to rest upon a crumpled figure ten yards away. He gasped as he recognized the curly black locks. Getting onto his hands and knees he crawled over to her. Arrows were stuck in her back. Dried blood was caked around them and on her face. The man started to cry as he picked her up and held her in his arms. This woman that had given him so much, love, feelings, a life he never thought he could have, was dead. And their only child, lost. It overwhelmed the man and he wept for his lost love.
The elves just stood by and left the man to do what he would. They did not understand death, except for maybe the dark-haired one. For he was the Lord Elrond, and understood many things.
After the man had cried himself to sleep, the elves retrieved him and put him upon a horse. They rode back to Rivendell in silence.
A Tragic Find
Screaming, crying, shrieking. People running everywhere. Blood in his eyes. Where was Hithlain? Where was his daughter, Simbelmynë? Everything was spinning; things began to grow dark. The once piercing screeching faded away into whispers.
"My lord! He is yet alive!" It was a light, airy, man's voice. "Just barely breathing."
The man did not know what was going on, but as he heard strange, yet somehow comforting words, he started to come back to his senses.
He was lying on the ground and was in great pain. There were several tall men, no, elves, with long golden hair standing around him. One who was taller than the others and had dark hair approached the man and asked him something. The man did not respond; he did not hear. The man looked around at the desolate town. Houses were burnt to the ground, the remnants still smoldering. Frantically he scanned around for any trace of Hithlain or his daughter. His eyes swept across the ground until they came to rest upon a crumpled figure ten yards away. He gasped as he recognized the curly black locks. Getting onto his hands and knees he crawled over to her. Arrows were stuck in her back. Dried blood was caked around them and on her face. The man started to cry as he picked her up and held her in his arms. This woman that had given him so much, love, feelings, a life he never thought he could have, was dead. And their only child, lost. It overwhelmed the man and he wept for his lost love.
The elves just stood by and left the man to do what he would. They did not understand death, except for maybe the dark-haired one. For he was the Lord Elrond, and understood many things.
After the man had cried himself to sleep, the elves retrieved him and put him upon a horse. They rode back to Rivendell in silence.