Hey Perrin- thank you SO MUCH for doing this! Let me know how it could be
improved.
Undaunted-Chapter 1
Blood. That was the first thing Arnetha saw as she came out form the glittering caves of Helms Deep. The black, acid blood of the Uruk-Hai, and the bright rose blood of her countrymen trickled about her toes, sifting together to make a dirty brick-colored river. Death lay all about her in the shards of metal and wood driven through bodies, their brave, fearless eyes still open in an eternal expression of shock and pain. Arnetha's eyes locked onto one of the faces of the dead men strewn about, stopping cold in her tracks. She knew that face-those blue eyes, the unkempt blond hair and beard, the shape of the nose; the features of her father that she had memorized from childhood. She fell to her knees, denying what she saw.
"No, no, he isn't dead," she thought calmly, "this is only a bad dream. No- a nightmare, and I'll wake up any second now. I'll look out my window and there he'll be, and the wheat stalks will be waving in the breeze. My brother will be out there with him, plowing, waiting for the rest of the world to wake up and join them."
Something wet spilled onto her hand. In surprise she looked down, seeing a dark red puddle where she had rested her hand. In horror, she followed the stream of the thick liquid to its source. A gaping wound showed through her father's rusted and mismatched armor, a heavy black ax buried in its center. She could deny it no longer. Her father, her teacher, her best friend, had left her to face the end of the world alone. She shed no tears, however. Nothing mattered enough to cry about. Even as the light sheen of a morning drizzle misted the mighty fortress, she felt no chill. Only an inexpressible pain.
* * *
For Elrohir, son of Elrond, it still hurt too much to see her. She was so unaware in the painting. She had no idea what torture and suffering she would face in the future, of what she would have to bear. That face, his mother's, was so different from the one he had seen on the day she left to be healed in the gardens of Valinor. Elrohir remebered it all too vividly, one of his mother's escort, running blindly into Elrond's study, gasping out the horrific tale of their party's attack and Celebrian's capture by orcs before dropping dead on the floor from exhaustion and untended wounds. Elrohir and Elladan had set forth, and succeded in bringing their mother home alive, but she would have been better off dead. Even after her physical wounds had been healed, the unseen ones still ravaged her tired spirit. He turned away from the portrait, his own heart sick and sore for her.
"Elrohir?" Elladan said, peeking around the slightly open door. Elrohir turned to face him, feeling oddly heavy.
"Father asks for us to come to the study. One of Aragorn's kin has come, he wanted an audience with all three of us. I don't know what he wants bu-- "
"Then let's go." Elrohir said curtly, briskly walking past his brother without looking at him. Elladan only shook his head.
Undaunted-Chapter 1
Blood. That was the first thing Arnetha saw as she came out form the glittering caves of Helms Deep. The black, acid blood of the Uruk-Hai, and the bright rose blood of her countrymen trickled about her toes, sifting together to make a dirty brick-colored river. Death lay all about her in the shards of metal and wood driven through bodies, their brave, fearless eyes still open in an eternal expression of shock and pain. Arnetha's eyes locked onto one of the faces of the dead men strewn about, stopping cold in her tracks. She knew that face-those blue eyes, the unkempt blond hair and beard, the shape of the nose; the features of her father that she had memorized from childhood. She fell to her knees, denying what she saw.
"No, no, he isn't dead," she thought calmly, "this is only a bad dream. No- a nightmare, and I'll wake up any second now. I'll look out my window and there he'll be, and the wheat stalks will be waving in the breeze. My brother will be out there with him, plowing, waiting for the rest of the world to wake up and join them."
Something wet spilled onto her hand. In surprise she looked down, seeing a dark red puddle where she had rested her hand. In horror, she followed the stream of the thick liquid to its source. A gaping wound showed through her father's rusted and mismatched armor, a heavy black ax buried in its center. She could deny it no longer. Her father, her teacher, her best friend, had left her to face the end of the world alone. She shed no tears, however. Nothing mattered enough to cry about. Even as the light sheen of a morning drizzle misted the mighty fortress, she felt no chill. Only an inexpressible pain.
* * *
For Elrohir, son of Elrond, it still hurt too much to see her. She was so unaware in the painting. She had no idea what torture and suffering she would face in the future, of what she would have to bear. That face, his mother's, was so different from the one he had seen on the day she left to be healed in the gardens of Valinor. Elrohir remebered it all too vividly, one of his mother's escort, running blindly into Elrond's study, gasping out the horrific tale of their party's attack and Celebrian's capture by orcs before dropping dead on the floor from exhaustion and untended wounds. Elrohir and Elladan had set forth, and succeded in bringing their mother home alive, but she would have been better off dead. Even after her physical wounds had been healed, the unseen ones still ravaged her tired spirit. He turned away from the portrait, his own heart sick and sore for her.
"Elrohir?" Elladan said, peeking around the slightly open door. Elrohir turned to face him, feeling oddly heavy.
"Father asks for us to come to the study. One of Aragorn's kin has come, he wanted an audience with all three of us. I don't know what he wants bu-- "
"Then let's go." Elrohir said curtly, briskly walking past his brother without looking at him. Elladan only shook his head.
