Disclaimer: Still Tolkien's… not mine
Reviews appreciated... in spite of awful limerick...
UNDER THE MALLORN TREE
(At the End of the Third Age, Remembering Doriath)
"Cirdan's ships or Varda's stars,
Mighty blades of molten sparks,
Beleg's bow or Mablung's sword,
Or the jewels in Thingol's hoard,
Our ladies' beauty all surpass"
"I'd regret to learn this war has blunted your poetic abilities…"
Celeborn turned haunted eyes to his wife: "It's not mine, my lady. It was Daeron's parting gift, actually, although I suspect we were too drunk then to notice."
They'd been carefree and happy that night. Shortly after, Daeron had discovered Lúthien in the company of a mortal, and change had abruptly entered Doriath.
He still remembered that song.
He still missed his friend.
Word Count: 100; Jan 2005
A/N: Cause the pain shall stalk you while you remember the words…