Loss by Delrauko
He stood at the base of Orodruin. Eyes closed and brows drawn in deep thought. All about him lay strewn the bodies of Elves, Men and Orcs, mingled together. The battle was over, but an even harder thing was soon to come. The Aftermath.
Bodies of family, lovers and friends would have to be buried in this wretched place. They did not have the means to bear them all home. There would be no small comfort of a body to mourn over for many who had lost a loved one that day. As he looked around him, his eyes fell upon the body of his closest friend and King. His body was horribly burned from the heat of Sauron's demise. Beside him lay his treasured spear and the armour they had removed. His eyes were closed and he was no longer breathing, having passed just a few moments ago.
Elrond looked down at what he held in his hand. Vilya. His dying friend had bid him to take it and keep it safe, and with a heavy heart Elrond had agreed. With a sigh, he placed it on his finger, feeling a slight change come over him as its power coursed through his veins. But he was too preoccupied to enjoy the feeling and was quickly enveloped in his thoughts again.
Sadness and despair pulled at his heart. They had not defeated the enemy. Isildur had not listened to his counsel and instead he chose to keep the Ring. Elrond felt for him in his loss, for he had lost his father and his mind had been clouded when he reached him. Even before he tried he knew Isildur would not listen to reason. His mind had been captured, and evil allowed to endure.
Truly this had been a terrible day. In his mind this would be just a reprieve, the enemy's retreat. Sauron would regroup his forces and rise again. Maybe not as great as before, maybe even greater, but he could feel it in his fëa. Sauron would return and many more would die before the world was free of his clutches. All because a descendant of his brother had let the Ring corrupt his thoughts and prevent the victory from being absolute
Ah, the price of Mortality.
Elrond chided himself for thinking such a thing. The Ring corrupted all, mortal and immortal alike. No one was safe.
A hand on his shoulder made him look up. A battle worn Elf looked back.
"My Lord, they have finished the preparations." Said the Elf, weariness and sadness were laced through his voice, "Are you ready?"
Elrond paused for a moment as those words sank in. Finally he nodded and moved to join his fellow Elves. It was time to say the final goodbyes.
The air was filled with a heaviness, full of deep sorrow and mourning. Their High King had been taken from them, their victory snatched away cruelly. Whispers and sobs reached his keen ears, though the Elf Lord payed them little heed. Nothing they said was important and would not lessen their pain.
All watched as he strode forward and lit the funeral pyre, singing softly a song of sorrow and loss. Close by he could see the face of the Greenwood Prince. Elrond could see the pain and deep sorrow reflected in the glassy grey orbs. The Prince had lost his father and a third of their realms forces, a sad and heavy blow to their great realm.
The Prince looked up from his grief and their eyes met. Elrond could see where he laid the blame. Men.
Elrond sang the final words of the song as a strong wind came through, feeding the fire. The flames flared up quickly and engulfed the pyre, obscuring the body of their beloved King.
The Lord of Imladris stayed long after all others had left, grieving silently as he watched the flames devour the pyre. He heard footsteps slowly approaching and he blinked, startled to find that the light had long since vanished and night had fallen long ago. Turning to face the visitor, he was relieved to find that it was his Advisor. For a few moments they stood, reliving the last few months over in their minds. It was terrible. So much pain. So much death.
Erestor turned and walked in the direction of the camp. With a sigh, Elrond spared one last mournful glance at the smouldering pyre and followed the Advisor. There were others too that required comfort and they must decide what the next step would be.
Only one thing was for sure.
None who fought that fight would ever be the same again.
Fin
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