A Strand of HairGimli enjoyed exploring. Gimli's father, Gloin, had raised him on tales of Thorin's expedition for the Arkenstone. Gimli wanted to follow his father's footsteps, maybe even surpassing them. His own journey was nothing like his childhood daydreams. It was wearing, terrifying, miserable, difficult, and often boring. He relished every second. That was why he accepted the elf's invitation to sail west to Valinor.Gimli would travel farther than any other dwarf before or after him. He had not realized that he would be the only dwarf on the continent. It seemed silly, but he did not consider how alone he would feel. He missed his family, but it was the small things that drowned him in nostalgia. He missed drinking a pint of ale by the firelight; he missed seeing faces with real beards, not sissy elf-beards; he missed sitting in a chair where his feet touched the ground.Gimli's friends did their best to make him feel at home, but it was not enough. Legolas was always good company, but he did
A Good ServantWhat did he expect from us? Did he still believe in a world where every deed was done for valor? He, himself led our armies. His lordship knew better than to expect chivalry from us.He called us traitors. Murderers. Cowards. Murderers? We were murderers long before now. The slur lost its potency many years ago. This was not the first time our blades stained silver hair with red blood. Nor will it be the last, even though his lordship denies it.Lord Maedhros said this time was different. They were unarmed. They were children. His lordship said it was a vile deed done from hatred. Hatred? Yes, we hate them. We hate every barbaric Sindarin whelp who threw themselves upon our swords at the request of their king.I hate their king. Dior, The Beautiful. His life, his countenance, mocked our master. Our master, Lord Celegorm, who died by the Sindar's hand.Dior alone is at fault for our wrath. He is the reason his sons are lost and his wife dead. He refused to relinquish the jewel on which
At Fault"They were just children!" Elwing shrieked, viciously pushing her cousin away."Elwing
" Celeborn attempted to console his young relative, but she refused to be comforted."You left them! You left and now
they're gone." The young elith collapsed on the ground, sobbing. She clutched her stomach, fighting the physical agony which assailed her. Agony and guilt. She should have been there. She should have made certain her brothers were following. She should not have left them.The attack happened so fast she could barely separate the jumbled, nightmarish events, but it seemed like slow motion at the time. The elves of Doriath knew that a battle with the sons of Feanor was possible. Elwing's father, King Dior refused to relinquish the silmaril he had inherited from his parents. They were prepared to defend Doriath, but they were not prepared for the savage brutality of the Noldor. The Noldor killed without conscience.She remembered being kissed by her mother. She remembered her f
The ListenerHis name was Lathron. He never forgave his parents for bestowing him with such a curse.He could hear his father laughing all the way from Mando's Halls as the child droned on and on. Lathron punched the unfortunate lump of dough as the young prince's tirade continued."
It's not fair! I just came back yesterday afternoon from scouting the trade routes, then I was in council all evening with the ambassadors from Rivendell, and afterward I had to attend a feast which lasted well-past midnight! I even reported in on-time this morning, but did Pengaer appreciate that? No! He gave me a ten-minute dressing down, in front of half the army because I 'looked like my mother had tied on my armor!'" Prince Legolas ceased pacing, and slumped onto a barrel.Lathron sighed. He liked Thranduil's younger son. Mostly because, out of the king's three offspring, Legolas was the most quiet."He's wrong. Mother knows how tie on armor." Lathron rolled his eyes. I used to like Thranduil's youngest s