Characters: Hathaldir the Young, one of the doomed followers of Barahir
Warnings: some angst
Disclaimer: It was Tolkien who called him Hathaldir the Young and spoke of his death in the same breath.
A/N: still trailing behind, sorry!
Hathaldir knelt, scooped up water to quench his thirst, and then to wash the sweat and grime off his face. As he did so, he looked again into the holy water, and saw that—whatever the others might call him, still, and maybe truly think so—after three winters of life as an outlaw, he was no longer young.
A moment he gazed at those far too bitter lines worn out in months of hunting and being hunted by the Enemy, then shoved that thought aside with the rest. To the end they called him youngling. He never contradicted them.
A/N: Also for a SWG challenge that calls for more fic about Hathaldir and other rare characters.