Rating: R for the squeeeeemish
Warnings: blood implied
Note: for the tolkien_weekly point drabble challenge
At first all he can do is stare.
A single glistening jewel, redder than roses, more precious than rubies, calling him.
To touch would be to destroy its beauty, and though his fingertip hovers, touch it he will not.
Kneeling in the dust where the blade has fallen, still all he can do is stare. And want, and need.
He pricks his finger upon the point, watches the droplet form, sees the pull like lodestone, the meeting, the mingling.
Two become one and now that is his life’s only purpose.
Still sharp. But so much more than a broken heirloom.