Disclaimer: All kings and elves herein belong to Tolkien.
Author's Note: For the 'rock' challenge. Originally posted to lotr100.
The writing was rough; his skill was not with chisel or stone. His love was for wood. But the man had loved stone: the white stone of his fair city most of all.
He had grown to love the broken fragment as he worked it, polishing and shaping it with care.
Stone kings watched him as he passed, their eyes empty.
No flowers grew on the grave. Only stone grew here.
He laid the marker gently.
The writing was rough, but the words clear, carven as surely upon the stone as upon his heart:
‘I always loved him in silence.’