Character: OC and Frodo
Source: Pre-Ring War and Ring War
Disclaimer: Tolkien’s evocation of an aftermath, Kortirion’s embroidery.
The plain stretched before him, furrowed by battle, the grassland trampled until red earth bleed through greenness in great grazes, not easily healed. His commander’s eye discovered with relative ease the advance and stand, rally and retreat… before a final overthrow left the ground humped with burial mounds, studded with rusted helms and cuirasses.
He inhaled deeply, the wind chill enough to grate in his nostrils, a reminder of the coming winter.
‘Old battles were like old tutors – good at facts, but short on process... doubtless, soon enough, his time would come to plough the land with hooves and sword...’
It was soft here, soft and, at first… easy. After the rage and turmoil that had strained every sinew, tensed and tested muscles, torn his throat with harsh screams of rage... it had felt like plunging into an icy pool under summer’s sun, but now...
The soft ground leached away his strength until only a tiny portion of his fea remained... enough to light a candle to trap, or warn, the unwary. He’d almost forgotten which...
Frodo found himself staring down, down into dank marsh-water, into the pale eyes of an ancient elf... dead in battle... dead... but never resting...