hope

The flow of the Bruinen was but a gentle trickling thing here at the fjording of the valley. In comparison, a roaring tempest tore through Elrond’s mind. He had gone on ahead of his army, thinking time alone would calm his mind, and his mood. He could not escape the thought that his kin marched toward a meat-grinder, and that their bright armour would soon to be stained by the ruin being wrought across Eregion. 

Written as part of the unfolding plot of Northern Charter

PLEASE NOTE: An image created by AI is appended to this story which some may find suggestive of violence. It does not show 'intense violence or gore' or a bloody scene or the likes, and is therefore, in my view, entirely PG-13 and in keeping with the site rules. However, it is only right and proper to forewarn accordingly.

Author’s Note: This piece was shaped with a little help from AI. It provided assistance on things like the structuring, some names, shortening some verbose language/ideas as I'd written, and gave me the odd turn of phrase here and there.

Lothlorien had been beautiful. The golden Mallorns were a balm to Envandiel’s soul as she sat under their ancient beauty. Galadriel was a gracious host, and the journey with the Eledhrim of Aurandel and Airingil had been healing. 

I was happy never expecting or making promises.

This one dragged from me, felt important. Yet I do not care what becomes of me now. The stream was my fate; and now my currents carry something to spectacular, ferocious failure... Or success that will heal so much wrong, -- and also break me.  

Or... maybe it won't break me, and that would be even worse.

Surreal
Across the void
Skim the abyss
Fight like a demon

Trapped between
Ahead
Behind

Hope
Remember
Forget

The lost
and found
Both
Red and cold

Surreal
Like the day she laughed

Refractions
Cruel music
Of a dark stream

From a height so tall, water falls falls falls.
Crashes to rocks beneath in a loud call.
With no fear, breaks and scatters in the air.

Have you noticed

How the clouds seem to weep with the strong?

As if to show them

That their sorrowful spilling of tears are not wrong.

As you watch them

They often seem to silently bear,

​​​​​​With smile or laugh,