On Our Minds
Aruthir's Note: And if the last drabble was not to your liking... then perhaps this one is. One hundred and fifty-nine words in all... one hundred of mine own and fifty-nine belonging to The Professor. That counts as a drabble, right?
"With my eyes thou shalt see, and with my ears thou shalt hear; and never shalt thou move from this place until all is fulfilled unto its bitter end."
Indeed I do see, and indeed I do hear, and indeed I shall not move from this terrible place and this terrible stone chair.
I see and hear all, and all is wracked and ruined by the prism of the Black Enemy's malice…
…but every day is a blessing.
Though my limbs waste through lack of use, though I am scorched by searing heat, though I witness miseries un-numbered, though I long to cry out for mecry…
I do not.
For every day I draw breath is another day closer to that end, bitter as it may be.
And even so it came to pass; but it is not said that Húrin asked ever of Morgoth either mercy or death, for himself or for any of his kin…
Aruthir's Note: I hope this is satisfactory, Nath?
The cry rings out over the field loud as summer thunder.
Húrin son of Galdor swings his axe left and right, cutting down orcs as if they were corn before the thresher.
For each one slain, however, another two join the fray- the host is inexorable and irresistible as the tide.
He cries out until his throat is raw, the axe slips from his grasp and he is overcome.
Even as he is bound and dragged away, he still croaks his battle-cry.
Aurë entuluva- day shall come again.