20. Crimson Hands
The young soldier stood alone upon the battlefield,
A lone soul amidst carnage and dismay,
He had hewn, and he had slain,
Without mercy or remorse, for the good of his cause.
Now he could only hear the cries of the dying,
Gondorian, Rohirrim, Harad, Orc,
It mattered not. It was all the same.
Death was death.
He gazed upon his bloodstained hands.
To fight and die.
Was this the meaning of life?
There must be more!
He became aware of a sharp pain.
As he looked down upon his chest,
His fate became crystal clear.
The blood on his hands was his own.
****
--Dynessuccesor
A lone soul amidst carnage and dismay,
He had hewn, and he had slain,
Without mercy or remorse, for the good of his cause.
Now he could only hear the cries of the dying,
Gondorian, Rohirrim, Harad, Orc,
It mattered not. It was all the same.
Death was death.
He gazed upon his bloodstained hands.
To fight and die.
Was this the meaning of life?
There must be more!
He became aware of a sharp pain.
As he looked down upon his chest,
His fate became crystal clear.
The blood on his hands was his own.
****
--Dynessuccesor
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.
