Sharp barbs cut my fingers, blood running hot and salty;
The blood runs clear: crystal rivulets on chapped skin;
Not blood at all.
I remember the mingling of blood and tears;
Shining like jewels, beautiful and terrible.
Oaths were made;
Strong arms held you as you breathed your last.
You fought with honour, heedless of danger;
Not for glory, nor for gain,
But for those who had not your strength;
You died bravely, fealty upon your lips.
The river bore you away;
Away from duty, away from grief;
Into the halls of your fathers,
To stand with honour among the heroes of old.
Unienorin eriol anlin, nienorin antuin tó melethant le.
Author's Note: The translation of the final line in Sindarin reads: 'I do not mourn for you, I mourn for all those who loved you'
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.