Burning Son: 6. Lunatic

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6. Lunatic

They surround me- there is no escape.

They whisper, they shriek, they murmur, they howl…

All of them want vengeance.

I scream in horror as they clutch at me with long-dead hands, their eyes burning with eternal hate.

I overturn my throne as I scramble away from their ice-cold touch, but there is no escape.

Did I ever think there could be?

Desperate, I tear my sword from its scabbard and slash about me left and right, a whirlwind of destruction, but it is no use.

Still the dead assail me, still my victims demand retribution.

The warriors, the women, the children…

Each and every one tears at me with teeth become talons, with fingers become fangs.

Every one I cut down births another- every death brings horrid new life to torment me.

I shriek, a high and wordless cry of rage and fear and misery against my foes, but I know it is useless.

They live on fear; they feed on fright.

Like wolves, they prey on the poor and the pathetic and the pitiful.

That word cuts through everything.


I howl, my blade little more than an extension of my flailing limbs, dealing death left and right but not enough, never enough…


Spittle runs down my chin into my beard, spattered with blood from where I bite my tongue, splattering to the tiles amongst the carnage I wreak, the useless slaughter of those already dead.  


Suddenly I am free of my frenzy, and I am on my knees in the blood-soaked snow, surrounded by the corpses of those who had been my advisors, my fellows…

…my friends.

The ghosts are gone, and all that remains is murder.


I gulp down breath after breath of freezing air, but in every new horror I drown.

Severed heads, slashed limbs, spilled guts, skewered skulls…

I cry out in horror as I realise my folly…

…and the night answers.

The dead rise once more as I watch.

They surround me- there is no escape.

They whisper as I right my fallen throne.

They shriek as I sit upon it once more.

They murmur in my ear as I wipe their blood from my face.

They howl as my pulse returns once more to normal.

All of them want vengeance.

They shall not have it.

I am Wulf, son of Freca.

I claim this golden hall by right of conquest.

They shall never take it from me.

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.

Story Information

Author: Aruthir

Status: General

Completion: Ongoing Serial

Era: Multi-Age

Genre: Drama

Rating: Adult

Last Updated: 07/11/14

Original Post: 04/09/07

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