He stared at the bandage-wrapped lump that should have been his right hand and glared. He was tired of the looks, of the pity. For days he'd questioned whether he should be angry or grateful that he'd been rescued.
What good was a warrior with a useless sword-arm?
He picked up his sword with his left hand, and found it was heavy, unwieldy. He tried to swing it and nearly dropped it. He knew what to do, but the muscles refused to cooperate.
Maedhros swung again, now fiercely determined. He'd learned once; he could learn again, and better than before.
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.