14. Hollow
Author's Notes: The consequences of isolation. Part 2.
Hollow
He is not alone tonight. He seldom is these days. The sheets have cooled and lap from his legs as he pads to the window. A tin mug of wine lays there, the dregs stale and metallic-tasting as he swallows them down.
The woman in his bed will not be there for long, no longer than any of the others, at least. She may not come back though the light in her eyes tells him more than her vocal bedplay that she would have more of him if he were willing to give it.
He has heard the whispers and covert exchanges of coin between his men, caught his brothers' sidelong glances, mingled disapproval and concern. He cares not for either. He does not have the bereaved's right to mourn. He is merely doing what is expected of him. What was expected of him even before they brought her home, out of the clutches of the mountains.
He is without Celebrían, and there is no part of him that does not want to break down the leagues and walls and water between them in order to gather her in his arms again. But she is gone.
He is not alone tonight. He seldom is these days. The sheets have cooled and lap from his legs as he pads to the window. A tin mug of wine lays there, the dregs stale and metallic-tasting as he swallows them down.
The woman in his bed will not be there for long, no longer than any of the others, at least. She may not come back though the light in her eyes tells him more than her vocal bedplay that she would have more of him if he were willing to give it.
He has heard the whispers and covert exchanges of coin between his men, caught his brothers' sidelong glances, mingled disapproval and concern. He cares not for either. He does not have the bereaved's right to mourn. He is merely doing what is expected of him. What was expected of him even before they brought her home, out of the clutches of the mountains.
He is without Celebrían, and there is no part of him that does not want to break down the leagues and walls and water between them in order to gather her in his arms again. But she is gone.
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.
