Drabbles and Drabble series
Standalone Fiction
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Hisilome Alantie
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With Heavy Steps

My steps are heavy
my soul broken
as I lead my people back
over sands and grass and mountains.
No journey has ever felt this long.
The buildings of Tirion gleam
in the darkness
lit by lanterns
of those that stayed behind.
We walk quietly through streets we knew
gardens where we played as children
houses where once we ruled
outcasts, fallen.
My mother lingers still
in the palace where my father left her
deserted her to follow his oldest son.
Is Earwen sitting beside her,
her blue eyes darkened by grief
does she hate me, I wonder,
for what my brother did?
Slow are our steps as we walk through Tirion,
moving in silence towards our doom.

Ingwe awaits us upon the steps of Taniquetil
his eyes cold, full of judgement.
How dare he judge?
He who never lived in my fathers house
who never felt the sickness of hatred creep through the halls
and streets of his city.
How dare he?

I raise my head as I enter.
I will meet my judgement with pride
I will stand tall
and be my father's son,
and my brother's brother my mind whispers,
reminding me of where pride
have lead my people.
I keep my face free of emotions
a king cannot be ruled by feeling
if my heart ruled me I would have died
fallen to pieces and shattered
the very day that the ships burnt
and my wife's father
fell by my brother's hand.
How did we fail to see his madness,
how deep it had become,
how it had eaten all that once was bright
and beautiful.
For he was beautiful once
my oldest brother, the hero of my childhood
who never once had time
for his little brothers.
I have reached my doom at least, their eyes upon me.
"Mercy," I manage to whisper
and fall to my knees.