19. Kill: XVII
Wind, water, choking ash.
"When the colourless One made the Eldar,"
whispers Sauron into his red hair,
Sauron, lash of leer and stench and
smirking black spit,
"He made you all without Death.
Then He loved you so much that
He thought to make you taste of it, and said,
Have it. And call it
Hands. Hips. Gentle bruises.
Take a little death, Maitimo.
Dream of what the real thing will be like."
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.