Blurred figures danced above him, misshapen masses of green, brown, red and black. Swords danced above his face. Unable to do aught but wait for them to pierce through his fevered flesh, he lay unmoving on the blood-slicked earth as one that knew all was near lost.
Sharp lines of silver streaked with red glinted through the haze in front of his eyes, and then all was 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.