death

So this is how it goes. It's only three of us left now, just me, Ane, and Patunia. No more friends for me. We're all that's left.

It's me, isn't it? All this time, it's been me. People get close to me or spend too much time around me and then they die. Deordal took her own life, Dworvmur's missing, and now Feridae's gone.

Faorie searches for Thendryt in the Misty Mountains.

Ebrail had been left behind, for their journey had reached heights unsuitable for him to travel. Step by step, Faorie had carefully examined the tracks left behind by Bryn and his men.

While this event has not yet come to pass, it is inevitable. Will Aegardhros have a simple passing, or will his physical form be broken? Well, this small story will show us all who he is, or will become, at least.

It has been many weeks since writing in this journal, my hand bleeds anew with every letter I scrawl. Bandages fail to contain my words as I write in this book. It has not been a good road to recovery, neither has it been for the sake of another at the expense of my health. I can only assume her vacant expression and cold disposition will curtail my passive aggressions until I can draw strength in my arm again. 

Diary.

This is my first time I’ve come home in days. Well, whatever this place is. I’ve moved twice so far. This time, I couldn’t bare the sight of it…

Egbert Yarrow stood watching as men filled in the grave. He had to look strong. He had to pull through this. It would be what she would have wanted - him to be as strong as she was. The tears which streaked down his face told a different story. How could he be strong when the only thing that made him strong had been taken away? Each shovelful of dirt that landed on the grave was another reminder that she was now gone from him. He felt cold - dead on the inside like the still body in the coffin below him.

(Going to revamp this story.)

Cyndere Bronwyn; a young woman of Dale, who grew up in Bree. Her story begins ten years ago, just after her ninth birthday...