Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
ELAMIR DROPPED HER BOW ON SNOW-DUSTED MOUNTAINSIDE. She ran her fingers through her auburn hair as her mind reeled. Gandalf had fallen. The company had lost a wizard known to most- one who had consoled them, and guided them. Elamir pressed her trembling lips together and clenched her fists in a desperate attempt to hold herself together. Gandalf taught her as a child. He showed her the beauty of the world beyond Gondor's walls, and the richness of Middle Earth. Without him, Elamir was certain she would not be the same woman. Boromir pulled his sister into his chest. He set a gentle hand on the back of her head, whispering words of comfort in her ear. Elamir tried her best to listen, but the blood rushing through her ears drowned it.
The others fell into a heap of despair. Tears littered the rock. When the Gondorian siblings broke away from each other, they rushed to the others' sides. Elamir wiped the tears off of her cheeks, and crouched down beside Samwise. A brave little Hobbit, he was, but the loss of someone beloved could stir even the most courageous. She set her hands on his shoulders as he cried, and did her best to console him. She had always found that helping others was the best way to mend what was broken within herself. As she brought him solace, her gaze rose to find Aragorn standing off to the side. His face was expressionless. He had shed no tears, and cleaned his sword with vigor.
As if he could feel her gaze upon him, Aragorn lifted his eyes to lock with hers. They held for a moment, before Aragorn turned away. He sheathed his sword and looked to Legolas.
"Legolas! Get them up!" He called.
Elamir furrowed her brows, her eyes still burning with tears. Why did he not let himself mourn? Legolas looked at the king-to-be, detached. He had never witnessed death before. Mortality was not something Elves needed to come to terms with. He had lost his mother, but never had he seen such pain directly before his eyes. He nodded to Aragorn, his gaze still distant.
Boromir looked around, frantic and hurt, "Give them a moment, for pity's sake!"
"By nightfall, these hills will be swarming with orcs!" Aragorn responded, sternly. Elamir noted their differences. "We must reach the woods of Lothlórien."
Boromir looked around, breathlessly. He could not process such a decision. His mind, too, reeled with thoughts. They had all lost someone very dear to them, and to disregard their grief was shameful in his eyes. He threw his shield on his back, and aided Gimli. Aragorn made his way over to Sam and Elamir, his gaze soft. He gently took Sam's arms and set a strong hand on his shoulder.
"On your feet, Sam."
Elamir's eyes were trained on the ground until a hand, which bore a ring familiar to her, obscured her vision. The Ring of Barahir was a pillar of the bloodline her family had replaced. She looked up at Aragorn, but was too emotionally exhausted to question it. She took his calloused hand in her own, and stood up from the ground. His warm palm was such a contrast to his cold gaze. She sent a nod his way, and turned back to the others. In the distance, she saw the receding figure of the Hobbit most dismayed by this event.
