One Day by wind rider
Fanwork Notes
Beta-read by Dawn Felagund. (Thanks, Dawn!)
This story should have been posted a year ago; but for various RL problems, it could only be posted now.
- Fanwork Information
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Summary:
A youth is a youth is a youth. What did Hathaldir think as he fought fknew he would never win? Was the last stand of Barahir and his men truly hopeless? – A triple drabble (exactly 300 words) as counted on MS Word. Never laugh on a youth’s earnest, innocent dream. It might just be true.
Major Characters: Hathaldir
Major Relationships:
Artwork Type: No artwork type listed
Genre: Horror
Challenges: Fifth Birthday Celebration
Rating: Teens
Warnings: Character Death
Chapters: 1 Word Count: 314 Posted on 4 July 2011 Updated on 4 July 2011 This fanwork is complete.
One Day
Title: One Day
Author: Eärillë
Challenge: The Songfic That Wasn’t
Genre: Character Study, Horror
Rating: PG-15 (Teens?)
Warnings: Character Death, Graphic Death/Violence
Summary: A youth is a youth is a youth. What did Hathaldir think as he fought for a battle he knew he would never win? Was the last stand of Barahir and his men truly hopeless? – A triple drabble (exactly 300 words) as counted on MS Word. Never laugh on a youth’s earnest, innocent dream. It might just be true.
Story Notes: This story is credited to the song “One Day” by Matisyahu and Nameless from the FIFA World Cup 2010 Album. I borrow both the title of the song and the gist of its lyrics for this piece.
- Read One Day
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Sweat beaded on his brow, mingling with traces of blood not of his own. Dagnir had fallen … It might soon be his time. He had never parted far or long with his friend. He did not want to.
His heart beat extra fast, as if making up for the soon-unlived years of his life. He experienced a twinge of regret that he had not gone with the elderly, women and children to Dor-lómin, but it soon passed away in the heat of the still-raging battle.
The hopeless battle.
But perhaps, he was buying time for other youths to live a longer life, to grab chances which were now out of his reach …
His companions were toppling down one by one. He could not stand it. This was not a battle. This was a wicked, wicked slaughter. He had not been prepared for this. But he would not call himself Hathaldir if he kept up with this weak-heartedness. He had chosen to stay, and he would face all the risks in that decision like a man that he was – that he wanted to be.
His arms were growing heavier by each swing, each parry, each thrust. He had switched sword-arms countless times, yet the enemies kept coming like spring flood.
One day … One day people would not have to face this. He prayed. He hoped. He believed.
A deep, searing pain struck his back and passed through to his chest, and he saw the point of a dirty scimitar poking out of his dented breastplate. He looked up, and gave the warg-rider before him a serene, bloody smile.
One day … One day they would all be free. He prayed. He hoped. He believed.
He closed his eyes. And with the last gurgling, choking breath, he fell sidewise and never rose again.
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