A Savage Beast
Title: A Savage Beast
Author: Kellan Brodie
Fandom: JRR Tolkien
Beta: Unbeta'd at present
Characters: Glorfindel
Prompt: Feral, 50_darkfics
Word Count: 441
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, but they are fun to play with.
Author Note: You can find my table here. All stories in the table relate to this one, they are merely out of order at present.
---
He was covered in blood and other unsavoury things. His hair was matted, stained red, and his face was ashen. Around him were at least a dozen bodies of Men. At least, from counting the number of torsos -- that was the only way to know.
There was no way to know how many Orcs now laid dead.
His chest heaved from all his activity, and blood dripped steadily from his sword to the ground.
All he smelled was blood.
All he saw was awash in crimson.
A noise behind him.
Glorfindel swung around to see Elladan, and in the young Elf's arms was his mother. Celebrían was just as pale as Glorfindel, but her eyes were wide and glassy while his were narrowed and burning with hatred. Elladan said nothing. He merely mounted his horse, carefully balancing Celebrían in his lap, and rode off, leaving Glorfindel behind in the massacre.
He watched them ride off, his hand tightening painfully on the sword's hilt, until the dam broke within him and he screamed. It was a long, ragged sound, and he spun around and buried his blade in the chest of the nearest corpse.
Staggering backward, Glorfindel felt the heat of tears on his cheeks, the tightness of a sob in his chest. He looked around at the carnage, all created by his own hand, and he screamed again.
Blood.
Nothing but blood. Tainted and evil, chaste and pure. So much blood on his hands!
Glorfindel fell to his knees, head bent, and wept. It was a never-ending nightmare. This life he'd woken to centuries and centuries ago. Always too late, never good enough, and through all his pain and torment, he'd let what made him good and virtuous rot. He'd lost himself to this sea of hatred, and Glorfindel wasn't certain he could ever return to what he had been.
To the Elf Ecthelion had called friend.
He was nothing more than a savage beast.
An animal to be caged and beaten and starved.
Glorfindel couldn't escape his very being! Oh, how he'd tried... how he had tried to swallow his rage and just endure.
Now... now Celebrían had been...
Glorfindel took a deep, shuddering breath, and stood up. He yanked his sword from the corpse and called for Asfaloth. The white horse trotted up to him, nuzzled his face with worry, and Glorfindel pulled himself onto Asfaloth's back. He was tired.
He should have escorted Celebrían as she'd requested he do.
He should have convinced her to remain in Imladris until he could have taken her.
He should have done so many, many things.
Valar, what would happen now?
End
Author: Kellan Brodie
Fandom: JRR Tolkien
Beta: Unbeta'd at present
Characters: Glorfindel
Prompt: Feral, 50_darkfics
Word Count: 441
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, but they are fun to play with.
Author Note: You can find my table here. All stories in the table relate to this one, they are merely out of order at present.
---
He was covered in blood and other unsavoury things. His hair was matted, stained red, and his face was ashen. Around him were at least a dozen bodies of Men. At least, from counting the number of torsos -- that was the only way to know.
There was no way to know how many Orcs now laid dead.
His chest heaved from all his activity, and blood dripped steadily from his sword to the ground.
All he smelled was blood.
All he saw was awash in crimson.
A noise behind him.
Glorfindel swung around to see Elladan, and in the young Elf's arms was his mother. Celebrían was just as pale as Glorfindel, but her eyes were wide and glassy while his were narrowed and burning with hatred. Elladan said nothing. He merely mounted his horse, carefully balancing Celebrían in his lap, and rode off, leaving Glorfindel behind in the massacre.
He watched them ride off, his hand tightening painfully on the sword's hilt, until the dam broke within him and he screamed. It was a long, ragged sound, and he spun around and buried his blade in the chest of the nearest corpse.
Staggering backward, Glorfindel felt the heat of tears on his cheeks, the tightness of a sob in his chest. He looked around at the carnage, all created by his own hand, and he screamed again.
Blood.
Nothing but blood. Tainted and evil, chaste and pure. So much blood on his hands!
Glorfindel fell to his knees, head bent, and wept. It was a never-ending nightmare. This life he'd woken to centuries and centuries ago. Always too late, never good enough, and through all his pain and torment, he'd let what made him good and virtuous rot. He'd lost himself to this sea of hatred, and Glorfindel wasn't certain he could ever return to what he had been.
To the Elf Ecthelion had called friend.
He was nothing more than a savage beast.
An animal to be caged and beaten and starved.
Glorfindel couldn't escape his very being! Oh, how he'd tried... how he had tried to swallow his rage and just endure.
Now... now Celebrían had been...
Glorfindel took a deep, shuddering breath, and stood up. He yanked his sword from the corpse and called for Asfaloth. The white horse trotted up to him, nuzzled his face with worry, and Glorfindel pulled himself onto Asfaloth's back. He was tired.
He should have escorted Celebrían as she'd requested he do.
He should have convinced her to remain in Imladris until he could have taken her.
He should have done so many, many things.
Valar, what would happen now?
End