Undómion sat reclined against a chair by the open window; the only light in the guest room now considering all fire, even the candles, were unlit. The two fledglings, Linwilin and Bruiferedir, were crawling over the elf-sire. Linwilin was making her low sounds as she crawled around on Undómion’s arm, while Bruiferedir flapped over and stood on the table with Veryathoron. The presence of the two younger hawks was amusing, and Veryathoron did not like being picked at by the other male.
“Keep off your Elder, young one…” Undómion made a low sound of contentment, a hand brushing against Linwilin’s back while he changed who he was directing to, “You could be a song bird if you practice enough, little one…”
The burning still had not left, and Undómion hated it ever more. The adrenaline…the rush of strength and pride, and unable to use it! A lesser Noldo he had ever been. The burning…oh, the nightmare and flashbacks of that dreadful day…
Nigh three millennia ago in the heat of battle…
Orcs fell in heaps by the cunning of a skilled warrior. The pleasure seeing foul creatures being hewn by the hundreds (widespread across Undómion and his brother Aridhor, and many others in the general region) increased the strength in Undómion.
“Defilers!” Aridhor cried out.
Undómion became alert. Whatever foul craft those makers of poisons and other cruel weapons will surely greatly hinder the others should they get by…Those became his main target, among the other orc spawn.
There were many of those poison makers. The limit was being pressed at last as time waned on as Undómion grew partly weary; an orc knocked his helmet off. Said orc was quickly eliminated. But, as he turned to cut down more…and the last thing he clearly saw was an orc defiler wearing a dreadful mask, tossing acid towards the elf’s now-exposed face. The stinging and painful burn all over his face and eyes will never be forgotten. It was enough to make Undómion cry out in pain, putting one hand over his eyes, as the intense burn felt is if it were frying the inside of his head as well.
‘Keep fighting, you fool! Burns will not hinder you!’
Much as he desired to open his eyes again, the eyelids were numb and unmoving. Undómion vainly swung his sword, somehow managing to cut down two more orcs.
That was not to be forever…
Miraculously dodging a deadly swing to the head, Undómion stumbled off balance, and a heavy blow to the side knocked him down onto his face. Soon after, a sword made a diagonal cut across the fallen elf’s back. Undómion was glad the breath was knocked out of him; otherwise the noise he would have made would have made the orc surely kill him. Staying completely still, the foul creatures assumed they did cut down one of the Eldar, and left the body where it was. Now with a stinging wound across his entire back (otherwise proven deadly were it not for the armor that was now broken), and a burning head, Undómion was left for dead. The sounds grew dim and distant as poison and blood loss began to win. So close to fading, so close to forsaking a broken hroä…But with stubborn nature, the elf did not let go. Aridhor’s voice was distant; more orcs were being hewn around him and his fallen sibling. Aridhor was the protector and, more or less, the stupid one out of the two. Undómion kept quiet and motionless…in fact, he was not able to move much anyway even if he willed it.
Time continued…blood of Orc, Elda, and Adan was spilled…
A corpse landed on top of Undómion, causing the gash on his back to bleed anew, waking him from his near unconsciousness. There was no familiar presence that could be sensed…dark thoughts began to form: the Noldo was forsaken. Undómion should just give up now; there was no more point to clinging to life. Oddly enough, he thought he was too tired to do so. How does that work? Perhaps for someone becoming unsure in mind and thinking…
‘Let the darkness take me…if none come when I awake…If, I awake, then so shall I leave at last for home…’
Back in the present in the Guest Rooms…
That vain hope was somehow fulfilled after regaining consciousness while being tended to. However, it was not pleasing…Undómion learned that his older sibling fell in battle, sometime after the now-blinded elf was not an expressionless and motionless ‘thing’. So much lost in one day. His back hurt slightly thinking of these events; a very hard to see scar had formed from where the gash long remained ere he was found. Little poison managed to get into his bloodstream…it was potent though, made to make its victims’ energy slow down. Either Undómion allowed it to manifest, or simply did not have the strength to resist, and it remained as another after effect from the battle…or he ‘believed’ it to be. Nonetheless, Undómion simply had not the energy or the ability to pick up prior to the Last Alliance.
“Keep singing, Linwilin…” Undómion said quietly, sagging a little bit as his heart weighed down…and further wanted the burning from the week being in front of the fire to die down.
