For She Is Dear to Us

Orcs defiled our mother.  They stole her … shattered her … stained her.

For weeks, we searched.  We slaughtered those who captured her and returned her home -- filthy and fragmented.  Father, master of his art, mended the fractures and made her body whole again.

The stain, he could not cleanse.  We fault him not.  She faults him not, though he may fault himself.  None here have the skill to clean a stain that poisons so deeply, not even him.

Today, our mother sails West.  We beseech the Grace of those who dwell there to wash the stain from her!

Tomorrow, we avenge.

11/16/2004

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A/N:  Written for LJ Tolkien_weekly's "Seven Deadly Sins -- Wrath" challenge.