Never in my long years have I felt such rage.  My fury knows no bounds.  It is good.  My anger strengthens me and fuels my battle lust.  The malevolent creatures before us can not long stand against the deadly tide of our twin blades.

The last one falls and finally I can see fully this dank den of utter evil, though little do I wish to. 

“NO!”  I hear the scream, but I know not if it is my voice or that of my brother.

My gentle brother is weeping openly but I can not.  He stands beside me, as always.  He is transfixed, a look of utter horror on his face as if he is beholding some ghastly specter.

Perhaps he is.

Could this horrible apparition that hangs chained to the wall before us truly be our mother?  No, this battered and beaten shell of a body could not be our beautiful, loving and gentle mother.  Where is her light?

Her head is bowed, her eyes are closed, she makes no sound.  She looks dead.

Perhaps she is.

I must touch her.  I must know if she yet lives.  Slowly, I step forward.  My hesitance surprises me.  It is unlike me to hesitate.  My mother needs me!  I must act now!

Gently, with the utmost care, I reach out and softly lay my hand upon her shoulder.  Though my touch is feather soft, she screams as if in pain and weakly struggles as best she can in her bonds to escape me. 

My heart breaks.

Yet, now I know she lives, and thus my hope lives.  Our father is the best healer in all of Arda.  He will heal her and make her whole.  He must.  Our family will be whole again.