ESTEL

A voice cried out in unimaginable pain. A single word… a name… was spoken. It was voiced as a wail of agony. Soon it was followed by others, but none broke the heart of the people like the first one.

“Estel!”

Word was spread and soon all seven levels of the mighty city was anxiously looking toward the sixth level and down toward the silent street where yesterday their beloved king had gone.

Soon a procession was seen leaving the king’s house and ascending the causeway to the citadel. In front were the steward and the young prince carrying his father’s crown and sword. Behind him came the beautiful queen leaning heavily on the arm of the eldest of her twin brothers. Next, there came the golden elven prince who loved their king. The queen’s other twin brother had his arm around him. Behind followed the good dwarf openly weeping and the great silver elf lord who also had tearstains upon his cheeks.

The people bowed themselves down in grief. The king was dead. Elëssar, the greatest king man had ever known, was no more.

It was his 210th birthday… the First of March of the 120th year of the Fourth Age of Middle Earth.

THE END