The Aftermath Of The War Of Wrath. A Rhyming Story. Not really.

[YayGollum]

"Why all of the senseless destruction? Are most people really that lazy?" A giant raven who just happened to be one of the more animalically-minded Ainur and an ancestor of the Crebain surveyed the ruins of Beleriand. "I was comfortable there. Plenty of interesting, albeit tragically featherless and unsophisticated, peoples probably were, too.

"Yes, what about those people? Do the Powers Of Arda truely believe that what they have done here is just? It's none of my business, of course, but plenty of these flightless simpletons actually worshipped their murderers! Heh. Old Mandos will have his hands full for quite a while, won't he? That'll keep them from interfering with my research for an Age or two! I heard that most of their servants saw this war as a great undertaking for the good of the pathetic masses!

"Why, if all they're saving is a select few Atani? And whatever small number of the Firstborn that can still stomach their masters? I predict that not only will the Powers keep their hands free of Middle Earth for a while, but most of the Firstborn who survive will wish to stay on what's left of their home land. I had never really cared much about the activities of the Enemy, but I knew that his lair was deep and far-reaching. Utumno, Utumo, Autonomous? Something like that.

"Wasn't there a better way to extract him? That is why I say that they were lazy. How weak had he become by the time they hauled him away? And the forces of Valinor could easily handle all of the misguided souls who followed him. Destruction of a continent is very lazy. If I ever tire of the free lands, I will have to remember to remind them! Poor Mandos. How many innocent and confused mortals will he be somberly greeting after this?"

On the way to the largely uncharted Middle Earth, the spirit's sharp eyes caught several bodies that had floated onto the many jagged remnants of Beleriand. There were ages and races of all kinds, some broken, pale, and strewn about the rocks, but still others that had miraculously been washed to the relative safety of wreckage-piled shards of land. The thought of helping the survivors did not even begin to coalesce in the spirit's obsession-driven mind. "A few more by the end of the day, by the looks of it." The few survivors were just starting to stir as the giant bird spotted the mainland and continued talking to itself.

[Alatar]

Boron sat on a rock and waited.
He looked over the waves and wondered why that had happend, he was having agood time in his village before it sunk.
"Why" he called aloud!
" Because the Valar will it" said the weedy man who had been stranded with Boron.
" Valar! Look around you, this is there way of solving problems! The valar can go to angband for all i care!"
" Look around you, this is what they do if you upset them!"
Boron cast a rock in to the sea( considering it had been more than 200 miles away yesterday didn't change the fact) and scowled at the water " I wonder what happend to him"

[Ghorim]

Barulin's childhood was lost to him, smothered and buried under years of military routine. It was a necessary sacrifice in the name of duty. The fancies of distant youth would only be distractions, its whims a hindrance to his execution of orders. So it was that the young Barulin died, slowly, with each precise marching step and each assignment completed to the letter. The old Barulin could no longer tap the powers of his imagination, and all the wonders of the world flowed past him, useless and easily forgotten. But after old Barulin had utterly spent his soldierly self in the greatest of battles, leaving him a shell of armor and bones, barely clinging to life... only then did the faded recollection of younger, more innocent days come to his crippled mind.

The memory was real to him in that moment. He was once again all those things that a soldier should not, could not be... apprehensive, all nerves, soaking up layers of sensation with wild eyes and perked ears as his grandfather lead him from the towering gates of Nogrod. They were surrounded by others, some coming, others going. Everyone in that crowd was rushing to get somewhere, harried by an appointment or deadline. Barulin feared a death by trampling, and held tightly to the calloused hand of his elder. This day would be his first time above ground, a milestone for any young dwarf. He and his grandfather would be going for a hike that morning.

Barulin's grandfather led him easily through the crowd, with that aura of complete invincibility that children so often sense in their elders. They made it out into the open, and struck out from the crowded area surrounding the gates, taking a trail up the side of the mountains. The old dwarf spoke naught, but moved at a ginger pace so that his grandson could manage the trek. The young dwarf was completely mesmerized by the entire experience, and felt it to be a strange dream. How bright the sun was! Barulin blinked again and again, so unused to this alien source of light.

Gradually, they climbed up to a decent elevation, their hands never separating. The range of the Blue Mountains now lay before the young dwarf, and for a moment he lost his breath at this majestic sight, as the new morning sun played off the snowy peaks and adorned the rows of trees that decorated the mountainsides. In that moment, he fell in love with the Ered Luin, and that adoration of those great natural formations never left his heart, though it became obscured with time.

"They are called the Blue Mountains," explained his grandfather in a dry voice that nonetheless conveyed great compassion. "We live beneath them... they protect and shelter us at all times."

Barulin barely heard him, for his sight was overloaded with wondrous images, but the words he never forgot. After hiking with his elder for some time, the grandson fast began to tire, and his pace lagged. The grandfather stopped, and led Barulin off the trail to a grassy and relatively flat portion of the mountainside.

"You may rest here, Barulin. I shall keep watch for you."

The young dwarf nodded wearily and lay down on the soft ground. With a tired gaze he looked up to the cloudless sky, boundless, as was his imagination. He rested secure in the knowledge that the world was a loving and safe place for him to inhabit, as the Ered Luin formed a pair of mighty arms to embrace Barulin and his people, and his immortal grandfather stood tall above him in an alert vigil. Young Barulin shut his eyes to this beautiful world.

Old Barulin opened his eyes to a world that cared nothing for him, its sky clouded over, with the knowledge of mortality hanging thick in the air, contained in the stench of the dead bodies that surrounded him on all sides. In that first horrible moment of wakefulness, there was only instinct. He grabbed for his axe, found its handle with his gauntleted hand... but then looked to see that it was not his weapon, for another hand gripped it, one locked into its position by death. Barulin traced with his eyes along the arm, back to the shoulder, and then to the head. It belonged to a kinsman, his eyes sealed shut forevermore, dark red blood staining his brow. The wind blew through his hair and beard, cold, merciless.

Barulin searched for his own weapon, but could not find it anywhere near him. Quickly and without thinking, he pried the fingers one by one from the axe handle, and then took the weapon as his own. He looked up and around, his eyes wild. Desolation greeted him... strewn bodies from various armies, their banners singed and fallen. The land was flat... a great plain... and yet... there before Barulin lay the ocean shore, not fifty yards distant. How had this come to be...? The battle had been waged nowhere near the sea. The dwarf recalled a great blast of energy before his thoughts were lost to the world... had the force of this explosion really carried him so far?

He sought to stand, but as he rolled over to attempt to push himself up, a great and horrible shock of pain seized him, and his vision blurred from the seismic impact of unfiltered sensation. He rolled hurriedly on to his back once again, and sat up slightly to look upon his legs, from which the agonizing feeling had originated. There he saw his limbs mangled and sliced open, his metal greaves ripped apart to reveal deep cuts and disfiguring burns. The mere sight filled Barulin with horror, and he recalled in vivid detail the sting of the Balrog's whip as it lashed upon his legs. He had fought on, fueled only by adrenaline and bloodlust, but eventually collapsed, suddenly powerless as the fury of battle surrounded him. The sky above had been on fire... set alight by dragon's breath, and the sound of the clashing armies plagued his ears with an unearthly howl. Now, all was silent, save for the faint sound of the wind and water.

With great torture, Barulin rolled himself on to his belly, and dragged himself one agonizing lunge at a time away from the bodies, toward a relatively open area of the field where he could rest and attempt to recover. The dwarf had not even begun to attempt to comprehend his situation, or make plans for the immediate future. All he could discern was sleep's beckoning call, as it drugged his senses with promises of escape and revitalization. Barulin didn't even bother to roll over once more. He fell dead asleep on his belly, his head resting on his arm, and in that moment he could hardly be distinguished from the corpses that lay nearby.