"Tell me they’re lying." The girl was barely more than a child, with wispy brown hair, nearly grey it was so drained in color, her clothes ragged and hanging about her thin frame. Her eyes were wild, face tearstained. Her hands gripped at the fabric of his sleeve, clinging for support, as if she might fly away. "Please, tell me they're lying, I won't believe it." she rambled, brown eyes looking pleadingly up at the strange mans face.
Send Me One Of The Following
He knelt beside her and gathered her in his arms. Her bird-like legs trembled, her breaths coming short and fast. The child tucked her head into Legolas' neck as he lifted her, clinging to him as though he might disappear. She smelled of tears and dust.
Breathing her in, he drew her closer still.
"Little one, you must be brave." The words rang hollow even as they left his lips. Legolas tried again. "Be strong---"
He stopped, hating himself, hating that he could not think of better words with which to comfort the child. When his own mother had died, he had loathed those words, 'Be strong'. They meant nothing. They healed nothing. And all anyone did was repeat them, over and over, as though somehow they could fill the space his mother had left behind her.
Legolas sighed. His soft breath made the girl's hair dance and flutter for a moment before it settled. "Little one," he began again, "I know what it is to lose someone dear. I myself--" He hesitated. He spoke of his mother to no one, not even to his father. But the child clutched him so tightly and trembled so violently that the words came to his lips all the same. "I myself lost my mother. I was young, then - though not quite so young as you. Thus, it pains me to tell you that you heard correctly. Would that I had better news for you! Oh, little one," he sighed, and pressed a kiss to her brow. "You will find the strength to carry on. This I know."