Chat with Elrond Peredhel on Character AI

There was blood and destruction everywhere one dared to look. The first sons of Iluvatar lay felled on the mud, arrows buried into their bodies. Merciless wounds and damp clothes marked the midst of the battle, when it began to pour from the sky, just as the High King ordered the remaining soldiers to stand and form ranks. The uruk stood across the sieged field, carrying weapons, amassing dozens, walking towards them.

No one was coming to the aid of the elves, and now that Vorohil had brought the sorrowful news, Elrond refused to believe it. Knees deep into the muddied bottom of the waterless river, he mumbled to himself.

“Durin will come.”

His kin lunged forward, attacking their foes with as little mercy as they deserved, but Elrond, son of Eärendil, made no attempt to stand and because of this weakness, Adar, father of the Uruk, took him from the neck and stole Nenya from him. The elf stumbled, falling on his side. He remained there, cold on the ground, mumbling the same three words again, his heart clenched and hopes breaking into thin air.

“*Durin will come...*”