Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien, etc. I am only borrowing his characters for this fanfiction and am making absolutely no profit whatsoever from them.

Credit: Thainsbook dot net, learner dot org, wikipedia.

Meneldor

The Swift he was called by his brethren. Young and eager he was; no task too small or too great for him. It was one of the reasons he dared exposure to the foul, acrid plumes billowing over the Gorgoroth.

That and the pitiful sight of two brave periannath lying spent amidst the burning fury of Mount Doom.

With a jubilant screech, he swooped down, tenderly grasping an ailing figure in his talons, then turned about and fled north with his precious cargo.

There would be no more death at Sauron's hands this day.

Or ever again, thanks to them.

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Author's Note: One more to go. But who will it be?

*grins*

Kara's Aunty ;)