Author of quotes: Olga Brileva. Page 1

He stood behind me and I felt strong. Now my fate alone, and I'm weak.

- You will not be able to return. I will curse you if you leave. Don't do this to us.
- Do what going, Rowan. I'm leaving in fulfilment of Ancient Hopes. The threat of your curse hurts my heart, but you know me: to stop, not enough to hurt me: you need to kill.
He hugged Rowan and jumped into the saddle.
- So whether you're cursed! - Rowan ripped the cloth and threw salt on the place where Beren was standing just. - Yes will not grow grass where you were standing!
Tears trickled down his face and dived into the beard.
"Goodbye," Beren said, turning the horse to the gate, sent him into a gallop.

- Oh, what have you done to... ... Maglor lowered his head, and his exhale was a silent sobbing. - I'm sorry, Beren.
Beren laughed a mirthless laugh, because what else is there to do when the killer asks the victim for forgiveness in advance?

There are words that grow too large to be able to drive them back in your mouth.

Don't let your feelings decide for yourself - believe me, such decisions are costly.

- Gorton, - said Beren. - I will not bring fief oath to the king Orotate...
- And to whom? - was taken aback Gorton. - Lord Maedhros?
- No, not him...
- Yarn! If you are about to go out of obedience to Orotate and go under the hand of the sovereign of Fingon some of Fingon won't approve...
- No, Gorton, no... Finrod were my king... And I will not have another king except Finrod.
Is how to understand yarn? - Faramir in astonishment opened his eyes, then squinted at him as if trying to find Beren some small detail that would explain it all. - Penrod dead. I understand you're grieving, but it is impossible to think all about it! In your hands - Beor, and you should bring it to the heir of the King of Finrod!
- ...Tell Gorton, Gorton, you would have offered me another father instead of Barahir?

- If you go on fair dealing - why go secretly?
Because goodbyes are hard for me. I leave my skin and flesh, like iron in the cold.

In the end, I think what happens, you lie in someone's hand.
... And the one in whose hand you fell, finds himself gripping the hilt of the sword and what to do with a sword?
- Unless the sword can know what to do with it? Can he say?

Don't push it the awe it would have been a slave to his passions, imperious and even cruel. Lucien saw him once as he was at the mercy of his passions: there, in a clearing, where he finished with teenorange. But now, with her - he was like a child who was afraid to startle the bird that flew into his room and sat on the window sill. Or even - as this bird. He was a defenseless baby, suleka not only clothes, but also the invisible armour that was worn under them, renouncing even one's own will. This gave her the power that would be terrible, try Lutien to use it. But she wasn't going to, because love is counter-denial.

I want to save you just because killing me is even more disgusting than you.

I can't follow you, father, for you are walking the path of dishonor.

Once he put the sword between her and himself, and now the death of Finrod lay between them, heavier and sharper than any sword. His hands were really cold from that day, as they pried the strength to take the dead. His hands can hold a weapon and fight without weapons; he could roll rocks and logs, could take the life of a bear, boar or wolf Safronova - but were powerless to hold the soul of the other in his body. And Beren stopped believing in their hands.

- Rubbish, ' croaked Celegorm. - You raised your hand to a son of fëanor...
- And lowered.

Even now, he said, patting the swords through the fabric. Even now I can't cry about them.
- Others can say anything, Lucien put his hand on my hand. - But I know that your grief is not less, but more tears.