"What does the God of your childhood look like? A soft apparition pigeoned in the attic, a wound eating you one year at a time?"

Rachel McKibbens, Outhouse.

"The war is over (the war is never over), so march on home, little soldier, & watch your back - when you talk to the dead, the dead talk back."

VICTORY IS A word that rots on the tongue like a plague knocking on the doorsteps of the mother of three and the father whose hands are blistered by the fields. Victory is merely an illusion that those who befit the cloak like to wear to their fancy dinner parties, boastful bigots ready to spill their war stories as if war should be spoken in such a glittering light, and the greedy kings and men lap up tales as if they are fates woven cloth. Victory is a guillotine ready to separate the head from its host, and to Lahtare she knows better than most that victory is a fib the blind like to lead the blind with. There is no victory without sacrifice, and if sacrifices should be made, they aren't real victories in the woman's eyes.

A RACE LOST to its fable victories, the Atalentëa were birthed to dig their graves and lay in them. Led by a blinded king, who doused himself in bitter glory. The stench of fear was a mighty bruise Olco liked to hide from his descendants, and hidden were his scars of sin and fear as he tucked his kingdom of warriors high atop the mountains of Donnastall, west of the sea of Rhûn. Lahtare recalls the many years of her childhood in the marble made city, beaten and bloody and dripping ichor on the city floor as she wielded weapon after weapon and threw herself into sparring matches with her brothers and sisters. The little girl always came out victorious, and she fondly recalls when victory then was sweet on the surface, until the first war with Sauron, was it then the word became sour and meaningless to the girl. What good is victory when the rest of you has become extinct, and left in its wake is merely the stench of countless consequences.

THE HOLLOW SYPHONY of pyrrhic victories play repetitively in the girls' head, and she looks at the scarred earth begrudgingly, and she waits with a bated breath for the Valar to finish her cloth of fate like the rest of her kin. It is only when the looming doom of Sauron's bewitched ring and a face doused in fake purity return from their respected graves that Lahtare taste the bittersweetness of revenge and knows what kind of sacrifice and victory must be made to reach for salvation with sin tainted hands. Pyrrhic victories will continue to spin on the wheel of the world, and Lahtare has accepted that the only path to defeat the evil that plagues Middle Earth is beside the Fellowship of the Ring. They'll preach of achievements at the end of time, but there is no victory left for Lahtare, who must finally look upon the grave she dug at birth and lye within it.

"My bones are smoldering, and my knuckles are bloody. Forgive me. Forgive me."

LAHTARE,
the last of the atalentëa.

LAHTARE: Victory is a lie we tell ourselves so that maybe we can go on living with the guilt ravaging our souls.
ARAGORN: Is that what you are paying for, guilt? Why seek punishment for something not of your volition?

ARAGORN,
the lost king of gondor.

"But I think it's an ancient rage. Women who grew tired beneath the weight of years that would not buckle, break for bend."

📜 And here we find ourselves again, to a very remastered look of this fanfiction, welcome all to my dearest work, Pyrrhic Victory, formally known as Beautiful Oblivion. Lahtare and Aragorn are back, still looking the same, but also so fundamentally different. I've missed these two, and I've missed the story that originally made me move to this app. What a journey this book has been on, I originally drafted this story earlier in the year for so many reasons, the main reason was my writing style had changed so much over the years of working on this project, and the writing that cluttered the lines of this book made my skin crawl. I did not give this story the justice it deserved, and I wanted a clean slate with this whimsical tale, but when it got put on the shelf it collected dust as all drafted stories do. However, I've cleaned the dust off, and with doing so many cluttered ideas became very clear, and new ideas emerged, and I'm happy to bring this story back to life with a clear purpose.
📜 I want to dedicate this story to the lovely souls who saw its original shape and those who loved its littered birth, captainsmarveI bIueworld Unlock-Your-Mind crimsonist thank you, for seeing this story, and loving it just as much as I.
📜 A very special thank you to doI-guIdur who saw this creation when it was merely an idea in my head. Thank you for listening to the many story board rambles and help along the way, this story merely wouldn't exist without you. The phrase 'thank you' does not begin to encapsulate the debt I owe your kindness and friendship. Nonetheless, thank you dear friend, you have my deepest form of love, gratitude, and appreciation.
📜 With all that said, please note that this story is a fanfiction, so I have no rights to the wonderful world of Middle Earth that dear Tolkien has created. I merely own the plot I have created within this book, and Lahtare along with the race of Atalentëa. Please, do not steal or plagiarize ideas, I have spent so many years creating and perfecting for your enjoyment. Please note as well that this story will deal with heavy topics such as, war, death, ptsd, childhood trauma, addiction, violence, sexual abuse, etc., read your own risk.
📜 And without further ado, welcome to Pyrrhic Victory, I hope you enjoy your stay! mwah!

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