Disclaimer: Other than characters, settings and events of my own creation all rights to the original characters, settings and events in this fanfiction remain with the rightful owner and creator JRR Tolkien
Authors Note: Even though I should be writing the third installment for 'An Adventure Before the End' I couldn't help but get a bit distracted. I thought of this idea while watching the theatrical release of Lord of the Rings: Return of the King and thought it was something quite different from what I am currently writing. I am also trying out writing from a first person perspective. So tell me what you think.
Jagged Shards
The white stone path is overlaid with flowers and people stand solemn and somber on either side. I do not lay down my flower; I keep it gripped tightly in my fingers and hold it close to my chest where I can feel my thudding heartbeat through my frail skin. Two hundred men ride along the curving path clad in gleaming silver armor that is adorned with the symbol of the white tree of Gondor. They ride to the ruin city of Osgiliath and to their own inescapable destruction. With wide eyes I search for the one to whom my flower belongs – my only son, my last remaining family. I see him instantly as he rounds into view, riding tall and proud upon a dark stallion. Beneath his masquerade of courage I see the fear in his eyes and in my own fragile heart I feel his pain as only a mother does for their child. Our eyes stayed locked on each other, each knowing the others pain. The flower clasped to my chest catches silently the tears that flow down my sunken cheeks that began when I seen his face. As he draws closer I stretch out my hands to him bearing the tear soaked flower. For only a heartbeat I feel his hand in mine as it was when he was a child, I feel the warmth and the strength, but the moment is fleeting and as quick as it was there in mine it was gone again. I continue to watch his back as he rides away, and although I yearn to follow him, to bring him back to stay with me, I do not. I only watch not moving from where I stand until he finally disappears out the gates of Minis Tirith. Others now rush to the battlement to watch the men ride towards Osgiliath, but my heart feels too depleted. I begin the slow walk home.
The dead silence inside my once lively home pierces my ears, it screams at me an unwanted reminder that I am alone. I stare at my hands, empty and pallid, and I feel myself whither under the weight of the long years I have lived. Aged as I am physically it is only now that I feel my soul deteriorate, aging in a moment what my physical body has done in sixty years. I cannot bear such pain. Silent tears fall faster from my raw red eyes and the cold ground rushes to meet me as my knees give way. I am kneeling high on aching legs, my feeble hands clutching at the fabric over my heart and I try to stop my heart from breaking. I hang my head to the ground as loud gasping sobs shake my body and feel my breath failing. All these emotions inside me begin to overflow. Fear. Grief. Anger. Loneliness. My heart grows cold and like the breaking of delicate glass; it shatters. The jagged shards of my once whole heart tear and rip me apart on the inside. My body sinks, worn and tired for the pain and I let myself fade away. I lay crumpled on my side and my arms drop lifelessly from my heart to the floor. Just a pile of flesh and bone, nothing remains in the empty shell of my body. Death – that is all that awaits us. I breathe in a final shaky breath, the relentless tears blurring my vision until I can no longer see. I squeeze my eyes shut and welcome in the darkness.