This could possibly be one of the most depressing things I've written. Up at 4:00 AM and unable to sleep, apparently this is what my mind cranks out! Been a long time since I've written fanfic, The Hobbit inspired me. Anyway, I'll stop blabbering. Enjoy!

She could see his immense regret each time they locked eyes. Perhaps that was why he barely looked at her anymore.

Just as the sun rose every morning on their small cottage, in a small village- her spirits sank. A sadistic ritual her hope, though waning, would not allow her to discontinue. She woke before him, always, wrapped in the warmth of his arms, and watched as he gained consciousness. Watched the light in the deep blue fade to dark as dreams shifted to reality, and his nearness could do nothing to dispel the cold ache of loneliness within.

She could remember happier times; years when he swore their time would be worth it- she would be worth it. They rejoiced in each other's flesh, craved and cherished even the smallest moment together. They created a home together.

She could not produce children. She supposed that was when it started- the first expectation of his she was unable to fulfill. She assumed that elven women did not suffer from such maladies.

Still, she was able to inspire a smile, and laughter, and happiness within him. Now, she wished that such fond memories eased the sorrow. Yet they only serve to intensify the pain of a love that should not have been.

His family and friends sailed across the sea. He travelled to bid them goodbye, thinking himself immune to the sea longing, thinking his love would keep him anchored here. Mortals have always assumed that elves are all knowing and wise. She knew better than anyone, though, that they are subject to arrogant, foolish mistakes, just as are men.

The terrible longing gripped him and it was as if he was physically torn in two. She could not number the times she returned from the market to an empty house, because in a trance he had escaped on horseback. He would return, trembling and pale, more broken than before.

Now, he was a wraith, nearly transparent. He had no appetite, not for food or for her.

Still he loved her, so dearly, and that was evident in his eyes, as well. The sweetness in their depths still caused her stomach to churn.

But he was restless- he was always restless.

Time moved forward as it always will, and her hair whitened and her body weakened. Bed ridden, bones throbbing, she still knew of no pain more acute than to be loved by one unwilling.

He was her beautiful, ageless prisoner; and as her body died, she set him free.