Disclaimer: I am not Tolkien nor am I Peter Jackson. I own nothing.
A/N: This is kind of a prose version of "One last grip". I had been intending to write a Mt. Doom fic for quite some time, and I finally completed one. Also, I have the rights to say that I have worked for 12 hours on this fic. So enjoy it or I'll...I don't know. Nevermind.
Lastly, I would like to point out the uniqueness of this fic. I always try to do something weird, and this one is no exception to that. I did not use a single proper noun in this entire thing, which was a bit weird to work with at times. I also tried to use spacing to effectively emphasize certain parts. (let me know if that worked) Lastly, I avoided any dialogue. If I did, I probably would've had to use a proper noun. And we can't have that, can we?
Anyway, just read it...
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Liquid fire leapt threateningly towards him ever higher, beckoning to him. A firm yet subtle command ordered him to relinquish his grip from the blood-stained ledge. It was nothing short of overwhelming. He would have complied, if not for the penetrating stare that bored into the deepest caverns of his soul. The stare that could somehow speak volumes in only a few moments.
His only desire was the seemingly sweet relief of death; to be unchained from his constant torment and the lingering agony of the weight he had carried around his neck. In spite of such horrible circumstances, his companion's steely gaze conveyed some kind of unyielding strength: strength enough to keep one hand narrowly clinging to the precipice. Pitifully, he attempted to raise a hand to meet another.
The attempt was disappointingly futile.
As he turned his gaze below him again, the fire's call was even more potent than before. He hung there listening to the raging fire… Calling…calling…calling…
He was willing to die.
But he was not willing to die and leave behind the one who had stood by him through the toil and hardship of every path trodden.
No.
He averted his eyes from fire and death one final time, never to look upon them again. Instead, he met the gaze that urged him to accept an offered hand. Willingly, he did.
Almost as soon as his heavily worn feet collapsed onto the rocky peninsula, he was running. His companion urged him on reassuringly. Everything around them was erupting in an unwieldy fury. He could scarcely keep his feet, but as he clinged to his companion's shoulder he was lead away from the swelling sea of lava. But simply away from it would not save him. He and his companion staggered as best they could towards higher ground. They clambered onto a sizeable rock and settled there as torrents of a blazing inferno flooded everywhere around them.
As he surveyed the destruction the realization of what caused it all finally came to him. Sweet relief swept through every corner of his soul. He felt no strain of will nor madness, but peace. It was gone…it was done.
Then he saw it. Vivid images of his homeland surged into his mind for the first time in days. He narrated to his companion as tears overflowed from both their eyes. His companion spoke of things in their homeland also, as tears flowed all the more. He attempted to console his companion with supportive words and a supportive arm. Finally neither he nor his companion could muster the strength to simply sit upright. And so he lay on the peak of the rock and greeted the darkness before his eyes. There he awaited his death.
But death did not come.
A sudden rush of wind and shade came over him. He felt something grasp his half-dead body. Another rush of wind came and he was borne up from darkness over the rivers of fire. It felt like a dream. What happened to the world? Was everything sad going to come untrue? As he let his eyes fall open, he took in a brief glance of his surroundings, though he was unsure of what it was he saw. He let his eyes shut again, greeting the nothingness that came once more.
Then light. Blessed light.