A/N: There's been some debate about a few things in this story. One is the correct spelling of Westley. In the book, Goldman spells it "Westley." On the back of the movie, it's spelled "Wesley." I don't think it matters even if it was spelled "Whestlee." We all get the general idea. And as for the true author of "The Princess Bride," Goldman said himself that he wrote it, thus saying that S. Morgenstern doesn't exist. But some people really believe that he does exist. That's fine, just don't argue about it.

I just want to write a story that I like, and hopefully that other people like too. I don't want to be burned at the stake. Without further adieu, here is the last installment of the story. I hope you enjoy. J

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Westley followed Humperdink down the hallway and to the doorway of his chamber. Humperdink turned to say something, but decided against it. Instead he allowed himself to let out a small chuckle.

"What's funny?" Westley asked.

"It's kind of Ironic if you think about it," Humperdink chuckled.

"I don't follow," Westley told him.

"Well, right now it seems as if you have the upper hand. Really, it's the other way around." Humperdink replied.

"How do you mean," Westley asked, raising his sword to Humperdink's chin.

"I'll show you," said Humperdink, as he opened the door and entered his chamber. There was nothing there.

"Quit playing games." Westley spat. "Take me to Buttercup, now!"

"I was just about to," Humperdink assured Westley. He Lead him into a dark side room. It was pitch-black darkness. Thinking it was a trap; Westley grabbed Humperdink by the back of the head and demanded a candle to be lit. Suddenly among the darkness, a small glow of a lantern began to form, and in that small amount of light, Westley blood was filled with horror.

Buttercup's limp body was draped over the bed, her blood streaming to the floor in gentle crimson rivers. More lanterns were lit until the whole room was fully illuminated. The queen sat beside Buttercup's body with a Florinese dagger placed on her lap.  Westley was in a state of shock; his lips trembled on his gaping mouth. Anguish was visible in his stormy blue eyes.

"I think you know who the real winners are." Humperdink told him. An ear to ear grin was stretched across his face. Outside the thunder roared. The anguish that previously existed in Westley's eyes quickly turned into pure hatred and evil. He charged. Humperdink, expecting him to come for him, put up his guard. Westley paid him no mind. He went straight for Adela. He made one quick jab to Adela's stomach. She fell to the floor, screaming. Westley, blinded by his rage, went on stabbing her, not hearing her terrible screams. Humperdink drove one of his hunting knives into Westley's side. Westley barely felt it. He turned and looked deep into Humperdink's eyes, eyes full of the contempt and disbelief that dwelled in his own.

"Why couldn't you just leave us alone," Westley asked, his voice just above a whisper, angry tears streaming down his face. "Ever since we've been together, you've had to butt your nose into it. Was it really worth it?"

Humperdink just stared at Westley.

"Look around, everything that happened here is all you're fault. Everything," Westley grabbed Adela's lifeless body by the hair. "Look at her, you're one and only. She's dead because you are a cowardly bastard. Ask yourself, was it worth it? WAS IT, YOU BASTARD?!?!"

"NO!!!!!!" Humperdink charged with his dagger, Westley parried with his sword. They were both out for each other's blood. In the history of the world's most fierce battles, this one blew all the others off the charts. The thunder screamed, the heavens roared. Humperdink jabbed the dagger into Westley's shoulder. He roared with pain. Lightning flashed, the wind moaned. Westley stabbed Humperdink in the chest. Humperdink coughed up blood, but that didn't faze him. The ground trembled, the skies opened up, Humperdink knocked the sword out of Westley's hands and pinned him down to the ground. As the blade of the dagger raised, Westley's life flashed before him. He remembered the first day he encountered Buttercup on the farm, the day she told him she loved him, the day he left her to go to America, the day they were re-united, the day that he rescued her, the day they had their son. All within seconds he remembered every second that was truly important to him, and realized that it was all coming to and end.  He weakly watched the blade inch closer to him. Suddenly it stopped. Humperdink, dead, was thrown aside. Westley could make Inigo's face out through his blurry vision.

Inigo brought Westley to his feet. They were both covered in their own blood. Inigo favored his left arm, which was drenched in blood.

"Are you all right?" Westley asked.

"Don't worry about me, I'll be fine." Inigo told him.

They were interrupted by a delicate sound coming from across the room.

"Wes-westley..." Buttercup croaked. Westley ran to her side, not being able to fathom that she was still alive.

"Buttercup," He cradled her limp body in his arms.

"Ta-ke ca-are of Ry-an..." She sputtered.

"No, no. We're going back home, everything's going to be all right." Westley said, assuring himself more than he was her.

"I ca-an't make it," Buttercup told him.  "I'm dy-ing, West-ley."

"No, you can't die. I can't live without you. I love you, without you I have nothing."

"You ta-ke ca-re of Ry-an," Buttercup demanded.

"Stop talking so negative, you're going to be just fine." Westley said. "I need you..."

"Dea-th can-not stop true lo-ve," Buttercup choked out, "All it can do is de-delay it for a-while. I'll see you soon e-enough..."

"I love you." Westley bawled.

"I love you, too. Tell Ry-an that I love him." Buttercup took her last breath.

Westley looked up at Inigo. Tears were streaming down his face.

"Come on, let's get her home," Inigo said. The picked up Buttercup's lifeless body and began their journey home.