~ Preventing the Fall ~
I cannot die. Not like this. Not like this.
Yet I cannot stop it. I am screaming. But everything is muffled, as if I am hearing it from a great distance. I am losing my hold on this earth. With all the strength I possess, I move my fingers around the soil, focus on the soil between my fingers as it passes over callused skin. I drag up one eyelid after the other and suddenly my screaming comes back loud and deafeningly clear. I take a great gulping breath and feel life shooting into my lungs again.
With this new fire, I lift my hands from the ground and clutch my sword. I hang onto it because I know that it is all that is holding me here. I bring it round and feel it sink under armour. There is a screech and I fall back, blinded by the sound a moment. My stomach groans with nausea. How can I be here? I wonder in delirious pain. I should not be standing and yet I am. This is beyond my control. I cannot stop any of this. Long ago, I remember being told that everything is meant to be. Everything is lain out before us. Everything that happens is meant to be.
But then why am I dying? I can feel my life slipping away through the fissures of my skin. I can feel my soul tugging from around that barb lodged in my chest...
The sound of skimming metal. Oh, save us, no. No, this was never meant to be. This path is not mine.
Then I am screaming again. The fire becomes ice and my whole body convulses as the pain rips through me, throwing me off balance. The hobbits are calling for me. I can feel small cool hands on my face. I close my eyes for a flicker of a moment.
Oh, so that is why...
It is all I need.
I lift the blade, which suddenly seems to lean into the ground. It will not obey me. My wavering vision sees dark forms drawing closer. No, no, take me, not them! I cannot stop this, I cannot take back what I have done. They did not bring this upon themselves or me. I can feel tears falling upon my brow and I turn my face upwards to meet with wide frightened eyes. I swear that my last memory shall be of you.
My sword feels another upon its hilt and my fingers are forced backwards in my glove. I thrust upwards and let the beast die. They are dying just the same as me. I do not care what becomes of them. I only hope that they do not follow me to whatever dark hole I am allowed. Those innocent eyes are my world. There are no flames of jealously lingering there. There is no hatred or anger in the fathomless pupils. Even now, I think, they would love me. They would weep as the last of my life was extracted through those shafts scarring my flesh.
The ice is flaming again. But I am beyond pain. I look lazily down to the three arrows, like three soulless figures come to stand over me where I lie. My sword moves without my thinking. This is none of my doing, I know it. Perhaps...perhaps someone is watching over me...perhaps I have been given a last chance...Or perhaps that is far too much to ask. After what I have done.
I cry in great shuddering sobs and I fall backwards and stare upwards into a circle of treetops. The sun is blazing overhead. The sky is perfectly blue. I cry for all the sorrow I have caused and I the terrible things I have said or done. And I call up to that someone watching over me... I call to them to look after the hobbits. Let them live through this.
They cannot die. Not like this. Not like this…
***Here's to Boromir of Gondor and the sacrifice he made.