I watch him….he's curled up on the ground, his clothes are ripped and torn. His face was smeared with blood and dirt. His lips were coated with a layer of crimson blood. I watch him sobbing, he could look pitiful, he should look pitiful. But I can see nothing pitiful in the way he clutches his torso, or in the way his nails dig into the skin of his sides.
There should have been nothing beautiful or sexually attractive about this picture. But his beauty could not be ignored. Though he is sobbing frantically and he's vomiting blood. I should pity him and run to help him, but I'm unable to move. I cannot comprehend how he still breathes. It's beyond me, but he still breathes.
His eyes are not the same piercing eyes of the fair race. Their eyes are wide cynical and cold. His are anything but. They are not the same fair silver blue. They do not piece into my soul and cause me to tremble. They are large with the thickest most luscious black lashes. His eye lashes were never so dark and voluptuous before. His eyes were still blue, but they were swirling and tumbling with every shade of blue and silver, intertwined like two shimmering ribbons. They are broken eyes, puppy dog eyes.
His hair is not perfectly smooth and flaxen. It is tumbling down on the ground are him, like a waterfall of gold, spilling over the rocks. It was pure gold now, not yellow or corn silky. His hair used to be cold as well, demanding not to be touched. Now it begged to be touched and grasped. It was not flat and smooth anymore, his golden locks were wild curls, tumbling around him like a cape, despite his filth the hair is still golden and shining with a preternatural glow.
He's coughing again. I see blood splatter over his fair hair. Blood suits him like a well tailored cloak. He wears tears like one would wear diamonds. He is the picture of beautiful misery. He screams again and now he writhes.
I believe he is finally dying, and I am prepared to die next to him. But he keeps screaming. My heart doesn't beat. I cannot bear to watch him die again. I saw them kill him. I saw him die and I died with him. My heart stopped beating. I believe I am still dead for I haven't felt it beat since.
Finally he simply stops. My heart plummets. I reach for my knife when I hear a small sound, like the coo of a dove. I jump out of my skin and just stare at him. He's trembling, a seizure. But no, he's sobbing now.
"Aragorn?"
I drop to my knees, unable to believe the small whisper I hear. He died….I know he is dead. I am just hallucinating now, because the beautiful creature lying there is dead.
"Aragorn?"
A little stronger this time, just a fraction more put behind that delicate voice, like it would be torn with just the slightest touch. I realize I must have sliced my hands on the rocks because they are bleeding. I think I am crying.
"God damn it Aragorn, say something!" He moaned.
"Something." I gasped.
He started to laugh at our little joke. In moments he was hysterical rolling in his own vomit, sobbing and shaking. He couldn't stop laughing and as the disturbing sound rolled over the rocks like honey I crawled over to him. I wrapped my arms tightly around him and sobbed. For him, for me….For everything we lost…I cried for us. I cried for the deer I killed last month. I cried for the vase I broke when I was five. I cried for my people. I cried for middle earth. But most of all I cried for me.
Do you wonder what I did? Do you want to know why I'm sobbing, holding him.....Do you want to know why we're here?
Because, looking back at me, I see that I never really got it right….
A/N: If you likey please click the little button in the right corner and say I likey! If not…..burn somewhere warm and uncomfortable….lol! jk, but tell me if you liked it or not. Duhhh I don't own LOTR!