The sound ceased as the sword drove in slipping through the leather armor, through the skin, scrapping over the bones and in. She gasped, more with shock than immediate pain. Blood filled her throat, her mouth, her nose, trickling from her lips. She whimpered as it bit into her heart, releasing the blood that had been her life.
It hurts—I felt it—can't be real—guard up—dawn breaks—reinforcements—hold the line—Rohan will come—Where's Gimli—I can't feel my hands—I've lost my weapons—Don't pull—don't make it hurt—can't be real…
The Uruk grinned, pulling back the sword, wrenching it from her chest. She wavered, her hands fluttering feebly towards the wound as her knees crumpled beneath her.
Can't feel—just hurts—why does it hurt?—have to get—here—where is he—can I—just a dream—can't be—cold, too cold—have to—breathe—my sword—have to—can't—can't end—not possible—I won't let—please don't let him
She didn't feel herself fall. The world seemed closer and more distant at the same time. A pressure pushed at her, darkening the edges of her vision. She gasped, forcing air into her lungs, fighting desperately.
I can't--There's nothing—Gimli-- Oh, God—I tried, I did—Please, please—Where's my—Nodin!—Don't let—Where's the light—No, not this—Why?--Please, don't let it—Slipping—quiet—I… can't…
Who can know how death approaches; whether in the soft silence of the night or with roaring speed on the field of battle; who can say how it comes. Yet its cold hands come nonetheless, come to take from the earth a loved one, a hated enemy, a friendless wretch. Death needs no permission, met by angry tears or ones of relief it comes the same. But if the poets write truly, then not even death can break love despite all its power. A soul, thoughts and feelings, that can never, never die.
Gimli held her in his arms, pulling her against him, as if to hold her there, even as he felt her slip away. There was no sound, there was no battle. Only the two, alone. Draining drop by drop with her life blood as it spilled over his hands, pouring out onto the ground. Each carrying with it a smile, a laugh, a stolen kiss or a desperate hold to life, to love. Each drop carried her farther away and farther beyond. The last drop hesitated as her lips parted, hanging over the precipice…
It fell, splashing onto the soiled ground. She was gone. There was no curse or spell to change it. Any power which had made what he held his love was gone. Her mind, her love was gone. He couldn't…he couldn't… there could be no answer, no tomorrow, no sun, no moon, no stars, she was gone. Gimli's arms fell loose as his mouth opened to scream, the pain etched deeply into his face, yet it could not cut as deep as that final end had cut his heart, and no sound came.
Time began again as he spun up and around his axe biting into the shocked Uruk-hai, spinning around furiously searching for a way for it to not be true, a way to make it change. But no matter how much death he brought time still flowed forward. No matter how fast he spun he couldn't reach her. No matter how hard he swung or how deep his axe bit into the flesh of the Uruk-hai he could not make it change. It no longer mattered. In his mind Gimli kept screaming, but all that the Uruk-hai saw was a silent dwarf, tears streaming from his eyes whose axe strokes never missed.
