Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings.

Dying to Live Again

He lay still on his side, stroking his back gently. It hurt so much, not having It. Why had It been destroyed? Why had that wretched creature let it fall with him into the fire? Why had the creature been so foolish? He was alive, but barely. He was maimed, both physically and mentally. Vast memories of pain, sorrow, fear, and suffering entered his mind every waking moment. He was dying – dying to live, dying to feel like a normal being again instead of the half-living person he had become. No matter how much he tried, he could not tell others of his burden. It was his own, just as the Ring had been. He could not tell Sam, for Sam was learning to love the Shire again through healing it. Meriadoc was busy in Brandy Hall, repairing the stability of Buckland's local government and the very center of their lives. Peregrin – how the lad had grown! – was busy telling of his adventures, reviving the joy in the lives of the people of Tuckborough as they worked to revive their land to its former glory.

He could not tell anyone, no, nothing. Only the dark could hear his suffering as he lay there, crying to himself. He had to go on, he had told himself many times, but it was all in vain. No matter how much he tried to convince himself of that, his heart had rejected it, though his mind may have accepted. He felt utter despair. Fear filled him. Fear of the dark, for it reminded him of his journey through Mordor to the very Crack of Doom. Fear of sudden movement, of shadows, as the fire flickered and revealed them to him. Fear, even, of the fire! It reminded him of the color of the lava, the smoke of the smoke that rose from the fiery volcano. He kept telling himself that he need not be so careful, so wary of everything that moved about him, but the habit was drilled into him, and it was hard to break.

How did I live before? he asked the dark, his voice barely more than a whisper. How? As he lay there, he remembered the words of Queen Arwen: "A gift I will give you. For I am the daughter of Elrond. I shall not go with him now when he departs to the Havens; for mine is the choice of Lúthien, and as she so have I chosen, both the sweet and the bitter. But in my stead you shall go, Ring-bearer, when the time comes, and if you then desire it. If your hurts grieve you still and the memory of your burden is heavy, then you may pass into the West, until all your wounds and weariness are healed."*

He was dying. That, he knew, and he bore it with great sorrow. He had gone through so much, and he would lose it all for himself in perhaps only a few months time. Only a few months time. The thought echoed through his head like a memory that refused to leave. I have to go! cried he to the darkness. He knew not how or when, but he would go. He would take the ship to Valinor. He would live, not die. He would have peace, not fear and suffering – even though it meant leaving what he had fought for.

*Taken from pg. 954 of Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King.

The End.

Please, leave a review. I'd love to hear your opinion. :-)