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Drabbles  by Lindelea

At the Witch King's Feet

She should not die, so fair, so desperate! At least she should not die alone, unaided.

As slowly as the slug Samwise picked up and drowned in a bucket one sunny day at Bag End (sun? what is that?), I crawl aside.

Averting my eyes from horror, I thrust my sword as high as I can. My arm turns to ice as my sword turns to smoke and burns away into nothingness.

Eowyn! I cry, even as I burn-freeze to nothingness, as well…

All is darkness, Shadow, flames of ice engulf me.

 Forgive me, lord, if I broke your command.

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