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Son of Minas Tirith by Caunedhiel

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Story notes:
Standard Disclaimer - No I do not own this story, Tolkien does.

A small drabble that I just had to write down :)
I hope you enjoy, please feel free to tell me what you think
I coughed. The pain of it made me wince. Through the blurred agony I sensed someone walk close to me. My limp fingers tightened around the hilt of my broken sword, in my mind I laughed wryly at the useless gesture, then braced myself for what was to come.

He knelt beside me. His healing hands hovering over the steel sharp arrows that were embedded deep into my flesh. Too deep, I thought. The arrows burned in agreement. Opening my eyes I saw the concern on his face. I was beyond caring; I could feel myself slipping into the welcoming abyss. There would be no pain there. No suffering. No temptation...

There was shame in my last thought; a thought of a hobbit, of scared eyes that looked at me as though I were a monster, a black tainted thing. I sighed for the last time and felt myself let go of life...