05 January 2006 | 100 words
He couldn’t go on like this for much longer.
The pain and torment would be the end of him. Every ounce of strength had been spent and now there was nothing left.
His sight was becoming bleary, soon it would fade forever. His breaths were short, ragged and painful.
For a moment he dwelt on his lineage, thought of his ancestors and the noble deaths they had suffered.
Then sorrowing, he turned to his wife, taking her hand one last time.
‘I am dying, my love…’
Éowyn gave him one of her sternest looks.
‘Rubbish, Faramir. It’s just a sniffle.’
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The following people read the story, enjoyed it, and would like to thank the author: Anna , Erin