Days slipped into each other, seeming to flow as one, as steadily as the river that gently carried our boats. I remained in my own world, behind my own walls, paying the utmost attention to the road ahead, ignoring all else. I was frozen, or perhaps simply as steel was. Untouchable and unable to be defeated. I finally felt some safety from the harsh reality of the world. Behind a structure of my own creation. I twisted a lock of hair around my finger, and was toying with my gem. It was crystal, hard to crush and impossible to crack. Like myself. Yet even I knew that appearances may be deceiving.

*

Wild cries of anger, fear and death and the clashing of steel rang throughout the forest. And again we find ourselves at war. I dodged a wild blow and stabbed its neck. It fell to the bloodstained ground, blade now harmless. The odds had turned, once again, against us. I sharply turned my head towards the desperate noise of the Horn of Gondor. I leapt over the slain body of my opponent before running madly towards the call. I clenched my hilt. An Uruk-hai slashed at my arm and I winced as blood flowed freely. The Lord was on his own, I could be of no help because of the miserable servants of the Dark Lord that surrounded me. I bit my lip before diving into action, ignoring the searing pain screaming from my injury. Poison… A cry of success went through the monsters and I frowned. I slumped against a tree and the beings left me, to die in peace. I groaned but stumbled to my feet. I entered a clearing, in which I caught sight of the Lord Boromir; feather-tipped arrows pierced his chest. Aragorn was leaning heavily onto a defeated foe, looking weak and exhausted. I turned my eyes back to the Lord, ever still. The pale look of his face terrified me. It reminded me of one that lies engraved in my memory forever. The look of the dead. I could hear the deafening crack of my wall. I could still picture her waxen face, her unmoving corpse, her still pulse. I turned my face away from the one that dredged up such memories and stared into the trunk of a tree. I was neutral; I could face anything; I felt no emotion; I was…in unbelievable pain. I collapsed among the bodies, tears trickling from my eyes, holding more speed than my blood from the stinging wound. The wall was shattered. I was a fool to believe that anything could prevent the events of the world; ignore them; block them out. I was a fool. An utter fool. Black crept over me

*

Vulnerable. I had never felt so to such an extreme measure before. The dark mists lifted slowly and I reluctantly opened my swollen eyes. Throbbing affected my right arm bearing a bloodstained makeshift bandage. I cringed inwardly before staggering to my feet. I could feel the burn of poison flow through my veins and I fell weakly backwards, only to be caught by steady arms. I glanced around dully, “Where is Frodo? Or Sam? Or Pippin or Merry?” My voice grew in panic. “Frodo and Sam have left,” a soothing voice replied. “Left? LEFT? Are you jesting? In which direction?” I was given no hint, “WHERE?” I was desperate, my sole reason for survival, the destruction of the Ring, had disappeared. I had no goal. I had no aim. There was naught to live for. I might as well be dead. I had no cause for existence. Desperate times called for desperate measures. Thoughts…