Last Kiss Before The Dawn [Rings Of Power]

Last Kiss Before The Dawn

They had been riding for four days when Galadriel realized they wouldn't make it.

Or rather, he wouldn't.

"How much farther?" he rasped.

"We take shelter at sundown, once we pass beyond the forest's edge."

He gritted his teeth, lacking the energy to argue. It was unlike him to hold his tongue with her; always a biting response on the tip of his tongue, always challenging her. The pain must be excruciating.

"Enough with your fretting; we shall advance," she huffed.

The brutal realization settled upon her: Halbrand's condition had been unstable throughout their trek. One moment he engaged in conversation, casting wary glances and jabs at her attempts to hasten their pace, and the next he slumped over his saddle, groans of agony barely muffled by the horses' trots.

But today, his hisses of pain were sharper, cutting through her remaining armor and biting down into war-torn flesh. They hadn't abated, offering no respite in their chilling intensity. She stole a glance at his pallid skin, noting with some relief the absence of fresh blood seeping through his garments—a small mercy.

Yet his hands, bony and trembling, struggled to grip the reins, slipping gradually from his grasp. Life was leaking out of his body.

She snapped her head forward, forcing herself to stare ahead. The mountains loomed, the final obstacle to his salvation.

You're the obstacle to his salvation.

She gritted her teeth, willing the thought to perish. Self-doubt was a luxury she couldn't afford, not now, not when his every agonized groan tore through her like a dagger. She pushed the guilt aside, burying it beneath pursed lips of determination, refusing to let it consume her.

Deep inside, a voice resembling the High King's murmured that it was all her doing.

Halbrand's blood, the fuel to her revenge.

Yanking the reins, her horse sped up, trotting grumpily on the rocky terrain. She heard his wails but pressed on. Her breath came out ragged, tasting remnants of ash and smoke in her throat.

Isildur's death upon the scorched plains, Elendil's anguish, Miriel's loss of sight, and the encroaching darkness threatening to engulf Middle Earth. She fanned the flame and the shadow spread.

And amidst it all, Halbrand.

She had promised him a crown, yet all she delivered was a blade to his stomach.

She ran, breathless as her poor horse, chasing away the stone of guilt pressing her stomach, stifling her. The sun weighed down on the horizon, blooding the sky.

One can't outrun destiny. But she tried.

A loud thud startled her, her horse rearing up in panic. Harshly, she halted and turned around. Halbrand had fallen to the ground, clutching his injured side, face contorted in pain.

"Halbrand!" She jumped off the horse and rushed to his side. "Are you hurt?"

"Apart from being stabbed?" he groaned.

"I will stab you myself if you are that careless." But her voice couldn't muster the threat, only trembling fear.

"You had your chance, Elf." She helped him up and dragged him to rest against a nearby tree.

"Don't tempt me."

"I wouldn't dare," he lied.

She tended to their weary steeds before setting about the task of kindling a fire. Their journey had reached its end for the day; they could travel no further.