•ephemeral ~ lasting for a very brief or short amount of time•

He hates the battle.

No matter that this was what he had signed up for; he still hates the fighting with a burning passion. The smell, the grueling heat, the exhaustion, and the death.

He hates the death the most. Watching his friends fall at his sides, giving their lives, lives that should have lasted ages upon ages, defending their home and their people with a burning passion and determination.

They of all people deserved least to fall into darkness, to be left hollow and burned out, simply bodies, empty of life. And so he fights all the harder, to protect them and those at home.

His arms ache, screaming in protest as he raises his sword, slicing through the defenses of the nearest beast, stabbing the monster hard in the chest, watching the gruesome creature die. The orc falls slowly, black blood oozing from the fatal wound in its chest. It deserves to die for all the crimes it has committed. Villages, scorched by flame and drenched in blood, skirt across the edge of his vision, images that will haunt his dreams until the end of his days- a long time for an immortal.

He lowers his defenses, weakened and distracted by the golden flames of the sun and the searing memories of the war.

The orc grins, a ghastly grimace, sensing the opening and uses the last of its strength to lunge forward, its black and bloodied and burnt blade slicing through the air, its edge cutting even the breath of the wind.

He brings his sword up too late.

The orc's weapon pierces his side, some odd stroke of luck and misfortune directing it to the weakest part of the armor.

A gasp.

The world hangs on a string, frozen for a moment.

His sword falls from his hands.

The orc draws its blade back out of his body before falling to the ground, dead.

Thud.

Knees hit the ground. Hands scramble frantically, trying to stem the flow of blood. Breath catches, releases. Word fades in and out: overly sharp then unfocused. Colors spin, a whirling spinning mess, the world mixing up and turning upside down and inside out.

And above it all, the sun burns, burns, burns a hole in the sky.

His hands fall to the ground. Something pounds in his head. The world fades—

His sister, born in the dead of night. The fire crackling with warmth as he holds her for the very first time. She is small and warm and he is so happy in this moment.

He struggles to his feet. He will not give up. He will keep fighting. He will—

Running through the woods in the rain, chasing his sister, splashing in puddles, laughing at the thunder. His mother, scolding them as they stand dripping in the doorway. A warm fire as they dry off, hot drinks in their hands, smiling at each other. He reaches to ruffle her hair and she bats his hand away, laughing loudly.

Two steps. He falls again. Gets back up. Falls—

His signature on the parchment, bold and looped, just like his father's. The torch light casting shadows across the courtyard. His sister crying. Pulling her into a hug. Saying something silly, something, anything to make her laugh. It only lasts for a moment. She doesn't want him to leave, she sobs, please. She wants him to stay with her forever, young and carefree and safe. Kissing her forehead, wiping away the flow of tears. The battle horns and war drums have sounded and he must give his all for his kingdom. Promising her he'll be back. Repeating his promise twice, then turning and joins the warriors.

Footsteps surrounding him. Loud voices. Lifting him up. He can't open his eyes. Can't—

A pile of letters. Most have the same handwriting. Opening the newest and smiling. The gentle light of a candle flickering on the desk. Mother and Father write first. Short but sweet, making him smile and feel warm inside. Turning to the next page. Reading the six pages his sister wrote. A while in she says she has a surprise. She has a suitor! she tells him. He's kind and sweet and funny. He works in the palace, she says. And she hopes to get married to him one day. Tears pricking at his eyes. She's growing up. Strong and independent and brave and beautiful. He misses her. So much. Crying as he sets the pen to paper, but it's happy crying. The candle blows back and forth in the wind. Writing a few short sentences before swirling his name at the bottom. I love you all, he writes at the very end. No one could take your place in my heart. Folding the letter once, twice, thrice. Sealing it with melted wax. Blowing out the candle and stepping out into the dark night. Handing the letter to a messenger. Joining his post. Missing his family.

His hands slam onto the ground, covered in blood. His blood, red and wet and sticky. His breath drags out in painful gasps.

The world fades to black, then comes back in vibrant piercing color for a moment.

The sun is the last thing he sees before his body gives up its struggle to stay alive and his fëa leaves Middle Earth to join the halls of Mandos.

And somewhere, far away, sheltered by the woods and comforted by the warmth of a fire, his sister begins to cry without knowing why as ashes rise up from the hearth and are carried away by the breeze.

Hi.

Have a tissue. I know I needed one (*cough* seventeen). Sorry bout that.

Please let me know what you think!! I'd love to get feedback from you.

This is my first entry for Stars_Alight 's contest.
It's 941 words of heartbreak but that's a good thing, right?