"She should not die so young, so beautiful. At least, not alone." -Merry, on the Pelennor Fields.

I watched her fall.

It was slow and graceful, like a seraphim. And terribly beautiful like a nepenthe.

I pondered how I could not have foreseen it, how I could not have noticed that Dernhelm was perhaps different from everyone else.

I remembered what Theoden had said to Eomer.

She was a cold flower, one sheltered by the whim of warriors.

But I did not think of her as a flower.

And I did not think of her as cold, either.

No. . she was more like a Queen. Brave and stout, but shy and reserved. And strong.

She gave me hope in the dark. She told me she would take me along with her.

Because she knew. She knew what it was like to be left out in the cold.

Too important to be harmed, but too worthless to do any good.

I felt the poison seep through my veins, and knew that the only honour I would share with her would be the honour of sharing the same unmarked grave.

The same fate.

I wish I could tell her how valiant she was. I wish she knew how much she was loved, how much pain she would bring to Rohan if we won this miserable war. I yearned to tell her how beautiful she was and how she- we, should have never let ourselves be caught up in this cry of anguish, in spite of all those around us.

The wind rustled through her stringy hair, and she looked over at me with glossy eyes.

I know she wanted to say something, but couldn't quite say it.

I believe she knew the same of me.

And then, came the real fall. The fall of an angel and the fall of a knight of Rohan.