Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings, in any way, shape, or form, doesn't belong to me. I am not doing this for monetary compensation, only for fun.
A/N: This fic is from Legolas's POV.
I could have saved him. I sincerely could have saved him and he'd be here with me, laughing about the memory instead of lying dead in a tomb that I now visit every night. I ware a long, black clock with the hood covering my face so that people won't see me cry. Imagine it, an elf, crying. It is a rare sight for tears to roll down the face of one so fair, so powerful, so idiotic. I didn't take the shot, I didn't save him, and now its only me...
We were in the forest of Fangorn. We believed that all the Uruk-hai had been killed. We were wrong. Or rather, I was wrong. Oh, how he would laugh to hear me admit that I was finally wrong about something. He would say something like, "The pointy-eared elf princeling finally got something right for a change!" But now he can't say anything at all, can he? The Uruk-hai snuck up upon us, it was only one. Only one. We weren't suspecting anything, how I should have paid much more attention! I should have never let my guard down. I should be the dead one, not him!
The Uruk grabbed him from behind, lifting him into a headlock, trying to snap his neck. I reached for an arrow, nocking it to my beautiful Lothlorien bow. I dared not to shoot, though; I could have accidentally hit him, for they were moving much to fast. He was trying to escape by squirming out of the Uruk's grasp; the Uruk was trying to hold on to him come hell or high water. I couldn't get a clear shot.
Then, there was a great SNAP and he went limp. The Uruk had succeeded. I screamed, taking the shot. I shot the Uruk several times in my anger and rage, not caring that the monster was already dead. Once my anger subsided, I fell to my knees, crying out to the sky, cursing the Uruk for the death of my friend. After that I sat in silence for a good while, breathing hard and letting cool tears course down my hot cheeks. Why didn't I take the shot sooner? Why, Illuvatar, why?
He was dead, there was nothing I could do, nothing but take his body on Arod to the Lonely Mountain. How they shunned me, blaming me for his death, blaming me as I blamed myself for not taking the shot sooner. That is why I must visit his grave by night, that is why I must ware this long, black cloak. I miss him, I miss him dearly.