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A Cold Death (PG) Print

Written by Fawsley

05 January 2006 | 100 words

He couldn’t go on like this for much longer.

The pain and torment would be the end of him. Every ounce of strength had been spent and now there was nothing left.

His sight was becoming bleary, soon it would fade forever. His breaths were short, ragged and painful.

For a moment he dwelt on his lineage, thought of his ancestors and the noble deaths they had suffered.

Then sorrowing, he turned to his wife, taking her hand one last time.

‘I am dying, my love…’

Éowyn gave him one of her sternest looks.

‘Rubbish, Faramir. It’s just a sniffle.’

NB: Please do not distribute (by any means, including email) or repost this story (including translations) without the author's prior permission. [ more ]

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3 Comment(s)

Such a sweet story, and so true. Everyone knows how men act when they have a cold. Made me laugh out loud
Thank you

— Ingrid    Thursday 25 June 2009, 18:51    #

Ha-ha! I noticed you like to write such funny stories.
Oh poor Faramir, I do not know how he survived it!!! :)))

— Anastasiya    Friday 25 December 2009, 6:29    #

so cute!

— AbbyGreenEyes    Thursday 24 June 2010, 6:19    #

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About the Author


A complete list of Fawsley’s fics is available at her LiveJournal (friends only!). Failing friendship, her work can be found at sons_of_gondor, rugbytackle, tolkien_weekly and drabblechalleng.