Author's Note: For some reason, the below quote jumped out at me while I was reading Julius Caesar a while back. The quote would not leave me alone, and this little story was born. It is something far more angsty than I am accustomed to writing, but I thought I might as well put it out there for all to read anyhow. Feedback is very much appreciated!

"When beggars die, there are no comets seen; the heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes."

- William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar.

When Beggars Die

If one were to tell a living man that one day he would long for the darkness of death to descend upon him, he would not believe it. Yet now, as death approaches, I can affirm that my patience grows thin as I await the darkness. In my heart, I want at the very least to die a hero. And yet my mind pleads with me to succumb, to fall to the ground and end. My legs and arms have become unfeeling weights, scarcely a part of me any longer, and my eyes are dry with dust and heat, my every breath is a struggle.

Yet I cannot die now. Through the black dust I can see fire. Orcs and fell creatures cry out as if in victory. Elves and men draw back, frightened despite their heart's brave intentions. Every limb cries out to me: run with them, flee. No, I persist. This is my final struggle. One more breath, and another.

At last, as I breathe in yet another wisp of creeping smoke, I can see who stands amid the throng of fire. I have heard tell of his valor, and I have observed his banners blowing in the wind and seen his gleaming helm from afar. Yet now he is but a few paces away from me. Fingon the Valiant he is called in my homeland, the High King. Many of his guard already lay dead about him, but he remains true to his title unto the end. Balrogs, beasts I have only seen blazing far off, assailing the front ranks, throng about him, their long whips of fire sending forth scorching sparks.

The King cries something inaudible, and there is a flash of fire, of metal, a stream of blood. Blood and sharp lines of black ash and scolded skin streak his immortal features. A mace is swung, but his own legs give out beneath him and save him from the blow. I look on in horror, having neither the power to aid him or to flee him; I can merely wait for a frenzied swing to find me. The ash has formed a thick veil in the air now, and the fire glows palely.

Suddenly, there is a flash of white light. I stumble back in fear. From the ground I can see, beneath the smoke, a broken helm, a river of blood, and the remnants of a blue and silver banner. I dare not look any further. I know what I will see. The world around me has grown still; even the enemy is silenced by the departure of so mighty a spirit. The sun disappears in the sky, for even she cannot bear to witness the High King's death. The first stars are already in the sky, as though his banner has been unfurled in the heavens.

Tendrils of smoke rise from the ground around me. I breathe, and the breath is stopped, choked within my throat. I cough and splutter, but it is in vain. The next breathe will only be another one of ash and dust. The world grows darker, and I know it is not the night descending, but the darkness of death. My mind forces me to crawl on, but my heart says otherwise. I put one hand before the other, and the effort is final. I collapse and close my eyes, still coughing. Then, a final breath escapes my lips. Darkness descends at last, and the world weeps for the King.