Summary: Failure was unforgivable. Failure was redundant. Failure was imminent. What if the fellowship had failed?

A/N: I should actually be on holiday right now, but I couldn't get his out of my head, and we have free wifi at the resort! I spent today following my mum and sister around outlets like a zombie, tapping away on my iPod (typing this), and then quickly scribbling it down while we stopped at Walmart. It's quite short, very short, in fact. Just a drabble. But, providing you readers like the idea, I think I might turn this into a bigger, detailed version, with, say, a chapter for each character death? Actually, there are quite a few stories on an idea such as this, but I think most have happy endings, or something like that. Right? Mine would not have a happy ending. This is most definitely AU, and contains a lot of character deaths. If you can't bear your favourite characters being killed, don't read. If you do, read on...Oh, and Éowyn is "a shieldmaiden" in case you didn't know, since in the books/movies she considers herself as such.

Edited: 05.07.10- Boromir added. I left him out at first because his death had- obviously- already been explained in canon, but I love him too much to just forget him!

Lord of the Rings, characters, settings, creatures and whatnot doesn't belong to me.

Boromir, the Captain of Gondor; the most noble of men; the most loving of brothers and the most noble of friends was the first to fall, heroic in his redemption as he despaired and was comforted in his king's embrace as he breathed his last, the echoes of the little ones' cries still fresh in his mind. The elf swallowed his grief, and he alone kept his companions from falling with heavy hearts on Rohan's plains.

Aragorn, their future king; the most skilled of healers; the most courageous of warriors, but most importantly, the most trusted of leaders: It took a weeping dwarf and four men to pry the elf from his mangled body, among the din of an ongoing battle. And so Aragorn, son of Arathorn, was the second to fall, crushed beneath the foot of a troll as his comrades screamed his name.

Gimli, proud dwarf; appreciated comedian; the most magical of forgers; the most cherished of allies, was next to perish. Even as they retreated from the gates of Mordor did black-feathered arrows rain down upon them, and the short-legged dwarf was lost among their sharp points. It took two hobbits and a wizard to drag the screaming elf away.

Merry, gleeful pragmatist; strong singer; the most sensible of fellows; the most devoted of protectors, was separated from his younger cousin in the hordes of fleeing soldiers, and caught unawares by the cliff he had been racing, unknowingly, towards. It took what miniscule shrapnel of common sense he had left for the elf to restrain himself from jumping after him.

Pippin, student of curiosity; beautiful vocalist; the most innocent of mischievous plotters; the most light-hearted of any, became a victim of anguish, and as another tried in vain to halt him, took his own life by way of poison. It took a wizard to convince the elf to eat.

Sam, esteemed gardener; lover of all living; the most loyal of companions; the most passionate of allies, was found on the mountainside, no more than charred bones: he had not escaped the wrath of the orcs. It had taken a wizard, a shieldmaiden, and a newly appointed steward to care for the unresponsive elf.

Gandalf, old Istar; wise mentor; the most loved of friends; the most powerful of wizards, was powerless against the Balrog he had once smote, and so many were forced to watch as Gandalf became the next. It took seven healers, and a shieldmaiden to save the elf from himself.

Frodo, kind ringbearer; knowing Baggins; the most valiant of hobbits; the most full-hearted of creatures, was buried deep in the chasm of Mordor; presumably thrown into the mountain's pit of molten rock with Gollum. He was never found.

And then there was one.

Legolas, clever Greenleaf; golden archer; the most pure of elves; the most joyous of the three hunters, succumbed to grief, and took his final breath in the arms of a sobbing shieldmaiden.

The dwarves withdrew deep into the mines, and the elves to Valinor, as one by one, great kingdoms fell to darkness, and all hope was lost. Reunited with the one ring, Sauron the destroyer bid the crops to dust, and the villages inwrought with pain.

And so it was that middle-earth fell. The fellowship had failed.