A/N: This is basically the prologue. I use first person to make the story more personal and it is from the perspective of Nendae. If any of you children are so inspired to create art work about any of the characters in my story, I would LOVE it. PM me if you do.

Rating: PG-13 for suggestive dialogue and thematic elements.

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All I felt was coldness. Coldness spreading to my fingertips. I was numb. So numb, I couldn’t even feel my legs give way beneath me. I dropped to the ground and stared, tears stinging.

“What?”

“He’s dead,” Denethor shot, hot tears springing from his own eyes, “Must I repeat myself, wench? My son is dead.”

My breathing quickened. My heart was beating so hard, I could only breath in short, painful gasps. I felt my feet pounding upon the hard stones of the streets of Gondor, but I saw nothing. All I saw was Boromir… reaching for my hand… seizing my lips, hungrily… telling me he loved me more than anyone… the feel of his strong, hot flesh under mine…

I was far outside of Gondor when I regained my sight. My heart was burning inside my chest and tears burned in my eyes. My knees buckled under a great pain. My belly writhed and I could do nothing but scream. I screamed. Tears poured down my face as blood poured from between my legs. I could do nothing but scream. I screamed, but I knew that screaming would not bring Boromir back. It would only bring more pain from my belly, the blood wetting her dress and ruining it. I looked at my hands. They were shaking, pale and cold. I was dying. No, I was not dying.

My only memory of Boromir was dying.

Which meant I may as well die.

Sometimes I wish I had.

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A/N: I know it was short, but the other chapters will be longer. Please review. It’s greatly appreciated, trust me!

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