Disclaimer: Tolkien killed the Blade, I just fixated on the fact.
Author's Note: Another jolly little drabble for the 'Corpses and Brides' challenge.
What other bride would have you now, lord? Your groomsmen give you with grief in their hearts and lament upon their lips, but she alone will wed you.
You imagined a fair maid in flowing gowns; growing old; dying in her soft arms. Your bride flows, though not her gowns. With her, you shall not age. Fear no death: it stalks you no longer, Captain
A boat shall be your chapel; spirits of the dead your ministers. Go now to your bride, Lord of Gondor, and her watery embrace. Lay your head upon the breast of her swell and rest.