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Soldiers of Gondor
"I am sorry."
I watched as the realisation hit them. I watched as their faces turned from shock to disbelief, from disbelief to anger, from anger to sadness. I had no words of comfort to offer.
But none of them said anything. None of them protested the unfairness, the injustice, the hopelessness of it all. None. And ever so slowly, each and every face of every soldier, turned from sadness to a sense of resolution.
We were soldiers of Gondor. We would die as them.
We had fulfilled our duties. We would fulfill them one last time.
"Go home. Cherish your loved ones. We will make them proud." I watched as they all left, one by one, their faces numb.
My voice had sounded choked. How could it not? I had sentenced my men to their deaths.
How did you go home and tell your wife that you were never coming back? How did you explain to your children that they would never see you again?
Tonight would be their last night together forever.
Nothing is ever so precious until it is taken away from you. Tonight, my men would look up at the stars for the last time. They would eat a meal with their family for the last time. Something so routine, so ritual, and yet, so treasured. My men would be with their wives one last night, would tuck their children in bed and gaze at them with love indescribable, immeasurable, one last time. It was all I could give them. I could offer them no hope.
The last morning dawned, a red sky. For my men, it signified the end. It was the time for farewells. One last time would they look upon their own home. One last time would they hold their beloved ones close to them, embrace them and kiss them goodbye. And somehow, somehow, they would have to tear themselves away. One last time.
We met at the courtyard. Each and every man's eyes were shining with tears, burning with agony. And still, no-one refused to take part in this folly.
We were soldiers of Gondor. We would fulfill our duty. No matter what the cost.
We tacked up in silence. I saw my men looking at their horses, their saddles, their bridles, their weapons as if it was the first time they had ever set their eyes upon them. Each act was done slowly, treasured, for we would never do them again.
I embraced each of my men silently. They in turn did the same. We needed no words between us. We were all the other had left. We would die together.
Our descent of Minas Tirith began. The horses' shoes clopped over the cobblestones, a steady, grim reminder of the inevitable.
The people had come to bid us farewell. They whispered goodbyes and threw blossoms for us to walk upon.
My men tried so hard to stay aloof, detached. We could not afford to falter now. Duty had to be fulfilled.
I kept facing resolutely forwards. But out of the corner of my eye I saw families ripped apart, torn asunder.
I saw a young woman standing there, pale, shaking. She was to have been married next week. How had she felt when her young future husband told her that their lives could no longer be spent together? I watched as she handed a blossom to him, and he as he took it gently, the most precious thing on earth.
I saw a boy of barely fourteen, holding his family shield, standing tall. He was biting his knuckles and tears were streaming down his face. But he did not cry out. He could not, because he was the head of the family now. The responsibility of looking after them would now fall on his young shoulders.
I saw a child who was too young to know better. Her sweet, high-pitched voice pierced through the air. "Bye daddy! I'll see you soon. Love you."
Her father was riding next to me. I saw him stiffen up, his shoulders straightening. A lump grew in his throat. And yet he dared not turn around, else his resolve fail.
Her voice tore through our hearts. "Mummy, why didn't daddy turn around and say bye?"
This man was so much stronger that I ever could be. Underneath his helm, I could see the tears that streaked unashamedly down. Had that been me, I would already have flown back to my daughter, held her tight to me and promise that we'd never be apart.
But he knew he was a soldier of Gondor. He knew he had to fulfill his duty. We all did.
Somehow we managed to make it to the last gate. We did not look back.
Osgiliath lay in front of us. We formed one, long, single line, and started towards it. First at a walk, then at a trot. As we gathered into a canter, the orcs began appearing.
It would be impossible. We had all known that. But we did not falter, we did not hesistate. The line was not broken. We would do what was required of us.
Drawing our swords, we starting galloping. The orcs lifted their bows and all took aim.
"Make them proud! For Gondor!" was all I could cry. Our families were watching from Minas Tirith. We all knew that.
And as the arrows flew into the air, we all knew one thing.
We were soldiers of Gondor. We had fulfilled our duty. One last time.