A/N: This is my first LOTR fanfiction. I was inspired by a line and a scene in the Two Towers. This takes place just before the battle of Helm's Deep. Be warned, it is quite sad.
Disclaimer: Tolkien is the genius, not me. LOTR is all his. I just play with it. No copywrite infringement is intended.
Her heart pounded more rapidly than the racing hooves of the swiftest of horses. Soldiers of the King were moving about the groups of refugees huddled in the caves below the great fortress of Helm's Deep. Crying and pleading followed in their wake as young boys were torn from the desperately clinging arms of their mothers. With fear in their eyes yet no protest on their lips, the lads followed these grim harbingers of dread away from the comfort of their mothers' love toward the hopeless terror that awaited them.
They were coming near to her now, and she held even tighter to her boy. Surely they would spare him this fate? Barely ten summers had he seen. Surely they would consider him too young for such a frightful task? But even as her heart held firmly to these beliefs, her mind knew it was not to be so. Ever had her dear boy been hale and hearty and large for his age. The King had commanded that all men and strong lads able to bear arms be brought to the armory, and she knew her son was destined to be among them.
The soldiers drew nigh unto them and she held her dearest, her only child more securely. She would not relinquish him willingly. Though others may reprove her, may even shun her, she would never willingly sacrifice her son; not even for Rohan would she forfeit his life. Treason, they could call it if they wished, but she would fight, beg, anything to keep him from the horrors that would befall him were he to be taken to face that rabble of vicious orcs.
The keening of many voices echoed off the high ceiling and walls of the caverns,. These caves that were purposed to be a refuge, now held naught but dread and despair. No solace was found here, for what hope could there be when not only their brave men, but even their children were to be fed to the monster of war.
And there he was, the herald of her child's doom, standing in front of her, his eyes remorseful and compassionate, but his face otherwise firm and resigned. He spoke not a word, but placed his large, callused hand on her son's small shoulder.
"No," she pleaded, the tears that she had thus far held back cascading down her pale cheeks as she attempted to further tighten her hold on her son, though even now her knuckles shone white in the flickering light cast by the torches affixed to the cavern walls. "Please..."
"How many years have you, son?" asked the soldier, though his eyes never left those of the boy's mother.
"Ten, sir," replied the lad with as much courage as he could muster, though he was still shamed by the quiver in his voice.
The soldier nodded, and she knew that with that small motion, her son's fate had been sealed. His sentence had been pronounced, and there was nothing she could do to change it. Though she would freely have lain down her own life to keep him from it, not even that would shield him from his duty to fight and most probably perish in this desperate battle in which they could never hope to prevail.
But still she clung to him in a final vain attempt to save him from this most terrible of dooms. Though she knew it would not change the outcome, she could not bear to part with him yet. Just one more moment, just one more chance to feel him in her arms, to feel his head against her bosom, but she knew it would never be enough.
Gently but firmly, the soldier forced her hold on her child to break, and when finally it had, she felt her heart break along with it. Great shuddering sobs born from deepest anguish racked her body, but though she could barely see through the deluge of her tears, she kept her eyes on her son. This was the last time she would ever see him. Many of the women were pretending to be brave, telling themselves that their sons, at least, would survive, but she had no such fairytale endings to draw strength from. She had seen the aftermath of battles. She knew well its consequences. Not yet four months had passed since her beloved had fallen in defense of this land that he loved so well, this land that she too had thought was worth sacrificing anything to keep safe, but she would now have seen reduced to ashes, if it would have meant her child could have been spared.
She wiped frantically at her tears, desperately needing one final vision of her dear boy to carry with her. He was being pulled toward the mouth of the caves, his arm held firmly by the soldier that had come for him. He was looking back at her, and a great fear there was in his azure eyes. His father's eyes. Where once there had been joy and innocence, now there was only the terror of impending death. There was no bravery or honor as she had seen on his face in the years of imagined victories over invisible foes. His noble dreams had been shattered. Death would hold no glory for her poor boy.
"I love you, my son," she choked out, scarcely being able to speak around the hard lump that obstructed her throat.
"I love you, mother," she heard him answer, and she knew that those four terrified words would be the last he ever said to her.
A/N: I thank you for taking the time to read this, and I would very much appreciate any feedback, good or bad, that you could give me. It means a lot, and it definitely helps me to improve. I am hoping to write a much longer LOTR fic, and I can use all the constructive criticism I can get. Thank you again.