Disclaimer: Wakabe Writing Firm doesn't own Lord of the Rings

A/N: Trying to get back into the spirit of writing. Easier said than done, especially with this last semester. Still, we're trying, so please excuse this pathetic excuse of a drabble. Hope you enjoy.- Natsumi (Writer, Wakabe Writing Firm)

Will they ever remember us? Will they ever think of us when they speak about this bitter war? Will they think of us as soldiers, warriors, protectors of our people? Or will we just be boys that died too young, saw too many horrors in out last moments before red and too bright and then black? Or is it nothingness? Will they speak of our sacrifice for the greater good?

Or scold our insignificant resistance in the wake of too many defeats?

Will we be nameless bastards that should have tried harder? Done more? Done less? Gone to war at all?

Will anyone remember our names? Or just those deemed important? Will the brother that fell next to you, who left his wife and three year old son behind when the orcs at our borders demanded more patrols, be remembered for his charming smile and dedication to his brothers in arms? Or will he be just another face, bloody and dead-blue, once vibrant green eyes mow dull and ugly in death? Will anyone remember how he defended his captain from the arc of a dirty and bloodied sword

Will our sacrifice be enough?

Is any of our losses worth it?

Is it worth the many dead brothers that cover the grounds, faces forever frozen in death, eyes black and armor rent? Is it worth the children we leave behind, fatherless, filled with a fear and a hate for the scum of Mordor that will not be quenched, even as sword comes down again and again in a never ending battle of defense and death? Is it worth it to mothers left with a forever young son that she will not even be able to bury? To sisters left with things still unsaid? To wives turned to widows, forced to endure the years without husbands that have taken their hearts with them to the grave?

Is it worthy enough to those left behind, both back at home and still fighting that endless sea of evil, the tides rising and falling for what seems an eternity?

Is it worth the death of kings and farmer's sons, who are gone and now cannot ever be known to their kin again, having crossed beyond the world to a place that only our kind can go?

Is it worth all this pain?

Is it worth leaving behind so many we love, maybe not defenseless, but nonetheless damaged by loss and empty condolences, easily broken promises of a better tomorrow when it died yesterdays ago in a far away field with no words of comfort to steal away the pain of losing a life after the hell of war? Is it worth an ache that never leaves, even when the bearer has carried the pain for years, no relief to be hand, forced to grow accustomed to an empty chair, and a child who will never know their father?

Is it worth never leaving the battlefields and ambushes behind? There is no way to tell. But lying here, surrounded by fallen comrades, away from home, there is only one hope left.

A man, worthy of giving up life and limb for, who has struggled with his people, crownless for now, but not without a kingdom. A captain, who disappeared from the city that was his right by birth, because he knew that to take what he had not yet earned would leave only ruined dreams. A king, who was both friend and mentor, and took the time to know his people, traveling everywhere to know their plight against an evil that stole from him as well.

A man who was worth this sacrifice of life.

Death will not be so empty, if it can ensure his survival, and with it, the lives of those loved and still living.