A Ballad
In the silence of the aftermath of battle I awoke, with my Rohirrhic armor still strapped onto me, a blood-encrusted sword in my hand and my horse nowhere to be seen. As I opened my eyes, I was greeted with a sight terrible to behold.
Desolation and destruction were everywhere. The once green fields of the Pelennor were now blood stained and horribly burned, and the grass was trampled. There were the carcasses of both men and orcs alike, of my people, the horse-lords and their beloved horses, and of the men of Gondor, still gleaming in their shining armor. My heart cried out to all of them. They had fought bravely for the liberation of Middle Earth, and now, they had given their lives for it. Husbands, brothers, sons, all lost because of war.
When we had charged, into battle, the music from our horns had instilled fear into the hearts of our enemies. When Théoden had shouted "Death!" I had thought that we would be victorious. Yes, we were victorious, but for only this battle. The war was not over. And there is no triumph without a loss, a very great loss indeed.
I remember how victorious I had felt when I had struck down orc after orc, of how a fey battle mood had seized me when I had ridden like a thunderbolt through the throng of enemies and how, for a fleeting moment I had felt afraid. I had laughed at fear before, yet now, I strangely could not.
The sound of hushed and sorrowful voices to my left alerted me to the fact that I was not the only living being left on the Pelennor fields. I saw three figures, each one kingly in his own right.
First, the proud, striding gait signature to the royalty of Rohan, for being a minstrel in the King's courts I have oft seen them. As he raised his strong voice he turned out to be Eomer, Third Marshall of the Mark and Nephew to the king Théoden.
Then, there was one clad in black, with a cloak of grey a sheen even my own words cannot describe. This was the Lord Aragorn.
The third, clad in blue and silver, the livery of Dol Amroth, I did not recognize. I guessed him to be a General or one of the nobles. Behind them followed a group of servants.
As they advanced, I immediately struggled to follow them, for fear of being left behind on this barren wasteland. They paused at a spot, and I could hear Eomer saying "Here lies the King's banner-bearer Guthláf, who died in defense of the King. Alas that I should live to see the lifeless faces of my kinsmen!"
Soon they moved on. At some point they would stop, when they had chanced upon the face of some renowned Lord who gave up his life to defend the city. They would remember his brave deeds, or recall his glorious final moments, if any of them were there to see it. We passed many, some of whom I recognized, when the shadow of the East had not grown so large and there was still laughter and joy in Meduseld. Harding, Dunhere, Deorwine, Grimbold, Herefara, Horn, Fastred from Rohan, and the Lords of Gondor, Hirluin, Forlong and Derufin and Duilin, the archers from Morthond.
Many more there were, yet by now my mind was slipping onto darkness and my body could bear the pain no longer. I cried out to the three, "Pray, wait a little, my lords. I beseech you to stop, for I am in pain and cannot go on."
And at that, I collapsed to the ground, my mind swiftly succumbing to weariness.
My english teacher wanted us to rewrite a ballad in story form. so i used one from the book. thought i might grab the plot bunny as it passed or it would be gone forever...