The fortress towered above us, as dark and forbidding as the barren wasteland surrounding it. Ever since the wars between Morgoth and the elves, Mordor had been a stained blotch on the map of Middle Earth. Here in this place of evil, the dry air and parched ground offered no hope. The sky was as miserably red as the suffocating dirt. I shifted in my armor, the heat reaching excruciating levels. I felt as if I was being cooked in my own armor. The men surrounding me looked equally uncomfortable, staring at the lone fortress with grim expressions.
Not for the first time, I wondered if I had made the right choice in accompanying Aragorn's- I mean, King Elessar, as he was now called- army. It had been many a moonrise since the fall of the Great Eye and Aragorn had assumed his rightful title as King of Gondor. But after the celebrations had died and the alliances loosely binding all races of Middle Earth together recognized, events had taken a rude turn.
The goblins had been an unforeseen problem. The goblins kept travel between the misty mountains nearly impossible, and trade diminished. Though the races of Middle Earth had sworn to defend one another, the Misty Mountains divided us. The Council of Tarma (A council representing the different great cities of Middle Earth) agreed to try and negotiate some sort of peace treaty with the goblins. However, the ambassadors King Elessar had sent to reason with the goblins never returned. Our messengers had to travel all the way to the reclaimed dwarf mines of Moria to be able to cross the Misty Mountains, but the journey was long and perilous.
If that wasn't enough, Rohan was clamoring to claim part of Mordor as a territorial gain for their part in the war. Their people still dwelled in Helm's Deep and were quickly becoming restless. Though King Eomer, the descendant of the mighty horselords, was trying to keep the peace, he could not turn a blind eye to his people's suffering. As their previous villages had been utterly destroyed, they were left without farmlands. Their whole dislocated populace would have died in a famine long ago had Lothlorien not intervened. Galadriel and her brethren, the mysterious elves of the golden mallorn forest, had supplied Rohan will enough food and drink to survive. Still, both nations were suffering, and King Eomer was desperately trying to pick up the fragments of his kingdom. Still, I doubted moving his people into Mordor would improve their lot. It was a fruitless, cursed land. The memory of needless slaughter and pain corrupted the land to its foundations. No crops would yield, here. Surely if Rohan moved here, their numbers would continue to dwindle. And as for the support the elves offered… well, elves did not have the same values as we had. If they saw a loosing cause, they would abandon it without regret.
And don't even mention the orc problem. After their master had fallen, they had swarmed out of Mordor like a nest of angry hornets. Though many had been slain since then, orcs still roamed in nomadic bands terrorizing the countryside with their bloodthirsty raids.
The great evil had been suppressed, but our troubles were far from over. So why was I marching through Mordor, you might very well ask? King Elessar had constructed an army of men to march on Mordor, cleansing all traces of Sauron's power. Many of his loyal followers still hid in Mordor. Purging the darkness had only started with Sauron's defeat, and now the victors had band together to permanently extinguish the evil.
And somehow, here I now stood, bone-weary and another battle inevitably coming. I licked my cracked and bleeding lips, thinking about how it would be teatime in the Shire around now. The thought of the winding brooks, green grass, and cosy little hobbit holes made my heart ache with longing. I glanced over at a figure standing beside me, the only one in our discouraged band that was my height. He wore the armor of a Rohan soldier, the horsehair plume on the helm hanging limp and bedraggled. A few curls of auburn hair clung to his neck, drenched in sweat. A gladius was encased in a leather sheath strapped to his side. He stood looking up at the fortress, his gauntlet covered hands clenched in anticipation. He was why I had agreed to come on this crusade. After being separated from Merry for so long, I made up for lost time by sticking to his side even more firmly than before. So when Merry had told me about this mad conquest he was going on, I had immediately signed up too, though I did not have much skill in fighting. I could not leave my best friend so soon after finally being reunited.
But I wondered if I had made the right decision. After all, Merry was the one that was good at combat. He had fought in the battle of Pelennor Fields, after all. I was just the court's bard and King Elessar's companion. The hard life of constant warfare was no place for me. Yet I could not back down now. We had already seen many battles, facing all number of evil creatures. Towers had been toppled, hideouts discovered and countless orcs slain. We were near the Sea of Nurnen, the farthest corner of Middle Earth. Only one last fortress stood, then our conquest would be completed, our deed done. Though the men were disheartened, hope also shown in their eyes. This was it, and then they could return to their families and homes.
Home.
I tightened my grip on the hilt of sword, heartache and homesickness strengthening my desire to see this fortress's walls fall.
Depending on the reaction I get to this story, it may or may not be a one-shot. Please review! Thank you for reading!