Disclaimer: I don't own LOTR
Heroes
There are the invincible heroes, and there are the true heroes, but not even the greatest of them all were meant to live forever.
I used to worship the heroes in the bedtime tales my nana told me.
They were the people who helped the world, shouldered great burdens and came out unscathed.
They were the invincible ones.
As a young child, I used to dream of my own hero. He would be someone of great battle skill, handsome of course, for I was but a young, silly elleth in my youth.
Do you not find it interesting that heroes in stories all fulfilled a certain quota of sorts?
You ask, what makes a hero?
What makes a person deserving of so great a title?
Their skill, their name… their destiny?
Maybe Fate truly did have his path laid out for him.
He was a warrior, trained by the best; he became one of the best. Otherwise, how else would he have always returned? It is no wonder that his people view him with awe, for he could march into battle from which there seemed only certain death, yet he always returned, triumphant.
He was of a proud linage, a name that should be born and carried with dignity, deserving of all respect, and his path? His path is only another measure of his greatness.
I cannot doubt that, neither can you, for you have heard of him too.
Ranger, One of the Nine… These are but some of the adornments that are testament to the hero he is.
He did what few heroes in stories managed to do.
Compared to his feats in the War of the Ring, fairytale heroes had but petty quests to slay dragons.
I suppose that I was so charmed by this illusion of heroes that I did not want to give it up, even when the time came for me to do so. I wanted hold on and to believe that such heroes would live on forever.
Such illusions, however, were never meant to last.
Heroes may seem invincible, but they are flesh and blood.
I learned all too quickly that even the greatest were meant to fall, at one point or another. There would never be one so untouchable that no enemy could fell him. Not even the ones whom my people admired and revered above all others. They are still heroes, however, great people who live past their lifetimes.
They call him a hero, but they don't know him like I do.
He has flaws, we all do.
His flaws, his struggles with life and the hand Fate had dealt him only made him more realistic.
Not all heroes are golden and bright. My hero could be clumsy at times, ignorant at others, but deep down inside, he was a hero.
I fell love with him. A great hero, despite his mortality, his lack of Elven grace and attributes; attributes that I had inherited from my half-Elven father.
He might as well have been nothing when we first met, had it not been for that quiet determination and sense of honour that dictated the actions he took.
He held my hand, taught me much of the life we lived together. He was much inspiration, he was companionship, and we walked for years, side by side. I think that is why I love him so much, see him as a true hero, because he was real.
He always came back…
That lulled me into a false sense of security, made me choose to ignore the pain that I eventually would have to face in having made the choice I made. I wanted to believe that the life we lived would never end; I wanted to forget the inevitable…
Yet for all he is, for all his greatness, he cannot always return. There are some paths that once a person takes, he can never retrace his steps, and there are some enemies that no mortal weapon, even those of Elven make and fused with magic, can fell.
For you see, he is dying, and no prayers, no tears nor pleas can stop that. Time is a spectre and demon, hated, yet necessary. Time is a wheel that I have learnt will continue to spin, heedless of the world's pain, and the day this cosmic wheel grinds to a halt is the day the world ends. Even so, he dares to defy Time.
Heroes like him will never be forgotten. Even now, his people immortalise him. Stories of his life will be told and retold at the bedsides of children, including the children of my children, far into a distant future that I will not live to see. They ensure that his legacy survives.
But as I hold his limp hand in my own, and stare into weary eyes and futilely attempt – as if by will alone I could – to hold onto the soul that was slipping away, I can only bitterly recount the truth.
In the end, heroes are only just men.
A/N: This story was inspired by a question I had to answer. Whether the answer was right was of no consequence, but the idea was crucial to this story: Hero or Human?