Disclaimer: I do not own LoTR nor do I own the poem, I just learned the poem in an English class one day and never forgot it. I thought it suited.
One: Dulce Est Decorum Est
War was not funny, war was not a game; as young Fréademm was learning as he wandered through the lines of dead bodies, each injured almost beyond recognition before their deaths. He had only just come of age and this was his first outing with an éored, an outing to war with the consequences of a high possibility of death.
He was in no rush to meet his grandfather's spirit, but he was sure he may have to, since though the bodies were lined up and covered, there was still one fight left to attend to. It was one he was sure he would not return from; he could feel it in his bones.
He never got to know how right he was.
Fréademm, a simple Rohirrim rider of young age, fell to his death from his own horse, stabbed in the throat by the spear of an orc, the last sight in front of him; the black gates of Mordor and the orc's laughing face as another spear was plunged into his chest. Blood had gushed up from his lungs and dribbled between his lips as the pain overtook him.
He died in agony and knew nothing else.
Eadbearn, a cousin dear to Fréademm, walked behind the cart they had placed their to-be-honoured dead, staring at Fréademm's face, the look of agony and horror scaring him, but he refused to look away.
He had lost his King and his kin, to a war many had said would bring honour and glory to Rohan once it was won.
He knew now, they were wrong.
And Fréademm had realised it too.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori
-Dulce Et Decorum Est By Wilfred Owen