An Ordinary Man
An LOTR fanfic
Chapter 1
The cobbled streets were bitterly cold this January morning. The men resting against the ruins felt it, but it was normal for Osgiliath this time of year. But for Ulrich, son of Thranmir, it wasn't the cold that sent shivers down his spine. He'd been in Osgiliath for a week, having travelled down with a handful of men to bolster the defences. At nineteen years of age, he was the youngest of the group.
Mikael stirred next to him, before snoring loudly once again. Mikael was the oldest of the new recruits to the Rangers, at nearly thirty, with a wife and nine children worrying over him back at Minas Tirith. Minas Tirith, thought Ulrich, home, where I belong; not in this hellhole. With his sister, getting ready for her wedding, his mother and father, sitting by the fire, Thranmir still in his blacksmith clothes from work today, grease and oil coating his face.
Ulrich shook his head violently, sending any thoughts of his home or family out of his head. He couldn't afford to think like that, not here, not now. Orcs could attack any second, and he has to be constantly on guard.
He looks down at his sword, forged by his father. It is in the style of a traditional Gondorian broadsword, but the blade is shorter, lighter, and easier to manoeuvre in battle, with the words To Gondor, give courage, to the enemy, give death written in gothic script. It swells his heart with pride knowing that his father made this. He is a great sword maker, with people all over Gondor travelling to get a sword from him. Even the mighty Boromir and his brother, Faramir, once travelled to have their weapons forged by Thranmir.
But Boromir is gone, and his brother, despite his bravery, leadership and skill; is not enough to replace him in the eyes of his father. Faramir is a good man, at least, in Ulrich's eyes. He has done well to hold this forsaken place with the forces at his disposal. But, Ulrich's thoughts were disturbed by the corpse of the guard falling to the floor, an arrow sticking out of his eye socket.
"We're under attack, man the battlements; we're under attack, man the battlements!" Ulrich shouted as loud as he could, leaping to his feet and drawing his sword. All around him men scramble to their feet, strapping on armour, drawing weapons and readying themselves for the attack. Ulrich hears an animalistic roar behind him, and spins round to face it. The Orc that caused it holds two short, angular, poorly crafted rusty swords, ones that would make Thranmir wince with pity. It leapt down, hoping to land on Ulrich and gut him like a pig, but he sidestepped and decapitated it with a swing of his sword as it landed, spurting blood all over him.
He staggers back; the realisation of what he has just done setting in. He has just killed something, extinguished its life with a flick of his wrist. But then adrenalin kicks in, and he begins to think rationally again. It was either him or it. He spins round, facing another Orc, this one wearing crude armour, and thrusts his sword through its chest, before pulling it out and kicking the corpse over. Another Orc charges at him, its axe coming down to try and hit him on his head. Ulrich blocks it, before headbutting the Orc, sending them both sprawling. Ulrich reaches for a fallen dagger, panic setting in.
He reaches it just as the Orc climbs on top of him. He stabs it in the neck, again and again, a scream of anger and fear escaping his lips. He stops, the dead body heavy on top of him, as a foot rolls it over. It's Faramir. The sounds of battle have ceased, to be replaced with an eerie silence. Faramir offers a hand, which Ulrich gratefully accepts, and is lifted onto his feet.
"Well met soldier. Tell me, are you one of the reinforcements I received last week?" He asks.
"Yes, my lord." Ulrich answers. He retrieves his sword from under a corpse. He turns it over to find its Mikael, his skull split open by an Orcish blade.
"Well, fine work there, sounding the alarm and dealing with three Orcs, just a shame I think you are the only one left from the reinforcements. I'll be keeping my eye on you. What's your name?" Faramir asks.
"Thank you, my lord. My name is Ulrich, son of Thranmir."
"Please, stop with the my lord, it gets old quickly. Is Thranmir the same one who forged my sword?" He sounds weary, tired of the bloodshed and war.
"Yes, he forged one for me as well, the normal swords aren't suited to my style." Ulrich shows him his sword.
"A fine blade. Stay alive and look after it, Ulrich, as I'll need men like you soon, I think." He smiles faintly, then walks off, checking the other men. The comment makes Ulrich proud, being called a good man by the son of the steward. He then returns to his post, and sits down, nearly instantly falling into a deep sleep.