A/N: The title of this fic was thought of while I was listening to Belle of the Boulevard by Dashboard Confessional. There's a line that goes: "Just this once, just for now, and just like that, it's over."

Now, try and guess whose POV this is before the second paragraph.

Just This Once and Just For Now

Loud marching destroyed the silence. My heart beat faster, and my hand tightened around the hilt of the sword that hung to my right. I felt the cold metal seep through the sheath, chilling me the more.

As I stood from the watchtower, I caught sight of a rather large host of Orcs trudging heavily across the plain. They really were foolish, if they thought I wasn't watching.

I ran down the stone steps, and checked that my army was there. I searched for Aeglassir, one of the captains, and once I found him, I spoke to him.

"We should meet the army out there," I told him. "It would do us no good for them to ravage us here inside. We have more space out there, and there's no chance of any of them getting in."

Aeglassir looked at me thoughtfully. "Makes sense, my lord, sir. Shall I tell them now?"

I nodded. "Before the foul army arrives, at whatever cost."

He sped off to spread the news, and I turned anxiously. Okay, maybe not anxiously. I was raving for a fight, raving for a chance to decimate those horrid beasts and sever their ugly heads from their unattractive bodies. My hand reached out for the sword hilt again, trembling with anticipation.

But now, my army was gathered, watching me intently on horseback.

I gazed at them, feeling my spirit burst into even more confident fire, and I mounted my own horse and I led them out of our fortress atop the hill of Himring. I saw my brother Maglor's army silhouetted against the pink horizon, and Celegorm's and Curufin's in the opposite direction. I commanded two of my men to raise the standard of Fëanor, or rather, the Sons of Fëanor.

I called to charge, and I rode. I rode off to the black mass of an army, and I whipped my sword out, and I felt the chill air fly past me even as it cut into my skin. But it was a good feeling: I was charging full-speed at an army I was keen to destroy, and knowing I could destroy them made it even better.

I grinned as I got close enough to attack, and I thrust my sword into one of the Orcs. Pandemonium settled in rather quickly, but that didn't matter. Oh, no, it didn't matter at all.

I ran through a good many of them, satisfied with their looks of surprise (at least, that's what I could make out, seeing as they really were rather unsightly.) Then as I killed three with one swipe, I laughed.

Oh no. Bad sign, a voice in my head went. Don't go becoming Father. Or you might just overextend. It doesn't matter whether there are Balrogs or not—the point is, no overextending!

Happy to admit, I obeyed the little voice. I killed just as much as I should have, and made my army follow the retreating Orcs. It wasn't overextending. It was just acting defiant. There's a huge difference.

We defiantly obliterated the army right outside Angband. It was rather gratifying; really—just imagine what Morgoth's expression must have been.

I complied with the voice. It told me to start pulling back, and so I did. I actually didn't notice my brothers in the fight—how selfish—and suddenly a pang of anxiety struck.

What if they had been killed? Or worse, captured?

I didn't want any of them to have to endure what I did on Thangorodrim. That was when I realized that we'd wiped out the entire army. Even I would've noticed my own brothers. So much for them being captured.

I turned to the fact that they could've been slain. It was highly unlikely, but still possible. I turned to the army.

"We've won," I said. "Now, let's go home."

I knew I should've said something more, or even praised them for their courage, but I couldn't. Ah well.

I caught sight of an army gathered a few yards back from where we destroyed the opposing Orcs. Maglor, Celegorm, and Curufin were mounted side by side, and our gazes locked. And I knew that they all sparkled with glory.

"So ends Dagor Aglareb," I announced, smiling.

"We sure taught them something," Curufin laughed. He turned his steed. "Time to return to Himlad. Nice name, Battle Glorious."

Celegorm nodded. "We'll be ready the next time they attack," he promised, making his horse turn too. "The Sons of Fëanor forever."

"Forever," I replied. Maglor just grinned and nodded good-naturedly.

Celegorm and Curufin roused their warriors, and they were off. They took a quick pace up the hillside, and disappeared into the horizon.

"I was afraid you'd get killed," Maglor confessed.

"Me? After Thangorodrim? No way," I assured him. He just smiled. "That was great. But we have to be more prepared now. That would've aroused Morgoth's rage."

I nodded. "You're right. But now, it's time to go home." I gave him an encouraging smile, patted him on the back, and watched him leave.

I watched, still mounted, and set my army a slow, contented pace. And watching the sun set into the dark trees, I knew:

Just this once, and just for now, we were victorious.

A/N: This is so I have a fair idea on my name-creating; please answer this if you can. Is Aeglassir an okay name?