Disclaimer: It all belongs to Tolkien. I just borrow them.
Argent.
Note:
I was thinking of a certain religious story and the roles of seemingly unimportant characters in a story and how they might be seen if they were ever written.
Banner of Hope
© M.H.
'''Tis the year 3442 of the Second Age. The day I cannot recall. But all my knowledge tell me t'is another foul day. A day of war. For we had been at war for so long. Wearily I glance around at my companions, my betters and my fellow soldiers. For we are granted but a small retrieve. The battle looms. It will surely break out this eve. I close my first about a clump of blackened soil. I shudder as I wonder whether t'is blackness is due to evil or blood strewn about my friend and foe alike. I look about and see that the High King and his commanders are still within the commanders' tent. I shall rest my eyes then, till t'is time for the next unending battle. For all of them seem so endless.
I am startled awake by a companion's arm upon my own. Ah, t'is time for battle. I square my shoulders to hide my weary thoughts as I head for the poor beast that I have been mounting for the past few days. Or I think they have been days. For the skies are ever black and time seems endless in this black place. Its foul name tastes bitter in my mouth and thoughts. I greet the poor beast, I do not yet know t'is name, for its owners have died. My own mount had been lost within the earlier battles. Necessity entails those rider less take the horses of those slain. A foul deed in my mind, t'is a befouling sacrilege, to ride a dead man's horse in my mind, but thus is the foul nature of war.
I jump onto the horse and urge him towards the commanders' tent. I catch the eye of one of King Elendil's men and shudder, even after all this time, all this gore you see the awe they have for us, sometimes even the fear, and yes, jealously. Our own have had their prejudices as well, for the perfect nature the men envy us is but the outer layer of the elves. I sigh and struggle not to let my shoulder slump as one of my commanders steps out of the tent and solemnly hands me a wooden staff with a cloth wrapped about it. I reverently take the staff with a bow of my head as he says the words, "May you carry this banner and the hope it brings through battle, keep it safe for it is a symbol of that hope itself." and I ceremoniously answer, "So I shall, until either Mandos or battle claims me" whilst in my mind I wonder whether this is some nightmare my mind has caught me in, for a war cannot last long and hard, could it?
I catch sight of a soldier, a young one at that, ah, one of the men, he reverently gives me a smile as I pass to which I nod my head, I cannot even bear to smile, it feels…. Foul… to smile in a place of so much darkness. This forsaken place.
Ai! I must stop these dreary thoughts! It would not do for one such as I to show such thoughts. I take my place proudly at the front of the line as the march starts. Our foes awaits I think as I unfurl the cloth bound about the staff to proudly reveal the Eight Starred Banner. My King's Banner and my responsibility to keep high during battle. For if it falls, hope falls, for t'is the symbol that screams that the High King yet fights. Those were the dreary words uttered to me upon giving me the task.
We have been at a standstill for how long I wonder…. The foe is but a few arm lengths away from us. His foul stench invading my senses. I fervently glance to the left to see the High King and his Herald proud upon their mighty steeds and steel myself. Rearranging my grip about the banner I hold so that it may fly higher. I cannot help myself from looking about again, catching sight of other Banner holders such as myself. You cannot help but share a certain kinship with those who carry a burden as heavy as the one you do yourself.
The orcs have started to strike their swords upon their shields, their gauntlets against their chain mail. Spears upon the ground. Ai, the fighting is near, I can smell it. The orcs a sea of moving darkness against an even blacker sky.
The elves, my kin, a glowing presence with their mail. The men, not as beautiful, but glorious nonetheless. For their lives may be short, but their courage is none lacking, I must admit.
They attack! The battle is begun! A battle cry, my own included, rumbles across the plains, and my skin shivers as we charge and collide.
Parry! Duck. I clench my teeth as a sword struck the shield strapped upon my banner arm. I nearly lost grip of the banner but desperation often overrules pain and I numb it and grip the banner tighter wondering why the wood beneath my fingers does not bend with the desperation within my grasp upon it.
Ai! One of the banners of men falls to the ground. One of the unfortunate mortals' fellows charges past and leans over his horse's side nearly falling himself as he snatches the banner. Ah, t'is up again.
I must be tired, for my musings have cost me as I catch a skhimter striking across the armour at my thigh. Ai! My beast is fell! Nay!!
I tumble to the ground, curling up to avoid being trampled by an elf charging by after his target. I quickly recover to my knees and desperately look about. Sword in hand. The banner! I have lost the banner! Nay! I can see dismay in some faraway faces, for the banner of the High King has fallen! The eight stars do not grace the airs above the battle. I cannot let it be so!
My eyes widen as I catch sight of my banner. An orc is gloating as he lowers his arm to clutch it. I release a yell of fury and charge the beast, cutting off his hand and head. I pry the dead fingers off the banner and stand; catching sight of a slain man slide off his horse I snatch his bridal with a silent prayer and apology and charge into battle again. The banner is once more air borne.
For some time I lose myself within the fighting, feeling nothing but the force of my blade cut through the endless sea that is our enemy. Ai! He seems endless! Covering the ground, overwhelming our own forces. They seem to multiply with every soldier our own lose! Ai! Will this ever end! My own muscles have long gone tired; I am fighting through sheer determination and a healthy dose of desperation. Being at war for so long numbs ones' senses for small pains such as exhausted muscles.
Just as I finish that thought a searing pain rips through me! Ai!! Never have I felt such pain! I blindly slash in the direction that the blow came from and then stand still in shock. For my arm. My hand from the wrist below in no loner there! I cannot help myself. I scream out in agony clutching the stub to my body and folding myself over it. The pain is unbearable! I shall not survive this surely! A fellow warrior halts by me, and helps me hastily fasten a cloth about the wound to slow the bleeding. For it would be impossible to spot a healer in this. I clench my teeth and will and shakily reach down for the banner. For I know I shall not fight well with an injury such as this. But I can keep the banner up, as long as I might. I am helped upon my horse by one of Elendil's warriors and faintly notice the soldier who helped bind my arm is now a corpse cloven in two.
I look upon the battle field distantly, remaining hand clutching at the staff. For the blood loss seems to have put me in a world other than the battle. I feel like a scepter amongst the battle. A ghost flitting through. An observer. My hand weakened upon the staff and I adjust my grip. My riding had gotten me closer to my king. Whose eyes have been drawn the sight of his banner momentarily. I scream a warning and he turns back to the battle avoiding a spear to the head. The fighting here seems thickest about the High King. Ai! He must not fall! I blink as my eyesight blurs slightly. Blood loss I am sure. Something jars me but I do not heed it until the force of it forces me to the ground. My beast of burden charging off without me. Dust is in the air and I am momentarily blinded, I reach for the spot where I thought I saw the banner and reach out my hand for it. Just as I close my grip about it a blade swings through the air and lands upon my wrist. I blink numbly as I watch my hand being severed. It does not even hurt I faintly think. It should hurt! Why does it not hurt!
I look up as the Herald of the King himself kneels by me intent on raising the banner himself. I hoarsely cry, "Nay! I am able! Bring me to a horse and I shall raise it! I must!" I do not care to whom I am speaking, Elrond Peredhil or not. He shall not take my banner from me. As I think that I am fairly sure I am feverish. For I must not be thinking clearly.
Storm tossed eyes stare at me grimly before nodding slowly. He binds my wrist and catches the bridal of an errant horse, holding me onto it. Securing the banner betwixt my knee and horse, the crossing my arms about the staff hugging the banner to me I urge the hose forward with my knees as battle resumes about me.
How I avoid being slain for a while after that I do not know. I stay close to my King and await Mandos to claim my life but somehow I survive. I release a shiver, my eyes widening as I catch sight of him. Sauron is come.
Ai, we shall lose I think weakly, letting my head fall forward and closing my eyes wearily. But I do not drop the banner. I shall not drop the banner. Hopeless or not, I shall not drop the banner.
I gasp as something imbeds itself into my back. I am beyond pain I think, but the pain is still there. Ai! I shall not drop the banner…I shall not dro...
The air is knocked out of me as yet again I fall off my horse. I weakly struggle onto my knees only to fall again on my side. Tears are marring my vision as I lay on the ground forgotten. My last vision is my King burning to ashes in Sauron's grip and the banner snatched off the ground by the bloodied hand of an orc.
The king! The hope we have all been clinging to is slain and the banner is caught! Ai! Ai the battle is lost! The foe is won! We have lost!
I have failed and the war is lost are my last worldly thoughts as my soul is snatched and claimed to Mandos.
FIN.
End Note: I know they won in the end. But this elf was dead by that time. So his final thought would be that they lost since Gil-Galad died before his eyes.