I gripped my father's sword. When I was young, my friends and I would take turns playacting with this same sword. We would pretend we were great warriors of old, protecting our homes and families from imaginary enemies. Now these enemies are real and they are coming. My mother and sister are in danger. And I am standing here with my father's sword protecting them.
I see two of my childhood friends drilling with the older soldiers. They look scared, even though they are trying to hide it. I feel afraid for I have never seen real battle. My father died when I was younger defending our home from orcs. I felt as a child he must have been brave and heroic. I do not feel that way now, and I feel ashamed of myself for feeling fear.
It is an unmanly thought, but I would rather be hidden with my mother and older sister in the caves of Helm's Deep. I know nothing of battle. I have never really wielded my father's sword. I have never killed another man, nor orc. I am not sure if I will be able to, and for that I am ashamed.
Tears come to my eyes, but I will not let anyone see them. I look upon the elven archers. They seem so stoic, so competent and unafraid. I wish I could be more like them. But I am just a human boy, and my panic is overwhelming me.
I do not want to die. I want to live to see my family again. I want to see my home again. I want my own family someday, and have my son playacting with my sword. It seems hopeless that we shall live out the night. The eyes of the men around me seem to be dead already.
In the distance I can see thousands of torches. They are so many, and we are so few. They march towards us slowly, so slowly. I would almost welcome seeing battle now, I am so tense with waiting for our doom. I am fighting the urge to flee to the safety of the caves. The fact that my family needs me here is the only thing rooting me to this spot. I cannot bear the strain of waiting.
So I hold tight to my father's sword. Somehow it gives me strength. I think back to my imaginary adventures and conjure up the courage that I had as a lad. I am not brave. But I will not abandon my family and my people no matter what the cost to myself. Perhaps this is what true courage is: to stand and fight when you would rather hold close to your mother and weep.
They are coming closer, I can make out individual faces of the beasts now. They are horribly inhuman. My stomach drops suddenly and I feel a surge of impatience rush through me. I squeeze the hilt of my father's sword tighter and tighter until my knuckles turn white. I just want all this to be over, one way or another. I want to know the end of the story now. Waiting until the end is torture.
They are coming. They have broken through. My heart is pounding. I cannot focus in on any one thing. Too much is happening at once. I see one of my childhood friends struck down. Then another. The brave elves lie dying around me.
I must fight. I cannot let horrors such as these touch my family. I realize that I cannot let my story end. I am needed. My mother and sister need me to save them. I cannot let their stories end too. I will fight. I will stop them. And I will live.