Author's Note:
Been a while since I've updated, sorry about that. Life got in the way! But, thanks to a big ass snowstorm (lets just say, school cancellations for the past four days and counting!) I am ready to WRITE!!!
I really like the concept, the idea, the mentality behind this whole fic. That said, I realize that this contains little or none of the following: violence, torture, sex, Mary-Sue-ish original characters, slash, Legolas. So I know it probably won't garner a lot of reviews. Still, it would be so nice if somebody did !! : )
So, drop me a line, let me know what you're thinking.
PEACE LOVE AND SMELL THE MIDNIGHT MINT
*~*
I have seen the others
and I have discovered
that this fight is not worth fighting
and I've seen their mothers
and I will no other
to follow me where I'm going
Chapter 2
It wasn't supposed to be like this, war. Growing up, educated by elves, he had learned the history of his people, of the firstborn, of the dwarves, and of all that lived and had lived in Middle Earth and beyond. And of course, he had learned war. The causes, the effects, the strategy. Even while he understood the casualties and the immeasurable sadness that occurred in every battle, small and great, he never really knew. Even while he became skilled in the art of warfare, in archery and sword handling, he had always assumed that there was a sense of.honor in warfare. That it was noble. That brave men fought and sacrificed for good reasons. But now he knew he was wrong.
There was nothing noble about war. It was blood, it was lives, it was the same sadness and casualties he had eagerly dismissed in his youth as a unavoidable consequences that lay at the heart of battle. There was nothing noble about killing his fellow men. Perhaps war could be, at best, unavoidable. When it came to killing orcs or goblins or trolls, foulness and scum, it was necessary. It was good and evil, and easy to tell them apart. But when it came to men verses men, or elves, or dwarves, it was not so clear cut or simple. And he was trying to understand.
Aragorn tried fitfully to get some rest, but his thoughts would not quiet. He would have to get back to the soldier, the young one, he forgot his name, about the prisoners. He was not sure what to do with them. He rose from his bed and put on his cloak. He would go see the prisoners again, this time alone, and with a cool head.
Outside, most of the camp was calm and noiseless, asleep or patrolling. Clouds hid the stars and moon from view. Appropriate, he thought, hidden from my view as is the outcome of the next few days. Slowly but directly he walked over to the corner of the encampment where the prisoners were securely bound outside.
There were two guards positioned a couple of leagues away, one on either side. The prisoners appeared asleep, or at least relaxed, while the guards remained alert as good guards should. Approaching silently, Aragorn was about to hail the guards when something caught his eye.
The oldest captive, the one missing an eye, was whispering intently to a figure nest to him. Keeping to the shadows, Aragorn snuck up, moving silently and stealthily so as not to be seen. He was a ranger after all.
"Da-"
"No, my son, you must be strong," said a rough, grating voice Aragorn recognized from their conversation earlier.
"Please, father!" the young voice that was speaking broke out in a sob. "What if they kill you? Think of mother."
"I love you, son, as I love your mother. But I have an obligation to my people."
"I will take up your sword, when I am of age," said the voice, now determined.
"Go, now, before you are seen,"
"I love you-"
"Go!"
Aragorn watched the figure flee into the night. Once he was certain that the prisoners could not escape, he left. There was no need to talk to them again. He had seen enough.
Back at his tent, Aragorn finally slipped off into a troubled sleep, his responsibilities weighing heavily on his mind.
but on the eve of a great battle
with the infantry in dream
the old general tossed in his sleep
and wrestled with its meaning
he awoke from the night
just to tell what he had seen
and walked slowly out of his tent
His mind still reeling from his dreams of the night before, Aragorn, now decided, got up and walked slowly out of his tent.
~*~
TBC
And yeah, the dialogue between the captive and his son was corny, wasn't it?
(Don't take that as a hypothetical question.answer and review!!!)
Been a while since I've updated, sorry about that. Life got in the way! But, thanks to a big ass snowstorm (lets just say, school cancellations for the past four days and counting!) I am ready to WRITE!!!
I really like the concept, the idea, the mentality behind this whole fic. That said, I realize that this contains little or none of the following: violence, torture, sex, Mary-Sue-ish original characters, slash, Legolas. So I know it probably won't garner a lot of reviews. Still, it would be so nice if somebody did !! : )
So, drop me a line, let me know what you're thinking.
PEACE LOVE AND SMELL THE MIDNIGHT MINT
*~*
I have seen the others
and I have discovered
that this fight is not worth fighting
and I've seen their mothers
and I will no other
to follow me where I'm going
Chapter 2
It wasn't supposed to be like this, war. Growing up, educated by elves, he had learned the history of his people, of the firstborn, of the dwarves, and of all that lived and had lived in Middle Earth and beyond. And of course, he had learned war. The causes, the effects, the strategy. Even while he understood the casualties and the immeasurable sadness that occurred in every battle, small and great, he never really knew. Even while he became skilled in the art of warfare, in archery and sword handling, he had always assumed that there was a sense of.honor in warfare. That it was noble. That brave men fought and sacrificed for good reasons. But now he knew he was wrong.
There was nothing noble about war. It was blood, it was lives, it was the same sadness and casualties he had eagerly dismissed in his youth as a unavoidable consequences that lay at the heart of battle. There was nothing noble about killing his fellow men. Perhaps war could be, at best, unavoidable. When it came to killing orcs or goblins or trolls, foulness and scum, it was necessary. It was good and evil, and easy to tell them apart. But when it came to men verses men, or elves, or dwarves, it was not so clear cut or simple. And he was trying to understand.
Aragorn tried fitfully to get some rest, but his thoughts would not quiet. He would have to get back to the soldier, the young one, he forgot his name, about the prisoners. He was not sure what to do with them. He rose from his bed and put on his cloak. He would go see the prisoners again, this time alone, and with a cool head.
Outside, most of the camp was calm and noiseless, asleep or patrolling. Clouds hid the stars and moon from view. Appropriate, he thought, hidden from my view as is the outcome of the next few days. Slowly but directly he walked over to the corner of the encampment where the prisoners were securely bound outside.
There were two guards positioned a couple of leagues away, one on either side. The prisoners appeared asleep, or at least relaxed, while the guards remained alert as good guards should. Approaching silently, Aragorn was about to hail the guards when something caught his eye.
The oldest captive, the one missing an eye, was whispering intently to a figure nest to him. Keeping to the shadows, Aragorn snuck up, moving silently and stealthily so as not to be seen. He was a ranger after all.
"Da-"
"No, my son, you must be strong," said a rough, grating voice Aragorn recognized from their conversation earlier.
"Please, father!" the young voice that was speaking broke out in a sob. "What if they kill you? Think of mother."
"I love you, son, as I love your mother. But I have an obligation to my people."
"I will take up your sword, when I am of age," said the voice, now determined.
"Go, now, before you are seen,"
"I love you-"
"Go!"
Aragorn watched the figure flee into the night. Once he was certain that the prisoners could not escape, he left. There was no need to talk to them again. He had seen enough.
Back at his tent, Aragorn finally slipped off into a troubled sleep, his responsibilities weighing heavily on his mind.
but on the eve of a great battle
with the infantry in dream
the old general tossed in his sleep
and wrestled with its meaning
he awoke from the night
just to tell what he had seen
and walked slowly out of his tent
His mind still reeling from his dreams of the night before, Aragorn, now decided, got up and walked slowly out of his tent.
~*~
TBC
And yeah, the dialogue between the captive and his son was corny, wasn't it?
(Don't take that as a hypothetical question.answer and review!!!)