When the King Returned
Dedicated to Illuvitar who created Middle Earth, and Tolkien who wrote it down. It all belongs to them, apart from Faramir, who belongs to his wife.
I met Gwador as soon as I finished my shift.
"Have you heard the news?" I asked him glumly.
"Have I heard it?" He replied joyfully, "Who hasn't? Think about it, Hessian, in three days we could be on the way home with the head of the Dark Lord on our shoulders!" Gwador was my oldest friend. I should have remembered that he never tired of war.
"Isn't it a bit soon, though? We barely win a battle, then within days march to fight another on the enemies terms?"
"Do you doubt Gondor's armies?"
"No," I replied as honestly as I could. We parted company. Gwador had other friends: no doubt they would be celebrating. I stood on the wall alone. I had been told war was glorious, that soldiers were heroes. I had been brought up with tales of battle, and my childhood years had been spent chasing daydreams of honour. As I grew, I knew I was going to join the army and follow the heroes of my youth. Gwador and I signed up together, but then something had changed. I found out the difference between fighting for your life with swords made to kill and a merciless enemy, and fighting for glory with tree branches and a good friend. Orcs don't apologise when they kill you.
Sometimes I wish I had Gwador's optimism. He still sees war as a game. This is where our opinions differ. This is why he is singing songs of bravery while I stand on the eastern walls looking toward the black gate where the fate of men will truly be decided.
The news beat me home. When I opened the door my mother was in tears. She came up to me and hugged me like I was already dead. She then looked at my father and ran upstairs. I sat at the table facing him. For a while we said nothing. Mother's sobs echoed in my ears. Sometimes I think life is easier for women. They are not expected to fight, not expected to die, and when they are afraid they can cry and let it all out.
"You heard the news." I said. My voice seemed muted against the silence.
"Yes," said my father reluctantly. He was about to say something else, but thought better of it and went back to staring at the carved wooden table.
"Did you know the king will soon return?" I said, trying to make conversation. My father grunted, "Kings...stewards...it's all the same for me. What's the difference between the person in charge and his representative?"
"One of them is only there until the other comes back?" I said, feeling a curious burst of loyalty for the new king.
"What does that matter to us? All that I can see is that one had wisdom enough to know we were safer here, protected behind the city walls while the other is so reckless in his newfound superiority that he thinks he can defeat Mordor and is willing to gamble with the lives..." he trailed off, obviously having said more than he meant to. When the rumour came that we may soon have a king once more, most people were, quite naturally, excited. For a moment I was a child again, playing Sauron and Isildur with Gwador. Kings had a certain romantic image that made the idea of a steward dusty by comparison. Kings rode at the head of their armies, spurring their people to victory, while all stewards did was sit in their halls. But the more I thought about it the less I wanted a king. My father had been right- though the Lord Denethor had had his strange moments, he had been a genuinely good leader, and though many now scorned his memory in the face of a king, he had known Mordor was unassailable. And so like a vulture he had plotted his strategy, while keeping his strength safe behind the walls. And when Mordor finally came, we defeated it. The steward had sat in his hall. Now it was the king's hall, and when the king wanted to ride to battle who was going to stop him?
When I woke next morning I looked out of the window to watch the sunrise. I could not see the sun. All I could see were black clouds, and beneath them dark mountains. Mordor. Suddenly I remembered that today was the day. In less than an hour I would be on the road, marching towards that forbidding land with a king I did not love for a cause I did not understand. I remembered the last time Mordor had been thus assailed-the battle of the Last Alliance. I tried to recall the feelings of wonder I had had for it in my youth, but today the child had fled. I was on my own.
My mother and father had awoken specially to see me off. Father had got out his old sword. Normally a father would pass his sword on his death. He presented it to me without a word, as if he feared he might say too much. I understood the gesture. He did not expect to see me again after I walked out of the door, did not think I would live to see him die. It was the most I could do to smile thankfully. I gave my mother a hug. She looked so worried that I wanted to comfort her before I left. I wanted to promise her I would come home, but I couldn't.
You shouldn't make promises you can't keep.
THE END
Well wasn't that fun. If you've time I appreciate criticism and reviews, though I know how impossible they are to write. Obviously, flames are not appreciated. If my fic has in anyway irritated you, I suggest printing a copy and either shredding it into small pieces and flushing it down the loo, or screwing it into a small ball and throwing it at things. Kindly do this before taking your anger out on me!
Dedicated to Illuvitar who created Middle Earth, and Tolkien who wrote it down. It all belongs to them, apart from Faramir, who belongs to his wife.
I met Gwador as soon as I finished my shift.
"Have you heard the news?" I asked him glumly.
"Have I heard it?" He replied joyfully, "Who hasn't? Think about it, Hessian, in three days we could be on the way home with the head of the Dark Lord on our shoulders!" Gwador was my oldest friend. I should have remembered that he never tired of war.
"Isn't it a bit soon, though? We barely win a battle, then within days march to fight another on the enemies terms?"
"Do you doubt Gondor's armies?"
"No," I replied as honestly as I could. We parted company. Gwador had other friends: no doubt they would be celebrating. I stood on the wall alone. I had been told war was glorious, that soldiers were heroes. I had been brought up with tales of battle, and my childhood years had been spent chasing daydreams of honour. As I grew, I knew I was going to join the army and follow the heroes of my youth. Gwador and I signed up together, but then something had changed. I found out the difference between fighting for your life with swords made to kill and a merciless enemy, and fighting for glory with tree branches and a good friend. Orcs don't apologise when they kill you.
Sometimes I wish I had Gwador's optimism. He still sees war as a game. This is where our opinions differ. This is why he is singing songs of bravery while I stand on the eastern walls looking toward the black gate where the fate of men will truly be decided.
The news beat me home. When I opened the door my mother was in tears. She came up to me and hugged me like I was already dead. She then looked at my father and ran upstairs. I sat at the table facing him. For a while we said nothing. Mother's sobs echoed in my ears. Sometimes I think life is easier for women. They are not expected to fight, not expected to die, and when they are afraid they can cry and let it all out.
"You heard the news." I said. My voice seemed muted against the silence.
"Yes," said my father reluctantly. He was about to say something else, but thought better of it and went back to staring at the carved wooden table.
"Did you know the king will soon return?" I said, trying to make conversation. My father grunted, "Kings...stewards...it's all the same for me. What's the difference between the person in charge and his representative?"
"One of them is only there until the other comes back?" I said, feeling a curious burst of loyalty for the new king.
"What does that matter to us? All that I can see is that one had wisdom enough to know we were safer here, protected behind the city walls while the other is so reckless in his newfound superiority that he thinks he can defeat Mordor and is willing to gamble with the lives..." he trailed off, obviously having said more than he meant to. When the rumour came that we may soon have a king once more, most people were, quite naturally, excited. For a moment I was a child again, playing Sauron and Isildur with Gwador. Kings had a certain romantic image that made the idea of a steward dusty by comparison. Kings rode at the head of their armies, spurring their people to victory, while all stewards did was sit in their halls. But the more I thought about it the less I wanted a king. My father had been right- though the Lord Denethor had had his strange moments, he had been a genuinely good leader, and though many now scorned his memory in the face of a king, he had known Mordor was unassailable. And so like a vulture he had plotted his strategy, while keeping his strength safe behind the walls. And when Mordor finally came, we defeated it. The steward had sat in his hall. Now it was the king's hall, and when the king wanted to ride to battle who was going to stop him?
When I woke next morning I looked out of the window to watch the sunrise. I could not see the sun. All I could see were black clouds, and beneath them dark mountains. Mordor. Suddenly I remembered that today was the day. In less than an hour I would be on the road, marching towards that forbidding land with a king I did not love for a cause I did not understand. I remembered the last time Mordor had been thus assailed-the battle of the Last Alliance. I tried to recall the feelings of wonder I had had for it in my youth, but today the child had fled. I was on my own.
My mother and father had awoken specially to see me off. Father had got out his old sword. Normally a father would pass his sword on his death. He presented it to me without a word, as if he feared he might say too much. I understood the gesture. He did not expect to see me again after I walked out of the door, did not think I would live to see him die. It was the most I could do to smile thankfully. I gave my mother a hug. She looked so worried that I wanted to comfort her before I left. I wanted to promise her I would come home, but I couldn't.
You shouldn't make promises you can't keep.
THE END
Well wasn't that fun. If you've time I appreciate criticism and reviews, though I know how impossible they are to write. Obviously, flames are not appreciated. If my fic has in anyway irritated you, I suggest printing a copy and either shredding it into small pieces and flushing it down the loo, or screwing it into a small ball and throwing it at things. Kindly do this before taking your anger out on me!