Note: The italicized sections at the beginning and end of this chapter are taken from Return of the King, Minas Tirith.

Hallas, of Gondor

(Movie verse)

Here do I swear fealty and service to Gondor, and to the Lord and Steward of the realm, to speak and to be silent, to do and to let be, to come and to go, in need or plenty, in peace or war, in living or dying, from this hour henceforth, until my lord release me, or death take me, or the world end.  So say I, Hallas son of Falastur of Gondor.

I have not considered those words in many long years.  In the days of peace, I did not think on them, save only when my young son grew old enough to join me in the service of our Lord and Steward.  My son is dead now.  His head lies at my feet.  He is staring at me and I stare back.  In this moment, he looks strangely dissimilar to my son, except for his eyes.  If I look deep enough into them I can see the little boy who asks his father to scare away the nightmares, but I no longer have that power.  I have only a sword and the oath I swore to Gondor and its people.

Yet the sword is not enough and I feel old and weary as I slip among the destruction of Gondor’s children.  No amount of force can stop the black tide of orcs.  I cannot see with darkness in my eyes, I cannot live if I cannot protect the wives and daughters, I cannot fight with children at my feet.

I stumble away from the chaos over rubble and ruin.  I must gather what sanity I have left.

My body hits a wall and I push myself into a corner, where I can feel a charade of safety.

My eyes catch sight of a small figure, and I would think him a child, if not for the white tree upon his chest.  Who he is, I do not know, but I have heard that Lord Denethor has taken a small stranger from far off lands into his service.  The little one gazes into the chaos with eyes that see nothing, for they cannot comprehend that such madness could exist. 

A shadow falls across his face as the Nazgul and his steed sweep across the sky.  The blank eyes are suddenly alive again with foresight, memory and terror.  As if the evil that he carries with him is not enough, the Ringwraith lets forth his awful cry, full of joy at the chaos he brings.  A darkness falls across the eyes of every man and coldness enters my heart.  I stare up at the black pair, but the little one claps his hands over his ears and screams.  It is the scream of one who has met such darkness before and knows its power.  It is the scream of one who knows what evil is to come and I find it more terrifying than any horror I have yet seen during these long, dark days.

I wonder what hurt could have been done to one so small and young to give him such knowledge.  His eyes are drawn to the black pair even as he tries to stumble away from them.  He is held by some power he cannot escape and I hear some foul memory in his scream.

The Nazgul’s cry ends and with it, the small soldier’s.  He seems to me as one released from great pain; limp with relief, exhausted and blank once again.  He wavers and, for a moment, I fear that he will fall to the ground, but gathers his strength and stands firm.  In that moment, I catch a vision of fair green hills, soft breezes and a merry folk living their lives in peace and quiet, safe from the horrors in the east.

As he gazes around, I see in his eyes nothing of the vision, nothing remembered from his home.  I cannot decide which is worse: when he walks through the violence without comprehension, or when his eyes are alive with terror.  Will he ever be at peace again?

An orc crosses between us.  I cast him to the ground and slay him with sudden anger, as if by this single deed I can help one small son return to his family.  When I look up again, my little one is gone, but there are no undersized figures lying among the dead and no orcs enjoying their kill where he once was. 

I cast a hasty prayer to any gods who might yet have pity for us that Gondor’s smallest soldier may find his way safely home.  With new anger and purpose, I plunge back into the battle.

Here do I swear fealty and service to Gondor, and to the Lord and Steward of the realm, to speak and to be silent, to do and to let be, to come and to go, in need or plenty, in peace or war, in living or dying, from this hour henceforth, until my lord release me…

or death take me.