I am sick with terror, even as I try to put on a brave face. Shame overwhelms me—I come of a people who laugh in the face of fear. I try to steel myself against it, to no avail. Not so long ago, I only played at being a warrior, but now I carry my father’s sword.
The white horse on green flies proudly in the foul wind. It gives me some comfort to see it there above me. I’d like to think that if I die here today, my spirit will return to those sun-lit fields I love.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.