War, he thought, was not unlike a courtship. First, the flash of recognition, of decision, of blood thrumming in fingertips and buzzing in the ears. How no earthly beauty could rival the sight before your eyes, be it maiden or glittering cuirass and brilliant pennant; golden mane and cervine features or brave men and songs of bravado; the strength that comes with pursuing a worthy purpose.
After: the long lull, the inevitable parting, the wait. The agony of marching through weary and endless days where the very measure of the hours revolved around what and where and with whom you were not.
Then, on the heels of thunder, arose the close and desperate clash, the rise of blood and heat and doubt and glory all distilled to the edge of your sword, the focus of your eye, the nearness of the one with whom you struggled. This final, crushing culmination, the one where every muscle in your body seized, desire barely usurping pain and utter exhaustion, and the thought flittering through your mind, light as gossamer and weighted as the dead, that this is how you would die.
He would tell her that when it was over, he decided. She would laugh.
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.