Man child

Howneranerable they were. No matter how hard they fought and tried, in the end they could not win. It hardly mattered if they prevailed in this battle, for death would come for all of them. The sea would not call them. Just death.

The Elf looked at the young man who was staring with wide eyes at the calm preparations of the elven archers. Seasoned warriors, each and everyone of them. They knew how to take care of their weapons, how to focus on what truly mattered. It was rather obvious most of the humans had never even held a sword before, let alone they had any idea about the sheer chaos and panic of battle. Because that was the biggest problem. Learning how to handle a weapon was the easy part. It just took a capable instructor and plain hard work. One didn’t have to be an elf to master a sword or even a bow. Although, admittedly, I did help greatly if one was. No, it was going against the instinct of any living creature to hide or run away when all of the enemy seemed to focus on one goal only: to kill that one lonely soldier. It was understandable, forgivable even, to stay frozen as if lack of any movement would make the dark forces disappear. But it could not be. Battles were won by doing what one had practiced over and over again, because one did ones job.

The young man looked in his direction. The elf decided he had to adjust his wording. This was merely a boy. He was tall enough, but his frame still needed to be filled with the flesh and muscles that were so characteristic of his species. He looked not all that different from a young elf, if you came to think of it. Too tall, too thin and a bit ridiculous. This was not an unsightly creature, but still his hands were somewhat out of proportion and even without him moving a muscle it was easy to imagine his awkwardness had broken more than a few pieces of his mother’s best crockery.

His face had still many of the characteristics of the child. His big eyes, his round cheeks, the line of his jaw: it all send a clear message of innocence and need for protection. It had provided this man child with food and cloths and gentle touches.

It would be no use against the enemy. The elf never had such intimate dealing with either Orc or Uruk-hai, but something told him they would not even look at the child long enough to realise this was a creature not to be hurt. Even if they were capable of noticing the difference, they would not care. They would simply slay him and turn him to bloody rags without even acknowledging his existence.

The elf was certain his people back in Lothlorien would never even contemplate on using such young ones in battle. Not only was it a form of reckless cruelty that he could not truly envision, although he had little dealings with elf children. No, it was utter waste and foolishness. The untrained, terrified elflings would only be in the way and who could tell how many great warriors would be lost because they were brought into action far too early.

How unbelievably stupid and utterly desperate the defenders of Hornsburg must be.

The man child kept staring at him. He must have been unfamiliar with the sight of elves. His still somewhat round face was a touching, amusing mixture of wonderment, a flicker of hope that the elven archers would make the Orcs and Uruk-hai go away and a rather silly attempt of looking all manly and tough under his way too big helmet. If would be better if he was to be send to the women and small, or better said, even smaller children, but that would be the king’s decision and he was clearly not the king. And if this boy was anything like he had been on that age, he would try to stay with the fighters. Afraid as he might be, he simply lacked the bitter imagination and hard won experience of the adult man. Young humans and elf were not all that different when it came to the concept of mortality. They knew it existed, but it had nothing to do with them. Conversations with Aragorn on this subject had been most enlightening, the elf remembered fondly.

Thinking about the man the elf looked around, knowing very well Aragorn would spend the last moments before the attack with his lover. And they were not the only ones who sought comfort and strength from the touch of a fellow warrior. Several of the elven archers were physically close enough to be sharing soft, reassuring kisses. Nimble fingers travelled over faces wet with rain. Words of affection and encouragement were whispered into delicate ears. He himself wished his beloved could be with him, although he was grateful enough he didn’t have to witness the ugliness of what would most likely become a full scale slaughter.

The elf simply waited for whatever was going to happen, knowing the boy would not stop looking at him. It would be a grave lie pretending the faith of the humans was at the centre of his heart and thoughts. He knew his own dark side too well and the void between himself and the pitiful, imperfect creatures could not be filled or bridged, no matter how hard he was prepared to fight for their momentary survival. Still, the knowledge that the child would die within a few hours filled him with something very akin to sadness and pity. The boy might not be destined for great deeds, considering he already had all the characteristics of a farmer, but he had a sweet, somewhat attractive face and the Elf was convinced within a few years he would make someone of his people, be they man or woman, very happy.

The boy smiled coyly and licked his lips as if he was going to say something, but didn’t know how to approach someone so different from what he knew in the village. The Elf nodded some encouragement at him. The boy amused him and he saw no harm in exchanging a few words with the child.

“Are you…are all Elves…I mean….you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” The boy blurted his words like he was afraid someone could steal them from him before he had the chance to utter them.

The Elf had been called many things and most of them had been complimentary, but he could not recall ever been called a beautiful thing. It made him almost chuckle.

“Well, thank you for saying such friendly words.” His voice was almost drown out by the sudden, roaring thunder of thousand upon thousands of stamping, marching Orc and Uruk-Hai feet. It was time to take his position among the archers. One last time he looked at the boy before he focused on the task that lay ahead of him.

Such a pity.

The boy.

The child, for seeing the horrors of slaughters of such magnitude had not made a man out of the boy, it just made him wish he was at home, in his bed, with his mother humming a little song to help him go to sleep, finally dared to open his tightly shut eyes. He saw an Elf being carried in the arms of someone he recognised as one of the strangers who had helped to defend the Hornsburg.

The red cloak somehow looked more like blood than the actual wounds that had killed the beautiful archer.