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Orual · 03-24-2004, 03:49 PM

Anhelm was at his desk, sorting papers, sifting through reports, trying to find something to do. But he had already been through all of the papers; every one of them was familiar. If asked, he could probably recite them all from memory. He had to admit it: he was trying to distract himself.

I should be out there. He couldn't get the thought out of his head. What was he doing here, in his cushy office, surrounded by four solid, protective walls, while his men were on the front lines? Granted, it had been a scouting mission, but somehow he had a feeling that it wouldn't end as a scouting mission. There was too much danger for there to be no trouble. He knew that. He had known it when he sent his men out, but he had done it anyway. Granted, they were soldiers. They were trained. They knew coming in that this was a dangerous post. But that didn't give him a free pass to send them out into life-threatening situations without giving it enough thought...

Snap.

Suddenly he was no longer in his office.

He looked around himself and saw that he was in the midst of a battle. He saw everything, but it was dull, unfocused. The towers...the towers were burning. He saw his men around him. He called out to them, and some of them seemed to hear, but they did not turn. They only startled, like men hearing a ghost, denying its existance, and moving on. His heart cried out for him to draw his sword, but he knew, in some inexplicable way, that he could do nothing. Or, rather, that he was not allowed to do anything. That somehow, if he used his sword in this battle, where he was, that it would do more harm than good: for him, for his men, for everyone.

He walked around in a daze, watching the battle rage around him, watching his men fall, watching them fell Haradrim soldiers. There was nothing to rejoice about. All Anhelm could see was suffering. He projected his own suffering in the holes where there was none, until he was smothered by it. Finally he saw Khalad, and ran up to him. Khalad did not turn, but shuddered a little, as though a chill breeze had enveloped him. Anhelm felt tears in his eyes--the tears that he had been taught to hide--and he whispered to his soldier, "For Gondor."

That was all that was allowed him.

Snap.

His office seemed intolerably hot, and everything seemed so sharp. The rough wood of the underside of his desk was almost painful to touch, and every lungful of air he inhaled stung his chest. He felt the tears that still hung in his eyes, and gave in to them. He collapsed on his desk, weeping for his men.

03-24-2004, 03:49 PM	#44
Orual Speaker of the Dead Join Date: Oct 2002 Location: Superbia Posts: 868	Anhelm Anhelm was at his desk, sorting papers, sifting through reports, trying to find something to do. But he had already been through all of the papers; every one of them was familiar. If asked, he could probably recite them all from memory. He had to admit it: he was trying to distract himself. I should be out there. He couldn't get the thought out of his head. What was he doing here, in his cushy office, surrounded by four solid, protective walls, while his men were on the front lines? Granted, it had been a scouting mission, but somehow he had a feeling that it wouldn't end as a scouting mission. There was too much danger for there to be no trouble. He knew that. He had known it when he sent his men out, but he had done it anyway. Granted, they were soldiers. They were trained. They knew coming in that this was a dangerous post. But that didn't give him a free pass to send them out into life-threatening situations without giving it enough thought... Snap. Suddenly he was no longer in his office. He looked around himself and saw that he was in the midst of a battle. He saw everything, but it was dull, unfocused. The towers...the towers were burning. He saw his men around him. He called out to them, and some of them seemed to hear, but they did not turn. They only startled, like men hearing a ghost, denying its existance, and moving on. His heart cried out for him to draw his sword, but he knew, in some inexplicable way, that he could do nothing. Or, rather, that he was not allowed to do anything. That somehow, if he used his sword in this battle, where he was, that it would do more harm than good: for him, for his men, for everyone. He walked around in a daze, watching the battle rage around him, watching his men fall, watching them fell Haradrim soldiers. There was nothing to rejoice about. All Anhelm could see was suffering. He projected his own suffering in the holes where there was none, until he was smothered by it. Finally he saw Khalad, and ran up to him. Khalad did not turn, but shuddered a little, as though a chill breeze had enveloped him. Anhelm felt tears in his eyes--the tears that he had been taught to hide--and he whispered to his soldier, "For Gondor." That was all that was allowed him. Snap. His office seemed intolerably hot, and everything seemed so sharp. The rough wood of the underside of his desk was almost painful to touch, and every lungful of air he inhaled stung his chest. He felt the tears that still hung in his eyes, and gave in to them. He collapsed on his desk, weeping for his men.