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Anhelm watched numbly as a Haradrim fell in front of him. All around him was chaos and warfare and blood, and his beautiful town was in the middle of it. What had gone wrong?
He looked around himself, his sword hanging loosely in one hand, a trickle of blood running from his forehead to his chin. The stench of death and fear hit his nose like a boulder, and he almost staggered from it. Out of his peripheral vision he saw another Haradrim coming at him, and he raised his sword. Half-heartedly he fought the enemy, winning with a lucky stroke and the good fortune of being naturally the better fighter. The 'warrior' had been little more than a boy. Anhelm wondered fleetingly how many of the Poros' settlement's boys were dying.
"Anhelm!" The young captain looked over, his sword at the ready, relaxing when he saw Astalder. "We must retreat. We must pull out of the settlement!"
"Stop saying that," Anhelm said, his voice cracking. He was ashamed of it. He was in no position to let himself fall to pieces. But how could Astalder say they had to pull out? They could not! Especially not now. His lovely city, his poor settlement, how could he abandon it? It was not what his father would have wanted.
His father...Anhelm snapped back into the vivid, red-tinted reality of war and let out a cry, running at a small group of Haradrim. Astalder called after him, but Anhelm did not respond. He cut down the Haradrim and turned around.
"We will not abandon the settlement!" he cried, laughing hysterically. He waved his sword in the air. "We will fight here until there is no one left standing to fight against! Or we will stand here until there is nothing left standing to fight for. This settlement was built with the sweat and blood of Gondorian men, and it will be defended by the same! We--"
Anhelm stopped abruptly, and looked down at his side. A sword jutted out of it, gleaming red in the sun, mocking him. He looked up at Astalder, confused. The world swam before his eyes. He watched Astalder as the man ran at him, killing Anhelm's assailant, but it was as though he was watching from a very far distance. He put his hands behind him, gripping the hilt of the sword. He pulled it out and fell to the ground.
"Captain!" Astalder shouted, though it sounded fuzzy and indistinct to Anhelm. Anhelm gripped at Astalder's sleeve.
"Don't let my city fall," Anhelm said thickly, coughing. "If I die, you are in charge--do not let my city fall!"
Astalder inspected the wound quickly. "You will not die, Captain, but we must--"
"We cannot retreat!" Anhelm cried. "We cannot retreat!"
"We must--"
But Anhelm was not listening. They would not retreat. If he was to die, it would be here...
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