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Looking back, Edhener could rememeber little of what followed after they had entered the cottage. He only had blurred visions, and he could not tell if the order in which he recalled them was the true one. He remember bursting into the cottage with the others, with his heart beating loudly in his chest... He remembered being attacked, and then a powerful wrath took hold of him, and he felt his body burning with excitement... He rememered moving with a speed that he had never felt himself capable of...He remembered singing and shouting, yet his voice had become unrecognisable, harsh and wrathful.
And then, it was over, just as suddenly as it started. He was leaning on the wall, with his sword hanging limply from his hand, breathing hard. He looked at his arm, and saw that it was bleeding; and, as his head became clearer and the sense of exhilaration was starting to melt, he felt the pain stab through his wound.
"So it is over,"he said looking around him,"or at least it is for me."
He looked at the two dead men that lay at his feet, trying not to think that maybe he had once talked to them, or that they might have fought by his side in a time when powers too dark for their comprehending made good and evil unite in the common goal of defending their country. He had slain many orcs at Pelennor, and not once had he felt guilty about it, but now, after killing his own kin, his own countrymen, he found the thought too hard to bear.
"No matter how this battle ends,"he mused,"for me it is over. I know that, whatever happens next, I can never turn back to being young Edhener, skilled warrior of the Mark. In a way, he has died in this battle."
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