A/N: These drabbles were terrible when I first wrote them - I hope a slight improvement has been made!


I slump to the ground, my head bowed, an ungraceful position for a herald, but justly fitting for the herald of a dead king, covered in blood and filth.
It almost feels like failure, for truly, what have we won? Elendil's Son now bears the One, against our will, yet we could not halt him, we are as powerless against his will as we were in opposition to Sauron, with our leaders lost.
As I watched my King, my friend, burn in the Evil One's grasp, I would have thrown myself in his place, but to Sauron I was worthless, a worm on the ground to be crushed on a whim, without the slightest thought.
I shall not fight again; war has taken from me all the things I held most dear. I never shall lift a sword again in anger, this I swear upon the Valar.
I expected victory this day to be somewhat different, for in victory there is such joy. And there is no joy at this time.