Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story nor am I trying to make a profit from this story. Characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. The poem in italics belongs to the makers of “The Grey”.
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Once more into the fray;

Here before the Black Gates I stand, with less than six thousand strong behind me. A number that pales before the great mass of orcs and other foul creatures that pours out from the Black Gates.

We can only hope that two small hobbits are in Mordor somewhere, seeking to destroy the Ring. The likelihood of the destruction of Sauron and our victory seems impossible, but I hold onto that slim hope. I always have.

My whole life, no matter how dark it seemed, I hung onto hope. Now I despair, wondering if it was all for vain. Wondering if I am leading six thousand men to their imminent death.

Here we stand, facing our doom.

Into the last good fight I’ll ever know.

But I cannot despair. I am surrounded by my friends and fellow kinsmen. They have forsaken all and followed me here, in the name of freedom. They all seek and hope for the same things I do. They will be with me to the end.

I think of Arwen, and our last encounter in Lothlórien. I treasure the memory in my heart, for I will never see her again. She has sailed for the Undying Lands, with the rest of her people. Even if she stayed in Middle-Earth, and victory was achieved, the battle could still go ill for me.

Still continuously orcs march around us, sneers and mockery on their faces.

We will fight to our deaths, for the chance of freedom from this oppression. No matter the cost.

Live and die on this day;

I look upwards, toward the tower of Barad-dûr and ultimately, the Eye. Then I turn around to face my friends. All look scared, but they look on me with trust. With loyalty. But this is not about me. It is about Middle-Earth.

I smile, albeit sadly. “For Frodo,” I say.

I charge toward the horde of foul creatures. I am aware of nothing but Andúril and my enemies, and I swing my sword like I have done a thousand times. It makes contact with an orc’s head, and I am caught up once more into the midst of battle.

Vaguely I am aware of others now joining me, fighting against Sauron’s force.

I am comforted, if only briefly, by the fact that I do not fight alone.

I will not die alone, or in vain.

For Frodo. For Middle-Earth.

Live and die on this day.