I thought maybe I should do a story about Rohan, since i like povs and real-life situations. sooooo i now present you with... Horns of the North!
Disclaimer: not mine, only the bookbinder and his daughter.
Horns of the North
The first time I heard the Horns of Rohan was when I was young woman of seventeen, working as an apprentice bookbinder in my father's trade.
The first time I knew about the Horns of Rohan, I was only fifteen. Due to the numerous books that passed through our hands (for my mother was in another profession) by the time I was fifteen I had read quite a number of books already and my father would proudly say "There goes my little girl, always hungry for knowledge." Indeed, I was a voracious reader, and devoured every book that came through my hands I had possibly read more books than any other girl my age and possibly older in Minas Tirith.
Yet when one day the steward Lord Denethor's servant came in with a middle-sized, leather-bound book for repairing I felt that I must absolutely get my fingers on that book to read. I begged my father to let me mend it. At first he was reluctant to give a book of such value to me, saying I was young and inexperienced, (though he has often boasted about me being the best bookbinder he had ever apprenticed, having entered the trade at the age of eight) he relented soon after when I persisted.
That night, trembling in my excitement, I turned the ancient cover of the book and felt a thrill as I had never felt coursing through my body. On the first leave, yellowed with age, I saw the thick black strokes that spelt out: A brief history of Calenardhon or more commonly known as Rohan.
Quickly checking the book, I found that some of the pages were falling out and some were torn and creased badly. I set about repairing them and because I wanted to read the book so badly that I finished my job earlier that expected. I then gently lifted the book from my workbench and, as if it was some sacred object, I slowly brought it over to my reading desk. While I waited for the glue to set in I had to finish repairing another book and sweep the floor. My family split the chores between us and it fell to me to sweep this week. And this week business was not as good, so I had more time on my hands.
Once settled in my chair and with my blanket around me to keep out the cold, I plunged into the vast depths of the book. Some of the things I knew already, such as the oath of Cirion and Eorl, but one chapter totally intrigued me and had me reading deep into the night. It was about the Horns of Rohan. I had never come across them in the other books that I had read. And now, sitting on my hard chair at my desk reading for so long that my bum began to ache, I felt a shiver go down my spine, as if the Horns were really blowing. At that moment, I had just one wish: to hear the horns of Rohan. It was said that the Rohirrhim only sounded their horns when they were going to charge into battle.
The next day, I was very sorry to see that book go. I had wanted to read more about those horns, or just to read once more about those legendary horns, sounding their music and casting their spell over me that only by hearing them would I awake. I begged my father to let me go to Rohan. Every time he refused me. When I told him of my secret desire, he laughed and patted my head, like a child and told me it was only a fantasy and that it would gradually fade away. But it did not. Every morning I would wake up with the wild hope that, like a longed- for-one, I would hear the distant cry of those magical horns echoing across the land. To me they were the embodiment of honour and valor, and a scion of the glory of the days of old. So every morn I would wake up and wish, that one of these dawns I would awake and hear them resounding across the plains.
Yet, life continued. I went on being the simple bookbinder's daughter, finding joy in my work and in the books that read. I never forgot that passage from the book:
In the darkness of the night,
The city's walls are ringed with flame.
Desperate is the defense of the gleaming
White walls that winds so gently passed.
From the east the sun rises,
Hope is born, the darkness flees
At the majestic sounding of the horns of Rohan,
The music of which shall never cease.
I waited. Never once did I give up, for in my heart I knew that the horns were alive and real, not just some passing fantasy that arose from my seemingly childish (to my father!) mind. Yet it was also something that I could hold on to, that the Rohirrhim would come to our white walls in times of need. So I wished for a thing that could never be fulfilled.
how is it? Nice? Mediocre? Please review, it lights up my day :)