A/N: Just some thing that came to me. Please review. Sorry its short.
Disclaimer: Tolkien owns all of it, except the scene that Peter Jackson put in. I don't own any of it.
Dedication: To my friend Stacey. She actullly told me of this site.
Standing, looking over the plains of Rohan, I feel the most at
home. the wind blows, making my hair as wild as horses. The fields seem
so peaceful, as if they have not noticed what has happened there. Yet
here I am, aware of this, yet see the same scene as I did before I left.
From
this spot I once watched my cousin, held in Éomer's arms being brought
back. He was close to death, and I was afraid for him and what would
happen to Rohan when my Uncle dies, who would take over Rohan? I knew,
somewhere in my mind that it would be Éomer, but then the only name
that came to my mind was Grima. Wormtongue was the reason I had been
outside that day, as he usually was.
The next time I was in this
spot, Wormtongue had tried to seduce me again, and there was no one for
me to turn to. Éomer was in the dungeon and I was forbidden to see him.
This time, I saw three horses gliding across the plains. Upon one, was
as I thought at the time, the man who would save me from my life.
Aragorn came. I thought he was what I had been asking for all my life.
My Uncle thought the same. Gandalf saved him that day, and I was
grateful. That was not what dominated my thoughts, though.
Each
of these times, when I was out here, the wind rang in my ears.
Distracting me from the world I was in. From my pain of the hour, how I
thought of Aragorn. He would take me away, like the wind, from what I
was feeling, from my world.
The last time I stood upon this
spot, I saw the victorious heroes come back from Helm's Deep and
Isengard, where I had wished to help in the fight. I saw them ride
gallantly home, with tidings of those who had not survived the battle.
Life seemed to be good, thought brave men had died, they died
gallantly, Grima was gone, and we had won Helm's Deep.
Then
Gondor called for aid in their fight, the fight for all of Middle
Earth. It became time to ride for the camp at Dunharrow, where all
would meet before riding to Gondor. I went with the hope that I would
go to fight. For what they were fighting for was my cause ad well.
There, Aragorn turned me away. I wanted to die, to be raid of this
world of pain in which I was eternally bound.
I rode as
Dernhelm, with the brave hobbit Merry to the Pelennor. Merry saved me
on the fields, cause him, like me, to end our journey in the Houses of
Healing. Aragorn helped heal my body, another would heal the rest
though.
All the times before, I was alone. One figure in the
wind. This time I am not alone. The one who healed me, who rescued me
from my own darkness, is with me now. Faramir is with me, was are as
one. the wind is blowing as it did those times before, as the time on
the walls of Minas Tirith as well. Our hair mixes together, as if day
is mixing with night.
The plains are bathed in a golden light as
we watch Aragorn and his knights ride away. Soon they are out of our
sight and we watch the golden light play across the plains. A golden
sphere rests upon the hills, slowly gliding below them. I feel safe,
and for once, I am here not to escape, but just to be.