Blessed Silence
(AN: This was an idea I had floating in my head for a while but never got to writing. So here goes.)
Minas Tirith
Despair comes hand in hand with a red sun. Both shall I see tomorrow. That is, if I live.
Battle is a terrible thing. Young men fantasize of being great heroes of war, but, behold, I know it is not so. The noise and smell are proof enough.
Noise. Oh, the noise is terrible. The crashing of metal, the booming of falling towers, the horrible shriek of the Ringwraith, the cry of the dying man as a sword is plunged through him...
Smell. There is smoke in the air, clouding my sight. The smell is overpowering. The rancid scent of bloodshed fills my nose with agony...
I pull back my bow to prepare to shoot once more. Burning arrows, the flames lashing out like wild beasts, fly by my head, taking down the fellow warrior beside me.
The single thought that runs through my mind worries my inner core. How can we possibly defeat such a terrible foe? They come in impending waves. Like a flood upon the land, they destroy all in their path.
Such vile creatures, Orcs are. They are wicked beasts serving the essence of evil: Sauron.
Out of the waves of Orcs, I see a dreadful thing emerge. A battering ram. They are attempting to take down the door. The white wizard, his clothes blazing snow in the sun, orders us to the door. We run.
I reach the great wooden doors along with my other companions. I know before we get there that it will not be enough. They will come through.
The first blow comes. I cringe as sweat stains my brow, the blood of others on my armor. The door still holds.
The second blow comes. Wood splinters from above, raining a sharp flurry of death against us. Some falter. The door still holds.
I know before the third blow that it is over. The Orcs will come through on the next blow. And I will be dead.
I brace myself for my final stand. I know that I will not have a legacy. I know that I will not be a legend. But if this is the greatest feat I can do for Gondor, my family, and my friends, than I shall hold the door one last time.
Despair and a red sun go hand in hand. I shall never see the sun again.
The third blow comes.
I feel my body fly back, hitting the ground with a sickening crunch. Through my fading vision, I see my friends dying beside me.
I see a gruesome face of evil, the head of the battering ram. Fire burns in its mouth, promising the enemy victory.
But then, what is that?
A white light shines before me.
The white wizard lives. My comrades on the wall above live. Perhaps, just perhaps, there is hope in this dark war.
Hope.
It lies with a hobbit.
I hear the war cry of the Orcs. The smell of blood and smoke fades away, as does the deafening noise...
All I see is the white light.
And with it comes Blessed Silence.
(REVIEW! NO FLAMES!)
(AN: This was an idea I had floating in my head for a while but never got to writing. So here goes.)
Minas Tirith
Despair comes hand in hand with a red sun. Both shall I see tomorrow. That is, if I live.
Battle is a terrible thing. Young men fantasize of being great heroes of war, but, behold, I know it is not so. The noise and smell are proof enough.
Noise. Oh, the noise is terrible. The crashing of metal, the booming of falling towers, the horrible shriek of the Ringwraith, the cry of the dying man as a sword is plunged through him...
Smell. There is smoke in the air, clouding my sight. The smell is overpowering. The rancid scent of bloodshed fills my nose with agony...
I pull back my bow to prepare to shoot once more. Burning arrows, the flames lashing out like wild beasts, fly by my head, taking down the fellow warrior beside me.
The single thought that runs through my mind worries my inner core. How can we possibly defeat such a terrible foe? They come in impending waves. Like a flood upon the land, they destroy all in their path.
Such vile creatures, Orcs are. They are wicked beasts serving the essence of evil: Sauron.
Out of the waves of Orcs, I see a dreadful thing emerge. A battering ram. They are attempting to take down the door. The white wizard, his clothes blazing snow in the sun, orders us to the door. We run.
I reach the great wooden doors along with my other companions. I know before we get there that it will not be enough. They will come through.
The first blow comes. I cringe as sweat stains my brow, the blood of others on my armor. The door still holds.
The second blow comes. Wood splinters from above, raining a sharp flurry of death against us. Some falter. The door still holds.
I know before the third blow that it is over. The Orcs will come through on the next blow. And I will be dead.
I brace myself for my final stand. I know that I will not have a legacy. I know that I will not be a legend. But if this is the greatest feat I can do for Gondor, my family, and my friends, than I shall hold the door one last time.
Despair and a red sun go hand in hand. I shall never see the sun again.
The third blow comes.
I feel my body fly back, hitting the ground with a sickening crunch. Through my fading vision, I see my friends dying beside me.
I see a gruesome face of evil, the head of the battering ram. Fire burns in its mouth, promising the enemy victory.
But then, what is that?
A white light shines before me.
The white wizard lives. My comrades on the wall above live. Perhaps, just perhaps, there is hope in this dark war.
Hope.
It lies with a hobbit.
I hear the war cry of the Orcs. The smell of blood and smoke fades away, as does the deafening noise...
All I see is the white light.
And with it comes Blessed Silence.
(REVIEW! NO FLAMES!)