A/N Written for monkeycrackmary's Live Journal, the Minas Tirith drabble challenge.
What did the people on the streets think when they watched Faramir and his soldiers ride out to Osgiliath?
Not exactly a drabble because it has too many words. :)
Published: April 5th, 2004
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"We are sent back."
That was all he had said. And he didn't want to look at her. She knew why.
Despair.
He was one of the few who had fought twice in Osgiliath. The last time they barely escaped. Only because Mithrandir came to their aid, otherwise he wouldn't stand here today and avoiding her eyes.
The few hours which remained they were silent. There was no need for words. She didn't want to cry and he didn't want to show her his fear. They tried to be strong.
Sooner than they wanted he was called to go back to the barracks and prepare for battle. He had held her. Just holding her. She had wanted to say something to him but couldn't find words. He had smiled when he left her and she had smiled back.
Before the soldiers and their horses would leave the city and following their Captain into a fool's errand - though no one dared to say that aloud - those who were left behind could only wait and hope. She had picked some flowers from the pots and had tied them together. She wanted to give them to him as a little something of home. To remind him of the City. Something beautiful in a world of peril and despair.
When the horses and their riders appeared she wanted to give him the flowers. But he rode too far away. She offered them to another soldier who nodded at her wordless words. She couldn't look at him. She didn't want him to see the tears which she couldn't cry.
The gates closed. They were gone. All what was left were the dying flowers on the street.
What did the people on the streets think when they watched Faramir and his soldiers ride out to Osgiliath?
Not exactly a drabble because it has too many words. :)
Published: April 5th, 2004
---------------------------------------------------
"We are sent back."
That was all he had said. And he didn't want to look at her. She knew why.
Despair.
He was one of the few who had fought twice in Osgiliath. The last time they barely escaped. Only because Mithrandir came to their aid, otherwise he wouldn't stand here today and avoiding her eyes.
The few hours which remained they were silent. There was no need for words. She didn't want to cry and he didn't want to show her his fear. They tried to be strong.
Sooner than they wanted he was called to go back to the barracks and prepare for battle. He had held her. Just holding her. She had wanted to say something to him but couldn't find words. He had smiled when he left her and she had smiled back.
Before the soldiers and their horses would leave the city and following their Captain into a fool's errand - though no one dared to say that aloud - those who were left behind could only wait and hope. She had picked some flowers from the pots and had tied them together. She wanted to give them to him as a little something of home. To remind him of the City. Something beautiful in a world of peril and despair.
When the horses and their riders appeared she wanted to give him the flowers. But he rode too far away. She offered them to another soldier who nodded at her wordless words. She couldn't look at him. She didn't want him to see the tears which she couldn't cry.
The gates closed. They were gone. All what was left were the dying flowers on the street.