A/N: Similar idea to 'Thoughts of a Ringwraith'. Written slightly
differently, I hope you enjoy!
'Why do these black horses endure such riders? All other animals are terrified when they draw near, even the elf-horse of Glorfindel. The dogs howl and the geese scream at them.'
'Because they are born and bred to the service of the Dark Lord in Mordor. Not all his servants and chattels are wraiths!'
The Fellowship of the Ring: book 2, chapter 1; Many Meetings.
***
Running, running, always moving. Never any rest and forever frightened. My life has never been any different. From foal to stallion I have born my master well. But now I am forsaken and I know not to what end.
My memories are permeated by the darkness. While master is away, light flickers in and I try to catch hold. But the light is afraid of me, like everything else.
I have trotted, cantered, galloped from one end of these lands to the other. Always in a rush and hurry, never stopping longer than it takes for me to eat.
There are others like me, eight more. All black and bound in armour. Not many have been as close to them as I. Saliva froths out of their mouths and sweat is constantly running down their legs, mingled with the dried blood of their victims. I can see in their round, bulging, frightened eyes, that I am the same.
I watch other lives as they fly by. They end so quickly and so easily. But I envy them. They feel things I could never feel they will do things I can't even dream of doing and they have not seen the things that I have.
The village ponies rushing before me as I run them and their riders down. Soon they become just another stain on my hooves. The memories flood my mind, I have killed, maimed and tortured and as I lie here, I understand their pain and wish that I had not.
But death, that can not be for me. I do not suffer from it, surely. I only inflict it. I don't understand, where is my master, where is the darkness that has never left me? I'm alone, never before, but I am now. My strength is gone, my master is not here. I was invincible, I had protection, and I carried fear itself upon my back.
But nature, nature does not fear. It does not like and it destroys. It washed my master from my back and my company from my side and it washed me to, to, I am unsure.
The horse opened its eye and stared up into the sky. Its body was utterly broken and its death was hanging near. Blood stained the ground a deep red, the horse was, for once, covered in its own blood. There was not a trace of the dirt and grime and other things that had once matted the black hair.
Naked, I am naked. And I am cold.
A feeble shiver ran through the horse's body, a last attempt to stay alive. As a reminder to what was just around the corner, a body of one of its comrades floated past on the quick-moving flow, still partially attached to its armour it was slow moving as the metal dragged along the bed of the river. Its unseeing eyes were turned toward the sky and its mouth was open in a silent whimper of pain.
Dead? Not dead. He can't be dead. He is as I am, we do not wither and perish, we bear our masters and we prevail over all, that is the way of it. We cannot die.
The horse snickered softly calling to others. It was heard only by a small sparrow, searching for seeds in the undergrowth to fatten it up for the long winter. The horse's eyes fixed on it and it watched while the little bird flitted around.
The tiny thing, how can it hope to survive? Why does it try?
Another bird joined it, and together they searched, accepting each other's presence.
Life.
The last thought left the horse's head and flitted out of existence as its own life and memories faded away.
Number 14: ? - 20th October 3018 (TA)
'Why do these black horses endure such riders? All other animals are terrified when they draw near, even the elf-horse of Glorfindel. The dogs howl and the geese scream at them.'
'Because they are born and bred to the service of the Dark Lord in Mordor. Not all his servants and chattels are wraiths!'
The Fellowship of the Ring: book 2, chapter 1; Many Meetings.
***
Running, running, always moving. Never any rest and forever frightened. My life has never been any different. From foal to stallion I have born my master well. But now I am forsaken and I know not to what end.
My memories are permeated by the darkness. While master is away, light flickers in and I try to catch hold. But the light is afraid of me, like everything else.
I have trotted, cantered, galloped from one end of these lands to the other. Always in a rush and hurry, never stopping longer than it takes for me to eat.
There are others like me, eight more. All black and bound in armour. Not many have been as close to them as I. Saliva froths out of their mouths and sweat is constantly running down their legs, mingled with the dried blood of their victims. I can see in their round, bulging, frightened eyes, that I am the same.
I watch other lives as they fly by. They end so quickly and so easily. But I envy them. They feel things I could never feel they will do things I can't even dream of doing and they have not seen the things that I have.
The village ponies rushing before me as I run them and their riders down. Soon they become just another stain on my hooves. The memories flood my mind, I have killed, maimed and tortured and as I lie here, I understand their pain and wish that I had not.
But death, that can not be for me. I do not suffer from it, surely. I only inflict it. I don't understand, where is my master, where is the darkness that has never left me? I'm alone, never before, but I am now. My strength is gone, my master is not here. I was invincible, I had protection, and I carried fear itself upon my back.
But nature, nature does not fear. It does not like and it destroys. It washed my master from my back and my company from my side and it washed me to, to, I am unsure.
The horse opened its eye and stared up into the sky. Its body was utterly broken and its death was hanging near. Blood stained the ground a deep red, the horse was, for once, covered in its own blood. There was not a trace of the dirt and grime and other things that had once matted the black hair.
Naked, I am naked. And I am cold.
A feeble shiver ran through the horse's body, a last attempt to stay alive. As a reminder to what was just around the corner, a body of one of its comrades floated past on the quick-moving flow, still partially attached to its armour it was slow moving as the metal dragged along the bed of the river. Its unseeing eyes were turned toward the sky and its mouth was open in a silent whimper of pain.
Dead? Not dead. He can't be dead. He is as I am, we do not wither and perish, we bear our masters and we prevail over all, that is the way of it. We cannot die.
The horse snickered softly calling to others. It was heard only by a small sparrow, searching for seeds in the undergrowth to fatten it up for the long winter. The horse's eyes fixed on it and it watched while the little bird flitted around.
The tiny thing, how can it hope to survive? Why does it try?
Another bird joined it, and together they searched, accepting each other's presence.
Life.
The last thought left the horse's head and flitted out of existence as its own life and memories faded away.
Number 14: ? - 20th October 3018 (TA)