16. How They Brought the Good News from Rohan…
From Harrowdale we rode with news to raise hope. Through long hours we rode unstopping, and if day turned to night and night turned to day, we remained unaware for all around was a sea of grey. Past Calenhad, Erelas, Nardol and Amon Din we rode, their flames shrouded from sight by the very air we breathe in. This is not the air of Gondor, it is the air of the Shadow. Heavy it weighs as it chokes all that breathe it. The stones of the Rammas cannot keep it out. The Gates of the city cannot withstand it.
But the news we bring may set alight the beacon of hope in the hearts of our men. Hope to conquer the despair this air brings. We ride on, faster still.
I clutch it in my hand, this piece of wood that will give my countrymen courage, and the knowledge that they are not alone in what they face.
They are not alone, not forgotten.
We near the out-walls and my eyes thirst for the sight of the White Tower.
We are too late.
The stones of the Rammas have not withstood the onslaught. I cannot see the White Tower. All I see is darkness.
We are too late.
Dread and despair lie over my city, and I clutch in my hand succour for it.
But we are too late.
The veil before my eyes turns red as the arrow I hold. My companion speaks and in his voice I hear the anger and sorrow that I know will pour out of my throat should I lend voice to the thoughts that swirl in my head. We can do naught. Not pour through the enemy's host and hope to take the news to those who await it. Behind us Rohan will come.
So we turn around. There is naught we can do but turn around and join our allies.
****
--Acacea
My discussion is at - acacea-stories
But the news we bring may set alight the beacon of hope in the hearts of our men. Hope to conquer the despair this air brings. We ride on, faster still.
I clutch it in my hand, this piece of wood that will give my countrymen courage, and the knowledge that they are not alone in what they face.
They are not alone, not forgotten.
We near the out-walls and my eyes thirst for the sight of the White Tower.
We are too late.
The stones of the Rammas have not withstood the onslaught. I cannot see the White Tower. All I see is darkness.
We are too late.
Dread and despair lie over my city, and I clutch in my hand succour for it.
But we are too late.
The veil before my eyes turns red as the arrow I hold. My companion speaks and in his voice I hear the anger and sorrow that I know will pour out of my throat should I lend voice to the thoughts that swirl in my head. We can do naught. Not pour through the enemy's host and hope to take the news to those who await it. Behind us Rohan will come.
So we turn around. There is naught we can do but turn around and join our allies.
****
--Acacea
My discussion is at - acacea-stories
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.
