It had once been a field of grain, or just a patch of grassland, or perhaps a stretch of flowers. No one could tell. When he had last seen it nothing grew on it. It had felt cold to his cheek as he had fallen and seemed red to his eyes, instead of brown.
The fields had become a sea of scarred land, full of holes. The combined effect of men, horses, mumakil and weaponry had laid them open to the elements. The pores and fissures of its soil were filled with the dying breaths of men and beasts. And the air above it was heavy, pressing down upon an already ravaged surface.
Under the stampeding feet, the land had gone unnoticed. Not anymore. Not when the fields were empty, no longer swarming with warring troops. And those who returned, gladdened by the victory of an army but saddened by the loss of men of that army, found more cause for sorrow at the sight of the fields that once held orchards and tilth.
They tended to the fields as they tended to the stonework of the city. The gates were re-built, and breached walls were put together again. And the fields were no longer bare. They stretched green and yellow and white and many other colours.
When he returned to that spot, it was still red to his eyes - a sea of tall, red flowers on the riverbank, dancing with the summer breeze. When he knelt down and touched the ground, it felt not cold, but cool.
He tried to think of what had gone through his mind when he fell to the cold, lifeless earth. But he was unable to think or to ponder over what had occurred. His musings were distracted by the shrill laughter of the children running through the field of red flowers.
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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.