1. The Aftermath
I have heard the stories- everyone has.
They were the few, the proud, the light against the dark...
The King places his stone reverently upon the cairn, and no-one says a word- they never do.
He turns his back and walks away.
Climbs up onto his horse- with more difficulty with every year that passes- and rides away.
A trumpeter plays a single, mournful salute as the sun goes down.
No-one says a word- they never do.
The ceremony over, the crowd disperses.
I linger, alone and lonely.
My father fought on the Pelennor, you know.
He came back, too.
The wind whispers through the poppies as I stare at the cairn.
They said this was the final battle.
They said this was the war to end all wars.
Try telling my father that.
He was no hero; he was but one in ten thousand.
He was just doing what he was told.
No-one cared when his nightmares woke him- it was just his imagination.
We won.
No one cared when he tossed and turned and woke my mother- it was just his imagination .
We won.
No-one cared when his screams woke our entire house- it was just his imagination.
A tear runs down my face and I brush it savagely away.
No-one cares.
The poppies turn the fog as red as blood, and I shudder despite myself.
We won.
Didn't we?
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.
