t h e . b i t t e r . d r e g s . o f . s t r i f e

The Bitter Dregs of Strife
[by victoria p.]

Rating: G

Summary: One citizen of Minas Tirith watches as Faramir and his men ride forth.

Notes: Thanks to Jen, Melissa-n-Pete, Dot, and Meg. Written for monkeycrackmary's Minas Tirith Drabble Challenge. 142 words (so I went a wee bit over).

Date: April 5, 2004

They say it is glorious, to die in war, in old tales sung of ageless Elves and the Men of Numenor.

She sees no glory in such waste.

She watches with bitterness as they ride past, eyes forward, backs straight, armor gleaming in the sun.

The city mourns her sons sent graciously off to die, with flowers 'neath their hooves. The land cries out for its king, long lost but never forgotten. She wonders if Lord Denethor weeps for his son, who will be dead ere day has ended, dead, and all his men with him.

She throws the flowers on the ground, angry at the waste, at the tears she cannot stop from falling, dashing at them with the back of her hand. She had hoped it would not come to this.

They ride out, and hope withers in her breast.

fin

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