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ase, sharpest_rose is collecting 100 drabbles representing the thoughts of the people watching the men ride out from Minas Tirith. Go participate. I'm going to give it a shot sometime today I'm sure. :)This makes me wonder, though. How many rode out with Faramir? Why not write drabbles about THEM? At any point during that day -- saddling up, riding out, charging, dying. Would you guys be up to that idea? I dare you. Let's call it the Last Ride challenge. Who were those brave doomed boys, be they soldiers of Gondor or rangers of Ithilien? Bring it.
EDIT: Doesn't have to be an exact drabble. I know I'm usually a stickler for that, but in this case anything would be welcome.
April 5 2004, 10:18:07 UTC 8 years ago
I'd love to name a rockband monkeycrackmary :)
April 5 2004, 10:52:28 UTC 8 years ago
April 5 2004, 10:43:17 UTC 8 years ago
April 5 2004, 10:52:03 UTC 8 years ago
April 5 2004, 11:08:51 UTC 8 years ago
THEY DID NOT THEY DUMPED THEIR STUPID MASTERS AND RAN THE OTHER WAY LIKE SMART ANIMALS SHOULD DO.
;_; Trying to shatter my joy ...
April 5 2004, 11:10:38 UTC 8 years ago
Those orcs ate well on the eve of the battle.
8 years ago
8 years ago
April 5 2004, 11:17:04 UTC 8 years ago
Not precisely a drabble
125 words. Oops.Sunset
I rub my horse down before putting the saddle back on. She turns her head, swishes her tail. It must be a trick of the light, but I see farewell in her eyes. Does she know something that I do not?
The air is thick with the sounds of sobbing. Mourning for those who have been lost and those who will be after this ride. I know now why my horse grieves. We will not survive this ride. Our Steward is a mad fool. Yet somehow, seeing the undimmed light in my Captain’s eyes, I do not mind. If this is to be my last ride, I will die by his side. I give my horse one last brush before mounting to meet my fate.
April 5 2004, 11:53:16 UTC 8 years ago
He pauses. It’s a little thing, a momentary halting of the world, his hands resting on the girth-straps. Captain Faramir had called his men together – what was left of them, anyway – and announced in a flat, dead voice his intention to re-take the ruined city. It was a suicide mission, and every man there knew it, just as they knew by their Captain’s pale face that it was not his plan, not his choice, and so he could not save them.
The mare bumps his arm, whickering softly. He leans his head against the worn saddle-leather, but he can’t pause the world. His Captain would, if he could, to save them this fate, but outside the stable with its sweet smell of hay and beast, the war still advances. And they have been chosen to ride out to meet it.
April 5 2004, 14:45:49 UTC 8 years ago
And can we do a third and final set about the orcs so I can write about Gothmog omg?!1April 5 2004, 15:23:09 UTC 8 years ago
LOL what an idea...April 5 2004, 14:46:37 UTC 8 years ago
JENMINION, REPORTING FOR DUTY, SAH!
(Word says 100 words exactly. Word may or may not be on crack.)“You cannot!”
“Sshh… let me do this for you, brother.” He only has to get onto the horse; the wound in his thigh will not bear his weight for long, but he can withstand it long enough for… long enough, at least. “You will be needed here, not there. Let me take your place.”
“You are not well enough to fight.” They have fought side by side all their lives; does he not understand his own brother, and his ways? He swore he would always protect his little brother, and he will.
“No. But I am well enough to die.”
April 5 2004, 15:39:39 UTC 8 years ago
Again with the good intentions.
I tried! I really did... Looky at the drabble.*
The air is thick and still – silence that swallows all but the steady sound of the horse's hooves as they strike stone. They are riding to their doom, after all, and one rider sits in his saddle, numbed before the world that looms.
Flowers are crushed under hoof and steel. He will ride at his Captain's side; in hopes that no fresh blood will stain this cobblestone; that their city will not fall. But hope is fragile in these ending days.
Still, he does not doubt that this ride will be their last. (This belief cannot only be his own.)
April 5 2004, 16:28:09 UTC 8 years ago
Ne'er mind me... I'm just a Mary minion...
“You will not go with me,” he had said to her.“I shall die either way,” she answered, and meant it, “I would die with you, if that is what is to be granted to me.”
“It is not. I will not allow it.” Though he loves her he does not understand. But she knows what she will do. The songs tell the truth.
Fear not my love, I shall never leave you
Though the waters run dry and the lands fail
I will walk beside you into death
With her hair cut short she looks just like a boy.
April 5 2004, 21:34:08 UTC 8 years ago
I know grandmother can see it, but mother doesn’t want to. She is inside, weeping.
But grandmother is here, and nods to me, scattering sweet campion in the street. It’s crushed under the horses hooves, and the perfume comes to me and almost drives away the smell of Osgiliath overrun and my father’s entrails spilled hot and foul against my legs.
Almost.
But I ride with my friends, who fled with me, and hoped for safety where none could be. I have felt the shadow cold and coming.
It does not matter if I stay or go.
April 5 2004, 23:14:51 UTC 8 years ago
not a drabble, but is a drivel
I put this in monkeycrakmary 's challenge - then I found out what a drabble is. Ah well, I think I just need to practice a bit more on characterization before I attempt to go below 100 words. Hope you like this one anyways...*********
There was something different in his demeanor this morning as he fitted bit to buckle and set the chamfron over my knotted head. Not a beautiful head by the standards of Gondor, but many are the days that he would set his forehead against mine as I lipped dried apples from his capable hands. There were no apples this morning, hadn’t been since the scent of burning and the stink of fell beasts crept in from the east. His hands were unusually gentle; the tension of the past few cold grey weeks had slipped from him this morning, but the expression within his eyes had hardened from sorrow into determination.
It was that quiet determination that resonated through his muscles into mine as he sat with the ease and grace of long partnership, those gentle hands maintaining light contact with the bit. We wound through the narrow streets slowly towards the gate. I knew the route by heart, remembered surging through streets as a rangy, raw boned, headstrong colt – a perfect match for the forgotten and ignored younger son of nobility that seemed to see something special in the overgrown carthorse I was. I am old now, the self-centered graspings of my youth tamed completely by a man I would break my heart to defend.
We have fought as comrades, he and I. His very presence seems to calm the baser equine nature – fear and flight has no meaning when your entire soul is owned by the one who guide your movements on the battlefield. I have faced down a dark, nameless winged terror for him, and because of him, I have been given the grace to exchange breath with the Prince of all Horses. For him, I walk quietly through the cobbled, ruined streets as flowers rain down upon us from above. The scent of the early stunted spring blossoms almost covers the smell of the darkening east towards which we ride. I will not leave him as long as I have breath within me and the strength to stand.
I leave the flowers behind, forgotten.
April 5 2004, 23:29:14 UTC 8 years ago
oopse... on several levels
Seems I've mixed up my cardinal directions, I just fixed the problem. Mordor is EAST of Gondor... No wonder I kept finding snowmen in southern climes... :-PKielle, glad you liked the horsey story. After I wrote it, I saw that alot of the comments here are horsey-oriented. I looked it up. Faramir's horse was the ONLY one (save Shadowfax) that didn't dump his rider... I just had to write about that.
<3 <3 <3
April 6 2004, 08:35:31 UTC 8 years ago
100
Today we die.I dreamt it.
I dreamt that a silver wave poured forth from the city, and a black one returned, a black one that left a crimson stain on everything it touched.
I would throw up, but I was too afraid to eat.
My horse can sense it, can sense the reason for my fear.
He whinnies and shudders beneath me, urging me to run, to hide like a coward.
My own horse has more sense than I, more sense than Prince Faramir, more sense than any of us...
Good Gods...
Today we die.
I have dreamt it.
April 6 2004, 10:08:39 UTC 8 years ago
</stalker>
April 6 2004, 11:09:00 UTC 8 years ago
April 6 2004, 11:27:39 UTC 8 years ago
April 6 2004, 16:15:01 UTC 8 years ago
He stood there, his armor still faintly gleaming under the muck and gore of battle, and looked forward, staring on a point of space between the old woman and himself.
She looked up at him with white-yellow eyes from underneath ragged grey hair, smiled a toothless blackened smile, and said, her voice lower than most men's, "You're going to die next time."
He relaxed, letting his helmet sag against his thigh, and sighed heavily. He looked at her, for the first time since they first met, and smiled. "I knew you were going to say that," he said.
She cackled and took his hand.
April 6 2004, 18:29:20 UTC 8 years ago
Be nice, this is my first drabble, ever.
Exactly 100 words. My first drabble, ever.They Told Us
by Sara with no H
They told us we had a chance, that we must keep fighting. They told us we could hold the Darkness at bay. And we believed them.
Osgiliath was lost to Darkness, they told us. The Enemy had taken our last defenses, they told us. We must retreat to the City, they told us. And we believed them.
They told us we had a chance, that we must keep fighting. They told us we could drive the Darkness out. And we believed them.
No one told us it would end like this.
No one told us we would end like this.
April 6 2004, 20:47:35 UTC 8 years ago
He was too old to fight, grown too stiff in his limbs to sit a horse well. But there he was, following his Captain down the winding way to the great carved gate of Minas Tirith. His mail shone bright though his heart dimmed and wavered.
The only sound in the street was that of horseshoe striking stone. There were no words spoken, at least not with human voices.
He looked down into a pair of uplifted eyes.
Come back ...
Turning, he held out his hand and took the flowers she offered, clutching them close to his heart.
Fare well ...
/100 words
April 7 2004, 09:21:53 UTC 8 years ago
Rhythmic hoof beats as they ride. Osgiliath ahead.
He remembers his father’s face, barely recognisable, cut from chest to ear.
They see the ruined towers.
He remembers his sister, his twin. Face pale and drawn, congealed blood at her lips. Caught in an Orc raid on her way to the city.
Rough Orc defences, clearly in sight now.
He remembers too much.
Draw sword.
They ride. The men will follow their captain. Follow him on this hopeless charge.
Closer.
They ride for Faramir.
Orc archers on the wall.
They ride for Gondor.
Black arrows.
He rides because he seeks death.
April 15 2004, 00:51:12 UTC 8 years ago
The Minstrel
Hah! 100 words exactly. I didn't think I could do it (it started out at some 230 words). Cut out a few phrases and adjectives I liked, but I think it still works well enough.The Minstrel
He closed his eyes. There appeared fair memories: falling asleep upon scribbled music, reciting songs for highnesses, finding the Blessed Realm by blowing air through brass tubes.
He opened his eyes. The lonely silence was broken by occasional shrieks of Nazgul from the blackness above. His memories faded into the past as he looked upon the shadowy mountains from whence the enemy was coming.
The wind whistled to the rhythmic breathing of the horses and clop of their trot. The crows cried a sad dirge in the night. He closed his eyes, and spurred his horse to the last stretch.