Summary: What did the people on the streets think when they watched Faramir and his soldiers ride out to Osgiliath?
Characters: Unknown Gondorian soldiers and inhabitants of Minas Tirith
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and don't make any money from my writings.A/N: Please note that English isn't my first language. Corrections and criticism are always welcome. Written for the Minas Tirith Drabble Challenge.
It's so quiet, despite all the people in the streets.
Wasted flowers shower onto their path, wasted and dead, the horses trampling them down unnoticed. The allegory strikes me, but I feel numb. What can we all do? We watch them ride to certain death, and yet hope won't fade.
My younger brother rides out to Osgiliath, already beyond my sight. Barely old enough to hold a sword, to wear such heavy armour. He will follow Captain Faramir, despairing, but with last remainders of trust, to whatever end.
The last flowers fall onto the ground, unnoticed by the Doomed, wasted.