For Morning Came, by StarSpray
Mar. 2nd, 2017 11:35 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
silverstarspray.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
b2memB2MeM Prompt & Path: Green Path - “It was the possibility of darkness that made the day seem so bright.” - Stephen King
Format: Ficlet
Genre: Gapfiller
Rating: General
Warnings: none
Characters: Bergil, OC
Pairings: none
Summary: The Gates of Minas Tirith are broken, but the wind is changing.
It was quiet in the Houses of Healing, in spite of all the activity. Bergil and the other boys had been sent up to the Houses early on; it was too dangerous to carry messages through the city, and the healers needed every pair of hands they could get, no matter how small. Bergil himself had spent hours running back and forth to the storerooms, or to the pumps to fetch water to boil bandages. All the while he told himself that this would end in victory, that his father and the other soldiers were valiant and strong and more than a match for all the forces of the Enemy.
But as time wore on that became harder and harder to believe. Every time the Nazgûl swooped over the city, their screams seemed to pierce Bergil’s very bones, freezing the last of his dwindling hope.
And then the Gates broke. Even in the Houses of Healing they heard it, and Bergil was in the gardens and saw the flash that finally shattered them. His friend Galdir was with him. They ran to the wall to look down over the levels of the city; through the haze of smoke and battle they could barely make out the gates, but Bergil thought he saw a glimmer of white there. “That must be Mithrandir,” he said to Galdir, though the tremor in his voice belied his confidence. “He will guard the gates, surely… and Lord Imrahil is down there somewhere, too.”
But Galdir was not looking down anymore, but out over the city walls. “Look,” he said, gripping Bergil’s hand in his own smaller one. “Bergil, look at the clouds!” Bergil squinted, following Galdir’s pointing finger. At first he saw nothing—the skies were dark as far as the eye could see, but then… “They’re breaking!” Galdir’s voice squeaked in his excitement, and as he spoke somewhere behind them, in someone’s courtyard, a rooster crowed, welcoming the dawn that no one else could see—but for the breaking clouds to the south, just enough to let in a pale glimmer of sunlight. Seeing it was like taking a drink of sweet water after crossing a desert; Bergil did not want to look away.
Then the horns sounded, and both Bergil and Galdir twisted northward, though they could see very little. But Bergil had heard those horns before, though never so many all at once. “The Rohirrim!” he shouted. “Rohan is here!” At his words folk came streaming out of the Houses, gathering at the walls around Bergil and Galdir, straining for a look. The horns continued to blow, and a great cavalry streamed onto the fields, led by a single white horse that shone like a shooting star in the gloom that was rapidly lifting, as the wind strengthened and the clouds scattered.
Relief swept over the gathered crowd like a great sigh. Bergil laughed out loud, and embraced Galdir. “Aurë entuluva!” he heard people crying. “Auta i lómë!” Night had ended, day had come—and victory was in sight.
Format: Ficlet
Genre: Gapfiller
Rating: General
Warnings: none
Characters: Bergil, OC
Pairings: none
Summary: The Gates of Minas Tirith are broken, but the wind is changing.
It was quiet in the Houses of Healing, in spite of all the activity. Bergil and the other boys had been sent up to the Houses early on; it was too dangerous to carry messages through the city, and the healers needed every pair of hands they could get, no matter how small. Bergil himself had spent hours running back and forth to the storerooms, or to the pumps to fetch water to boil bandages. All the while he told himself that this would end in victory, that his father and the other soldiers were valiant and strong and more than a match for all the forces of the Enemy.
But as time wore on that became harder and harder to believe. Every time the Nazgûl swooped over the city, their screams seemed to pierce Bergil’s very bones, freezing the last of his dwindling hope.
And then the Gates broke. Even in the Houses of Healing they heard it, and Bergil was in the gardens and saw the flash that finally shattered them. His friend Galdir was with him. They ran to the wall to look down over the levels of the city; through the haze of smoke and battle they could barely make out the gates, but Bergil thought he saw a glimmer of white there. “That must be Mithrandir,” he said to Galdir, though the tremor in his voice belied his confidence. “He will guard the gates, surely… and Lord Imrahil is down there somewhere, too.”
But Galdir was not looking down anymore, but out over the city walls. “Look,” he said, gripping Bergil’s hand in his own smaller one. “Bergil, look at the clouds!” Bergil squinted, following Galdir’s pointing finger. At first he saw nothing—the skies were dark as far as the eye could see, but then… “They’re breaking!” Galdir’s voice squeaked in his excitement, and as he spoke somewhere behind them, in someone’s courtyard, a rooster crowed, welcoming the dawn that no one else could see—but for the breaking clouds to the south, just enough to let in a pale glimmer of sunlight. Seeing it was like taking a drink of sweet water after crossing a desert; Bergil did not want to look away.
Then the horns sounded, and both Bergil and Galdir twisted northward, though they could see very little. But Bergil had heard those horns before, though never so many all at once. “The Rohirrim!” he shouted. “Rohan is here!” At his words folk came streaming out of the Houses, gathering at the walls around Bergil and Galdir, straining for a look. The horns continued to blow, and a great cavalry streamed onto the fields, led by a single white horse that shone like a shooting star in the gloom that was rapidly lifting, as the wind strengthened and the clouds scattered.
Relief swept over the gathered crowd like a great sigh. Bergil laughed out loud, and embraced Galdir. “Aurë entuluva!” he heard people crying. “Auta i lómë!” Night had ended, day had come—and victory was in sight.
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