The Challenge: Victor - Tale of the Week 24b
Elendil of Númeror collects his first TotW success! Congratulations!
Memories in the rainYou Are The Senate:
The rain had been pouring for days. And on the vast, muddy plains an army marched. But not an army of shield and spear and sword. Not the glorious line of men dressed from head to toe in shining mail. Instead, the line of poor farmers, townsmen, and peasants, driven from their homes. No colourful banner, no honourable decorations glittered in the wind. The convoy blended into the field, the men and women wore the green of the muddy grass and the brown of the wet dirt.
Only one single man shone in his bright steel armour. He walked at the very end of the line and carried in his hand a sword. A sword that was the symbol of proud generations of Kings, now forever forgotten. On the chain mail, which covered him from head to toe, he wore a leather tunic. The tunic had the figure of a heroic knight woven into it. No one will ever see such a knight anymore. Gone, they are. The shade of a brighter past.
And on a once proud and noble head, was laid a silver helm, decorated with the crown of a King. It glimmered with a golden light as hundreds of raindrops that fell from the sky reflected it's light.
But what made this man apart from the others was not a steel blade. Not a set of chain mail. Not a tunic, not a forgotten knight that once rode on these plains, not a golden crown.
It was the eyes. Sharp, piercing blue, dulled by grief. Young by age, but they have seen much more than what they should have. And as those eyes gazed into the nothingness of the murky field, they could just see a towering line of smoke climbing into the clouds from the distance. What miles away was now nothing more then ashes, was once called 'Home' by every man and woman who marched in this army of refugees.
Around the King hundreds of small flowers bent their heads to the pouring rain, as if to mourn the things that were forever lost...
...
The line had gone long ago. No one looked back. And there, stoned, watching what remained of his past, stood a king. His tears spent, his life fading as the Sun set. A memory. A forgotten memory. And by the dawn, a memory was just another flower in an endless field.
Originally Posted by Theodotos I
...is my daddy!
