Post by Admin on Jan 1, 2021 22:22:18 GMT
Author: Eschscholzia
Summary: On the evening after Mordor’s surprise attack on Osgiliath, Boromir keeps a lonely watch over the western city ruins and the newly destroyed bridge.
Rating: K+
Warnings: No warnings apply.
Hannor.
Megilagordor.
Hithaerdaer.
Mistion.
Rithon.
I go over the names in my head. There are so many. How will I ever write so many condolence letters? I have lost an entire garrison.
It is finally dark now. Today is Midsummer, the longest day of the year. I strain my ears to listen whether the enemy will pursue us. All I hear is Anduin’s rushing water. Now that it is midsummer, the river is ebbing, no longer sustained by the pure mountain snowmelt. As the sun was setting on this day — long in so many ways — I saw a last glimpse of the Anduin: inky black, swirling with oily debris.
In the Ered Nimrais tonight, my countrymen are lighting the Midsummerbonfires. Today in Osgiliath, our torches destroyed Gondor’s link to the east. Tomorrow I must return to the city and stand before the Steward’s chair to account for my losses. My father will not be pleased. The consequences of this loss are clear— we have only bought ourselves some time. We need a miracle to protect Gondor.
I must protect Gondor. But how?
Summary: On the evening after Mordor’s surprise attack on Osgiliath, Boromir keeps a lonely watch over the western city ruins and the newly destroyed bridge.
Rating: K+
Warnings: No warnings apply.
Hannor.
Megilagordor.
Hithaerdaer.
Mistion.
Rithon.
I go over the names in my head. There are so many. How will I ever write so many condolence letters? I have lost an entire garrison.
It is finally dark now. Today is Midsummer, the longest day of the year. I strain my ears to listen whether the enemy will pursue us. All I hear is Anduin’s rushing water. Now that it is midsummer, the river is ebbing, no longer sustained by the pure mountain snowmelt. As the sun was setting on this day — long in so many ways — I saw a last glimpse of the Anduin: inky black, swirling with oily debris.
In the Ered Nimrais tonight, my countrymen are lighting the Midsummerbonfires. Today in Osgiliath, our torches destroyed Gondor’s link to the east. Tomorrow I must return to the city and stand before the Steward’s chair to account for my losses. My father will not be pleased. The consequences of this loss are clear— we have only bought ourselves some time. We need a miracle to protect Gondor.
I must protect Gondor. But how?