Untitled - BoG-Archive

sadness. I wish that we could have a life together, a family. But I know it can
never be, so I push the thought away. Even if he were a common man, the
shadow in Mordor would still hold sway over us. I made the mistake once of
wishing that he had no duties, was just a common soldier, and he had looked at
me with astonishment. “No matter who I was, I would protect my city,” he had
said, and I knew it was true. He loves the White City, and if he knew spilling
every drop of his blood would make it safe, he would not hesitate to take up his
knife and slash his veins himself. It only makes me love him more.
He stands by the door and I can see his mind is already on other things. No
doubt he has more meetings today, with his father and others, strategies to
devise, battle plans to make. I am glad for what little time we have had. Abruptly
he turns back and gathers me close. We hold each other tightly. Who knows how
much time any of us has, with that black cloud in the sky growing day by day?
With a last kiss, he is gone. He never promises to come back and I never ask. It is
another of our understandings.
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He will not return. My every fear is realized, my heart is shattered.
After the eastern shore of Osgiliath fell in June I heard talk that his father
had sent him away on a mission of great importance. I listened for the sounding
of his horn every day, but it never came. As the months passed with no word, I
felt the panic growing in my heart. Never had he been gone so long before.
Summer became fall, and winter followed with no news. The rumors in the street
were many, mostly that his father was mad with worry. Twice I saw the younger
brother as he rode through the streets, but no word of my beloved to be had from
any source.
Then the gossip in the city said that the great horn had been found, broken
into two pieces and floating in the River Anduin. I knew only death could part
him from his badge of office. Sick with fear, I found myself wandering through
the main marketplace each day, hoping to hear some word. Thus I was there 8
days ago, listening as a group of old women talked while I pretended to pick
through some wilted herbs at a barrow.
“Split in two, it was,” said one, her grey hair pulled back behind her. “They
brought it to his father.”
“It will kill the Steward,” said another. “He loves that one.”