For the 'black' challenge on the tolkien_weekly LJ community

The View From the Tower

Denethor lifted the covering, weary eyes taking in a now familiar sight. A smooth black surface... a glow... the once white streets of his city... the sweeping flatlands no longer green, fires raging, men, animals, fighting, falling... the river... boats burning red against a sky so dark it took a second to distinguish against it, fresh sails… black sails… ever increasing.

And then once more his city, the citadel, the Tower where lay his son... vanishing to the blackness of the stone. He rose slowly, black sails still fluttering in front of his eyes, and returned to his ailing son.

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