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Branwyn's Bits and Pieces  by Branwyn

For the “Late” challenge at Tolkien_Weekly


The dead rustled like a forest in winter as the rangers made their cold camp. Aragorn knew he must rest against the morrow’s need, so he cast himself on the ground, soon falling into uneasy dreams.

Red fire encircled the walls of stone; while above, the white banner was hidden by smoke. Too few, the defenders had broken and fled. Setting aside the white rod, the steward took up the black orb in its stead.

Aragorn awoke and lay staring into the starless sky. He begrudged his body these hours of rest, hours stolen from the lives of other men.

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