Title: From the Ashes
Feb. 17th, 2010 07:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
martasficTitle: From the Ashes
Summary: A bit of Ioreth angst (because even prattering fools can have deep thoughts)
Timeline: Ring War (shortly after the Siege of Minas Tirith)
Word Count: 200 words exactly
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With the smell so thick around her, Ioreth wonders that she can breathe. She wonders, too, that she can smell it at all; she is ever surrounded by sunshine and herbs. Still, the stench lingers even in these Houses. She must be thankful, she tells herself. She had hardly hoped to outlast the night, but now the sun shines brightly all around her. Her belly is full, her city safe, and her lord, her new lord, her Faramir -- he is well on the way to mending.
And yet, and yet... Ioreth has heard the whispered tales of soot and ash, how the masonry broke and the flames hissed all through the Silent Street. She heard, and now she longs to un-hear.
She had expected the dreams. How could she not? She was a healer, and no fool (whatever they might say); she knew how battle never left the survivors unscathed. She had expected the darkness, the stench and the screams and above all the pain that choked out breath. But she had also thought, had been so sure, that she would wake from them. Surely she must wake? The stench of immolation, though -- it lingers, in dreams and waking-life alike.
Summary: A bit of Ioreth angst (because even prattering fools can have deep thoughts)
Timeline: Ring War (shortly after the Siege of Minas Tirith)
Word Count: 200 words exactly
*************************
With the smell so thick around her, Ioreth wonders that she can breathe. She wonders, too, that she can smell it at all; she is ever surrounded by sunshine and herbs. Still, the stench lingers even in these Houses. She must be thankful, she tells herself. She had hardly hoped to outlast the night, but now the sun shines brightly all around her. Her belly is full, her city safe, and her lord, her new lord, her Faramir -- he is well on the way to mending.
And yet, and yet... Ioreth has heard the whispered tales of soot and ash, how the masonry broke and the flames hissed all through the Silent Street. She heard, and now she longs to un-hear.
She had expected the dreams. How could she not? She was a healer, and no fool (whatever they might say); she knew how battle never left the survivors unscathed. She had expected the darkness, the stench and the screams and above all the pain that choked out breath. But she had also thought, had been so sure, that she would wake from them. Surely she must wake? The stench of immolation, though -- it lingers, in dreams and waking-life alike.