Stories > Mirabella's Stories > Late
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.