You've undoubtedly heard the tale of Robin Hood, but what if I was to tell you they got it all wrong?
First of all, Robin is female.
{All characters other than my own belong to J. R. R. Tolkien}
So I am aware that in the movie, most of the soldiers get slaughtered whilst riding towards Osgiliath (I'm not sure about the books because I haven't read that far yet). However, I will be modifying the scene in order to create a more interesting chapter.
♪ = cuemusic
† Chp. XLI †
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"Can you sing Master Hobbit?" Denethor questions, a red line of tomato juice trailing from his lips, reminding Pippin of the poisonous words in which the steward lay upon his son. Words which will now lead to the fruitless death of many soldiers.
"Well, yes, atleast well enough for my own people. But we have no songs for great halls and... evil times." The halfing replies, rather alarmed beneath Denethor's pitiless glare. The steward continues to dine upon the end of his long table, the large throne room empty with the exception of Pippin who hangs his head in sorrow. Without the comforting presence of Robin, he feels vulnerable standing in the still air of the stone hall.
"And why should your songs be unfit for my halls?" Denethor questions, a displeased scowl embedding his stained face. "Come, sing me a song."
Pippin obeys, breathing in a gust of stale air as he stares blankly ahead.
"Home is behind, The world ahead. And there are many paths to tread."
His mind drifts out to the soldiers riding across the dry plains, carrying heavy, yet stout hearts.
"Through shadow, to the edge of night. Until the stars are all alight."
The halfing then goes to envision the wrecked battlements of Osgiliath, and the wretched beasts who line them, weapons drawn and ready to slaughter.
"Mist and shadow, cloud and shade."
It is as if he can hear the arrows splitting the air. He can feel the pain of the soldiers falling to meet death upon the stone ruins.
"All shall fade,"
Denethor continues to gnaw his feast as if there is no guilt on his charge. The fresh blood of many meaningless deaths staining his chin in the form of tomato juice.
"All shall fade."
Pippin lowers his head, the soft glimmer of tears beginning to trickle down his cheeks.
In the same moment, within an abandonned courtyard of Minas Tirith, Gandalf sits, his empty stare lowered to the ground.
