Disclaimer: Middle-earth is Tolkien's place of dreaming.
Author's Note: A third for the 'bitter' challenge. Considering the usualy tone of my drabbles, it's not surprising that this challenge has me all inspired.
Shining steel is ruddy as copper beneath cakes of drying blood, and white cobbles similarly stained. On smoke-clogged streets the feculent corpses of men and orcs are joined as one new beast by terrible wounds. In the Houses of Healing, fevered men cry out for their mothers while others die silent, their hurts beyond the healing of the Elfstone. Beyond the seventh gate, on scorched fields, furrows run with viscous shades of black and red. Shattered steeds lie all about, beside their fallen riders; their spears, and shields and bodies broken. Minas Tirth stands, but this victory was bitter won.