Word Count: 100
Adult Content/Pairing: No/None
Disclaimer: JRRT made this world. I made this drabble.
Author Notes: late for "crumbling".
The dream came to him first after Tharbad, and more often as he journeyed far from Minas Tirith: He is alone and afoot on the Great Road behind Mindolluin, hurrying toward the Rammas Echor, its faint line appearing strangely jagged in the failing light. He calls out, forcing words from an unaccustomed throat. He knows with the sudden certainty of dream that his beard is grey and his sword is broken.
But there is none to hear or see. The great causeway is a crumbling ruin, the Pelennor empty. Nothing gleams either to east or west. He is too late.
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