[piosenniel]

Pio gasped as she beheld the sketch. Drawing the Nárello aside, she sat down at a secluded table and spread the paper before her. ‘Come here, child, she said, ‘And listen to this story.’

She told him of the great battle at the end of the Third Age against Sauron, the Dark Lord. As she spoke, her hand flew over the empty pages of the drawing pad she had retrieved from behind the bar. It was a simplified version, much compressed, but in it were the stories of the Ring of Power, Sauron - the Dark Lord, Saruman, and the Nine companions who stood against the forces of Shadow and defeated them.

‘This drawing is of the battle at the Pellenor Fields, the greatest battle of the Third Age. The dark forces of Sauron were intent on the destruction of Minas Tirith. They had crossed the river, destroyed Osgiliath, and breached the Rammas, the great perimeter wall and outer defense of the city. They spilled into the Pelennor fields, the farmlands around the outer city walls, and had besieged Minas Tirith.

‘The armies of Minas Morgul beat down the great gate to the city, and the Lord of the Nazgul prepared to enter the city on his great black horse, where no enemy had ever passed before. Then did King Theoden of Rohan fall upon the Dark armies from behind and broke the siege. The Lord of the Nazgul left his position at the gate, but returned as Theoden rode victorious across the Pellenor Fields to return to the city.

‘A dark shadow dimmed the sun, then. Another band of Dark warriors opposed him and he rode against them. But Snowmane, his steed, reared up was felled by a poisoned black dart, and the King fell beneath him

‘The Lord of the Nazgul had returned upon his foul winged beast, and his mount fell upon the body of Snowmane, claws digging into the horse’s flesh.’

Pio pointed to the great winged beast of the boy’s drawing and the shadow creature upon his back. ‘Just so.’ she said, nodding at the sketch.

‘Two of Theoden’s knights still stood to defend their fallen King. This one, the lady with the golden hair was Eowyn, the niece of the King. She had dressed as a man to be able to fight in his service and now stood facing this great foe.’

Pio took up her charcoal and swiftly drew in a smaller figure, with a small sword clasped in one hand crawling toward the Nazgul whose attention was bent on the woman of Rohan.

‘This was Meriadoc Brandybuck, a Hobbit of Buckland, and one of the nine companions. He too was sworn to the service of the King. The Nazgul’s winged beast was killed by Eowyn, and the Black rider rose up in wrath against her and smote her down with his great mace. Then did Merry, summoning all his courage, smite a blow at him from behind, and pierced the sinew of his knee, undoing all that held the Black Rider together. His spirit departed with a great cry, never to be heard again in this world.’

She put her arm about the boy’s shoulder. ‘It was a great battle, the last of the War of the Ring. And at its end, Aragorn and his forces returned up the River Anduin and with the forces of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth and those remaining of Rohan under Eomer, the last of the battle against the forces of Darkness and Shadow was fought and day won for Light.’

She sketched the face of Aragorn upon a clean piece of paper, dark haired, grey eyed, the image of a King of Old. And on his brow there shone the Star of Elendil . . .

'I never tire of the old stories.' she said, calling for a server to bring them some tea and a plate of jam tarts. She rolled up the sketches, and tied them with a ribbon from her hair. 'Here, these are yours. Share them with others as you will.' She poured a cup of tea for him and pushed the pot of honey toward him.

Sipping at her own mug, she drew a small sketch on a scrap of paper. Another dark haired man, his hair shot through with silver grey. Grey eyed, smiling . . .

[ January 30, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]