The Captains looked up at their king alone,
Standing their in the world he had made his own,
Crushed by the very boulders of despair,
Until they thought he could no longer feel the air,
He was thrown in the very pits,
That had once made his eyes turn to slits,
Where was the horse and the rider,
Out the window he coud see no Strider,
Where is the horn that was blowing,
The horn he had once heard with his every coming and going,
The young kings around him his friends,
Had all nearly met thier deadly ends,
The spoils of war may have dampened their souls,
But they had never forgotten their royal roles,
They had still urged him to fight,
Giving their lives not a single sight,
Together they fought back to back,
Bringing down the enemy they continualy hack,
With a final burst of courage they rode out,
Ready to embrace their deaths with hearts so stout,
Bringing down their blood stained swords,
Dying to kill enemy hordes,
The old king rode out to them ready to die,
But a ray of hope soared in the sky,
Over the hill a white stallion cried,
An army assembled to honor those who died,
A beam of light peirced the shaft in the cloud,
As the army let out a yell so loud,
They began to run down over the slope,
Their wavering helms shining like a sea of hope,
The kings looked up in disbelief,
As the helms reflected the crest of the leaf,
The kings nephew rode by the stallion,
Towards the white tower of gleaming Icthalion,
The rider in white upon the stallion gave a yell,
That resounded through the enemy lines and shook the dell,
The old kings face broke into a smile,
As his nephew chased after the enemy mile upon mile,
The Great Horn into the air it suddenly sounded,
To declare the victory that many it astounded,
The riders carried the warriors upon their shoulders,
Singing the songs of victory that peirced the very boulders,
Happiness had now filled the air,
That was once clung on by despair,
The enemy hordes that were once so great began to flee,
Whilst the ones already caught cried in plea,
The once great Captains in the enemy began to cower,
As the kings might began to grow with power,
Spare us!Spare us! they cried in fear,
As their deaths seemed to loom ever so near,
The Lord of the Mark came to see them,
But the flow of anger he could not stem,
You once slew my men without mercy at the gate,
And now you beg for mercy as the tower guard change fate,
Stew now in your own guilt to your death,
For it shall no longer follow you in silent stealth,
But announce its arrival at your door,
When its your turn to thud the floor,
And so the Great Battle ended,
As the enemy fled the remaining relented,
So victory had come to the land at last,
As the kings sat down to break their fast.
* * *