FIC: No Where to Run (LOTR)(for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
xelloss_poo)
Jun. 23rd, 2006 02:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ficwizeTitle: No Where to Run
Author:wizefics (Crossposted to this journal!)
Fandom: LOTR Movieverse
Rating: PG
Characters: Aragorn
Dedication: forxelloss_poo at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
fic_on_demand
Request: Chinese Poems
A/N: I liked this request last year and I liked this poem that you requested, Ballad of the Army Carts. For June!Challenge Day 23! Seven days to go! Whoot! Feedback always welcome and appreciated.
Wagons rattling and banging,
horses neighing and snorting,
conscripts marching, each with bow and arrows at his hip,
fathers and mothers, wives and children, running to see them off--
so much dust kicked up you can't see Xian-yang Bridge!
And the families pulling at their clothes, stamping feet in anger,
blocking the way and weeping--
ah, the sound of their wailing rises straight up to assault heaven.
And a passerby asks, "What's going on?"
The soldier says simply, "This happens all the time.
From age fifteen some are sent to guard the north,
and even at forty some work the army farms in the west.
When they leave home, the village headman has to wrap their turbans for them;
when they come back, white-haired, they're still guarding the frontier.
The frontier posts run with blood enough to fill an ocean,
and the war-loving Emperor's dreams of conquest have still not ended.
Hasn't he heard that in Han, east of the mountains,
there are two hundred prefectures, thousands and thousands of villages,
growing nothing but thorns?
And even where there is a sturdy wife to handle hoe and plough,
the poor crops grow raggedly in haphazard fields.
It's even worse for the men of Qin; they're such good fighters
they're driven from battle to battle like dogs or chickens.
Even though you were kind enough to ask, good sir,
perhaps I shouldn't express such resentment.
But take this winter, for instance,
they still haven't demobilized the troops of Guanxi,
and the tax collectors are pressing everyone for land-fees--
land-fees!--from where is that money supposed to come?
Truly, it is an evil thing to bear a son these days,
it is much better to have daughters;
at least you can marry a daughter to the neighbor,
but a son is born only to die, his body lost in the wild grass.
Has my lord seen the shores of the Kokonor?
The white bones lie there in drifts, uncollected.
New ghosts complain and old ghosts weep,
under the lowering sky their voices cry out in the rain."
Despair. I feel it eating at me. I feel it rising through the men (men? Nay, mere boys mostly) gathered here. It eats at us all, caring not if we are experienced warriors, youths who would be better suited to the school room than the war field, or elders whose bones creak as much as the wagons and weapons that are being rushed from one corner of Helm’s Deep to the other.
How has it come to this? In my mind’s eye, I see again the army of Urak-Hai descending upon us. I know the futility of hoping for victory against that unimaginable force. Better than any that surround me, I know that the only thing that will await us at the dawn is death.
If we are lucky, it will be quick. If not, we will curse our fathers for having begat us.
Legolas, fair Legolas. Elven, his courage beyond doubt, his loyalty beyond question… even Legolas felt that this was a lost cause.
They will die here.
I will die here. As one of them.
Why?
Because that boy next to me looks terrified, but his grip on his blade is steady. Because he is proud of his father. Because he defends his mother and sisters below. Because I would not shame my father or brothers by leaving these innocents here to be slaughtered. Because I cannot be any other way.
Soldiers around me work quickly, outfitting civilians, arming children. Overhead, clouds gather and the air is thick with pressure. Storms and war belong together in a way that only warriors understand and I tilt my head back close my eyes, breathing deeply of the smell of impending violence. Fear, rain, dirt, wind…
This is my heritage; this is my life. I cannot escape it. I have tried. But the battles follow where I go; blood runs in my footsteps and I cannot be anyone other than who I was born to be.
If I die here, I will die as one of them. As I was born to be.
Thunder sounds in the distance and I stand up. Smiling at the boy next to me, I go to prepare to meet my destiny head on. When darkness covers the land, there is no where left to run.
Author:
wizefics (Crossposted to this journal!)Fandom: LOTR Movieverse
Rating: PG
Characters: Aragorn
Dedication: for
xelloss_poo at fic_on_demandRequest: Chinese Poems
A/N: I liked this request last year and I liked this poem that you requested, Ballad of the Army Carts. For June!Challenge Day 23! Seven days to go! Whoot! Feedback always welcome and appreciated.
Wagons rattling and banging,
horses neighing and snorting,
conscripts marching, each with bow and arrows at his hip,
fathers and mothers, wives and children, running to see them off--
so much dust kicked up you can't see Xian-yang Bridge!
And the families pulling at their clothes, stamping feet in anger,
blocking the way and weeping--
ah, the sound of their wailing rises straight up to assault heaven.
And a passerby asks, "What's going on?"
The soldier says simply, "This happens all the time.
From age fifteen some are sent to guard the north,
and even at forty some work the army farms in the west.
When they leave home, the village headman has to wrap their turbans for them;
when they come back, white-haired, they're still guarding the frontier.
The frontier posts run with blood enough to fill an ocean,
and the war-loving Emperor's dreams of conquest have still not ended.
Hasn't he heard that in Han, east of the mountains,
there are two hundred prefectures, thousands and thousands of villages,
growing nothing but thorns?
And even where there is a sturdy wife to handle hoe and plough,
the poor crops grow raggedly in haphazard fields.
It's even worse for the men of Qin; they're such good fighters
they're driven from battle to battle like dogs or chickens.
Even though you were kind enough to ask, good sir,
perhaps I shouldn't express such resentment.
But take this winter, for instance,
they still haven't demobilized the troops of Guanxi,
and the tax collectors are pressing everyone for land-fees--
land-fees!--from where is that money supposed to come?
Truly, it is an evil thing to bear a son these days,
it is much better to have daughters;
at least you can marry a daughter to the neighbor,
but a son is born only to die, his body lost in the wild grass.
Has my lord seen the shores of the Kokonor?
The white bones lie there in drifts, uncollected.
New ghosts complain and old ghosts weep,
under the lowering sky their voices cry out in the rain."
Despair. I feel it eating at me. I feel it rising through the men (men? Nay, mere boys mostly) gathered here. It eats at us all, caring not if we are experienced warriors, youths who would be better suited to the school room than the war field, or elders whose bones creak as much as the wagons and weapons that are being rushed from one corner of Helm’s Deep to the other.
How has it come to this? In my mind’s eye, I see again the army of Urak-Hai descending upon us. I know the futility of hoping for victory against that unimaginable force. Better than any that surround me, I know that the only thing that will await us at the dawn is death.
If we are lucky, it will be quick. If not, we will curse our fathers for having begat us.
Legolas, fair Legolas. Elven, his courage beyond doubt, his loyalty beyond question… even Legolas felt that this was a lost cause.
They will die here.
I will die here. As one of them.
Why?
Because that boy next to me looks terrified, but his grip on his blade is steady. Because he is proud of his father. Because he defends his mother and sisters below. Because I would not shame my father or brothers by leaving these innocents here to be slaughtered. Because I cannot be any other way.
Soldiers around me work quickly, outfitting civilians, arming children. Overhead, clouds gather and the air is thick with pressure. Storms and war belong together in a way that only warriors understand and I tilt my head back close my eyes, breathing deeply of the smell of impending violence. Fear, rain, dirt, wind…
This is my heritage; this is my life. I cannot escape it. I have tried. But the battles follow where I go; blood runs in my footsteps and I cannot be anyone other than who I was born to be.
If I die here, I will die as one of them. As I was born to be.
Thunder sounds in the distance and I stand up. Smiling at the boy next to me, I go to prepare to meet my destiny head on. When darkness covers the land, there is no where left to run.
