Inspired by the mastery of Rohan from Pint Size Fiction, I decided to write some flash fic very quickly and knocked this up. The ending shocked me, I don’t like it, but here it is anyway:
(The kingdom of Rohan, just before it all kicks off in Mordor…)
The riders ride, an effortless glide, flashing past on noble steeds. If only Jaekir had a faster horse! The others soon leave him in a cloud of dust. Maybe if he hadn’t traded all his oats for tobacco, Galestrike (an ironic name now) would’ve grown up to be a bit quicker. Oh well. The fun they’d had blowing smoke rings out on the plains while on guard duty! He’d managed to get himself a decent sword on account of his brother being a big hero, so it’d be worth turning up late and slaying a few orcs anyway.
He was going to be so late! Damn this horse is slow… Several days of hard, slower-than-average riding pass. He just about catches up to camp on the first night before they have to leave again. Day four. The black clouds of battle rise in the distance. Almost there! He grips his sword tightly in anticipation as he makes it over the hill, finally, to see the battlefield, and his kin are trotting back towards him.
“You missed it, Jaekir,” explains his shaggy-maned uncle Ridiikulousaer, “That little sad-faced lad destroyed The Ring and now we can all go home.”
“Well that’s a relief,” replied Jaekir with a grin. He had been a bit nervous about fighting anyway. “I guess smoking paid off.” <<OH MY GOD THIS IS NOT THE MORAL I WAS GOING FOR DAMN FLASH FICTION!>>
Thanks for reading anyway; I will endeavour to write some more flash fic and avoid endings that encourage lung cancer…