Властелин колец: Возвращение короля
The Ride of the Rohirrim
Afterawhilethekingledhismenawaysomewhateastward,tocomebetweenthefiresofthesiegeandtheouterfields.Stilltheywereunchallenged,andstillThéodengavenosignal.Atlasthehaltedonceagain.TheCitywasnownearer.Asmellofburningwasintheairandaveryshadowofdeath.Thehorseswereuneasy.ButthekingsatuponSnowmane,motionless,gazingupontheagonyofMinasTirith,asifstrickensuddenlybyanguish,orbydread.Heseemedtoshrinkdown,cowedbyage.Merryhimselffeltasifagreatweightofhorroranddoubthadsettledonhim.Hisheartbeatslowly.Timeseemedpoisedinuncertainty.Theyweretoolate!Toolatewasworsethannever!PerhapsThéodenwouldquail,bowhisoldhead,turn,slinkawaytohideinthehills.
ThensuddenlyMerryfeltitatlast,beyonddoubt:achange.Windwasinhisface!Lightwasglimmering.Far,faraway,intheSouththecloudscouldbedimlyseenasremotegreyshapes,rollingup,drifting:morninglaybeyondthem.
Butatthatsamemomenttherewasaflash,asiflightninghadsprungfromtheearthbeneaththeCity.Forasearingseconditstooddazzlingfaroffinblackandwhite,itstopmosttowerlikeaglitteringneedle:andthenasthedarknessclosedagaintherecamerollingoverthefieldsagreatboom.
Atthatsoundthebentshapeofthekingsprangsuddenlyerect.
