Not Alone

The early morning sun rise,
Glittered on their spears,
The blood shone like rubies,
And their hope was dire.

Above the hill a white figure shone,
The stature of an old wizard,
Who looked grimly down at the sight,
Of the dead and bloodied victims.

Then behind the wizard rode a man,
Clad in armour strong,
He let out a yell of hope,
“For the king!”

Down the steep hill they rode,
To meet their enemies,
Who thought that they would have victory,
Instead that morn would perish.

The riders had come,
And fought they did,
For they would die for their country,
Their king was not alone.
- Queen of Gondor