3.15 Derelict Walls of Glory

The walls remember.

They remember being built, stones from far-flung quarries pulled together into a single entity.

They remember being lived in, kings and queens and diplomats and servants all roaming their halls. Children playing ‘find-me’ with no regard for class or gender. Worry and joy and anger and love all left their mark.

The walls remember the leaving. The very young and the very old went first. Then those that had no training in arms, and a few that did, to protect those that didn’t.

They remember the coming, the fighters from another land that camped on the hills.

They remember the blood, as their own fighters died within their bounds.

They remember the falling, the new rocks flung from siege engines that tore them apart, to lay among the wreckage they left. Now they can’t tell the new from the old, and no one has walked or played among them, or even left in so very long.

But they still remember.