Boromir, Thou Shall Live
Pmochizuki

Rating - PG
Main Characters - Boromir, Haldir

Chapter 25 - Camped at the Isen

With a contented smile, Haldir drew Isilme closer to him. They were at the moment seated on the ground, Isilme sitting upon his lap and Haldir leaning his back comfortably upon a large rock. The night air was cool, and though the chill temperature did nothing to bother the Elves, a warmth of comfort was found in each others arms

As Haldir absently stroked Isilme's dark blonde hair, peace descended upon his spirit and
once more Haldir wondered if he deserved her. He hoped the night would never end. He would
make this night last, a night spent with his loved one in his embrace, watching the sky and
not caring too much what was in store for them the next day.

Midnight it was and the earth was still. Behind them he knew the King of Rohan and his men
slept for they were weary from traveling. Haldir wondered if it was indeed all right for him
and Isilme to be seeking solitude away from them, then just as quickly he dismissed the
idea. The Lothlorien Elves would keep a vigil watch all night, he could place his trust in
them implicitly.

Haldir pondered whether it had been the right choice to take a different road to reach the
woods of Lorien. He had wanted to travel along the eastern edges of Fangorn towards
Lothlorien then had fought against the idea. He and his men had been only a few days gone
from their home, yet who knew how much the forces of Dol Guldur had risen in strength during
that time? He would not risk his people, nor Isilme, to the chance of being ambushed on the
very borders of Lorien.

So instead he had chosen another route, to travel along the Misty Mountains and approach the
woods from the west. When leaving Helm's Deep, Haldir had discussed the idea with Mithrandir
and the other had agreed that it was the best choice. More than anything, the wizard was
pleased to have the Lothlorien Elves travel with them, if only to Isengard.

Isengard. Haldir wondered what awaited them there. Mithrandir, one to always speak in
riddles, had said that he really knew not what would happen. But the Elf had a suspicion
that Mithrandir was not exactly revealing all he knew. But he could trust the wizard, he
knew his Lady, the Lady Galadriel, did.

His world was brought back to the present as Isilme settled her head more comfortably onto
his chest. Haldir leaned down to whisper in her ear teasingly, "Are you comfortable?"

She lifted her chin so they could see each other, and Haldir saw that she was smiling. "
Extremely comfortable." Suddenly he could see her smile had become very sly. Confused and
more than a little bit puzzled, he was about to question the look when she shifted slightly
in his arms.

Isilme lifted a delicate hand to lightly touch the side of his face. She snuggled her face
against the side of his neck and her hand caressed his cheek methodically. Haldir closed his
eyes under the touch when his Elvish sensitivity unexpectedly heightened as he felt her
breath move from under his chin towards his ear. "And are you comfortable my love?" she
queried softly, her lips barely grazing against his ear. Her voice so gentle yet so moving,
her voice which was making his head spin, and Haldir wonder how in the world he had gotten
himself into such an unsettling, yet not unpleasant situation.

Finally gaining control of his tongue, he strove to catch hold of any sanity his mind left
him. "Hmmm... I am still struggling to decide whether..."

His eyes widened and the words he had wanted to say were lost to him as he felt her kiss
just under his ear. The last fibers of his lucidity were lost and his mind became an abrupt
blank. Once more he closed his eyes to savor the feeling of her lips upon his skin. But that
kiss was only the first of more to come for Isilme continued to kiss his jaw line, her lips
leaving a tingling sensation which spread throughout his whole body, leaving his whole body
on fire. A fire he doubted nothing could distinguish. And for sure he never wanted it to be
distinguished.

Somewhere between the kisses Haldir's hand had found its way up to her neck and thus with a
firm hand brought her even closer to himself. Isilme pulled back just enough to whisper, "
You were saying?"

"I have decided that this is very comfortable."

Isilme laughed under her breath. "I am pleased you feel that way."

She continued her kissing ministrations but by that time, Haldir had had enough. Isilme
gasped in surprise as Haldir swiftly shifted her from his lap so that she leaning way out,
her whole upper body solely supported by Haldir's arm around her back. In an attempt to gain
some balance and steady herself, she reached out with a hand to hang on to the back of his
neck.

Now it was Haldir's to chuckle as Isilme looked slightly flustered at being in a position
where she was no longer in control. Being the warrior he was, he had no trouble holding her
in such a manner. He leaned his head down so their faces were a mere breath apart, forcing
her from trying to sit up.

The moon had passed into the West, and its light was hidden by the hills. But out of the
deep shadow of the Wizard's Vale which lay before them rose a vast spire of smoke and vapor.
As it mounted, it caught the rays of the sinking moon, and spread in shimmering billows,
black and silver, over the starry sky.

Thus in such a light Haldir looked into the face of his beloved. Her skin glowed in the
unearthly light of the moon, softening her Elven features into that of polished ivory, pure
and unblemished. Her lips, slightly parted, were curved gently in the daintiest of smiles.
And her eyes, eyes like sparkling jewels, pierced straight into his heart. Her eyes
reflecting the light of moon shone with an everlasting love. Love towards him.

As if afraid that such a vision would vanish before his eyes, Haldir hesitantly touched her
face. "Are you real?"

Seeing her give him a strange look, he continued to speak while stroking her face. "Are you
some angel who will disappear with the sun's first light? An illusive dream which was never
meant to be, a love I can never call my own?"

Understanding dawned in her eyes and she shook her head. She closed the distance between
their faces and brought her lips up to his. When they came apart, she whispered, "As sure as
our shared kiss was real, so is my love for you."

"I love you."

"And I you."

With those words, all of Haldir's reserve dissolved and he could no longer hold himself
back. He leaned down and planted his lips upon her in an intense kiss, one in which Isilme
returned with an intensity all her own. Using his hand to caress the smoothness of her
cheek, even further did he press his lips to hers to deepen the kiss. His whole being was
centered on this feeling she was giving him, a feeling so passionate which overpowered his
senses, making him abandon all reason. It was just him and her, and nothing else mattered or
even existed in their circle of love.

"There seems to be a stifling warmth radiating from this particular place."

Hearing the sound of Gimli's voice, Haldir and Isilme pulled away from each other with a
start. Forgetting what position they were in, the suddenness of their movements caused them
to tip over and if not for Haldir's quick reflexes, would have fallen flat on the ground.

"I think we may have startled the two love birds, don't you think my lad?"

Wincing at the awkward predicament he and Isilme were in, he glanced behind his shoulder to
see that not only had the Dwarf caught them, Legolas, too, was standing next to his shorter
friend.

Ignoring the Dwarf's chuckles and not daring to meet their eyes yet, Haldir helped Isilme
off his lap so that they could both get up from the ground. When they were finally standing,
Haldir brought his arms around Isilme's waist in a protective manner. He was pleased that
instead of pulling away, she responded by leaning against him, her hand lightly resting on
his arm.

Looking into her face, he noted that she was probably mirroring exactly how he looked at the
moment; flushed skin, rapid breathing, and ears slightly red in embarrassment. And the odds
were that Isilme's heart was probably beating as erratically as his own. Fortunately, his
loved one did not appear upset or irritated in the least. Otherwise, he would make sure
Gimli and Legolas would not get away without suffering some sort of pain for the
interruption.

Finally facing the Dwarf and the Elf, Haldir saw that Gimli was not the only one looking
pleased with himself. Legolas had the barest hint of a smile on his face, his eyebrows
raised delicately with an expression of amusement.

Before Haldir could speak, Gimli spoke again to the Mirkwood prince. "I say again, Legolas.
I do believe we have startled these two lovebirds. Yet how can it be, for they are Elves?
And we all know how Elven hearing is far superior to those of any other creature, is that
not right?"

Knowing that Gimli still appeared to hold a bit of a grudge for when Haldir had insulted the
Dwarf in Lothlorien, the Elf tried to speak but was interrupted Legolas. "Indeed, Master
Dwarf," Legolas nodded with much seriousness. "What you say is true. Yet I do believe that
the two of them were slightly, hmmm... shall we say, distracted?"

"Distracted? I should say so!" Gimli said with a snort.

"Jealous, Gimli?" Legolas asked with a smile.

As Gimli started blustering at the words spoken by his Elf friend, Haldir shook his head in
confusion. He couldn't believe his ears, here the Dwarf and the Elf were conversing
pleasantly as if Haldir and Isilme were not even there!

Clearing his throat, Haldir spoke. "It now appears that Isilme and I are the ones who are
disturbing you. So if you'll excuse us, we shall leave you two to... whatever you wish to
discuss."

Unfortunately, Gimli was not one to let others off the hook so easily. "Wait just one moment
Marchwarden. Are you insinuating that we were disturbing you two?" he said with mock
surprise.

In exasperation, Haldir couldn't help but believe with all his heart that there was indeed a
good reason why Elves and Dwarves did not get along. Dwarves were just too frustrating. They
appeared to have no manners at all. Yes, Elves and Dwarves were not meant to get along.

Which led to the question of Legolas.

Looking at the Mirkwood Elf who was watching him with dry humor, Haldir sighed in annoyance.
"I am surprised at you, Prince Greenleaf. I never would have suspected you to sneak up on
others. I believe the Dwarf's bad manners are rubbing off on you."

Gimli, now blustering about how Dwarf's were just as and even more polite than any Elf,
quieted as Legolas moved to stand before Haldir and Isilme. The Lothlorien Elves watched as
Legolas bowed towards Isilme.

Very seriously and with much humility, Legolas spoke. "Lady Isilme, I do give my sincerest
apologies for any discomfort my friend and I may have caused for you." Saying thus, Legolas
calmly stretched out his hand, palm upward.

Isilme, looking surprised yet pleased at the gesture, smiled and extended her own hand to
rest on the other's hand. "Your apology accepted. A most graceful apology I must say, one
worthy from a prince."

"My apologies too, fair lass," Gimli said also from where he stood.

Isilme did not speak, but her face spoke volumes as she smiled towards the Dwarf.

Legolas, still holding Isilme's hand in his own, brought hers up to his lips to give a soft
yet brief kiss. Then still bending down he lifted his head so his eyes could meet Isilme's.
Haldir watched with some suspicion as Legolas quirked one eyebrow, one corner of his mouth
curving upward in an Elf equivalent of a smirk. "We really could not help it you see. It was
too good an opportunity to miss catching the great Marchwarden of Lorien unawares. To see
him looking so embarrassed and flustered was worth it, though I once again apologize to you
for any... inconvenience."

Giving Isilme another kiss on the hand, accompanied soon afterward by a wink, Legolas stood
up straight. As soon as he did, he nimbly and gracefully took a step backwards, an innocent
motion to the casual eye. But Haldir knew the movement had been very deliberate, putting the
Mirkwood Elf just out of reach from the Lorien Elf. A smart move, considering his bold
remarks.

Haldir gave serious thought whether to actually confront the audacious Elf but quickly
disregarded the thought. It wasn't too big of a deal and Haldir was never one quick to
anger. Yet, Legolas didn't really know that, did he?

Deciding it was now his turn to have a bit of fun, Haldir gave a small smile and took one
step closer to Legolas. Catching the movement, the Mirkwood Elf's expression faltered a
little bit, probably trying to decide if Haldir was playing with him. Or whether he was very
serious. Not taking any chances, the prince stood so that the weight of his body was
balanced perfectly between his two legs which were subtly bent at the knees, the perfect
position to duck out of the way.

Wondering just how far he could take things, Haldir was just about to move another step when
Isilme stopped him by placing her hand on his chest. Glancing down to her face, he saw that
she was trying very hard to suppress her laughter. Realizing that she knew exactly what he
was doing, Haldir smiled and kissed her forehead.

Legolas understood now what had been going on and visibly relaxed. As a signal of respect,
the prince nodded his head in Haldir's direction which Haldir returned with a nod of his
own.

Gimli clearly had no idea what was going on and strolled over to where the three Elves were
standing. He sighed deeply while shaking his head. "I strongly believe that even among
yourselves it's hard to understand each other. Elves and their peculiar ways."

"You mean Dwarves and their incomprehensible mannerisms," Legolas said airily.

Haldir rolled his eyes and he recognized the signs of another conversation between Gimli and
Legolas about the downfalls of each other's race. He knew of course that it was all in good
spirit, but he knew naught how they could keep it up.

"If you don't mind, Isilme and I are going to try to find another place where we hope to
find some solitude."

"Hmph. Not likely," Gimli snorted.

"Besides," Legolas added, "there really was a reason why we came to find you. Gandalf and
Aragorn were hoping to speak with you about the road we will travel tomorrow."

Sighing, Haldir understood that it was indeed important he spoke with the wizard and the
Ranger for it had not yet been decided when they should part ways.

So the four of them worked their way back to the campsite, Gimli and Legolas walking ahead
while Haldir and Isilme lagged behind. Making sure that the two up ahead were deeply
engrossed in their conversation, Haldir leaned down to place a kiss on Isilme's neck then
another on her cheek. Isilme, still held in the protective circle of his arms, asked, "What
was that for?"

"I'm sorry."

"For what, my love?"

"Sorry that we didn't have more time together."

Isilme smiled up at him. "We have eternity before us, I believe we can handle one
interruption."

"An eternity before us." It was indeed a beautiful thought, the thought of having his sweet
Isilme with him for always. To have her always at his side, to share their lives as husband
and wife, to be able to hold her in his arms, to kiss her lips which were so sweet... Quite
an enticing thought indeed. "An eternity before us," Haldir repeated. "I like the sound of
that."

Isilme laughed softly at that comment, then stopped him just long enough to kiss him on the
cheek. It took all of his discipline and self control not to kiss her for he knew that once
he did, he would never get back the willpower to return to the campsite. Staying out here
alone with Isilme was such a tempting idea.

Yet, duty called, so with some disappointed they continued walking. But Haldir compromised
by placing his lips upon Isilme's head or cheek at every opportunity. Legolas and Gimli
turned round just in time to catch one of those instances.

"There they go again," Gimli commented.

"Do not they ever tire of it?" Legolas said with interest.

"Just wait Prince Legolas until you find an Elf maiden of your own," Isilme called out with
good humor. Legolas pretended not to hear.

Haldir leaned down to whisper in the Elf lady's ear. "If you wish me to, I can make sure the
rest of our journey together may be very uncomfortable for them."

Isilme smiled but shook her head. "Do not even think about it. My honor nor your honor is
not at stake. Let them live."

"If you say so." Haldir once again focused his eyes forward and saw that Legolas was
watching them with a smirk. Realizing that the Elf had probably heard every word, Haldir
said something he probably would never have thought to ever say. "Elves and their perfect
hearing."

Legolas only smiled.

**********

Eomer turned away from Gandalf and Aragorn with more than a little annoyance. How can
Gandalf even suggest that he rest? His uncle, King Theoden, was not young anymore and may
need the rest, but not Eomer.

Instead of going towards the inner camp grounds, he walked towards the outer edge, hoping to
find an unoccupied place where he could sort his thoughts out.

On the way he sighted Legolas and Gimli coming towards him, not far behind another Elf. It
was the Lothlorien Elf, Haldir. The Elf noticed him and leaving his other two companions
came towards Eomer.

Guessing his intentions, Eomer gestured to direction in which he had just come from. "
Mithrandir and Aragorn await your presence."

"Thank you," Haldir said and with a bow, walked to where Eomer had pointed towards.

As Eomer continued on his quest for a solitary spot, he saw that Legolas and Gimli had
disappeared into one of the tents set up to rest in. It was just as well, he was not much in
the mood for company.

He finally found a quiet little area where a fire had been set up. Going closer though, he
noticed that he had been mistaken to think he was alone for there sat Isilme starting to put
a kettle over the fire. Eomer debated whether to walk away or to at least present himself
until Isilme spoke.

"Eomer, would you care to have some tea? I was just about to heat some water."

It was foolish of him to forget that she was an Elf, she had probably noticed his presence
immediately. Eomer strode forward to sit beside the Elf maiden, forgetting that he had
wished to be alone.

"If you wouldn't mind."

"Not at all."

Eomer watched in awe as her every move was done with grace. In only one other woman had he
seen such poetry of movement and that was in his sister. But unlike Isilme, Eowyn had the
elegance of strength, the elegance of a warrior. Isilme's movements were more of that of a
dancer, beauty to the eyes.

"I hope you don't think me bold when I say I have never met anyone as beautiful as you, and
probably would never meet anyone so beautiful as yourself," Eomer said to Isilme, her answer
which was gentle laughter.

"I thank you for the compliment, but you are a little hasty in judgment, don't you think?"

Eomer shook his head. "Haldir is very fortunate to have you."

Again there was that gentle laughter. "And I think any woman who may have the honor of
marrying you is most fortunate also."

"But alas, fair Elf maiden," Eomer said with a smile, though he was very serious, "your
beauty has spoiled all women for me."

"Ah, but there is love. And when there is love, that woman will become fairer and more
beautiful than anyone in your eyes. I'm afraid compared to the light you will see in her
face, I will become very dim and insignificant."

Seeing that Eomer was skeptical, she leaned forward to place her hand on his cheek in a
motherly fashion, a gesture Eomer recalled clearly of his mother doing the same. The one
clear memory he had of her.

"Trust me," Isilme said softly. "When you find your one true love, you will never be
satisfied with the other beauties of Middle Earth."

She went back to tending the kettle and Eomer pondered on the words she had spoken. He did
not understand, yet decided when the time came, as Isilme said it would, he would know.

There was a comfortable silence as Isilme crushed some tea leaves into the kettle then
carefully poured the water into cups. It was not until she handed the drink to Eomer did she
speak. "I hope you do not find me bold when I ask what will happen tomorrow."

Eomer sighed heavily, not knowing how to truly answer for he himself did not know the
answer. He decided to tell her what he did know.

"You know that the Wizard's Vale lies ahead of us," Eomer said. Isilme nodded. "Look towards
it. What do you see with your Elf eyes?"

Isilme looked in the direction of Isengard. "Not much can be seen in this light. Yet there
is a vast spire of smoke. Vapor, too."

"There is ever a fume above that valley in these days," Eomer spoke, his voice grave. "But I
have never seen aught like this before. These are steams rather than smokes. Saruman is
brewing some devilry to greet us."

He bowed his head down to stare into his forgotten drink, his thoughts as dark as the
steaming liquid. "Maybe he is boiling all the waters of Isen, and that is why the river runs
dry."

As expected, Isilme was quiet for a few moments. "And what do the others say, what does
Mithrandir say?"

"He does not know, or he will not say," Eomer said, frustration once again threatening to
take hold. But he couldn't allow it, not with Isilme next to him. So instead he continued
speaking, not wanting to sink into any more dark thoughts. Isilme's presence was also
soothing in a subtle way and he allowed himself to confide in her.

"When we traveled through the strange trees at Helm's Deep, I was not too afraid for Gandalf
seemed pleased to see that they were there. And though I wonder why he keeps so much from
us, I do trust him.

"But when we were at the Fords, I saw with my own eyes and heard with my own ears. The beds
of the Isen were almost dry, a bare waste of shingles and grey sand. The Fords, ever a place
full of the rush and chatter of water upon stones, was silent. Even here, I cannot hear the
sounds of the water rushing down the Isen.

"I was thinking how the place had become so dreary. It was as if a sickness had befallen the
river. Many fair things Saruman has destroyed, has he devoured the springs of Isen, too?"

Eomer glanced over at Isilme who was watching him carefully, eyes full of compassion for
him. "I must admit I fear what awaits us tomorrow at Isengard," he whispered.

Isilme moved over to sit close and wrapped her arm around his shoulders. "Do not worry
Eomer. Tomorrow we shall learn what has happened."

The young man was just about to speak in response when he felt Isilme stiffen slightly. She
straightened her back and she cast her gaze here and there as if she was listening or
looking for something. Eomer, too, tried to find the reason for her action. It was then he
heard it.

Out of the night he heard a call like the low whistle of a bird, then another, and another.
"It is the signal of the Lothlorien Elves," Isilme whispered. "Something has happened." She
looked up and gasped softly. "Something is happening."

The moon seemed to have disappeared and someone gave out a cry. Eomer heard the whole
campsite come alive with activity as everyone woke up. He looked up into the heavens and saw
that the stars were shining above, but over the ground there crept a darkness blacker than
the night. On both sides of the river it rolled towards them, going northward.

Eomer jumped up at the same time as Isilme and was about to run towards the center of the
camp when he heard Gandalf's voice echo throughout the darkness. "Stay where you are! Draw
no weapons! Wait, and it will pass you by!"

He would never disobey the wizard, yet it was always better to be safe than sorry. Eomer
held on to Isilme's arm with his left hand, and with his right hand grasped the handle of
his sword, yet did not draw it out.

A mist gathered about them. Above them a few stars still glimmered faintly, but on either
side there arose walls of impenetrable gloom. They were in a narrow lane between moving
towers of shadow.

Out of the murky mist a figure came towards them and Eomer clenched his teeth, not knowing
whether to draw his sword or not. He immediately relaxed when he saw that it was Haldir.
Eomer was not the only one having a hard time following orders. Yet Haldir had a good
reason.

Eomer let go of Isilme and watched as the two Elves embraced, Haldir holding her close as he
kept his eyes roaming.

Voices could be heard all around, whisperings and groanings and an endless rustling sigh.
The earth shook under them.

He did not know how long he stood there, afraid to move, barely able to breathe. Long it
seemed before at last the darkness and rumor passed, vanishing between the mountain's arms.

All seemed deathly quiet until Haldir was the first to speak. "I believe it has passed."

"Whatever was it?" Eomer queried, his voice still down to a whisper, lest whatever evil it
was did not hear him.

Haldir only shook his head and led Isilme towards the fire, making her sit down then joining
her. Eomer was just about to also sit with them when the sound furthest from his mind came
to his ears.

Not heeding anything he heard Haldir say, Eomer ran to where the sound took him. Heart
pounding and ears straining to catch every sound, he finally stopped where the Isen was to
be a barren waste. But no longer was it dry.

The voice of the river had suddenly awoke and Eomer saw a rush of water hurrying down among
the stones. So astonished was he that he almost didn't move back in time from being swept
with the current. With surprise and some fear he looked on until that first current had
passed. And when it did, the Isen flowed and bubbled in its bed again, as it had ever done.

He felt a hand on his arm, but he didn't have to turn to know it was Isilme for she spoke
before he had even reacted to her presence. "Maybe everything will turn out all right."

Eomer didn't know whether to frown or to smile. "Hope wells within me, just as the springs
of the Isen has sprung up again. Yet, what strange deed is this? A miracle? Witchcraft?"

He shook his head. "Only more questions. Questions which can only be answered in the new
morrow."
 

Review this Story

With mounting apprehension, Aragorn nonetheless followed Gandalf passed the great pillar of the Hand. He had heard much from the Riders during their journey to Isengard, heard about the terrible stronghold of Saruman which none has ever entered.

But the Hand, no longer was it white as he had heard rumors about it to be. Instead, it was stained as with dried blood, the thought making Aragorn's involuntarily wince. As he passed by closely, he perceived that its nails were red.

Forcing his eyes away from such a hideous sight, he concentrated on the road ahead. All about them, as if there had been a sudden flooding, wide pools of water lay beside the road, filling the hollows, and rills went trickling down among the stones. With gentle guidance and soft words of encouragement, Hasufel proved to be a sure footed steed, letting Aragorn's gaze roam the area.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Aragorn saw with wry amusement that the Rider's reluctance seemed to seep into their very steeds. Many of the horses were skittish, shying this way and that, being just barely manageable.

"This place reeks of sorcery or some magic," Aragorn heard Gimli grumble from his place seated behind Legolas upon Arod. "But if this is of Saruman's work or not, I cannot tell."

"Not sorcery, nor magic, Master Dwarf," spoke Haldir. Aragorn turned his head to look at Haldir, who along with Isilme, sat astride a borrowed horse of the Rohirrim. The Marchwarden's expression was one of deep concentration, as if he was straining all of his senses, waiting for something. Finally he drew in a deliberate, slow breath.

"It's as if a power which has lain dormant and sleeping for so long, has awoken."

"Must have awakened on the wrong side of the bed," Gimli remarked dryly looking towards some stones, piled in ruinous heaps on the side of their path.

Haldir shot Gimli a thoughtful look. "Your words are not too far from the truth it may appear," he said in all seriousness. "I would wonder how you would feel if you were awaken to the treacherous deeds of Saruman, for the power was used against and seems to have conquered Isengard. The power of Saruman has been overthrown."

The Elf's words quieted the group as they pondered what indeed had happened to this dreary place. Isengard had come to ruin, once magestic and yet so terrible a location. As far as the eyes could see, for a strange mist had befallen the area, Isengard was little more than a disorganized array of scattered rock, cracked and splintered into countless jagged shards. The aftermath of a destruction so complete and awesome, no one could even speculate whatever had become of the stronghold of Saruman.

Aragorn was relieved when Gandalf finally halted, for the Ranger could not hold back any longer the questions plaguing his mind. As the wizard beckoned for them to come forward, Aragorn led Hasufel to the front where road also the King of Rohan and his nephew. But all notions of uttering any of his numerous questions died the instant his eyes came to rest upon the strange and so astonishing scene before them.

For the mists had cleared, and a pale sunlight shone over the place; the hour of noon had passed. They had come to the doors of Isengard, the doors now lying hurled and twisted on the ground. The same as everywhere they could see, stones were scattered far and wide. The great arch still stood, but it opened now upon a roofless chasm; the tunnel was laid bare and through the cliff like walls on either side, great rents and breaches had been torn.

There was more to see yet Aragorn heeded them not, his eyes focused on two familiar shapes. Two figures lying on a great rubble-heap, lying on it at their ease without a care. There were bottles and bowls and platters laid beside them, as if they had just eaten well, and now rested from their labor. One seemed asleep; the other, with crossed legs and arms behind his head, leaned back against the broken rock and sent from his mouth long wisps and little rings of thin blue smoke. Grey cloaked they were, if not for his sharp eyes Aragorn would not have spotted them.

"By the powers, it cannot be..." Aragorn heard the Dwarf whisper, words which he himself was thinking at the exact moment.

Merry, the one who had been smoking contentedly, sprang to his feet realizing that he and Pippin were no longer alone. He bowed very low, putting his hand upon his breast, seeming not to observe the wizard and his friends, instead turning towards the king and Eomer. "Welcome, my lords, to Isengard. We are the door wardens. Meriadoc, son of Saradoc is my name, and my companion, who, alas! Is overcome with weariness," here Aragorn stifled his laughter as Merry gave Pippin a kick, "is Peregrin, son of Paladin, of the house of Took. Far in the North is our home. The Lord Saruman is within; but at the moment he is closeted with one Wormtongue, or doubtless he would be here to welcome such honorable guests."

If Gandalf was irritated with Merry's manner, he did not show it. Instead, the wizard laughed, a sound which eased many a hearts of those nearby. "Doubtless he would," Gandalf spoke. "And was it Saruman that ordered you to guard his damaged doors, and watch for the arrival of guests, when your attention could be spared from plate and bottle?"

"No, good sir, the matter escaped him," Merry answered very gravely, though Aragorn detected an impish twinkle in the hobbit's eyes. "He has been much occupied. Our orders came from Treebeard, who has taken over the management of Isengard. He commanded me to welcome the Lord of Rohan with fitting words. I have done my best."

Gimli spoke up, unable to contain himself any longer. "And what about your companions? What about Legolas and me?" he cried, with Aragorn wondering why he wasn't mentioned. "You rascals, you woolly-footed and wool pated truants! A fine hunt you have led us! Two hundred leagues, through fen and forest, battle and death, to rescue you! And here we find you feasting and idling... and smoking! Smoking! Where did you come by the weed, you villains? Hammer and tongs! I am so torn between rage and joy, that if I do not burst, it will be a marvel!"

Having stopped to catch his breath after such a long outburst, Legolas laughed and remarked, "You speak for me, Gimli! Though I would sooner learn how they came by the wine."

"One thing you have not found in your hunting, and that's brighter wits," said Pippin, opening an eye, his lips upturned in a smirk. "Here you find us sitting on a field of victory, amid the plunder of armies, and you wonder how we came by a few well-earned comforts?"

"Well-earned?" said Gimli. "Hmph, I cannot believe that!"

Aragorn could only chuckle at the antics of the two hobbits, the Dwarf, and the Elf. Among the Riders, too, was there much chuckling and laughter. "It cannot be doubted that we witness the meeting of dear friends," spoke Theoden. "So these are the lost ones of your company, Gandalf? Are not these Halflings, that some among us call the Holbytlan?"

Merry bowed, and with a slight glare towards his cousin, Pippin jumped up and also bowed very low. "Hobbits, if you please, my lord," Pippin piped up.

"Hobbits? Your tongue is strangely changed, but the name sounds not unfitting so," said Theoden with wonder in his eyes. "Hobbits! No report that I have heard does justice to the truth. All I have heard are stories of halfling folks that dwell in holes in sand-dunes. But I have not heard that they spouted smoke from their mouths." The last was said with much amusement, and Aragorn saw that Theoden smiled brightly, forgetting for once the burdens of the wars.

"That is not surprising," Merry answered with a smile that matched the king's, "for it is an art which we have not practiced for more than a few generations." Aragorn groaned. He knew once Merry got started, there was no stopping him!

"It was Tobold Hornblower, of Longbottom in the Southfarthing, who first grew the true pipe-weed in his gardens, about the year 1070 according to our reckoning. How old Toby came by the plant..."

"You do not know your danger, Theoden," Gandalf interrupted with a sigh. "These hobbits will sit on the edge of ruin and discuss the pleasures of the table, or the small doings of their fathers, grandfathers, and great- grandfathers, and remoter cousins to the ninth degree, if you encourage them with undo patience. Some other time would be more fitting for the history of smoking."

Gimli snorted to which Merry and Pippin gave him an exasperated look, as if they could not understand what was exactly wrong with the timing of their explanation.

"Where is Treebeard, Merry?" Gandalf asked.

"Away on the north side, I believe," Merry said, waving his hand towards the steaming lake. The whole company turned to look, and they heard a distant rumbling and rattling. Far away came a 'hoom-hom', as of horns blowing triumphantly. "Treebeard...

"It is past noon," Gandalf interrupted again, "and we at any rate have not eaten since early morning. Yet I wish to see Treebeard as soon as may be. Did he leave me no message, or has plate and bottle driven it from your mind?"

Merry gave Gandalf a hurt look, puckering his lips in a pout. "He did leave a message and I was coming to it, but I have been hindered by many other questions. I was to say that, if the Lord of the Mark and Gandalf will ride to the northern wall they will find Treebeard there, and he will welcome them. I may add that they will also find food of the best there. It was discovered and selected by your humble servants." He lifted his chin then gave an exaggerated bow as a performer would after giving an especially good performance.

Aragorn shook his head, the hobbit had not changed one bit.

Gandalf laughed. "That is better! Well, Theoden. Will you ride with me to find Treebeard? We must go round about, but it is not far."

"I will come with you."

Gandalf then turned to face Haldir. "Would you and your company care to join us as we make a circuit of ruined walls of Isengard?"

Haldir nodded. "We shall follow."

As Gandalf and the King's company turned to ride away, King Theoden lingered behind and spoke to the two hobbits. "Farewell, my hobbits! May we meet again in my house! There you shall sit beside me and tell me all that your hearts desire: the deeds of your grandsires, as far as you can reckon them. And we will speak also of Tobold the Old and his herb-lore. Farewell!" Saying thus, the king expertly lead his horse back again to the front of his men to ride besides Gandalf.

Aragorn was pleased to note that the King seemed to like the hobbits, and was glad that they had met. Without surprise, the Ranger saw that Gimli and Legolas stayed where they were, as had the hobbits who had not moved from their place upon the rocks.

"Well, well!" Aragorn said as the Lothlorien Elves, who had held the rearguard, passed by on foot. "The hunt is over, and we meet again at last, where none of us ever thought to come." He faced the hobbits and for the first time, he was able to look into their eyes. They both appeared to be fine and healthy enough, though their clothes were travel stained. But Pippin... in his eyes, Aragorn saw a flicker of... something.

As the riders alighted from their horses, Aragorn was a little startled as Pippin jumped down from his place, for the hobbit had looked so comfortable. Rushing over to the Ranger, Pippin threw his arms around Aragorn in a hug. Before Aragorn could react though, Pippin let go suddenly to look up into his face.

The impish confidence was gone from Pippin, replaced now with the childlike brightness which Aragorn preferred. "It is so good to see you again, Aragorn! But where is Boromir?"

When the name came out from Pippin's mouth, Aragorn froze. Boromir? Yet he would have thought... He closed his eyes, his mind already understanding what it meant if the hobbits didn't know where Boromir was...

Pippin did not notice and continued speaking in his usual nonstop manner. "I do hope he is doing well, Merry said no one could have survived what Boromir went through. But I know if anyone could, it would be Boromir! And I'd never thought to see any of the Lorien Elves, for that is who they are, aren't they?" He tried to peer around Aragorn to watch as the last of Elves had passed by. Aragorn followed his gaze, knowing that the Elves, being the rearguard, were the last to follow. He saw Haldir and Isilme pause to watch them, grief in their eyes. Isilme lowered her gaze and Haldir turned away sadly to leave with the rest.

Looking down, Aragorn saw that Pippin's eyebrows were furrowed in confusion. "Is Boromir coming later?" he asked, some hesitance evident in his voice.

Seeking help, Aragorn looked around. He saw that Legolas and Gimli stood not to far away as did Merry. Gimli and Merry looked uncomfortably away and though Legolas caught Aragorn's gaze, his eyes were troubled. The Ranger bowed his head, knowing that by silent agreement, the task had come to him to speak with Pippin.

Aragorn sighed, then bent down on one knee so that his face was level with the other's. The action and the look on Aragorn's face must have warned Pippin, for the hobbit's expression suddenly became one of concern. "Aragorn," he whispered softly, his eyes widening in apprehension. "Where is Boromir?"

Speaking slowly and deliberately, Aragorn explained in a quiet voice. "Legolas, Gimli, and I hunted the Uruk-Hais, knowing that they had taken you hostage." He paused, trying to figure out how to put what he had to say next into words. "Pippin... we found no trace of Boromir. We had been hoping that you could tell us what had happened."

An array of emotions flitted across Pippin's face, ranging from surprise to unease. Yet one emotion was clearly defined in his eyes. Fear.

His voice came out in a whisper, making Aragorn move closer to catch every word. "The Uruk-Hais were closing in on us. I thought they were going to kill Merry and me." A far off look came into his eyes, and Aragorn saw that the little hobbit was relieving the memory. "Boromir came and began fighting off the Uruk-Hais, protecting us. Then an arrow came out of nowhere. Then another." Pippin closed his eyes, and with one hand touched his left shoulder near his heart, then his side, as if the arrows themselves were piercing where Boromir had been hit. "Boromir never stopped fighting, never stopped... even when they took Merry and me away, he kept fighting..."

Tears escaped from the hobbit's closed eyes at the same time Aragorn was struggling to control his own tears threatening to spill. So Boromir had been injured, both injuries Aragorn knew were fatal if not cared for. And overwhelming sense of guilt flooded his senses. If only Aragorn had been able to find Boromir, there would have been the chance he could have saved the Gondorian warrior. Yet now... now it was too late. "We found no trace..." Aragorn whispered once more.

Pippin opened his and with his small hands grasped the front of Aragorn's shirt. "Aragorn, he may still be alive," he cried out. "He may still be alive," he said again in a whisper, desperation evident in his voice.

The desperation struck Aragorn's heart. He had seen how close the hobbit and Boromir had been, yet he had not realized just how much Pippin would have been affected. He tried to put it as gently as possible. "Pippin, we have to try to face the realities. We must take into consideration that...." 'Boromir might be dead'.

Before he could say it, the words caught in Aragorn's throat. He couldn't, he just couldn't say it. Not to Pippin, not to this young hobbit who was looking at him with so much despair. Who was he to take away hope, when hope was the one thing most needed at such dire times?

He tried to smile, hoping the gesture reached to his eyes. "Boromir is a fine, brave warrior. If there is hope, it is a hope that he knows how to take care of himself. He is either tracking our footsteps, or continues on to Gondor where he knows we will try to reach at some time or other."

His words seemed to signal for the others to join in. Merry moved over to Pippin's side and put an arm around his younger cousin's shoulders. "That's right Pip, Boromir has more brains than you. At least he knows in which direction north, south, east, and west is!"

Legolas nodded with a small smile upon his lips. "Indeed, Boromir has a good head on his shoulders."

"It is past midday," Gimli spoke. "You truants might make amends by finding us some of the plunder that you spoke of. Food and drink would pay off some of my score against you."

"Then you shall have it," Merry piped up. "Come, Pip! We shall lead the way, and while they fill their stomachs with food, and of course we should join them in a second meal, we shall tell them of our adventures!"

Aragorn watched as Pippin wiped the tears from his eyes and struggled to cast away his sadness. But the Ranger feared that the Pippin who had been standing at the top of a pile of rocks to the Pippin standing before him were two different people.

For the Pippin before had the childlike innocence of one still young in mind and body, one who had still a lot of growing up to do. But now, with the knowledge that he may never again see someone he loved so dearly, that innocence had dimmed in Pippin's eyes, revealing too much pain for one so young to have as a burden. Aragorn's heart cried out because of that innocence so prematurely taken away. Only once had he seen it happen, when they had believed Gandalf to have fallen in Moria. Yet in Lothlorien, with the magic of the woods and the Lady Lorien, Pippin had healed. But now... there was no hope for such a kind of peace or healing.

**********

Pippin tried to inconspicuously push the plate of food away from in front of him. Unfortunately, everyone seemed to notice yet fortunately, no one commented on his actions.

The five members of the Fellowship were now seated inside one of the rooms of Saruman's guard house where Merry and Pippin had found their treasure troves of food and wine. They had eaten in almost complete silence, the three warriors hungry and Merry, of course, able to eat another meal. But Pippin was not hungry.

When the meal was finished, Pippin listened with only half an ear as Merry talked about the pipe-weed they had found. It was not until Gimli said that he had lost his own pipe did Pippin remember.

Putting a hand inside the breast of his jacket he pulled out a little soft wallet on a string. "I always carry my old wooden pipe with me. And here's another, an unused one." Giving the Dwarf a small smile, for it was all he could force himself to do under the circumstance, Pippin handed Gimli the pipe. "Does that settle the score between us?"

"Settle it!" Gimli cried out in delight. "Most noble hobbit, it leaves me deep in your debt."

"Well I am going back into the open air, to see what the wind and sky are doing," Legolas said, getting up from his seat.

Aragorn looked around and seeing that no one was protesting, said, "We will come with you."

Standing up they all walked out of the guard house, Pippin behind everyone else. They seated themselves upon the piled stones which Merry and Pippin had been comfortably sitting on not too long ago. Pippin saw that the mists had lifted and were floating away upon the breeze, allowing them to see far down into the valley.

As of one mind, Merry, Gimli, and Aragorn took out their pipes and from the stash of Longbottom Leaf the hobbits had found, smoked in silence for a while. Legolas himself only lay still, looking up at the sun and sky with steady eyes.

Pippin, too, readied his pipe, and took in a puff, then sent from his lips a thin stream of smoke.

Legolas finally spoke up. "Come now. Time wears on, and the mists are blowing away, or would if you strange folk did not wreathe yourselves in smoke. What of the tale?"

Out of the corner of his eyes, Pippin saw Merry looking at him intently. Pippin only turned his head away slightly, silently telling his cousin that he wasn't in the mood to talk. From years of growing up together, Merry understood the gesture and began a colorful narrative of what had taken place since their separation at the river.

While Merry talked, with a few interruptions here and there by the others, Pippin became lost in his thoughts. Dear Boromir, where were you?

From the start, Pippin at first had been frightened of Boromir. Tall and strong of bearing, the man showed Pippin just how much of a hobbit he was. But for all his height, manly stance, and sometimes harsh eyes, Boromir had never looked at Pippin with anything but kindness.

At first, Pippin saw that Boromir looked at him with more than a little amusement, which for some reason Pippin couldn't understand, everyone did. But as they journeyed from Rivendell, Boromir's attitude had changed from that of a casual friendship to something else.

The questions Pippin asked Boromir were always answered, never once was the man annoyed. Pippin learned that the Gondorian warrior had a younger brother, joking that the fact was one of the reasons why he could stand to listen and satisfy Pippin's inquisitiveness.

Maybe that was the reason Pippin thought Boromir more as a brother than just a friend.

Pippin drew in a shaky breath, forcing the tears which were suddenly beginning to form to stop. He had never felt so depressed in his life.

Depressed, such a terrible word, such a terrible feeling. Pippin did not like the feeling.

Pippin brought up images of Boromir into his mind. He tried to recall every memory he could. Boromir lending his cloak to the hobbits to ward off the chill. The warrior showing Pippin how to hold his dagger. Boromir carrying Pippin on his back when the hobbit's feet couldn't move any more. Pippin gratefully taking the offered food from Boromir's rations.

Memories of when they laughed together.

Each and every scene, Pippin tried to embed and engrave into his heart and mind. He wished never to forget...

'Stop it,' Pippin mentally shouted to himself. He had to stop thinking as if Boromir was dead.

But wasn't there that possibility? Wasn't that what Aragorn was going to say before he had stopped?

Maybe Aragorn was right, he had to face the realities. And Pippin disliked realities. It was too much of a jolt from the kind of life he had in Hobbiton. When at the Entmoot Merry had told him about the Darkness spreading to the Shire, that reality had struck very hard. So hard that at first he couldn't do anything. Sauron, coming to the Shire? No, that was something he didn't want to think about.

And in a way, this was the same thing. No one knew what happened to Boromir. The last the warrior was seen was him pierced with many arrows. The image made Pippin shudder involuntarily. He just didn't want to think about the possibility of never seeing Boromir again.

Feeling a hand on his shoulder, Pippin was glad of the interruption from his thoughts. He looked to see that the hand belonged to Aragorn. In the Ranger's other hand were two sheathed knives. Pippin's eyes widened as he recognized the objects.

"Well, I never expected to see those again!" With delight, Pippin took his dagger while Merry took the other.

"And here also is your brooch, Pippin," Aragorn said, displaying the precious item. "I have kept it safe, for it is a very precious thing."

"I know," Pippin said wistfully as he took it, remembering how much of a struggle it had been to part with it. "It was a wrench to let it go, but what else could I do."

"Nothing else," answered Aragorn, giving Pippin a gentle pat on his arm. "One who cannot cast away a treasure at need is in fetters. You did rightly."

The words comforted Pippin as he clasped the brooch on his cloak, happy that it was back where it belonged. Then suddenly, his fingers froze just as they were about to pull away from the brooch. The brooch which Boromir had once had to adjust for him.

"Just like a child, cannot pin on a simple brooch by himself," Boromir had joked as he pinned the brooch on. Pippin had pouted, proving just how much of a child he could be, earning a laugh from the tall man.

Oh, Boromir... Pippin could not get his kind face of his out of his mind, how Boromir would wink down at him whenever any of the others would scold him.

Memories, so many memories of one man whom he might never see again.

Pippin could not stop the tremble in his hands as he lowered them to his lap. Another pair of hands grasped his. Not Boromir's hands, yet the hands were just as gentle.

"Memories, Pippin?" Aragorn asked softly.

Not trusting his voice, Pippin only nodded.

Aragorn reached out to grasp the hobbit's shoulder in a comforting way. It was not much, but for Pippin, it was just enough. For now, it was enough.
 

Review this Story

Merry and Pippin turned away from Treebeard as the Ent spoke to Gandalf. They had all just come from speaking to Saruman, where the wizard had chosen to stay in Isengard. Even now, Merry remembered the fear and anguish in Saruman’s eyes as Gandalf had made Saruman’s staff split right under the other’s hand. He would never forget how Gandalf had truly shown who the White Wizard was. And how Saruman’s powers had subsided under the eaves of his very own stronghold.

Though in the back of his mind Merry knew that he should be listening to the two powerful being’s conversation, he couldn’t help but let his mind wander. Not surprisingly, his thoughts turned to though of his young cousin.

Being the inseparable pair they were, the two hobbits were standing next to each other. Out of the corner of his eyes, Merry saw that Pippin was absently touching the brooch clasped at the throat of his cloak. Merry held back the sigh that welled up from deep inside himself. Poor Pip.

The reality that Boromir had not come with the other members of the fellowship had really hit Pippin hard. Being the sensitive hobbit he was, he was unlikely to shake off the despair as quickly as the others could.

But Merry knew that it wasn’t true. The rest of them weren’t putting aside their sadness; they were all only hiding it well.

Even now, Merry felt like running to Aragorn and asking if the Ranger was really sure that there had been no sign of Boromir. Being the more practical of the hobbits, Merry knew that one couldn’t just disappear without a trace. Especially from trackers such as Aragorn and Legolas.

He glanced over to where the Ranger, the Elf, and the Dwarf stood. But before his eyes rested on the three, they first found two Elf figures slightly apart from everyone else.

It was Haldir, and the Elf-maiden, who had been introduced to Merry as Isilme. And according to a loud whisper from Gimli, the two were apparently very close. Merry had liked her at first glance, though for some strange reason her eyes had appeared sad when she had looked down at him and Pippin.

The two Elves were speaking in low tones, and the hobbit was surprised to see how serious they looked. Of what they were speaking of, Merry knew not for he was too far away to hear. Merry shrugged away the strange sight though. He wouldn’t let his curiosity get the best of him. He smiled reminding himself how much trouble Pippin’s curiosity had and would get them all into. Merry wouldn’t make the same mistake.

He kept his gaze moving, and saw that Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli were keeping their full concentration on Gandalf and Treebeard, thoughtful expressions on their faces. Merry figured out that it was not exactly the right time to put to them the questions he had about Boromir’s strange disappearance.

Besides, Merry wanted any conversation with them to be private. Away from the hearing of Pippin. Merry would never, ever hurt Pippin for the whole of Middle Earth. Yes, indeed though there was hope that Boromir just might still be alive, the hope was slim. Whatever hope the younger hobbit had, it was one Merry did not want to crush.

Throughout this journey, Merry had sworn to himself that he would take care of Pippin. He would have to remain strong for him. No matter how hard the task was, Merry promised to undertake it. For Pippin’s sake, he would remain strong.

So it wasn’t surprising that when Merry had first laid eyes upon Boromir, he had been wary when the warrior had paid special attention to Pippin. Oh, how long ago it seemed when they had started out from Rivendell! Merry had seen Boromir as just a chance member of their formed fellowship. But so soon afterwards, the fellowship was forged into that of friends, companions. Brothers even.

For Merry, he had forever been Pippin’s closest friend. Hardly ever were they without the other. But during their travels, Boromir had somehow found his way into their bond to form an even stronger one. He had become sort of a big brother to them in the ways of the Middle Earth the two hobbits never knew about.

Long treks, climbing mountains, facing severe cold weather, traveling by water. Through it all, Merry would have only to look up to see Boromir watching, ready to give out any assistance required. He would always make sure the hobbits were all right. And now those green-grey eyes of attentiveness were nowhere to be found around them, caring for them. Maybe forever.

Merry scolded himself mentally as his vision became slightly blurred with unshed tears. Furiously wiping them away, he turned to look at his cousin to make sure any escaped tears had been seen.

But Pippin appeared oblivious. He no longer had his hands touching his brooch, but were hanging loosely at his sides. And his face, he was looking almost vacantly straight ahead, eyes unblinking and unseeing, yet so intent and focused.

In concern, Merry, too, looked to what Pippin was in deep concentration of. From what Merry could tell, the object of Pippin’s interest was Gandalf. No, not Gandalf. It was something Gandalf was carrying in the folds of his robe.

With sudden clarity, Merry remembered the mysterious ball which Grima Wormtongue had thrown when speaking with Saruman, aiming for Gandalf. Fortunately, the object had missed Gandalf, and Pippin had gone to retrieve it. They had all thought nothing of it, but Merry did not overlook the strange way Pippin had carried it, as if he were bearing a great weight. And his expression, one of wonder and awe.

Merry wracked his brains for what the ball had looked like. It had been like a globe of crystal; dark but glowing with a heart of fire. Something full of magic, in his opinion. A growing sense of apprehension filled his heart as the one question popped into his head. Why was this object having such a hold over Pippin?

With alarm, Merry saw that Pippin’s breathing had become somewhat unusual, for he was beginning to take quick intakes of breath.

“Pippin?”

As if Merry’s quiet words had been a shout into his ear, Pippin’s whole body violently jerked. As if suddenly released from a spell or an enchantment, Pippin turned his gaze away from Gandalf and blinked rapidly.

“Pippin?” Merry asked once more, instantly worrying over the other’s strange behavior. “Are you all right?”

“I... I’m all right,” Pippin said in a rush. He shivered slightly. “A strange feeling came over me, that’s all.”

Merry, still troubled over his friend, tried to catch Pippin’s eyes. “Was it that globe Gandalf took from you? Because if it is, we have to tell him...”

“No!” Pippin’s eyes widened in panic. “Don’t, Merry! He will only say,” the next words Pippin mimicked the way Gandalf spoke, “‘Fool of a Took! Why did you have to touch it at all?’” He shook his head. “No, I’m fine. I’m perfectly fine.” Seeming a bit embarrassed over his outburst, Pippin sighed then looked down at his feet.

It was no surprise to Merry as Pippin brought a hand up to touch the Lothlorien brooch. Going over to stand next to him, Merry put an arm around his friend’s shoulders. He said brightly, “Perfectly fine? That’s a bit of an overstatement, isn’t it?”

Silence followed his words then Merry spoke again, this time with a compassionate voice. “It’s all right, Pip. I’m here for you. And Boromir will find us as soon as he can. You know he will.”

“What if...”

“What if a deadly plague sweeps over the land and kills us all? I don’t know Pip, then probably not.”

Merry was delighted to see Pippin smile. “You see Pip?” Merry said. “‘What ifs’ aren’t going to help us at all. So keep your chin up.”

Pippin nodded then looked at the other members of the remaining fellowship. He gave an exaggerated sigh. “I suppose we’ll have to travel with Gandalf and the others again. And they keep up such a hard, fast pace. My feet only just got over the blisters. Did you know I got blisters on my blisters?”

They laughed together, and Merry’s heart lightened. Maybe it was going to be all right for the both of them.

        **********

The sun was sinking slowly down in the sky as Boromir and Bawuer continued their journey to Minas Tirith. Both their horses, Maiorama and Ebon, fully rested from the night before, set a burning pace eastward. Stopping only for a quick rest at noon, they had traveled far and for this, Boromir was pleased.

Smooth was Maiorama’s gait and both her hooves and Ebon’s created a pleasantly rhythmic sound to Boromir’s ears. He found himself drifting into the quiet of his mind, his thoughts wandering from one thing to another.

The strange dream last night no longer haunted him as it had in the morning. An evil omen it was, maybe. And Boromir hoped not. Again his mind wandered to other thoughts, thoughts of two certain young hobbits...

Back when Galadriel had allowed him to look into her Mirror, he had been shown very clearly that he had three paths to choose from. Whether to go and follow Frodo and Sam, to aid in the Rohirrim battle of Helm’s Deep, or to go back to his homeland of Gondor. And he had made his choice.

Yet while traveling south from Lothlorien, he had wondered what had become of Pippin and Merry. Why had not the Mirror shown anything of the two of them? So strange it had seemed. Of course Boromir had reached the conclusion that the Mirror had reasons for showing him only the images he needed to see. And yet... it had been as a little thorn in the back of his mind. Fortunately he had been able to shake away the odd feeling for a while.

Boromir had then, along with Eomer and his men, come across Gandalf and Erkenbrand’s army. While journeying together to whatever awaited them in Helm’s Deep, Boromir had been able to tell the wizard about his thoughts.

He remembered how Mithrandir had gravely listened to his narrative of his encounter with the magic of the Mirror. And even more clearly, he recalled vividly how Gandalf had reacted when Boromir had asked if the wizard knew anything of Pippin and Merry’s fate.

The wizard begun to chuckle, and his chuckles did not stop for a long while.

More than a little curious of Gandalf’s action, Boromir waited for the other to explain the reason for his bout of merriment. Being the unobtrusive wizard he was, with twinkling eyes he had only replied by saying, “They are in good hands, more than you could ever imagine. Do not worry for them, Boromir. Even I could not have devised a better path for them to have gone. Yes, better than any design of fate.”

And that was all. Gandalf had left him to speak to Erkenbrand on some matter, a smile still playing upon his lips.

So now, here he was. On his way to Gondor, and still having no idea where those two rascals were. Boromir couldn’t help but a worry a little. It had been an interesting kind of task taking care of those two hobbits. Always able to rely on for amusement, especially little Pip.

Like that time before being spied on by Crebain from Dunland. He had been teaching them to at least defend themselves with their swords. Unfortunately, Boromir wasn’t that used to fighting with beings so... vertically challenged. So to his utter chagrin, he had accidentally nicked Pippin’s hand with his sword.

In the midst of his profuse apologies, the two hobbits had then attacked him. Attacked him! Made him trip over backwards and then had proceeded to jump on him. By that time the hilarity of the situation had overwhelmed him, making him laugh until his sides hurt.

Even now, the memory caused Boromir’s mouth to curl upwards into a smile. Yes, they were always relied on for amusement in the company.

But they were also always relied on for getting themselves and others into trouble. Instantly sobering at the thought, Boromir tried to quell the rising worry in his chest. He tried not to imagine just what kind of trouble they could get themselves into. Gandalf had thus far been usually, almost always, correct. Boromir would just have to trust that Mithrandir knew what he was doing.

Realizing that he and Bawuer had kept up a fast pace for so long, he began to shift his weight backwards, slightly pulling in Maiorama’s reigns to slow the pace down. Maiorama obviously seemed ready to gallop all through the night, yet Boromir knew that they had a lot more ground to cover before reaching Minas Tirith. It would be best not to tire her nor Ebon so early in their journey.

Bawuer matched Ebon’s pace with Maiorama’s so that the two were at a brisk walk.

“You are insulting me, Lord Boromir.”

Glancing over at his companion, Boromir raised his eyebrows. “Whatever do you mean.”

“Do not play with me, I have enough with Ebon’s manipulations without you doing the same. My leg is perfectly fine.”

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” Boromir said with a shrug.

As Bawuer pursed his lips irritably, the man of Gondor smiled to himself. In truth, he had of course thought of Bauwer’s injury acquired at Helm’s Deep. He was sure that the leg was bothering the man. But the Valar forbid if Boromir should say the fact to the prideful Rohirrim soldier.

A peaceful quiet followed but was soon interrupted as Ebon began veering off from the direction they were heading. Boromir sighed inwardly. Trust Ebon to find some way to make a nuisance of himself.

“Having some trouble, Bawuer?”

The other man grunted. “Ebon is not called ‘some’ trouble. He is trouble itself.”

For a few minutes though Bawuer managed to keep Ebon moving forward, the black stallion tried taking the reigns away from his rider. As stretching his neck out or shaking his head didn’t seem to do anything to wrest control from the accomplished horseman, Boromir saw with worry as Ebon’s ears turned back. A bad sign.

And sure enough, Ebon chose at that moment to stop complete, except for doing a strange little prance, picking his front feet from the ground. Boromir reigned in Maiorama to a halt. He was surprised to see that instead of using his heels to get the animal moving, Bawuer had frozen, with a look of pure horror on his face.

“Oh, no...” Bawuer said under his breath.

“What is the ma...” Boromir didn’t finish his sentence as Ebon did the unthinkable.

The black horse bent his forelegs under himself, knees hitting the ground then rolling partially to one side. Understanding dawned on Boromir. The horse was going to lie down!

As Ebon’s hindquarters hit the ground, Bawuer, cursing in what seemed to be the language of the Rohirrim, kicked his feet out of the stirrups. Before his legs could be crushed by the weight of his horse, Bawuer jumped off and successfully moved a safe distance away.

Because he was still wearing a saddle, Ebon didn’t actually completely lay down on the ground. Rolling a bit so that his legs were almost underneath himself, Ebon jerked his head and using the momentum, got his forelegs firmly on the ground. Then with a final thrust, got his hind legs in position and stood up. Shaking his head then blowing out from his nose, Ebon calmly turned his head to face Bawuer, eyeing his master carefully as if trying to determine what kind of a mood the other was in.

But it was pretty obvious to all that Bawuer would not be in the most pleasant of moods. “Curse you, you confounded devil!” Marching over to grab Ebon by the muzzle, Bawuer began furiously berating the beast in the Rohirrim language.

Boromir couldn’t help. Before long, the laughter which he had held back since looking at Ebon’s expression of absolutely no remorse, came forth from his lips. And the expression on both Bawuer and Ebon’s faces hearing his laughter caused Boromir to laugh even harder.

Finally getting control of himself, Boromir spoke. “Is this a custom you two have whenever boredom hits Ebon?”

“More like a tradition,” Bawuer said with annoyance, bringing Ebon’s reigns up front to keep a firm hold on him. “Ebon likes good food and a warm stall, and he knows where home is.”

Boromir looked in the direction which Bawuer gestured to and with surprise saw that Edoras was not too far away in the distance. To the south were the snow capped White Mountains. The grass lands rolled against the hills that clustered at the feet of the mountains, flowing up into many valleys.

And one green hill stood out most of all, where the courts of Edoras stood. In the waning light of the sun, to Boromir it seemed as the golden hall of Meduseld shown even brighter still.

The two men stayed still for a few minutes, drinking in the simple beauty of the home of the King and his Horse-lords. A different kind of loveliness than of Minas Tirith for Boromir, yet still a beauteous sight.

It was Bawuer who came first out of their individual reveries. “Do you mind if we walk a bit? At least until this idiot of a horse will get it through his thick skull that Edoras is not our destination.”

“Certainly, in fact I think I will join you.” Boromir dismounted then throwing his reigns over Maiorama’s head, the two men began walking, leading their hoses behind them.

Out of the corner of his eye, Boromir tried to determine the condition of Bawuer’s leg. His limp was hardly noticeable, a fact which did much to relieve Boromir’s mind. When they had left Helm’s Deep, Boromir had instantly regretted taking the young soldier along for he worried about the injury. Riding required much use of the legs, especially the ankles and heels. It would not do to make the wound any worse.

It soon became dusk, and the sky began to darken, making Boromir pay particular attention to the ground which the walked. The grassy plains dipped and rose for this area were not in reality as flat as it appeared from far off. One misstep could lead to an unfortunate accident which he could not really afford.

How long they walked Boromir could not tell, though judging by the position of the sun, not for very long. Maiorama walking docilely behind gave him a nudge on the shoulder. Not heeding the gesture, Boromir instead spoke to Bawuer. “Think you that Ebon will comply to being ridden now?”

Bawuer shrugged. “He still seems to be irritated. And yet...” Bawuer looked back at Ebon who was snorting a lot, ears still held back. “He seems more nervous than annoyed.”

Boromir felt a tug on the reigns and turned to observe Maiorama. He frowned noticing the way Maiorama had her head held high, her ears constantly moving as if taking in every single sound. “Tis strange, Maiorama is also acting peculiarly...”

“Dunlendings!”

Bawuer’s shout caused Boromir to automatically crouch lower on the ground. Casting his gaze over the land he saw that he and his companion were about to be surrounded by at least a dozen or so men, judging from how far he could see in the dark. Dunlendings, fierce fighting men from the land of Dunland, sworn enemies of the Rohirrim.

There was no time to mount up though it would be an advantage against the assailants on foot. Bawuer had already unsheathed his sword and with a cry attacked the closest of the enemies.

Already one of the Wild Men had advanced upon Boromir, carrying a club. As the weapon was swung down towards the Gondorian’s head, Boromir ducked, and the club hit him hard on the shoulder. The pain was registered in his head then dismissed. There was a battle to fight, no distractions.

With a well placed uppercut, Boromir knocked the man out. Another Dunlending closed in from the side. Boromir, giving the other no time to use his sword, kicked the weapon out of the other’s hand. Two more men began advancing slowly and cautiously, and the warrior noticed another coming towards him. Towards his right he heard Bawuer holding his own, apparently very well.

Hearing the sharp whinny of a horse, Boromir turned round to see that a few Dunlendings were trying to grab her reigns. Rather unsuccessfully for Maiorama was swift on her feet, and biting anyone who came too close.

Ebon on the other hand was putting up a better front. Rearing and bucking, Boromir saw one foolish man receive a well aimed kick to the chest. The man went down with a thud and was not getting up.

But the Gondorian warrior didn’t allow himself to become distracted. At the edge of his vision he saw a staff swinging towards his body. Maneuvering out the way, Boromir surprised the attacker by catching hold of the staff and pulling it. The unexpected move allowed Boromir to use the other’s momentum to use the stave to knock the man over the head.

As another Dunlending came towards him, he grasped the middle of the staff and fortunately, it was not neither long nor heavy. Twirling it around from side to side, he succeeded in confusing and causing the other to have his feet rather close. Knowing that the stance was not a stable one, Boromir quickly changed his grip on his staff and struck the Wild Man across the knees, making the man cry out and fall to the ground. A swift hit to the head had the man unconscious.

By this time, Boromir saw with alarm that the thieves, for that was what they seemed to be, had accomplished in grabbing Maiorama’s reigns. He knew that he needed to end this fight as fast as he could. Throwing the staff to a group of men, causing them to back up, he grabbed the hilt of his sword and cried out, “Elanorcil!”

The sword came free and with wide swing, Boromir took two swift steps forward and cut down an assailant who had tried to strike him with his cudgel. Seeing that he was now armed, the men were more cautious. One bold Dunlending came forward to challenge the Gondorian captain, a sword in one hand and a much battle scarred shield in the other. By his stance, this man was no inexperienced fighter.

Everyone else seemed to form a wide circle around the two, and it was obvious to the Gondorian man that in silent agreement, the robbers had chosen their champion to challenge Boromir.

Grimly, Boromir grabbed the hilt of his sword with both hands. He forced himself to shake off all nervousness. He did not like the way the others were quietly watching. He saw that since the Wild Men did not fight anymore, Bawuer had also stopped and was watching. He looked worried, and Boromir nodded to him, hoping it signaled to him that everything would be all right. That is, he hoped everything would be all right.

In a long fight, the other would have the benefit of possessing a shield. Boromir would have to rely more on strength to end the fray as soon as possible. Telling himself to put power into each strike to make every one count, he decided to make the first move.

There was a loud clash of weapons and the Dunlending efficiently blocked Boromir’s sword. Mere moments later, the swords met again with the clang of metal upon metal.

And again, and again.

The amount of strength his opponent had was causing Boromir to wonder how long he would be able to hold out. His wounded shoulder was starting to stiffen slightly for he hadn’t used his left arm so vigorously in a while. Finish this, he kept telling himself. Finish this quickly.

The Dunlending moved Boromir’s sword out of the way with a mighty swing, and as Boromir went slightly off balance, he felt a blow across his face. It had barely registered that the other man had hit him with the shield when a flash of metal was seen through his blurred vision. Without thought, Boromir brought up Elanorcil and succeeded in blocking the other’s sword.

They stood at a deadlock, neither relinquishing the other any ground. Boromir felt his muscles straining to keep steady, sweat stung in his eyes as they came down from his forehead. Finally, with a final surge of energy, he kicked the Dunlending in the knee of his right leg at the same time pushing the other away. With a grunt of pain, the opponent backed away as did Boromir. It had to end now, now or never.

Renewed strength flowed through his veins as he fought with a quick and fierce ferocity, startling the Dunlending with his intensity. The clashing of their swords became a rhythm getting faster and faster until Boromir fought with instinct more than actual thought.

Then finally, the Gondorian warrior had his opening. The other’s sword was pushed aside and with a cry, Boromir thrust Elanorcil into his adversary’s chest. A stunned look came over the Dunlending and a few moments later he went limp, his eyes closed forever. Before the dead man fell, Boromir pulled his sword free

Slowly he straightened up to his full height, and cast his gaze over the surviving Dunlendings. They were all quiet, looking at their fallen companion.

Boromir gingerly touched the corner of his mouth and saw some blood on his glove. In annoyance he spit out blood onto the ground. Then slowly he raised his sword in silent challenge to the other thieves. Catching a random ray from the sinking sun, Elanorcil seemed to glow with a golden aura, except for the blood which covered the tip and edges.

No one stepped forward. And no one met his eyes.

Silence stretched out for an eternity, and Boromir carefully scanned the attackers. But now that they were no longer moving, at a close inspection of what could be seen in the waning light, they were no soldiers. No armor did they wear, no emblem, no mark of any kind. Their clothes were somewhat ragged, and for the most part they carried no swords except for a few.

Boromir felt a presence stand just behind him. “They bear not the White Hand of Saruman,” Bawuer whispered. And what he said was the truth.

They both saw one Dunlending step forward. The basic build as the others, he was a short yet swarthy man, strong of limb and shoulders. His dark hair and beard were unbraided and his eyes were a fathomless dark brown, almost black in color. He spoke rapidly in a language Boromir could not understand. Somewhat harsh and guttural, it did not sound like the language of the Rohirrim.

He looked at Bawuer, and the soldier shook his head. “It is of the Dunland dialect. I do not speak it.”

Seeing as they were not comprehending his words, the Dunlending used two fingers to point to his own eyes. He then pointed to Boromir, then proceeded to gesture towards his own face. The thief repeated the gestures once more then stood still.

Not sure what he was trying to say, Boromir shrugged. The Dunlending seemed annoyed and took a few steps closer to Boromir, yet still far enough away to show he meant no trouble. He repeated the gestures again.

Bawuer spoke up. “I think he wants to see your face.”

Boromir finally understood, knowing because of how dark it was, facial features were hard to distinguish unless you stood right up to someone. Yet why did this Dunlending wish to look at his face?

It was no matter, the Dunlending seemed peaceful enough. At the moment. Still clutching Elanorcil in his hand, Boromir strode forward so he too could look into the other’s face. The face was hardened through rough times, the eyes were somewhat shrewd, and an awful scar went from under his right eye back to his ear.

The Dunlending’s eyes narrowed as soon as he was able to examine Boromir’s face, then widened in... surprise? He spoke quickly in his language, and the others all began whispering among each other. Instead of the slightly suspicious and sly expression that he had before, the Dunlending now had an expression of both curiosity and displeasure. For the longest time, the two did not break eye contact. Boromir wondered what this man had seen in him, and what the outcome would be now.

Suddenly, Boromir heard a thunder of hooves was heard in the distance, growing louder and louder until whoever approached was soon upon them.
 

Review this Story

Back to Top
Read on to chapter 28