Boromir, Thou Shall Live
Pmochizuki

Rating - PG
Main Characters - Boromir, Haldir

Chapter 28 - Dunlendings and the Rohirrim

Bawuer raised his sword as he heard the sounds of horses coming towards where he, Boromir, and the group of Dunlendings were standing. The thieves had not moved at all, though fear and apprehension seemed evident in their faces. As for Boromir, Bawuer saw that the Steward’s son had signaled for Maiorama to come to him, ready to flee if there was any danger. Where was that dratted Ebon?

In moments, they were surrounded by the small army of men on horses. They all carried spears and pointed it at those standing on the ground. Bawuer knew that with deadly accuracy, the men on horseback could probably spear them if they made any false moves. Peering through the fading sunlight, Bawuer was finally able to make out the face of the man who led them. With a start, he realized that he knew this man.

“My lord Elfhelm!”

As he heard his name being called out, Elfhelm put his eyes upon Bawuer. By this time, Bawuer had gone up to King Theoden’s lieutenant and bowed before him.

“My name is Bawuer, son of Denuer. A faithful and loyal soldier of Rohan I am.”

Elfhelm’s gaze hardened. “And what would a lone soldier of Rohan being doing keeping company with Dunlendings, sworn enemies of Rohan? Speak up, for this should be indeed an interesting story. Yet I warn you, do not try my patience with lies.”

He had been expecting Elfhelm to react this way. Quickly, Bawuer tried to explain the situation. “I am escorting this man to the land of, Gondor.” As he turned to look behind him at Boromir, Bawuer was at first afraid if he had said too much, especially the part about traveling to Gondor. Yet Boromir stepped up calmly and inclined his head to Elfhelm.

“What he says is true, my lord,” Boromir said quietly. “We were waylaid by these Dunlendings who, I’m afraid, admired our horses and gear too much to let us pass.”

There was some silence, as if Elfhelm was weighing the choice of whether to believe them. Bawuer risked glancing at Boromir. The Gondorian warrior’s eyes did not leave the Rohirrim Captain’s face. He must have realized who exactly Elfhelm was, so he feared not of having his true identity discovered. Elfhelm had long fought at and guarded the Fords of Isen. Bawuer knew that even if the two men had met before, it would have been many years before.

Finally, Elfhelm spoke to the man on his right. “Tell the Dunlendings to surrender their weapons for there will be no escape for them from us.”

The soldier nodded, and in the language of the men of Dunland, spoke his lord’s words. The Dunlending, who had tried speaking with Boromir, answered back but Bawuer did not understand him.

“He says how will they know they can trust you,” the man of Rohan translated. “For Saruman has told them how the men of Rohan are cruel and burn their captives alive.”

Bawuer watched in wonder as Elfhelm’s eyes became twin blue fires of anger. “Tell him this, and tell him to heed my words: ‘Saruman has told you to help him wage war against the men of Rohan. To burn our villages, to kill our people, to loot our wealth. He promises you an abundance of riches. Yet in truth I speak, Saruman has deluded you. Many of your kinsmen who fought against the Horse-lords have received death as the reward for your trust in Saruman. But had you conquered, little better would your wages have been, for Saruman is sly and cunning and wishes not to share his glory and riches.

“‘But today you shall learn of the leniency and compassion of the Rohirrim. Instead of repaying each and every death of our kinsmen and comrades with your life, instead of partaking in revenge against the bloodshed you have helped spread, you shall know what mercy is.’ Tell him what I said, and still say.”

Even though the Dunlendings did not understand the words of Elfhelm, those who understood the Common Tongue were stricken with awe by the powerful words of the captain. Bawuer could not help it; he felt a deep sense of admiration for this man rise within his being. The Rohirrim men were honorable, and Elfhelm showed the true sense of honor the men had.

As soon as Elfhelm’s right-hand man finished speaking to the Dunlendings, the captives too were in amazement. Their apparent leader though immediately concealed his surprise. Gravely nodding, saying a few harsh words which may have been commands, he raised his short sword then gently rested it on the ground. One by one, his men followed his actions and laid their weapons down in surrender.

The Rohirrim Lieutenant shouted commands out to his men. “Give them the terms of their release, same as we have given the others. But first question them if there are any more of their comrades hidden up in the hills or out in the plains.”

As he had been speaking, Bawuer felt a nudge in the small of his back. More than a little surprised, he turned quickly, making Ebon snort and shy away. Relieved that the black stallion had even come close enough to touch after the ordeal, Bawuer gently reached to grab Ebon’s reigns. He would never admit it, but he was thankful that the horse was safe and seemingly uninjured.

“Come here, you big nuisance.” Ebon, used to being insulted, only tried to nip the hair on Bawuer’s head, making the soldier affectionately hit the horse on the nose. “Not now, Ebon.”

Bawuer looked back to see that the large, tall form of Elfhelm had dismounted his horse and had come to walk towards Boromir.

“Your name,” Elfhelm asked, his tone serious and commanding.

“Lavlaisi.”

“You are heading for Gondor, but from where exactly have you been traveling from?”

Bawuer watched as Boromir’s hand clenched almost unnoticeably. “I’m afraid I cannot answer, except that it is imperative I arrive at Minas Tirith with all possible speed.”

Elfhelm did not like being left in the dark, yet in Boromir’s face was shown an expression of resoluteness, making it clear he was not going to reveal anything more. The Rohirrim lieutenant shook his head. “Stubborn you are, I can see in your eyes. Yet in your eyes I also see truth. So you are free to leave and go on your way.”

But before either Boromir or Bawuer could say anything in reply, Elfhelm quieted him by raising his hand, signaling he had more to say. “Yet I urge you to reconsider continuing your journey. Bands of orcs still roam these lands. Few these groups are, but only two of you there are and you will be in grave danger if ambushed. Edoras is open to you if you wish to stay the night.”

At this point, Elfhelm moved his gaze back and forth slowly between Boromir and Bawuer. Bawuer knew immediately that the Rohirrim lieutenant was determining who the leader was of the two. Not knowing what else to do, Bawuer allowed himself to look at the Gondorian warrior and saw that the other had his eyebrows furrowed in deep thought.

Finally Boromir looked at Bawuer and spoke more to him than Elfhelm. “We will stay the night and leave early tomorrow.” He turned to the large Rohirrim. “We thank you for your hospitality.”

Elfhelm nodded, then without a word or a look, spun on his heel and went back to his men, giving orders for his scouts to circle the area.

A flash of frustration flickered across Boromir’s face, making Bawuer uncomfortably shift weight from one leg to another. A delay this would cost; a short delay, but a delay nevertheless. But on the other hand, Bawuer was delighted to be able to return to Edoras even for a small time. He knew his family wouldn’t be there for they had been evacuated to Dunharrow, but still. It was home. He only wished that this short detour would do nothing to upset the Gondorian warrior.

        **********

Boromir was preoccupied as he checked to make sure Maiorama was all right. Elfhelm was still waiting for the scouts to return from searching if any other Dunlendings remained. Bawuer had discovered that one of Elfhelm’s soldiers was a person he knew and had left to converse with him. Leaving Boromir to his thoughts.

Thoughts which kept taking him back to the Dunlending.

What had that man seen that had startled him? Curiosity eating away inside of him, Boromir finally determined to talk to the prisoner.

He found that the translator was still talking with the Dunlendings. When the Rohirrim noticed him, at first he looked suspicious. Boromir kept his tone light and friendly, hoping to put the other at ease. “Peace, I am not of the enemy. I only wished to ask of you a favor.”

The Rohirrim soldier, an older man who was short of stature, narrowed his eyes. “A favor?”

“I wished to ask if I may speak with one of the prisoners.”

“You can speak their tongue,” the man asked in surprise.

“That’s the other favor.”

The soldier’s face broke out into a smile. “You are a blunt man, and I liked your bluntness. I am Herefuin, and in a way am I pleased you have approached me. I am having trouble with these Dunlendings and their stubborn leader.” Herefuin said the last with a glare of impatience aimed at the Dunlending Boromir had wished to speak with. “They hesitate in agreeing to the terms of their release and I was about to send for Elfhelm for his presence might make them agree quickly.”

“What kind of terms?”

“They must make an oath never again to pass the Fords of Isen in arms, nor to march with the enemies of Men; then they may return to their lands.”

Boromir shrugged. “Reasonable terms. Why the hesitation?”

At Boromir’s question, Herefuin looked at him strangely. “You are the reason. The leader wishes to speak with you before agreeing to any terms. Why, he refuses to say.”

Boromir could not speak for the strangeness of the Rohirrim’s words. For what reason would these Dunlendings wish to speak with him? He for one had never met the Dunlendings before, and he doubted they should recognize him for who he really was.

Seeing that his silence was making Herefuin suspicious, Boromir spoke calmly and truthfully. “I myself do not know why he would want to speak with me, yet if you feel I could be of some assistance...”

Herefuin jerked his head in Elfhelm’s direction. “Lord Elfhelm is busy and wouldn’t wish to be disturbed unless it was a matter of the gravest importance. And since you are here, we can fix this up with haste.”

Boromir looked down at the Dunlending leader who was sitting cross legged on the ground. On his face was an expression of complete relaxation, as if he was no prisoner but instead in control of the whole situation. Well, two could play the game. Boromir, too, put on one of his expressionless faces.

“Tell him that if he wishes to speak with me, he must come straight to the point or my patience will wear thin.” Boromir could just imagine how proud his father would be if he were here to see his son. Boromir thanked his father in his head on these rare occasions where he knew exactly how to deal with these somewhat ‘unconventional diplomatic meetings’.

The Dunlending gave Boromir what might have been smile except for the hard glint in his eyes. At his side, Herefuin translated for him.

“He says, ‘Then maybe you should learn patience from me, for patiently I have been waiting for you.’”

Forcing himself to remain calm, Boromir refused to show any irritation which he was feeling at the moment. “Why do you wait to speak with me, when the terms of your release are reasonable. The Rohirrim have been kind so far with you, do not overstay your welcome and let their patience wear thin with you.”

This time, after the translation was finished, a real hint of humor appeared in the Dunlending’s eyes. He gave out a harsh, low chuckle from deep within his throat then spoke rapidly. “‘Two hundred and fifty years it has been since the death of Freca, yet the memory is still fresh in the minds of the Dunlendings. Same it is for the Eorlingas whose memory is fresh with mourning for their king of old, Helm. I believe it is time our differences are laid to rest. We agree readily to the terms of the Rohirrim, so long as they too promise to let the Dunlendings live in peace on their borders to the West.’”

When Herefuin was finally finished speaking, the Dunlending again spoke and this time, the Rohirrim translated with wonder and surprise in his voice. “‘Yet Calenardhon was a gift from Cirion, and we wonder, Grey Eyes of the Southern Kingdom, how you stand in this matter?’”

For a moment, Boromir thoughts spun out of control. These men knew he was a man of Gondor, that much was for certain. But Boromir couldn’t help but feel confused. Why was the Dunlending questioning him about how Boromir stood in the matter of their oaths with the Rohirrim?

The Dunlending must have read the confusion from the Gondorian’s face for he gestured for Herefuin to translate again. “‘Will your presence in Rohan affect our relationship with the Eorlingas in the future?’”

Not truly understanding the question, Boromir could only say, “My presence will never work towards doing or bringing any trouble with the men of Rohan. Or your people, for that matter.”

After Herefuin spoke, the Dunlendings spoke quietly among each other. Finally, their leader stood up slowly so not to startle his captors. “‘You speak truth. We are satisfied.’” He looked at Herefuin and nodded his head.

Herefuin gave a small sigh of relief. “They agree to our terms.”

But Boromir kept his eyes on the Dunlending leader. The shorter man grunted slightly then pointed to himself. “Gurigunak.”

Realizing that the man was giving him his name, Boromir nodded then pointed to himself. “Lavlaisi.”

Gurignak furrowed his eyebrows solemnly. He gestured to Herefuin and said a few short words. Herefuin answered back by saying, “Man with Golden Sword.” The soldier spoke next to Boromir. “He wants to bestow the title ‘Man with Golden Sword’ upon you and wished to know how to say it in the common speech.”

Meanwhile the Dunlending was mulling over the words. Finally, seemingly pleased, Gurignak bowed to Boromir. “Maan wisu Goludenn Suodo.”

Boromir tried not to smile at the terrible accent but instead brought a fisted hand up to his heart and gave a small bow back. “Gourignack.”

Gurignak laughed, a sound which turned out to be strangely pleasant. Boromir guessed his own accent must have sounded as atrocious as the other’s had.

Feeling a hand upon his shoulder, the Gondorian warrior turn around to see that Bawuer had joined them. At the questioning look the other aimed at him, Boromir shook his head, saying without words that he would explain what had happened later.

Boromir, with a final nod to the Dunlendings, began walking away back to their horses with Bawuer tagging along. He stopped when in the corner of his eye, Boromir caught sight of Herefuin looking at him with a stony expression on his face. Closing his eyes for a brief moment, Boromir remembered clearly the conversation which had taken place between Gurignak and himself, one that wasn’t exactly a private one considering neither of them spoke each other’s language. He wondered what Herefuin must be thinking of him at the moment.

Boromir for one thing did not wish for the Rohirrim to distrust him for anything. He faced Herefuin and tried to speak but was interrupted. “Lavlaisi, I will ask the same kind of question the Dunlending did. Why exactly are you, not of the Rohirrim, doing in our land? And will your presence here in Rohan pose any threat to us?”

The dark haired warrior shook his head. “Like I said your lieutenant, I cannot reveal the reason of my presence here. Yet one thing I can promise, same as I promised to Gourignack. I will never be party to any threat or harm planned upon your people. On the contrary, I would do everything in my power to aide your land in ridding it from all the evil forces of Middle Earth.”

Surprisingly, Herefuin gave his reply by giving Boromir a broad smile. “Just the answer I was looking for. And don’t worry, Grey Eyes,” Herefuin said with a wink, “None shall know your identity.”

With a quick nod of the head, Herefuin left Boromir and Bawuer to walk towards his commanding officer.

“What was that all about?” queried Bawuer. “Does he know that... well, you know.”

Grinning, Boromir shook his head. “Nay, he only knows from where I come from.” Deciding to change the subject, Boromir indicated Ebon who was standing calmly next to Maiorama a short distance away. “Well, Bawuer. I guess Ebon will be pleased.”

Bawuer, knowing exactly what Boromir was talking about, nodded, his lips curving upwards in a smile. “Indeed, my lord. Ebon will be pleased to return home.”

Boromir looked at Bawuer thoughtfully. “And you?”

Though a bit hesitant, the captain could see the other was speaking truthfully. “Aye. My family will not be there, but it is still home.”

The two men reached their horses and proceeded to pet and stroke the animals. Those looking on chuckled to themselves at the sight of the warriors showing so much affection to their horses.

In the midst of pushing Ebon away to save himself from a nip on the head, Bawuer looked sideways at Boromir. Catching the look, Boromir cocked his head. “What?”

“I was just wondering. Do you mind? I mean, about us heading for Edoras for the night.”

Seeing how worried the other looked, Boromir strove to reassure him. “Do not you worry about me, Bawuer. Elfhelm was right, it would be better if we stopped for the night.”

Seemingly satisfied, Bawuer returned his attentions to Ebon who had decided he needed more attention.

Boromir on the other hand could only absently rub Maiorama on her nose. Gondor was close, yet so far...

        **********

Eowyn refused to acknowledge the cold wind which threatened to blow away the thin cloak she had thrown hastily around her shoulders. She focused her eyes far into the distance, searching for any sign of men coming towards Dunharrow.

It had only been a short while since a messenger from Theoden had arrived, announcing that all had fared well at the battle of Helm’s Deep. King Theoden and his sister-son were safe. But much to Eowyn’s frustration, the rider did not have much else to say. For one thing, he could not answer the one question foremost on her mind: when will her uncle and his men be returning to Dunharrow?

Patience was never one of Eowyn’s strong points. As soon as the messenger had delivered his good yet brief tidings, she had run outside to one of the lookout points. Straining her eyes as far as she could see, she waited.

“My lady?”

The White Lady turned round to see it was one of her maids, Aruellen. A few years older than her lady, Aruellen had permanent worry lines on her forehead. Ruefully, Eowyn knew that most of those worry lines were her fault. She had never been a good example of a gentle woman she was always told to be. Instead she had to admit she was always quite a handful.

“Aruellen, it’s cold, you shouldn’t be out here at all,” Eowyn said with worry, mostly to tease the other woman knowing that was exactly what the lady in waiting was going to say.

Aruellen, never one to look on the humorous side of anything concerning Eowyn, shook her head with a sigh. “My Lady, you must be serious, you can catch your death of a cold.”

Eowyn lifted her chin. “I am all right. I am old enough to take care of myself.”

Lifting an eyebrow, Aruellen spoke in a dry tone. “Obviously.”

Ignoring the other’s tone, Eowyn focused her gaze once more out into the distance. “You are dismissed for the day, Aruellen.”

Speaking slowly, as if not quite understanding, Aruellen asked, “But, you cannot possibly be waiting for the King and his men to arrive. At the earliest they will be here in the morning and you need to retire for the night...”

“I will be waiting for them.” Eowyn sighed from deep within her being, forcing her hand to stop from rubbing her eyes which she knew were dark rimmed with lack of sleep. She whispered softly. “I cannot sleep.”

Though she had not meant for Aruellen to hear, the other’s next words told her that she had. “I know, my Lady. I know.”

Eowyn felt something upon her shoulders and realized that Aruellen had given her lady her own cloak. Aruellen gave Eowyn a gentle look. “You will need the extra warmth, I’m afraid this will be a cold night.” Saying thus, the lady in waiting left, leaving Eowyn once more all alone.

All alone. Eowyn allowed herself to think the cynical thought that she was always all alone. Even when surrounded by people, why did she feel all alone? Only her uncle, her brother, and her cousin could ever make her feel like she was home. For home was where the heart was, wasn’t it? And her heart could only belong to those three people. She felt tears form in her eyes as she thought that it had now narrowed down from three to only two people. And both were away, leaving her all alone.

But there was the hope of finding someone else who could take the emptiness away. A slight blush rose on her cheeks as she imagined one person who she hoped could be that man.

Why could not Aragorn look at her in the way she wanted him to look upon her? With respect, admiration... love?

At the thought of the word ‘love’, Eowyn paused. She had never considered herself becoming bonded with another man in marriage. For wasn’t marriage a type of bondage? But she could imagine in her mind standing besides Aragorn as king and queen, husband and wife. She knew he would treat as an equal, not as a woman.

The people of Rohan, though they honored and revered their Shield Maidens, still wanted them to lay aside their swords when they marry. For Eowyn, she always hated the thought. If a man really loved her, wouldn’t he want her to fight side by side with him instead of staying at home, tending the chores? The thought scared Eowyn, scared her half to death.

As she looked out into the ever descending darkness, Eowyn prayed to the Valar. Prayed that she would find a man who would accept her for who she was. That this man could take away the emptiness in her life and replace it with love.
 

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Faramir didn’t like what he was seeing from the lookout he had chosen. A whole army of Southrons were now camped below him from where he watched on the foothills of the Ephel Duath. It was quiet everywhere for the enemy had settled down for the night. The only sounds which came to his ears were the occasional rumblings from gigantic Oliphaunts.

The captain of the Ithilien rangers heard Damrod sigh deeply behind him. “A thousand curses on the Haradrim! The Easterlings are not the only problem we will be having.”

“Not only that,” Mablung remarked dryly, “the irony of the situation cuts deep into the heart.”

“Aye,” Faramir nodded in agreement, knowing exactly what the soldier had meant with his wryly spoken words. It was obvious that the evil men from Harad were making their way northward to the Black Gate to swell the hosts of Barad-dur. Making their way northward on the very roads that were crafted by Gondor. Yes, there was indeed a sort of irony in the situation.

Damrod sighed once more and purposely sat down hard on the ground, displaying his annoyance. “Look at them, look at them! See how they leave their fires lighted, letting their wretched smoke fill the air, not caring if anyone from miles around can see them. Purposely they are displaying their numbers, openly giving away their position.” Faramir’s guard picked up a twig and irritably twirled it between his fingers, muttering to himself.

Faramir couldn’t help but smile at Damrod’s strange little habit, while in the moonlight he could see Mablung raising one eyebrow. Always having been the more levelheaded of the two, Mablung took the stick from Damrod’s hand like a parent would from a child. “Though I, too, feel ill to my stomach at their flaunting, don’t you feel this is an opportunity to take advantage of?”

Thoughtfully, Faramir drew back from the lookout to sit back, careful not to bump into young Hirlon who always stayed closed to him. Mablung had indeed made an interesting point. Heedlessly were the Southrons making their way through Ithilien. As fortune would have it, they believed their new Master great enough so that the mere shadow of His hills would protect them. Yet forget they had of the stout hearted and stalwart soldiers of Ithilien.

The captain faced his companions, Mablung and Damrod, even Hirlon, having expressions of determination he too must be mirroring at the moment. “I believe it will do much good to teach them a lesson.”

Seeing that Hirlon looked as if he wished to speak, Faramir gestured for him to do so. Being the youngest among the rangers, he had been quiet the whole time until now as he hesitantly asked his captain his question. “What of the Easterlings, Captain?” Hirlon asked softly, though speaking the name of another of Enemy as if with great distaste. “The Rangers are not so large in number to take care of both roads leading to the Black Gate.”

Faramir rubbed a hand over his chin, thinking. Hirlon was right of course. The Ithilien rangers’ strength lay in skill, not in numbers. There was no possible way to mount two different attacks on the Easterlings coming in from the East and the Haradrim from the South at the same time.

“We cannot divide our forces, that much is for certain. Though neither should be allowed to join the Enemy, we daren’t risk losing more numbers than taking advantage of a good surprise attack to destroy as many of the foe as we can.”

“Who do we strike?”

“The Haradrim.”

Mablung nodded in agreement. “Aye, Captain. After seeing the way they have barged into our lands...” He shook his head, not finishing the sentence yet knowing that all understood the implications of his words.

Damrod chuckled softly yet deliberately. “It would be our greatest pleasure to show them some true Ithilien hospitality.”

His words earned more chuckles from all around. Seriousness soon stole over Faramir’s thoughts as he began to make his strategy. “First of all, we need to summon the others. But we still need someone to keep watch over the Haradrim while we go on ahead.”

“I will stay behind,” Mablung offered.

But Faramir shook his head. “No, I will need you with me to prepare for the attack.”

“Then leave it for me, captain,” Hirlon said with a firm nod.

After some thought, Faramir agreed. “All right Hirlon, but you will not be alone.” The captain looked to Damrod and smiled. “I have just volunteered you for the task of keeping watch over the Southrons. Thank you.”

Damrod in mock exasperation put his head in his hands. “That is how it always is. Before it is even a choice, I am made to go above and beyond the call of my duty as your guard and ranger.”

Clasping the other on the shoulder, Faramir met the other’s tone of voice. “What will I do without you Damrod?”

Snorting, Damrod spoke. “That is what I keep asking myself every single day, my captain. Every single day I must wonder, ‘how had Faramir managed before he met me.”

“Probably perfectly well,” Mablung said with the dryness evident in his voice.

Matching wits with his rangers was always a pleasure and a break from the gravity of war, yet Faramir knew there was much to do and the night wore on. He drew a hasty and simple map onto the ground. He made a mark at one point of the map and spoke to Damrod and Hirlon. “We will meet here in two days time. Do not engage Haradrim, do not even let them know that they are being watched. Allow them to feel safe and secure.”

Seeing that the two men understood, Faramir quickly erased all signs of his drawing on the ground. As soon as it appeared as if nothing had been disturbed, Faramir and Mablung got up from the ground in a crouching position. The captain said his parting words to his men. “In two days we shall meet again. Keep safe.”

“You need not remind us, though keeping our lands safe is of a higher priority than of keeping ourselves safe,” Damrod said, an unfamiliar soberness in his voice.

Any more words were caught in Faramir’s throat as he knew exactly what his ranger was saying. Any of his men would give up his life if he knew it would be to protect and save their beloved Ithilien. For years they had done so, and for many more years to come they would. They would fight until who knew what kind of end awaited them. And Faramir swore he would fight till that end should come upon him.

“Let us be off, Mablung,” Faramir said to the older ranger.

Mablung nodded “Aye.” Exchanging hand clasps all around, Faramir and Mablung finally parted from their previous companions and set off for Henneth Annun.

Henneth Annun, a home away from home.

As he and Mablung glided through the shadowy, darkened lands of Ithilien, Faramir’s wondered at the strangeness of how he had so long become accustomed to Henneth Annun. Accustomed so that it was just as familiar to him as the White City itself.

Yet could Faramir really call the Citadel in Minas Tirith his home? Rooms there were for his family, quarters where the Ruling Stewards of Gondor had for decades of time had made their home in.

But a home was not just a place where you set belongings and where you kept your bed. It was the haven for your heart, a place to keep your peace of mind. But for Faramir, of late his home had never been haven.

When was the last time he had felt at home in the Citadel? Faramir smiled at the fond remembrance of having breakfast with Boromir once, so long ago. Schedules and work would hardly allow them to spend much time as brothers, let alone spend a quiet meal together. Yet on that day, besides ending up at the morning at the same time, they had been completely left alone without being under the hardening gaze of Denethor.

Oh, how relaxing and enjoyable had the time been spend together! They had talked of anything and everything under the sun, except for the two most painful subjects for the both of them: of their parents and of the growing strength of the Enemy.

For the first time in years, Faramir had not felt ill at ease, never once feeling the pressure demanded of his birth and station. For that one hour, Faramir could truly feel that he and Boromir were able to preserve the love and peace that would bond those of a true family.

Before putting his mind again upon returning to Henneth Annun in safety, Faramir had only last thought. Wishing that Boromir would soon return home, making it feel like the home Faramir wanted it to be.

        **********

Bawuer stopped when they came to a certain broad path, and bade Boromir to stop also. Boromir lifted his eyes to see in the moonlight that the path was paved with hewn stones, winding upward to short flights of well laid steps. To his ears came the trickling of water and as he cast his eyes about, he saw beside the way a flowing stream in a stone channel.

The city of Edoras echoed with silence which enveloped the riders. Late it was, a time when hardly anyone would be awake. Yet to Boromir, the silence was like that of a tomb. It was too quiet, too quiet, making Boromir feel uncomfortable. Even Maiorama had her head held high, her ears alert. The silence was that of an empty city, and Boromir disliked the aura Edoras presented to him. A kind of haunting vision of a city with no inhabitants, evacuated because of a war. Hope against hope, Boromir wished never to behold his city of Minas Tirith in the same manner.

Boromir stole a glance at his companion to see that Bawuer had an unreadable expression on his face. Guessing what the matter was, Boromir spoke. “Does the silence bother you?”

The Rohirrim soldier smiled sadly. “I must admit... the silence is disturbing.”

“It is only temporary,” Boromir strove to comfort him. “Soon will all the inhabitants of Edoras be returning to their homes.”

“Aye,” Bawuer nodded. “Come, let us be off to the stables. Ebon’s irritation is beginning to show for his patience was never one to boast about.”

They rode a short distance up the path and soon reached the livery stables. The place was somewhat more alive with noise for many of Elfhelm’s soldiers also kept their horses there. Only the royal family and the lords of the House of Eorl were allowed to keep their horses in the king’s stables which stood right besides Meduseld. But Boromir saw that even the main stables were well kept, once more proving how much the Rohirrim cared for and loved their horses.

Dismounting, Bawuer and Boromir lead their horses inside, Bawuer in the lead. Refusing the offer from a stablehand, Boromir found an empty stall for Maiorama and took care of her himself. Throughout his journey he had found himself becoming closer and closer to the magnificent beast, thus Boromir took it upon himself to do whatever he could to treat her with the utmost care.

After taking off his gear and unsaddling Maiorama, Boromir took off her bridle. With what might have been gratitude, Maiorama shook her head as if glad to be rid of encumbrance. The Gondorian warrior patted her on the neck. “Thank you for your patience.” Maiorama only looked at him with her soft yet alert eyes making Boromir smile at how much she could express with one glance.

As he rubbed her down for the night, Bawuer came by with a bucket of water which he hung inside Maiorama’s stall. There was some silence for a while until Boromir was finished. Just as Boromir was about to come out of the stall, something flew towards him. With quick reflexes, Boromir caught the object and saw that it a piece of a cut apple.

Looking up, Boromir saw Bawuer indicate the Elvish horse. “For your pretty mare. Forgive me for not being able to offer you a full apple. Unfortunately, Ebon decided he needed an extra piece to make up for carrying my burden.”

Boromir nodded in thanks and gave the fruit to Maiorama who took it with appreciation. “Sleep well, Horse on Wings.” With a final pat on her cheek, Boromir turned to his human companion. “Lead on, Bawuer.”

Once entering Edoras, Elfhelm had told Boromir he could stay in one of the guest quarters in the Golden Hall. Yet Bawuer had been gracious enough to extend an invitation for Boromir to stay with him at his house. Wishing rather to spend the night in the company of someone he knew in a strange place, the Gondorian captain had taken up the offer.

Elfhelm, cautious though he was, courteously had agreed to the arrangements to which Boromir had been grateful for. It would not do to be on the wrong side of the man who at the moment was in command of the city he was staying in.

Boromir and Bawuer walked off the broad path onto a narrower and darker street, making Boromir thankful for the lantern Bawuer had brought along. Before long, Bawuer turned into the doorway of a two story building, fairly large in size compared to a few of the other homes.

They entered the home and immediately Boromir began taking note of the interior. Through only the dim light of the moon coming in through the shuttered windows and the light from Bawuer’s lantern, the room appeared dark and dismal. Hardly were there any objects that caught his attention, making the house seem devoid of character. Very different from the simple yet lush quarters of the Citadel.

Bawuer walked in and placed the lantern on the table. With what might have been an embarrassed shrug, the soldier spoke. “I’m afraid the house is nothing much. My family lives very simply.”

“Do not worry your head over me, Bawuer,” Boromir said with a smile. “I cannot thank you enough for your hospitality.”

His reply was a smile from Bawuer. The soldier lighted a candle which was left upon the table. “I’ll be back to bring in some firewood. Make yourself at home.” Taking the lantern with him, Bawuer left Boromir alone to explore his surroundings.

Using the candle, Boromir cast his eyes around the room which appeared to take up the whole first floor except for one door which probably led to a small side room. There was also a narrow staircase going up to the second floor. The only furniture the room consisted of was one table, at least four chairs scattered around, and a fairly large sized chest of drawers in the corner.

Walking around with the candle in one hand, Boromir went over to the chest. Touching and feeling the corners, Boromir felt that the piece of furniture was well made with nice wood. Curiously he saw that there were a few items left on top. The first item which caught his eye was a slip of paper. Seeing that it was a short note addressed to someone named Luen, Boromir immediately laid it back down, hesitant in reading anything that was not meant for his eyes.

The next object of interest was a stack of neatly folded pieces of cloths. Each one was embroidered with intricate designs of flowers ranging from beautiful roses to the common daisy.

The last item seemed to some kind of toy. Picking it up then shaking it, Boromir realized that it was a baby rattler. Baby rattler? Deciding that he would ask Bawuer about it later, Boromir kept it in his hand.

Just as he was about to walk back to the table, his foot hit upon something. Leaning down and lighting the floor with his candle, Boromir saw that it was another toy, a piece of wood carved in the shape of horse. Also palming it in his hand, Boromir next walked over the fireplace. There was a basket shoved against the corner of it, upon closer inspection were balls of dull colored yarn, yet no needles.

On the mantel were a few earthenware pots, a vase shaped one containing flowers which may have once brightened the room except that now it was all withered and drying up.

Boromir went over to take a chair next to the table and in deep thought stared out into the dark room, wishing that the room didn’t feel so painful to him.

        **********

Bawuer found Boromir sitting at the table with the most serious and thoughtful expression on his face. Having become somewhat used to the man’s strange moods, Bawuer did not say anything but quietly prepared the fire in the hearth. After he was done, he went over to sit across from Boromir.

The Gondorian man acknowledged his presence with a smile that seemed almost sad. “I envy you, Bawuer.”

Surprised and a little more curious at his strange words, Bawuer decided to wait for the other man to explain.

It didn’t take long for Boromir to speak again. “I didn’t know you still played with toys.” With another smile, this time with more humor, Boromir opened his hands, revealing two items.

Recognizing the objects immediately, Bawuer chuckled. “Nay, those aren’t mine. I didn’t tell you that I had a wonderful nephew, did I? And a beautiful little baby niece.”

Boromir raised one eyebrow. “Your sister’s?”

“Aye, that they would be.” Bawuer leaned over and took the wooden horse into his own hands. “I carved this for Herluen when he was but a babe. Eight years later, he still keeps it.”

The older man picked up the rattle. “Yet you did not make this, for I can tell the craftsmanship is from a different person. As is that chest of drawers in the corner. And this table.” Boromir demonstrated the smoothness of the table by rubbing his hand flat against the top.

“You are observant,” Bawuer remarked now finally knowing he must never underestimate this man. “My grandfather from an injury has no use of his legs anymore. His hands are his only tools now, as he often says.”

Nodding in understanding, Boromir repeated the strange words he had spoken earlier. “I say again, I envy you, Bawuer. I must admit at first that I did not think much of your home. Bare it felt to me, and too quiet.”

Bawuer looked around and sighed. “Well, I must admit you are right, friend. A simple life my family lives, there is not much opportunity to decorate the place.”

Boromir raised up a hand to silence him. “Say no such thing. For your home is just what it is supposed to be. A home.” He waved a hand vaguely around the room. “A basket of yarn. A few toys. A short note. Hand embroidered cloths. Flowers in a vase. All something I have never experienced in my home. Each and every single item gives an essence of a family, and it’s so unique to me. I wish it was not so.”

Not quite understanding, Bawuer could only shake his head. In a sense, Boromir was praising him for having a home which was so obviously lived in by a family. Yet that did not make sense of what Bawuer knew because of one thing. “Boromir... my family is not necessarily what anyone would call...” Here with some shame, Bawuer lowered his head. “My family is neither perfect nor of a customary kind. You know not what you are saying.”

“Bawuer.” Looking up, he saw Boromir once again had that sad look on his face. “You forget what kind of family I come from. My family consists of three men, including myself. All who love each other dearly yet cannot express it. Who would do anything to protect each other yet are always apart. Nay, I still envy you. Hold on to what you have, for you are blessed, Bawuer. Blessed to have a family.”

Oddly enough, Bawuer considered that maybe Boromir was right. For the first time in a long while, Bawuer counted himself lucky to belong to the kind of family he was part of, no matter the circumstances.

        **********

Pippin felt oddly restless. For what might have been the hundredth time in the last minute, Pippin rearranged the cloak around his shoulders and tried sleeping on his left side. He couldn’t understand it, why couldn’t he sleep? They had been riding late into the night and had finally stopped at the bottom of a hill under a spreading hawthorn. What was the name of the hill? Pippin wracked his brains trying to remember when he finally got the answer. Dol Baran, yes, that was the name.

He sighed, remembered how hard it had been just to get that much information out of Aragorn. The Ranger had been sullenly quiet for some reason Pippin could not fathom.

Once more Pippin moved, this time to lay on his right side. Oh, how he wished he were back home! Away from things he did not understand, how he disliked not understanding anything. He did not know where they were traveling to. He did not understand why he was here in the first place. He couldn’t understand why Frodo and Sam had left them to continue their journey themselves. He did not know how Gandalf could survive Moria.

But worst of all, he did not understand why Boromir had to...

Deep down in his heart, he wished Boromir was not...

Yet in his mind, he knew the true answer.

‘Stop it’, he mentally scolded himself. But he could not stop it.

Then totally against his will, the thought of the strange globe he had seen and touched at Isengard came to his mind. With much insistence he pushed the image away.

How his heart ached for all the places and people he wished he could see. He wanted to go on the little thieving excursions he would go to with Merry to Farmer Maggots crops. He wished he was drinking toasts and singing gay songs at the Green Dragon. For some reason, his thoughts went to the pretty Diamond of Long Cleeve. He wished he could see her again.

Most of all, he wished he could see Boromir again, just one last time.

And maybe, just maybe. He wished he could see that dark globe just one more time...

With a grunt of annoyance at himself, Pippin flipped over to lie on his back. During the process, the pile of old bracken he was lying on cracked and rustled.

Pippin heard Merry give a big sigh next to him. “What’s the matter? Are you lying on an ant-hill?”

Grimacing, Pippin decided against telling Merry about what he was really thinking about. “No, but I’m not comfortable.” At least, that was the truth. “I wonder how long it is since I slept in a bed.”

Merry yawned and turned on his side so he was facing his cousin. “Work it out on your fingers!” he said in exasperation. “But you must know how long it is since we left Lorien.”

“Oh, that, I meant a real bed in a bedroom.”

“Well, Rivendell then,” Merry said with a shrug. “But I honestly could sleep anywhere tonight.”

“You had all the luck,” Pippin said softly after a long pause. “You were riding with Gandalf. Did you get any news, any information out of him?”

“Yes, a good deal, more than usual. Do you want to ride with him tomorrow? That is, if he’ll have you?”

The idea made Pippin perk up slightly. “Can I? Good!” After a moment he spoke up again. “Gandalf hasn’t changed at all, has he.”

“Oh yes, he has!” The older hobbit seemed to wake up a little. “He has grown, or something. He can be both kinder and more alarming, merrier and more solemn than before, I think. He has changed. Think of the last part of that business with Saruman! Remember Saruman was once Gandalf’s superior, Saruman the White he was. Gandalf is the White now.”

Thinking over what Merry had said, Pippin’s thoughts strayed to something that made him suddenly feel alert yet at the same time quiet. “That... glass ball, now. Gandalf seemed pleased with it. He knows or guesses something about it. But does he tell us what? No, not a word.” Pondering over the glass ball, Pippin almost didn’t realize that Merry had sidled up close to him and was staring at him.

“Hullo! So that’s what is bothering you!” Pippin’s cousin said. “Now Pip, don’t forget: Do not meddle in the affairs of Wizards, for they are subtle and quick to anger.”

Upset that Merry was scolding him for what he thought was no apparent reason, Pippin argued back. “But our whole life for months has been one long meddling in the affairs of Wizards! I should like a bit of information as well as danger. I should like a look at that ball.”

Merry smacked Pippin over the head. “Go to sleep! You’ll get information enough, sooner or later. My dear Pippin, no Took ever beat a Brandybuck for inquisitiveness, but is this the time, I ask you?”

Pippin wouldn’t help but smile back at the infectious smile Merry gave him. “All right! Anyway, what’s the harm in telling you what I should like; a look at that stone? I know I can’t have it, with old Gandalf sitting on it like a hen on an egg.” Pippin crossed his arms over his chest and stuck out his lip. “But it doesn’t help much to get no more from you than a you-can’t- have-it-so-go-to-sleep!”

“Well, what else could I say?” Merry yawned again and rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I’m sorry Pip, but you really must wait till the morning. I’ll be as curious as you like after breakfast, and I’ll even help in any way I can to wheedle-the-wizard. But I can’t keep awake a moment longer. If I yawn any more, I shall split at the ears. Good night.”

And with that, the older hobbit yawned one last time before lying down again, deliberately putting his back to Pippin.

More than a little upset with Merry ignoring him, Pippin decided to keep quiet anyway. He lay down once more but sleep still eluded him. Merry’s soft breathing also didn’t help in any way, for the other hobbit had fallen asleep in a few minutes after saying good night.

He tried to shut his eyes, but every time he did, an image of the dark crystal ball filled his thoughts, growing stronger and stronger as everything else grew quiet in his mind. He tried to hard to think of something else but to no avail. Without thought his hands moved together as if holding the globe itself, holding the weight of it in his hands, looking again into the mysterious red depths.

Finally, he could not take the torment any longer. He had to see, just one more time!

Carefully so as not to wake up his friend, Pippin got up and wrapped his cloak tightly around him. The moon was shining cold and white, and involuntarily he shivered. Driven by some impulse he did not understand, the hobbit walked softly to where Gandalf lay. Looking down into the wizard’s face, Pippin moved back with a start. The wizard’s eyes were not fully closed, there was a glitter of eyes under his long lashes.

Yet on further inspection, Pippin realized that the wizard was truly asleep. Carefully, half against his will, Pippin crept up again from behind Gandalf. Beside the wizard’s right side and his bent arm, there was a hummock, something round wrapped in a dark cloth.

Daring not to even breath, Pippin slowly but surely made his way to kneel in front of the wizard. Putting his hands out stealthily, he slowly lifted the lump up. He brought it close to him, as if afraid it would be snatched away. Casting his gaze here and there, his eyes came upon a large rock. Quickly and surely, he placed the rock back into the wizard’s hand.

Afraid that some sudden noise or by some strange spell that Gandalf might suddenly awaken, Pippin crept away to a green hillock not far from his bed. Sure that no one was watching, he knelt down on the ground and uncovered the mysterious object. Sure enough, there it was. A smooth globe of crystal, now dark and dead, now lying bare before his knees.

The air seemed still and tense about him as Pippin laid his hands over the ball. Then there came a faint glow and stir in the heart of it, and it held his eyes so that now he could not look away. As he looked even closer, the inside of the globe seemed on fire. Then in the blink of an eye, the lights went out. And he saw.

Pippin gasped as a feeling of being very far away and long ago came over him, yet everything was hard and clear. At first he saw nothing and he was afraid. Why had he ever looked into the cursed wizardry?

He realized now that the darkness of the globe was the sky, and there were tall battlements. There were, there were stars, tiny stars all over. The stars went in and out, they were being cut off by things with wings!

A cold fear enveloped his being but he could not look away. Nine of the beasts there were, flying and wheeling round and round one tower. As he watched, one began to fly straight towards him, getting bigger and bigger. Then he was able to look into the darkened face underneath the hood of the Rider, the eyes glowed and pierced straight into him.

Struggling to get away, the image suddenly disappeared. Then he saw It. It was Him.

A shadowy form wreathed in flames it was. There was no face to look into, but Pippin knew who He was. He looked straight into the hobbit and though He spoke no words, Pippin understood in his mind.

‘So you have come back? Why have you neglected to report for so long?’

Pippin didn’t answer, he couldn’t answer.

Again the words flowed in his mind. ‘Who are you?’

Still not trusting himself to answer, Pippin refused to say anything, to think anything. Suddenly, his head began to hurt as an enormous pressure came upon him. He could not stand it any more so Pippin spoke. “A hobbit.”

The flames encompassing the shadowy figure seemed to grow for a split second, seeming as if he was concentrating harder on Pippin. And without warning, the sound of laughter filled Pippin’s mind, but a laugh so cruel it was like being stabbed with knives. Pippin struggled to close his eyes to ward off the image but it proved to be an impossible feat.

‘Wait a moment,’ he spoke into the hobbit’s mind. ‘We shall meet again soon. Tell Saruman that this dainty is not for him. I will send for it at once. Do you understand? Say just that!”

In a blinding instant, the flames erupted into a raging fire, as if the He was gloating. Pippin felt himself suddenly falling to pieces as a numbing pain took hold of his body. He couldn’t take it any more! Finally gaining control of his mouth, Pippin gave out a piercing cry, then knew no more.
 

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