The Strength of Gondor
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings. I only determine what happens in this story. I cannot claim anything else
Warning:Character death in the first chapter of this story.
Chapter One: A turn of the Fates
Frodo's eyes were filled with terror as he gaze into mine. He didn't even move as I approached him, my right hand instinctively clutching the hilt of my sword. It s3emed as if the Hobbit was rooted to the soil. Then, unbidden, a small, golden object fell to the earth: the one ring. I lunged forward and grasped it in my hand. I placed it in one of my pockets, the only place I could think of to put it. Then it occurred to me that the Ringbearer was still present. I found him, exhausted, on the forest floor.
"Frodo, you will not regret this. After we go to Minas Tirith, I will return the ring to you."
"I know," Frodo sighed. He looked horribly fatigued, but he would be able to rest in Minas Tirith. As he rose, the Hobbit began to sway and I caught him in my arms.
"Let's return to the others," I suggested. Frodo nodded and, leaning heavily on me, headed toward the Anduin River.
When we returned to the camp, only Legolas and Aragorn appeared disturbed.
"Are you all right, Frodo," Aragorn inquired, eyeing me suspiciously. I'm certain this man will never fail to be more elven than human. He had distrusted me ever since we met in Rivendell. Now it seemed as if he had me cornered if Frodo said the right thing.
"I am fine. Boromir kindly came to get me, for I had strayed quite a distance."
"And what have you decided?" Gimli impatiently asked.
"We will go to Gondor to rest ourselves a while." The fear was obvious in his voice, but any inquiries were interrupted by a cry from Legolas.
"Orcs!" Frodo drew Sting and, indeed, the blade shone blue.
"Into the boats!" shouted Aragorn. As we scurried into the river, arrows rained down on us. Frodo let out a groan as one imbedded itself in his shoulder. I refused to flee after that.
"Turn around and fight," I cried to my comrades. In the darkness I could not tell whether anyone had obeyed my command. Then I heard Frodo's voice and the field was lit in a blue light. The dark minions charged and we answered their challenge. In the sea of enemies and blood, I lost sight of Frodo. I was swimming against the current of iron and war. My every breath summoned blood from another hideous body. This battle was for Gondor, although I was not with her; it was for Minas Tirith that I fought. My body never stopped slashing at the vile creatures, not even when their numbers thinned. Just as I thought the victory was ours, a piercing scream echoed overhead. Frodo screamed in pain a few feet away from me and I saw an orc preparing to slaughter him. I knew the only way to save the Hobbit was to put the ring on. Without a moment's hesitation, I snatched it from my pocket, thrust it onto my finger, and leapt at Frodo, shoving him out of the orc's path.
"Boromir!" he cried in shock, still clutching his left shoulder. "Boromir, take it off!" I barely heard his words through the loud projection of his thoughts. He couldn't stand the thought of me having the ring. He wanted it back. Not now, Frodo, I thought. It's mine. The screams seemed to be getting closer. From the sky, five huge beasts descended. One of them grabbed Frodo. I raced toward him, but Legolas and Aragorn forced the ringwraiths to retreat. Only after the enemy had left did I realize that sometime during the battle I had removed the ring and I was grasping it tightly in my left hand. I caught sight of Frodo, lying on the ground, a light in his hand, and rushed to his side. The ringbearer was soaked in blood from the fell beast's claws. His blue eyes met mine with great urgency.
"Keep it safe," he breathed. Then his eyes closed and the breath of life abandoned him.
"Frodo," I whispered his name, drawing his lifeless form into my arms. I felt a new passion embrace me. I would keep the ring safe and avenge Frodo's death, or die trying.