*Greetings all! This is my first Lord of the Rings fanfic, so please excuse
if I am lax in some of the details. I wished that both J.R. Tolkien and
Peter Jackson had gone into more character depth with Legolas and Boromir
and as they had not, I thought to write my own fic. This takes place just
as the Company is leaving Lothlorien and just before Amon Hen. Please post
your reviews! I love getting feedback!*
On a separate note, I apologize for my butchered attempts at elvish speak. I will go back later and add things in elven, so until then I'm sorry to say that it is all in English. ________________________________________________________________________
Just below the barren and ravaged soil of Isengard burned a fire that could rival the heat of the sun itself.
Longer than anyone could remember, Isengard had been a place of tranquility. Nestled in the strong trees on the edge of Fangorn forest, the city had stood like a peaceful sentinel, a home of wisdom. Now it lie bleeding, cracks and crevasses torn deep below its soil. Within those cracks housed a war manufactory. Orcs and goblin alike toiled through the hours, producing thousands of crude and ghastly weapons. Unearthly roars bubbled from beneath in the breeding grounds as magic once used for good twisted human and orc into killing machines.
Their leader stood by the wizard as they surveyed its progress.
"Do you know how the orcs first came into being?" Saruman asked, his grey eyes peering into the burning flames as trees were hacked for its fuel. "They were elves once, taken by the dark powers, tortured ..."
The Uruk-hai at his shoulder made no comment upon his words, yet he could feel the anger radiating from his dark muscled body.
"...mutilated..."
The hatred clenched in his fang-like teeth.
"A ruined and terrible fall of life..."
A deep growl rattled in the beast's chest and his yellow-tinted eyes narrowed. The furnace that fueled such a war machine could not hold a candle to the burning flames of hatred in those evil eyes.
A pleased smile graced the wizard's elderly face, "And now perfected, my fighting Uruk-hai." He turned to his general at his shoulder. "Now, whom do you serve?"
************
With a deep sigh, Aragorn set Andruil upon the banks of Amon Hen. Lothlorien had been a much needed respite after the ambush in Moria and the loss of Gandalf yet the soreness in his spine as he stood told him that it was not nearly long enough. The weariness was visible in every eye of the Company. Even Legolas, who had been tireless since the journey began, did not stand as proudly as he had before. Yes, even the elf looked weary, distant, as if distracted.
"We shall rest here and travel upon nightfall," he commanded, setting his gear down.
Merry and Pippin complied without a word, which only proved to the Ranger more that rest was indeed needed. They hadn't complained about missing a meal since Moria. His chest tightened at the thought. Gimli continued with his loud insisting that his route was one of madness and that they would find rest in their deaths, which was an almost certainty if they followed that course. Between rants, the elf approached, his eyes upon the river.
"We should leave now," he quietly insisted, his sea-colored eyes peering through the foliage of the banks, searching.
"No," Aragorn countered, "Orcs patrol the Eastern shore. We must wait for cover of darkness."
The ranger's words reflected off of the troubled elf like a minor wave upon solid rock, "It is not the eastern shore that worries me." His voice trailed off as that piercing gaze waxed over in distress. "A shadow and a threat has been growing in my mind. Something draws near, I can feel it."
Legolas's cryptic words seeped the weariness from the ranger as danger renewed his alertness. His voice dropped to a mere whisper as to not alarm the rest of the Company. "What do you sense?"
Slowly, the elf's fair head turned from the river shores to the camp, his eyes still carrying that far away look, till they settled upon Boromir's abandoned shield.
"Death," he answered, his voice barely audible over the flowing river. "Death marches toward us..."
************
(elsewhere in the ruins of Amon Hen)
"...What chance do you think you have?" Boromir spit the words, his eyes wild and dangerous as they glared upon the hobbit. Slowly he advanced upon Frodo, the object of his desires hanging by a silver chain around the small creature's neck. "They will find you, they will take the ring, and you will beg for death before the end!"
Fright seized the air in Frodo's lungs, clutching it tight in its icy grip. He had stood against goblins, against orcs, and managed to even survive against a cave troll. Yet Boromir, Steward of Gondor, made him fear. His eyes locked upon the delirious warrior Frodo crept backwards, his pulse racing.
"It could have been mine!" the warrior hissed, images of glory and battle floating in his mind with the poisoned kiss of the One Ring. "It should have been mine! Give it to me!!"
Barely dodging Boromir's wild grasp, Frodo nearly tripped over a tree root, desperate to run. Without thinking, he reached for the ring around his neck, now warm to the touch, and slipped it upon his finger. In a blink of an eye, the young hobbit vanished from sight.
"Frodo?!?" the warrior growled, reaching madly through the air for the hobbit. He whipped his gaze about to find the creature, his sandy-blonde hair sticking to his sweat-glazed face in golden streaks. Finding nothing but air between his clawed fingers, the warrior howled his rage to the skies. "CURSE YOU!!!"
His scream tore at his lungs, leaving him heaving for breath, kneeling upon the ground. His head throbbed from screaming so loud, and yet his bellow seemed to have silence the other voices in his mind as he was once more left with himself ... and his actions.
Fear seized his heart as horror twisted his stomach. Boromir leaned over, gagging in revulsion, as if he could retch the ring's sweet poison from his soul but nothing would come out. For the first time in his life, Boromir felt completely alone. And for the first time since he was a child, the Son of Gondor began to cry. "Frodo ... help me ..."
Deep in the distance, in the thicket surrounding him, his plea for help fell upon unsympathetic ears as a grisly black hand reached for an arrow...
*********** (at the ruins)
"...would you take it?" Frodo asked bitterly, the ring sitting upon the hobbit's hand with all the regality of a wedding band upon a pillow. The gleam of the golden band danced in the ranger's eyes. "Or would you destroy it?"The hobbit's chestnut eyes watched Aragorn with tired wariness. At this point, it almost didn't matter to Frodo if the ranger took the ring or not. He was tired of watching his friends ravaged and destroyed by this horrid trinket. A part of him wanted Aragorn to take the ring. Let him fall under its spell. Let him destroy the world with it. At least then this whole nightmare was over. Perhaps Gimli was right, perhaps he could find the rest he wanted so badly in the crib of his grave. He doubted that he could even stop Aragorn from taking it if the ranger so wanted. Only with the ring's cloak of invisibility was he able to escape Boromir.
Moments passed at Aragorn's glittering eyes flickered from the ring to the hobbit's eyes. His hand reached for the ring and the breath stopped in Frodo's throat, but the ranger's hand merely closed his own over the ring. Perplexed, the hobbit glanced up at Aragorn's face, but the hesitancy was stripped from his countenance. Instead, he saw the brave, loyal look that the ranger had upon his face when he pledged his sword to him at the council.
"I would have followed you to the very fires of Mordor."
Frodo nodded sadly, a tear slipping from his weary, troubled eyes. "I know," he answered, the words coming out with difficulty. He knew what he had to do. He just didn't know if he could do it alone.
A warm hand gripped his shoulder and the hobbit looked up into soulful eyes that graced him with a look of compassion. An unspoken goodbye exchanged between them and as the hobbit stepped back to leave, a gleam of blue light broke that moment.
Aragorn stared at Frodo's scabbard, the kindness fading from his face to be replaced with alarm. "Go," he hissed, reaching for his sword as he whipped about to face the plains around them. "Go!"
Without warning, a swarm of blackness rushed upon them with glowing yellow eyes.
**********
The peaceful silence of Amon Hen was shattered by the clanging of steel upon steel as human and uruk-hai fought viciously upon the plains. Anduril gleamed in the hot afternoon sun, slashing with the trained arm of the ranger as he fought madly to keep back the number of uruk-hai who had taken them by surprise. Again and again his sword bit into the flesh of this new enemy yet they kept coming, unaware of the blood that ran down their rough hides. Alarm flowed through his veins as Aragorn's sword arm nearly broke under a mighty blow from yet another uruk-hai. His arm numb from the strike, the ranger could barely throw his free arm over his face to shield himself as the grisly beast brought his sword down upon him.
Aragorn cried out in pain as the crude sword tore the flesh of his left forearm. Yet he didn't have time to do much else as the uruk-hai whirled his blade around, ready to run him through.
A guttural war cry sounded behind him and before Aragorn could wonder what the afterlife might be like, the uruk-hai's sword was cleaved in two by the brute strength of the dwarf and his battle axe.
"Durin's beard!" Gimli swore as his axe met the flesh of another uruk-hai's throat, "What sort of devilry are these things?"
Fighting the pain radiating from his left arm, Aragorn twisted to strike another enemy. "Such an enemy could only be a spawn of Sauron!" he answered, his sword clashing in mid-air. "Where is Frodo?!?"
"Gone," Gimli answered as he swung at a new uruk-hai's knees, cleaving one in half. "He took off as I arrived."
"We must not let these things reach him!"
"Then on my cousin's honor, they will not harm a hair on his head," Gimi swore his oath as he freed his axe from the body of a cleaved uruk-hai at his feet. He was a moment too late as the edge of a blade nicked him above his eyebrow, deflecting off his helmet before it could cause fatal damage. The dwarf grunted in pain and brought his axe up in an upward slash and the uruk-hai never got up again. "Not that I miss him, but where is that blasted elf when you need him??"
***************
On a separate note, I apologize for my butchered attempts at elvish speak. I will go back later and add things in elven, so until then I'm sorry to say that it is all in English. ________________________________________________________________________
Just below the barren and ravaged soil of Isengard burned a fire that could rival the heat of the sun itself.
Longer than anyone could remember, Isengard had been a place of tranquility. Nestled in the strong trees on the edge of Fangorn forest, the city had stood like a peaceful sentinel, a home of wisdom. Now it lie bleeding, cracks and crevasses torn deep below its soil. Within those cracks housed a war manufactory. Orcs and goblin alike toiled through the hours, producing thousands of crude and ghastly weapons. Unearthly roars bubbled from beneath in the breeding grounds as magic once used for good twisted human and orc into killing machines.
Their leader stood by the wizard as they surveyed its progress.
"Do you know how the orcs first came into being?" Saruman asked, his grey eyes peering into the burning flames as trees were hacked for its fuel. "They were elves once, taken by the dark powers, tortured ..."
The Uruk-hai at his shoulder made no comment upon his words, yet he could feel the anger radiating from his dark muscled body.
"...mutilated..."
The hatred clenched in his fang-like teeth.
"A ruined and terrible fall of life..."
A deep growl rattled in the beast's chest and his yellow-tinted eyes narrowed. The furnace that fueled such a war machine could not hold a candle to the burning flames of hatred in those evil eyes.
A pleased smile graced the wizard's elderly face, "And now perfected, my fighting Uruk-hai." He turned to his general at his shoulder. "Now, whom do you serve?"
************
With a deep sigh, Aragorn set Andruil upon the banks of Amon Hen. Lothlorien had been a much needed respite after the ambush in Moria and the loss of Gandalf yet the soreness in his spine as he stood told him that it was not nearly long enough. The weariness was visible in every eye of the Company. Even Legolas, who had been tireless since the journey began, did not stand as proudly as he had before. Yes, even the elf looked weary, distant, as if distracted.
"We shall rest here and travel upon nightfall," he commanded, setting his gear down.
Merry and Pippin complied without a word, which only proved to the Ranger more that rest was indeed needed. They hadn't complained about missing a meal since Moria. His chest tightened at the thought. Gimli continued with his loud insisting that his route was one of madness and that they would find rest in their deaths, which was an almost certainty if they followed that course. Between rants, the elf approached, his eyes upon the river.
"We should leave now," he quietly insisted, his sea-colored eyes peering through the foliage of the banks, searching.
"No," Aragorn countered, "Orcs patrol the Eastern shore. We must wait for cover of darkness."
The ranger's words reflected off of the troubled elf like a minor wave upon solid rock, "It is not the eastern shore that worries me." His voice trailed off as that piercing gaze waxed over in distress. "A shadow and a threat has been growing in my mind. Something draws near, I can feel it."
Legolas's cryptic words seeped the weariness from the ranger as danger renewed his alertness. His voice dropped to a mere whisper as to not alarm the rest of the Company. "What do you sense?"
Slowly, the elf's fair head turned from the river shores to the camp, his eyes still carrying that far away look, till they settled upon Boromir's abandoned shield.
"Death," he answered, his voice barely audible over the flowing river. "Death marches toward us..."
************
(elsewhere in the ruins of Amon Hen)
"...What chance do you think you have?" Boromir spit the words, his eyes wild and dangerous as they glared upon the hobbit. Slowly he advanced upon Frodo, the object of his desires hanging by a silver chain around the small creature's neck. "They will find you, they will take the ring, and you will beg for death before the end!"
Fright seized the air in Frodo's lungs, clutching it tight in its icy grip. He had stood against goblins, against orcs, and managed to even survive against a cave troll. Yet Boromir, Steward of Gondor, made him fear. His eyes locked upon the delirious warrior Frodo crept backwards, his pulse racing.
"It could have been mine!" the warrior hissed, images of glory and battle floating in his mind with the poisoned kiss of the One Ring. "It should have been mine! Give it to me!!"
Barely dodging Boromir's wild grasp, Frodo nearly tripped over a tree root, desperate to run. Without thinking, he reached for the ring around his neck, now warm to the touch, and slipped it upon his finger. In a blink of an eye, the young hobbit vanished from sight.
"Frodo?!?" the warrior growled, reaching madly through the air for the hobbit. He whipped his gaze about to find the creature, his sandy-blonde hair sticking to his sweat-glazed face in golden streaks. Finding nothing but air between his clawed fingers, the warrior howled his rage to the skies. "CURSE YOU!!!"
His scream tore at his lungs, leaving him heaving for breath, kneeling upon the ground. His head throbbed from screaming so loud, and yet his bellow seemed to have silence the other voices in his mind as he was once more left with himself ... and his actions.
Fear seized his heart as horror twisted his stomach. Boromir leaned over, gagging in revulsion, as if he could retch the ring's sweet poison from his soul but nothing would come out. For the first time in his life, Boromir felt completely alone. And for the first time since he was a child, the Son of Gondor began to cry. "Frodo ... help me ..."
Deep in the distance, in the thicket surrounding him, his plea for help fell upon unsympathetic ears as a grisly black hand reached for an arrow...
*********** (at the ruins)
"...would you take it?" Frodo asked bitterly, the ring sitting upon the hobbit's hand with all the regality of a wedding band upon a pillow. The gleam of the golden band danced in the ranger's eyes. "Or would you destroy it?"The hobbit's chestnut eyes watched Aragorn with tired wariness. At this point, it almost didn't matter to Frodo if the ranger took the ring or not. He was tired of watching his friends ravaged and destroyed by this horrid trinket. A part of him wanted Aragorn to take the ring. Let him fall under its spell. Let him destroy the world with it. At least then this whole nightmare was over. Perhaps Gimli was right, perhaps he could find the rest he wanted so badly in the crib of his grave. He doubted that he could even stop Aragorn from taking it if the ranger so wanted. Only with the ring's cloak of invisibility was he able to escape Boromir.
Moments passed at Aragorn's glittering eyes flickered from the ring to the hobbit's eyes. His hand reached for the ring and the breath stopped in Frodo's throat, but the ranger's hand merely closed his own over the ring. Perplexed, the hobbit glanced up at Aragorn's face, but the hesitancy was stripped from his countenance. Instead, he saw the brave, loyal look that the ranger had upon his face when he pledged his sword to him at the council.
"I would have followed you to the very fires of Mordor."
Frodo nodded sadly, a tear slipping from his weary, troubled eyes. "I know," he answered, the words coming out with difficulty. He knew what he had to do. He just didn't know if he could do it alone.
A warm hand gripped his shoulder and the hobbit looked up into soulful eyes that graced him with a look of compassion. An unspoken goodbye exchanged between them and as the hobbit stepped back to leave, a gleam of blue light broke that moment.
Aragorn stared at Frodo's scabbard, the kindness fading from his face to be replaced with alarm. "Go," he hissed, reaching for his sword as he whipped about to face the plains around them. "Go!"
Without warning, a swarm of blackness rushed upon them with glowing yellow eyes.
**********
The peaceful silence of Amon Hen was shattered by the clanging of steel upon steel as human and uruk-hai fought viciously upon the plains. Anduril gleamed in the hot afternoon sun, slashing with the trained arm of the ranger as he fought madly to keep back the number of uruk-hai who had taken them by surprise. Again and again his sword bit into the flesh of this new enemy yet they kept coming, unaware of the blood that ran down their rough hides. Alarm flowed through his veins as Aragorn's sword arm nearly broke under a mighty blow from yet another uruk-hai. His arm numb from the strike, the ranger could barely throw his free arm over his face to shield himself as the grisly beast brought his sword down upon him.
Aragorn cried out in pain as the crude sword tore the flesh of his left forearm. Yet he didn't have time to do much else as the uruk-hai whirled his blade around, ready to run him through.
A guttural war cry sounded behind him and before Aragorn could wonder what the afterlife might be like, the uruk-hai's sword was cleaved in two by the brute strength of the dwarf and his battle axe.
"Durin's beard!" Gimli swore as his axe met the flesh of another uruk-hai's throat, "What sort of devilry are these things?"
Fighting the pain radiating from his left arm, Aragorn twisted to strike another enemy. "Such an enemy could only be a spawn of Sauron!" he answered, his sword clashing in mid-air. "Where is Frodo?!?"
"Gone," Gimli answered as he swung at a new uruk-hai's knees, cleaving one in half. "He took off as I arrived."
"We must not let these things reach him!"
"Then on my cousin's honor, they will not harm a hair on his head," Gimi swore his oath as he freed his axe from the body of a cleaved uruk-hai at his feet. He was a moment too late as the edge of a blade nicked him above his eyebrow, deflecting off his helmet before it could cause fatal damage. The dwarf grunted in pain and brought his axe up in an upward slash and the uruk-hai never got up again. "Not that I miss him, but where is that blasted elf when you need him??"
***************