Multiple hands held him aloft, their touch gentle as they lowered him onto a bed of soft, cushioned material. His head swam as he tried to open his eyes; a film of veiled debris had settled over his them, making it nearly impossible to see until someone stood over him, blocking out the sunlight. With his good hand he reached upward, for what he didn't know and another hand grasped his, squeezing tightly in a reassuring manner.
"I'm here, brother." Faramir's voice flooded back into his memory, but Boromir had to claw for it, recalling it from the depths of where he thought it had gone. But even as he held his brother's hand, his mind flashed an image of the Ring in front of him. Panicking, he withdrew his hand from Faramir and slapped it over his breast to feel where his burden should be. Sure enough, there it was, safe beneath his clothing for no one to know or see.
His eyesight slowly returned and he saw men hastening about on either side of him, some carrying wooden poles with a canvas stretched out between them to support bodies. Trembling, Boromir tried to sit up and Faramir supported him with a hand on his back. A hasty bandage had been wrapped around Boromir's head and his maimed arm was tied to his chest with a sling. He had been brought to the bottom steps of the Golden Hall of Meduseld and the injured were being transported around him to be tended to up the stairs.
"The others…" Boromir croaked, looking around for his companions.
"They are still returning from the battlefield," said Faramir, not meeting his eye. "Lord Elrond and Haldir have nary a scratch on them, typical of Elves. Aragorn sustained a wound to his leg, but the cut is not deep. Eomer is helping to pile the bodies of the slain enemy for cremation. As for the others—"
"Make way for the king!"
Astride a white mare came Theoden, bleeding from a nasty gash across his ear. He dismounted beside Boromir and knelt down, extending his hand to grasp Boromir's shoulder. No words were spoken; there were none to say, but Boromir appreciated the gesture and bowed his head to the king, before asking, "Where is Grima?"
In answer, there came a wild shout from further down the street as Grima Wormtongue galloped through the crowd at break-neck speed, holding Eowyn to his chest. On his heels was Eomer, his face livid beneath his helmet. Grima's horse reared in front of Boromir and for a fleeting moment Boromir feared that his death would come, not by battle, but by ironically being crushed by a horse after the fact. At the last moment Grima steered the horse sideways and then leaped down, gently pulling Eowyn after him. In his arms, she looked small and so deathly pale.
Theoden's face went grey and he held his hand over Eowyn's gaping mouth, hoping to feel an exhale against his skin. "She lives," he said with strain. Turning to two of his bannersmen, he instructed, "Take her inside immediately and tend to her wounds."
Before Theoden could then appeal to Grima, Eomer threw himself off of his steed and seized Grima by the front of his cloak, striking him across the face with the backside of his hand. "You will pay dearly for this," he promised, shaking Grima.
However grateful Boromir was to Eomer for his timely rescue, it could not displace the fact that Eomer was mad with grief and therefore dangerous. Boromir grappled his way into a standing position and put himself between Eomer and Grima just as Haldir appeared from behind Eomer to pull him away. He and Boromir shielded Grima from view, daring Eomer to try another assault.
"Restrain yourself, nephew," said Theoden sharply. "I will not have Grima manhandled in such a manner. I appointed him your sister's guardian—"
"And he failed," Eomer spat despairingly. "She has fallen, has she not?"
"She lives," Theoden assured him.
With tears cascading down his face, Eomer bolted up the ragged stone steps to the Golden Hall. Boromir and Haldir parted to allow Grima to step forward and fall to his knees at Theoden's feet.
"Forgive me, my lord. I have failed."
"You have not," said Haldir. "I witnessed your devotion to protecting her, saw you battle several opponents twice your size to keep them at bay as my niece lay wounded behind you. Not once did you leave her side, as you were instructed. You cannot be held responsible for the blade of a Uruk-hai warrior."
"And she may yet live if I may be permitted to tend to her myself," said Elrond, ambling towards them in his battle dress and acknowledging Theoden with a nod.
"If you can save her, I beg you do so with all haste," said Theoden.
"My brother," began Faramir as Elrond started up the steps. Elrond glanced back over his shoulder, took in Boromir's appearance, and smiled.
"He is not in so much danger as he appears, Faramir. He stands on his own two feet despite his injuries. However, after I have seen to the lady, I will tend to your brother."
Fatigue hit him like an anvil and Boromir grappled at the front of Haldir's tunic as his legs wobbled ungainly.
"Steady," said Haldir, keeping Boromir on his feet with his tremendous strength. "You should rest before Lord Elrond sees to you. Come, lie down. Your brother and I will carry you inside."
Despite his protests at being carried anywhere, Boromir found himself being hoisted inside on one of the canvas contraptions he had seen. They set him far off to the left under one of the open windows where the sunlight could rest on him. He had one Rohirrim soldier missing a leg on one side and an unoccupied space on the other side. Faramir sat down in this space cross-legged and gazed down upon Boromir as if he could never get his fill of seeing his brother. Haldir acted as sentry, scanning the area for suspicious activity, though Boromir highly doubted that there was any to be seen. Being in the presence of so many Men most likely had Haldir on edge.
Promising to return shortly, Grima left them, wending his way through the dozens of wounded riders who lay across the entirety of the hall. His black cloak stood out like a beacon in the sea of green, brown, and gold. Had he been dressed in similar attire to the riders, he still would have been the one to stare at in the room because of his ink-black hair. Not for the first time Boromir wondered if his father or mother had had black hair and if not, what Saruman had done to Grima to make that color appear on his head.
Haldir watched him go, shaking his head ever so slightly to himself. "He goes to wait outside Eowyn's chambers and if Eomer finds him there, this time there may well be bloodshed. Regardless of what Theoden commands, Eomer will never relinquish his hate for Grima when he has no right, no idea what terrible things Saruman has done to him to make him the way he is."
"And you do know what Saruman has done to him?" questioned Faramir.
"Grima has not confided in me, but Gandalf gave me a very short explanation in the utmost confidence. I suppose that I alone know what Gandalf divulged and I doubt he ever told Grima that I know. The past is Grima's to tell and ours to respect until such time as he chooses to tell us, should that time ever come and I would hope that after Moria, after Lord Elrond's insistence, Eomer would have learned to accept Grima."
"After the separation on the plains," added Boromir, licking at his parched lips. Faramir offered him a pouch of water and as Boromir tipped it over his lips, Haldir invited Faramir to share in his side of their long absence from one another.
"As you know, we lost one another in the darkness after the Nazgul's flight," said Faramir, pulling at the threads on the canvas stretched beneath Boromir. "Lord Elrond suggested that we remain where we were in the hopes that we would find the rest of you when daylight came, but by morning, we knew you were far away. Eomer reasoned that the king would make his way here, to Edoras if he was still alive, so we agreed as a group to come here as well. We arrived not four days ago and then after assuring that Eomer's cousin Prince Theodred had secure hold on the city, we set out to gather riders."
"But why so many?" asked Haldir.
"It was not Eomer's idea to rally the Rohirrim, but Lord Elrond's. He said that it had been one of Gandalf's plans for setting out for Mordor. With an army to draw Sauron's forces to the Black Gate, the Fellowship could then sneak inside around the army while the fell beasts are occupied. It would not be much further then to Mount Doom."
"But for every individual entering Mordor, the suspicion would arise tenfold," Haldir reasoned and Boromir had to agree very strongly with him on this front. "My misgiving all along has been that the Fellowship might need to disband to attract less attention and for nine of us—"
"Eight," Boromir corrected, thinking of Eowyn and how Theoden had commanded that she remain in Edoras.
"For eight of us to march into the Shadowlands, it would be not only unnecessary but cumbersome. Some of us would have to remain behind or fight with the riders of Rohan."
"If you are subtly suggesting that I remain behind while my brother ventures forth into Mordor, you will find a strong argument against it," said Faramir defiantly.
"Peace, brother," said Boromir, resting his hand on Faramir's arm. "No suggestions are being made just yet, and not between the three of us when there are five others with whom we must converse."
"Make way there," said a soldier to Faramir who carried a small wrapped bundle over his arm as if it were a stack of hay. As Faramir moved aside, the soldier set the bundle down and a flap of the blanket shifted to expose a pouty face with the eyes closed in death.
Boromir held his stomach, remembering the Warg that killed the half-man and how Haldir had issued a mercy-killing to spare Mahren any more pain and suffering. Why he had been brought here instead of at the gate where those slain were being prepared for burial was a puzzlement until Irlef appeared in the doorway and the soldier who had delivered Mahren pointed the way to the body. If not for already shedding all of his tears for his slain son, Irlef might have had some to spare for his bastard brother, but all he did was lift the bundle, so small and delicate in his arms, and rock back and forth in place, his eyes dry and barren.
"How did it happen?" asked Haldir quietly, coming closer so that Irlef would not overhear them.
It took a moment to pull the memory to the forefront of his mind, but Boromir recalled the horse sailing overhead and then related the manner of Mahren's demise. "Jorahr's horse knocked him over and a Warg set upon him before he could gather his wits."
"An accident," said Faramir who was watching Irlef with pitying fascination and who knew nothing of the villagers Boromir had traveled with.
"I might have been inclined to think so, except for the fact that Jorahr could easily have gone around Mahren," said Boromir. "Norwerlas was right beside Mahren and there was a wide ring around them where Jorahr might have led the horse, but he chose to drive it over Mahren, endangering his own brother in the process."
"The heat of battle often clouds good judgment," said Faramir but Boromir shook his head.
"No; I do notbelieve Jorahr's judgment was impaired in the slightest. Even in the midst of battle, he knew his brother was there and would not have risked Norwerlas's life needlessly. I believe Jorahr deliberately drove his horse towards Mahren in hopes of felling him and making it look accidental, thinking that no one would see. Only someone did see, and I feel it in my heart that Jorahr intended to murder Mahren, and that the Warg finished off what he started."
"That is a serious accusation," said Haldir.
"But why would he want Mahren dead?" asked Faramir. "Did the two have a previously unsettled quarrel?"
"They were by no means devoted friends, of that I am sure, but I cannot say why Jorahr would do such a thing," said Boromir. "I will take my suspicions to the king when I am able to stand on my own."
"Which should be very soon indeed," said Elrond, sweeping towards them with a pouch full of medical herbs in hand. Answering their unasked question, he assured them, "She took a massive hit to the head but her helmet saved her life. There is bruising in her neck from the impact and she was cut in the soft flesh between her arm and her torso. She is in no more danger now and will rest. Now I must tend to the Ringbearer."
"Where is Grima?" asked Haldir as Elrond examined Boromir's arm under the sunlight.
"He waits without her chamber, unseen and unknown to Eomer, though I did warn him to depart with haste if he should hear movement from within."
Elrond gently unlaced the greave strapped to Boromir's forearm, throwing the wound into greater relief. There were large puncture marks made by the Warg's fangs, some deeper than others. The marks ran from Boromir's elbow to his shoulder, meeting the wound that stretched across the back of his shoulder blades. Elrond bade him turn onto his stomach so that he could administer a healing poultice to the wound and with much wincing and groaning, Boromir managed to roll over.
"Your cloak is beyond repair, but a new one will be easy to come by," said Elrond as he cut away the remains of the black cape that had served as Boromir's blanket since his departure from Gondor. The leather armor he wore had saved him from worse damage but it and the tunic beneath were stained in blood and both difficult to slip off to allow Elrond access to his wound. Elrond commentated his work, though whether it was for Boromir's benefit or his own, he couldn't tell.
The poultice stung so much that Boromir had to bury his face in the canvas and bite back a howl of pain. The herbs applied to the bite marks hurt just as badly if not worse, for the remedy went deep into Boromir's skin, making it feel that there was a foreign body inside his arm. Elrond wrapped it securely and then bound it to Boromir's chest so that he wouldn't accidentally knock it. Lastly he smeared a quick paste over the welt forming on Boromir's head where the Uruk-hai had struck him.
"I marvel at how you managed to avoid worse wounds when both of these should have been fatal," said Elrond admirably. "You were lucky that the Orc blade had to pass through your armor first, lucky that the Warg bit down directly from above and not sideways in which case the punctures would have torn the flesh off of your bones completely. Yes, indeed, I would say that fate intervened on your behalf this day."
"How very kind of it," said Boromir, testing his movement to see just how far he could bend at the waist to avoid too much pain, but to his utter shock, the pain was already subsiding, one of the many wonders of Elvish medicine.
"With proper time to heal, you should be ready for travel within a week."
"I wish to speak to the king," said Boromir once he had concluded that ginger movements would not cause him pain.
"He is occupied at the moment, but I shall find him and inform him that you request an audience with him. Until I return, you are to remain here and your brother would do well to find you some rations."
Boromir settled back onto the canvas with the slightest bit of resentment. True, he had put the notion in Theoden's head that the people of Rohan needed their king, but his suspicions regarding Jorahr needed to be addressed. If the man was acting out of spite to kill Mahren, his crime could be met with a lesser punishment, but what if the man was acting on orders? Or worse, acting on free will twisted and bent by someone whose skills included manipulation? Who had a silver tongue to influence even the strongest mind? Who was it that shaped Grima into the man he was now?
Suddenly feeling sick to his stomach, Boromir sat forward and gasped, "Find Grima. He must not leave our side. And regardless of what Lord Elrond has commanded, we must consult with the king, for our situation has just become much deadlier."