Acrostic Puzzle Disclaimer:
Theoden
Hama
Edoras
Saruman
Eomer
Aragorn
Riker
Eowyn
Sauron
Troi
Imladris
Legolas
Lothlorien
Narsil
O' Brien
Theoden
Middle-Earth
Isildur's Bane
Numenorians
Elrond
Obviously, this doesn't cover all the things in here that aren't mine, but I thought it was a clever mood-lightener, and you know the drill by now. It's still not mine.
Chapter Twenty-One
The Last Dance
"Hama."
After more than two weeks, O' Brien was quite accustomed to responding to his character's name, but, at the moment, that was the last thing he wanted to do. Consciousness meant pain, he knew from the throbbing in his shoulder that was worsening as he became more aware. Breathing, too, became more painful, and soon he was coughing, which only made the burning in his lungs even more intense.
"Hama." Eomer's voice. So he was still alive, too. O' Brien opened his eyes. Eomer's tone was urgent. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
They were inside. That much, O' Brien could gather from the fact that he was looking up at a roof rather than the sky. Slowly, Eomer's face came into focus. His expression was grave and, O' Brien thought, sad.
"The battle?" O' Brien asked anxiously. "How long was I unconscious?"
"Hours. It is nearly nightfall. I would not have woken you, Hama, but you had said that you did not wish to die cowering in a corner. Somehow, I didn't think you would find unconsciousness preferable, either."
O' Brien nodded weakly. "Thank you."
"All of our forces have gathered in this room, along with the women and children, the elderly, and the injured," Eomer continued. "We have barricaded the doors, but they will not hold for long."
"Why don't they just burn us to the ground?" O' Brien wondered.
Eomer smiled grimly. "Believe me, they've tried. But the storms began a few hours ago. Their fires won't last. But it's only a matter of time before they can break through."
O' Brien sat up slowly and looked around. The room, although large, was crowded with people. Almost everyone had a weapon of some kind. Tables had been torn apart, their legs providing clubs. Boys too young to hold a sword properly were armed with knives, most of which looked more fit for carving a well-roasted bit of meat than stabbing through armor.
One by one, he found he could account for all the members of the Enterprise crew. Worf stood by a door braced with tables and chairs, fingering his axe. Geordi stood near another door, beside Eowyn. Troi knelt beside a group of frightened children. Dr. Crusher was directing traffic in a particularly crowded corner nearby, still stubbornly tending to the wounded. Among the injured and dying lay Brooke, still completely unaware.
After one more glance around the room, O' Brien realized the cause of Eomer's mood. "The king?"
Eomer shook his head. "He was one of the first to fall on the other side. Our people have not borne the tidings well. They believe all hope is lost. And I fear they are right, because they believe it." He looked around. "Oddly enough, it's put our newest healer in a particularly irritable mood, as well."
O' Brien let that sink in. Theoden was dead. The people were losing hope. That made sense. But Dr. Crusher…
His gaze strayed to the doctor, who was kneeling beside Brooke, frustration plastered on her face. O' Brien slowly got to his feet, careful not to use his left shoulder, which had been bandaged, but still hurt terribly. "I wouldn't go over there," Eomer advised. "Right now, he might be as dangerous as the Uruk-Hai. These Halflings are a feisty folk."
O' Brien ignored the warning. Dr. Crusher looked up as he approached. "Hama, sit down before you fall down," she grumbled.
O' Brien held back a comment about her bedside manner as he sat down beside Brooke. "It wasn't pointless," he said calmly.
Dr. Crusher looked up in surprise. "What wasn't?"
"What Boromir did for Theoden," O' Brien said, careful to use the name of Brooke's character. He was certain Eomer was listening from a distance.
"She did this to save Theoden. Theoden is dead. How is that not pointless?"
"He did more than save Theoden, and you know it," O' Brien pointed out. "That's not why you're upset."
"It's … unfair … that she has to die this way. Completely unaware. Defenseless. Unable to fight back. It's … not what she would have wanted."
O' Brien stared, absolutely shocked. For all her harsh words and resentment for Brooke, Dr. Crusher did, in fact, have some measure of respect for her, some understanding of what she had been trying to do. "You're right," he agreed, placing a hand on Dr. Crusher's shoulder. "It's not what he would have wanted. But it's something he was willing to accept, to give us a chance." He managed a small smile. "And do you really think he would want your pity?"
"No," Dr. Crusher conceded quietly. Then, after a moment, "There's something else he wouldn't want, either." She removed a horn from Brooke's belt. "He would not want it to remain silent in our last defense. Take it, Hama, and blow it when you see fit."
O' Brien took the horn. "Why me?"
"He would have wanted it blown by one of his kindred, but, since none are here, I believe he would consider you near enough."
O' Brien hesitated for a moment, wondering whether the comment had been for his benefit or for Eomer's. He vaguely remembered Brooke saying that she was from Gondor – wherever that was – and, apparently, none of the others were. Had Dr. Crusher meant to say that Hama was close enough to Boromir's kindred … or that he was similar enough to Brooke? Either way, he decided, he might as well take it as a compliment. "Thank you."
Dr. Crusher's look revealed that this wasn't quite the reaction she'd expected, but she smiled, anyway. "You're welcome, Hama. Now go help your new king."
O' Brien nodded and made his way to Eomer, his sword in his right hand, Brooke's horn in his left. "What are your orders, my lord?"
"Join me at the southern door, if you still desire to remain by my side."
"I do, my lord." He followed Eomer to what he assumed was the southern side of the room.
Eomer turned towards the room full of people. "Men of Rohan!" Then, realizing that was an absurd way to address a room where women and children greatly outnumbered the grown men conscious enough to care what he was saying, he tried again. "Sons and daughters of Rohan! I stand before you today, asking you to fight. I am your king, but I do not command you. I do not demand that you fight for me. Nor will I insist that you fight to defend your country, your land, your homes that are already burning. Rather, I would ask that you look around this room. Look at your brothers. Your sisters. Your parents and children. Your friends and relatives. Never has what you were fighting for been so real, so immediately threatened. And so I beg of you to stand! Not for me. Not for king or country, but for each other! Stand, my brothers! My sisters! Stand!"
Across the hall, Eowyn raised her sword. "Stand!"
"Stand!" The cry filled the room as they obeyed the call. Old men and women who seemed too frail to walk leaned on each other for support, swords drawn. Men in danger of bleeding to death drew their weapons, ready to defend those even more gravely injured. Children too small to lift a sword stood with their knives pointed at the door, shielding babes too young even to stand.
Geordi's sword was held up proudly beside Eowyn's. Worf raised his axe high above his head in both hands. Dr. Crusher stood defiantly beside Brooke, sword ready. Troi stood amid a group of small children, her sword held high, near enough for O' Brien to see that, on her finger, she wore a large ring. O' Brien blew a long blast on his horn.
And then – as the Uruk-Hai came crashing through the doors on every side of the room – faintly, as if in the distance, or perhaps in a dream, another horn answered.
"He's alive!" Joy and relief shone in Faramir's face as they rode onwards, and the horn echoed again. "Boromir! He's alive!"
Riker grinned as he answered again with the silver horn that Faramir had given him. Together, they urged their horses onward, faster. The same relief that Faramir displayed so openly hit Riker like a wave. He knew that horn. He had only heard it once, in Rivendell, but the sound was unmistakable, and, if he'd had any doubts after the first blast, Faramir had shattered them all. Riker knew better than to argue with Boromir's brother about what the Horn of Gondor sounded like.
And, at the very least, that meant that Brooke was alive, somewhere ahead, amid the rubble that had once been Edoras. As the Dead began to pass the two horses and sped onwards towards what little remained of the city, Riker could only hope that the others, too, were alive and with her.
Help was coming. The people of Rohan fought with renewed hope at the sound of the horn. O' Brien blew another blast, and the answering call seemed closer than before. Back and forth they called, O' Brien somehow finding the time and breath to keep sounding the horn.
The Uruk-Hai were breaking through their defense. Parts of the walls were falling. In some corner of his mind, O' Brien found it amazing that the ceiling hadn't collapsed yet. Through the torn walls, he could see masses of Uruk-Hai, and, behind them, amid the rain and the clouds, the last light of the sunset.
O' Brien raised the horn to his lips once more, but, as he did, an Uruk-Hai struck, narrowly missing O' Brien's head, and cleaving the horn in two. One swift stroke from Eomer's sword left the Uruk-Hai dead. O' Brien ran his sword through another. Still, the Uruk-Hai poured through the walls.
The horn stopped. Faramir and Riker exchanged anxious glances. Each urged his horse on a little faster, both aware that the Dead would reach Edoras first, but both anxious to arrive, nonetheless. Riker blew his horn again, hoping in vain for an answer. But none came.
O' Brien saw it first, though he had no idea what to make of it. It looked like a great cloud of shadowy mist, and it swept through the Uruk-Hai's lines. O' Brien stared in wonder as the Uruk-Hai fell dead. As the cloud drew closer, he could make out shapes – men, horses, banners. What, exactly, they were, he didn't know, nor did it matter. They were killing the Uruk-Hai. And they were doing it with terrifying speed.
The mist entered the room and passed him, swiftly, but without any indication of haste. It was as if they simply blew effortlessly through what had once been the Golden Hall, slaying the Uruk-Hai without any thought of danger to themselves. And their recklessness was warranted. The Uruk-Hai seemed to crumble before them in terror.
Then O' Brien saw them – two horses, in the midst of the great, shadowy mist. And two men, barely visible in the darkness. As they drew nearer, he could hear them shouting. "Boromir! Boromir!"
Boromir. It didn't take O' Brien long to realize why they were calling for him. He picked up the broken halves of the Horn of Gondor. "They recognized his horn." He took a step towards the door. One of the riders pulled ahead as O' Brien stepped out into the night, with Eomer close behind.
The rider pulled his horse to a halt just short of trampling O' Brien. In an instant, his sword was dangerously close to O' Brien's neck. "Who are you, and how did you come by my brother's horn?"
O' Brien looked up, unflinching but thoroughly startled, into eyes that so closely resembled Brooke's. The man's voice and bearing left O' Brien no doubt that there was truth to what he said; this was most definitely Boromir's brother.
"Peace, Faramir," came a second voice. An impossible voice. O' Brien stared at the other rider as he drew near. His ears had not been mistaken, unless his eyes, too, were deceived.
The other man, apparently Faramir, sheathed his sword – a little reluctantly, O' Brien thought. "Where is my brother? Is he alive?"
O' Brien looked up at Riker, who nodded. Despite this rather uneasy meeting, Faramir was a friend. "He's inside," O' Brien replied. "And he was alive when I last saw him."
"Why would he entrust the Horn of Gondor to another. Was he injured?"
O' Brien hesitated, but Riker nodded again. The truth would be best; they would learn it soon enough themselves. O' Brien turned back to Faramir. "Yes, and badly, I fear. As for the horn, a mutual friend bade me blow it in his stead, so that it might not remain silent in our last defense." He offered the broken horn to Faramir, who took it and clutched it tightly. All anger had vanished from his face. Pain and grief had replaced it.
After a moment, Faramir recovered enough to speak. "I apologize for my rashness," he said quietly, his voice kind and sincere. "When I heard the horn, I assumed that none but Boromir could have blown it. I thought…"
"There was no harm done, Faramir," O' Brien assured him. "Yours wasn't the first sword to threaten my neck tonight. If you assumed I had killed your brother, I would say that you have shown a generous amount of restraint, thanks to which my head is still attached."
Faramir smiled faintly. "Your courage saved your life, my friend. When I saw that you were unafraid, I doubted my assumption. What is your name?"
"Hama."
"And are you in command here?"
Eomer stepped forward. "No, he is not, but, after tonight, I would not hesitate to leave all of Rohan in his charge if the need arose. But tell me, Faramir, from whence comes this army? I was not aware that the Stewards of Gondor could summon armies out of legends."
Faramir shook his head. "We cannot. This army does not answer to the house of the Stewards, but to the King of Gondor." He indicated Riker with a motion of his arm.
Eomer turned to Riker in surprise. "You command this shadowy host?"
Riker nodded, ignoring Eomer's shocked expression. "Yes. I do. I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Isildur's heir." He smiled. "I also realize I don't look it. We've had a long journey, and we had need of haste. I only regret that we could not have arrived sooner."
Eomer nodded. "As do I. But we are grateful, nonetheless."
"Enough with the formalities, already!" O' Brien insisted. "My apologies, my lords, but if it's all right by you and your respective kingdoms and armies, I'm going to take Faramir to see his brother."
Faramir looked as surprised as the others by O' Brien's frankness, but his eyes shone with silent gratitude as he dismounted and O' Brien led him inside. "He has a point, Eomer," Riker agreed, pulling the young king's name from his memory. "Formalities can wait, and, frankly, there are quite a few people I'm hoping to see in there."
As they passed through what was left of a wall, Riker quickly caught sight of Worf, and then Geordi. Troi, too, was among the people of Rohan, and Dr. Crusher knelt in a corner by several injured soldiers. Riker looked around. Where was the Captain? Data? Wesley?
His questions were forgotten, however, as he caught sight of Faramir, who sank to his knees near where Dr. Crusher was tending to the injured. Riker wove his way through the people, living and dead, to where Brooke lay. If not for Dr. Crusher's immediate assurance that she was still alive, Riker would have thought she was dead. Her skin was a deathly, ashen color, her breathing not even noticeable, her whole body limp and lifeless. She had several wounds that had been carefully bandaged, as well as various cuts and scrapes that hadn't. "What happened?" Riker asked, not entirely sure that he wanted an answer.
Dr. Crusher looked up. "That depends on what you mean. The poison was Orcs. The wounds were Uruk-Hai. And the spell was Saruman. Overall, a nasty combination. I've done everything I can."
Riker stared at Brooke, not quite believing what the doctor was saying. Then, suddenly, he looked up. "Everything you can."
Dr. Crusher turned, surprised. "Well, you're quite welcome to try to find someone who can do better, because, frankly, I'm at my wits' end."
Riker seemed not to have heard her. He was looking down once more – this time at his own hands. "The hands of a King," he mumbled softly.
Dr. Crusher was understandably confused. "What?"
It was Faramir who answered. "It is an old saying in Gondor that the hands of the King are the hands of a healer … and so shall the rightful king be known." He turned to Riker, his eyes revealing that he was daring to hope once more. "Is it true? Can you save him?"
"I don't know," Riker answered honestly. "But we'll find out together."