OKAY! And I'm updating!

Senior year is hitting me like the Witch-King's giant freakin' mace to my head! It was only just this previous weekend that I managed to shake the cobwebs out of my brain and write something again. That's when I remembered 'Oh yeah! Right! I haven't updated HRF in a while!' So here we go. Three chapters to make up for my absence. This one, I'm afraid, is rather short.


"Look! Boromir! LOOK!"

Boromir ran to the edge of the wall, now crowded with several soldiers and civilians, and looked out onto the Pelennor Fields to where Edmund was pointing. When he focused, his eyes widened, and his stomach dropped to his feet.

"Eru's Blood and Bone…"

"What are they?"

The creatures looked like dragons; Edmund didn't think they were, because they didn't look like dragons, but things in Middle Earth rarely matched their Earth-counterparts. In his world, Elves were small, squeaky creatures that made toys, but they sure as all hell weren't in Middle Earth. For all he knew, dragons could more resemble chickens than lizards here.

"Fellbeasts." Boromir's tone was dark. "They are the steeds of the Nine Black Riders. The Nazgul." He squinted, and felt his heart freeze in his chest when he saw exactly what it was the Nazgul were chasing.

Men on horseback, all in silver (They were far away, but what limited sunlight there was that day glinted off their armor) were charging across the field, trying desperately to out-race the Nazgul to the White City.

"They come from Osgiliath," Boromir whispered, more to himself than Edmund. "Then the city is lost." Oh, that hurt. It had been such a joy to reclaim the ruined former capital all those months ago, only now to have it overrun with Orcs once more.

"Osgiliath?" Edmund asked. Boromir pointed numbly to a jagged outline framed by the black mountains of Mordor, and Edmund realized that it must indeed be Osgiliath. Even from here, though, it looked as though it had seen better days.

"My brother is stationed there." Edmund's eyes widened, and he stared at Boromir. Ever since the incident in the woods all that long time ago, Boromir often wore a look of hopelessness on his face, and this was his chosen expression now.

"Maybe he's with those riders down there." Edmund said quietly. His timing, however, was poor, as at that moment one of the Fellbeasts swooped down and managed to pick up a man in its jaws, effectively crushing him to death.

"Look!"

"It's Mithrandir!"

"The White Rider!"

"Gandalf!"

Below, from the city's main gates, a white rider on a white horse charged out onto the plains, a white staff held high. Boromir stared, then squinted.

"What- Is that Pippin?" Edmund leaned over the wall a little more, also squinting, and saw that there was, indeed, a dark speck sitting in front of Gandalf on Shadowfax. They were so far away now it was hard to see, but it was there.

"Why in the heck would he take Pippin out there?"

The sky was unusually interesting that day. When Gandalf had said that Sauron was blocking out the sun to ease the passage of the Orcs, Edmund had assumed that the wizard was speaking figuratively. But indeed, there was a dark cloud stretched out from Mordor that stopped about halfway across the Pelennor Fields, and it seemed that the Nazgul were intent on stopping the majority of the fleeing soldiers from reaching the sunlight.

But then Gandalf showed his power again. From his staff a bright, golden light exploded, and it pulsed outwards towards the Nazgul and their hellish steeds. Blinded, the beasts shrieked and recoiled, turning from the soldiers to flee from the painful light. In a matter of seconds, they were soaring back to Mordor.


When the Fellbeasts turned back, Boromir immediately turned from the wall and hurried down to the main entrance of the city, Edmund tearing after him. He had a mind to tell Boromir to slow down, but then remembered Boromir's motivation, and knew that if it were Susan, Lucy or even Peter that had been involved in that scene, he'd be hauling his butt down there as soon as possible.

By the time they arrived in the courtyard below, the riders, breathless, terrified and exhilarated had all entered, and were being greeted by all who'd witnessed the events on the fields.

Boromir scanned the crowd with his heart in his throat. Faramir… Faramir… Where was Faramir?

Edmund, meanwhile, peeled through the crowd to reach Gandalf and Pippin, still seated upon Shadowfax and speaking with a man that-

… Looked very familiar.

"Edmund! Edmund!" Pippin looked happier than he'd been in a long, long time. Both Gandalf and the seated man turned. "Frodo, Sam and Lucy! They were here! Well, over there! Two days ago! They're alive! They're okay!"

It had been quite a time since Edmund had grinned quite so largely. "Really?" The man on horseback nodded. He stared at Edmund with a scrutinizing look.

"Edmund?" He repeated.

But before he could elaborate or Edmund could question him, a cry of "Faramir!" drew their attention. The man on horseback, revealed to be Faramir, Boromir's younger brother, slid off his horse with a bewildered smile and embraced his older sibling.

"Boromir! You're returned!"

"As have you!"

"This is your brother, Boromir?" Pippin asked, surprised.

"I can see the resemblance, actually." Edmund muttered, eyes flickering between the two sons of Denethor. If you looked at Edmund and Peter, you could see some vague familial resemblance, but it was certainly stronger between Boromir and Faramir.

"When did you get here?"

"About two days ago." Faramir nodded… And then the smile slid from his face.

"Have you…?" He cast a slow glance towards Gandalf, Pippin and Edmund. Boromir's smile disappeared as well.

"…I didn't."

"And he…?"

"… Is not happy."


Geez. I remember going on Youtube and finding some LOTR extras, and they actually had a part where Sean Bean, David Wenham and Peter Jackson were discussing the convenient resemblance between Bean and Wenham. Particularly the nose.