Chapter 43:
The Heirs of Gondor
Author's Note: Well, here we are, the beginning of the part of the story where Boromir remains alive. Again, still not entirely sure what I intend to do with him just yet, but fear not! I will bring some purpose to his survival in somewhere. I do know that the conclusion to his story will end after the general LOTR timeline, but as I'm not yet finished with Consequences, it won't be told for some time.
So, I feel that before I continue on further with this story I should mention the fact that I'm taking a great deal of dialogue from the books. I don't typically need to quote the descriptors, but will if Tolkien's describing something I can't, quite picture myself. Those passages taken directly from the books will be in bold, though I won't always do that for the dialogue. Just know that there are direct quotes from Fellowship of the Ring and, now, The Two Towers nestled in here. This isn't something I'll need to do often; especially as the story deviates from the original plot in certain areas, but there will be moments.
Enjoy!
The walls were white made from chalk from the sea. Faramir found himself traversing their halls more often than not these recent days. He both loved and hated it. He loved meeting his men and raising their spirits with his presence. He hated helping the dying into the Halls of Mandos. He loved the halls because it allowed him to stay away from his father. His father who was slowly being driven mad by that bloody palantir he kept in his rooms.
This day, Faramir came to the halls to visit their honored guest and protector. Healer Ailya kept her under her care for several nights since the last attack by Aries. She was in a private room as was due her station. When he'd last visited the elf lady, she was quite irritable and clearly bored. The Healer Ailya would hear not release her from treatment stating she wasn't yet ready.
Huntress Artemis was up and walking around when he entered her room. Several pieces of parchment were clutched in one hand and the other tapped the side of her chin. She didn't avert her attention from the pages when he entered, so Faramir stood near the entrance and waited for her to acknowledge him.
"Are you going to stand there like a statue for hours, or do you have something important to say?" Artemis asked, not looking away from the parchment.
"I wished to check on your progress," Faramir said and stepped further into the room.
"I'm bored."
His lips twitched into a momentary smile.
"Yet you can now walk freely."
"Well done, Captain, you've succeeded in pointing out the obvious," came her sarcastic reply.
The elf lady was agitated by something, but Faramir couldn't quite divine what or why. Finally, she glanced at him with her silver-grey eyes and a concentrated frown adorning her lips. Not for the first time was Faramir struck by her beauty and now, as she stared at him, the blood rushed to his head once again.
"I… I came to ask of you a boon. It might, possibly, allow you to leave the Halls of Healing for a time," he said.
At a raised brow from her, Faramir continued, "My men do not know the ways of your world. They know not its dark creatures or how to defend against and kill them. Even if you are unable to fight in the next battles, my men and I would appreciate your experience in the matter if you are willing."
She smiled, "I can help you, but Ailya won't let me leave the halls until tomorrow."
"That should be sufficient. Lady Ailya's protections should last us until then."
"Good. I'll sed word as soon as I'm out. Make sure you have your men congregate at the training grounds. Depending on how many there are, we may need to do this in shifts," she said.
"I suspected as much," Faramir replied.
For several moments in pondering the idea, he'd feared she'd scoff at the idea. It seemed, for all her bristling countenance, the Lady Huntress was more than willing to share her knowledge when asked. Before more can be said, the door opened once more and Healer Ailya entered. A grim expression had settled on her brow.
"What is it?" Artemis asked.
"Our queen's life hangs in a balance. The curse will be cast," the healer said.
"It'll stick?" Artemis asked, sharply.
The healer inclined her head and the Lady Huntress uttered a string of curses that would have made the most foul-mouthed orc blush. She whirled around, eyes flashing, and papers clenched tightly in her fists.
"What the hell was the point of it all?" She asked.
"There's still a chance it can be overcome," the healer replied.
"A slim one!"
"It still exists. The bond is still too new, but even with the curse it can be strengthened."
Artemis closed her eyes and inhaled, long and deep, before releasing the breath slowly. Then, she made her way to her bed and lowered herself to the mattress.
"I don't like this, Ailya. I feel like we're playing a game of chance with her life," Artemis said.
Faramir remained a silent observer of this conversation. He had a vague notion of what they were discussing and didn't understand most of it.
"I have seen what must be. This is the path that will lead to success, but it all still depends on them. Should their hearts not remain true, the world will fall."
"Then we're left with a vague hope."
Ailya smiled softly and her blank, milk-white eyes seemed to soften from their usual sharpness. The change in their expression always shocked Faramir. How could a blind person's eyes be so full of expression?
"There are many parts to play in this war. Hope is greater than you may know," Healer Ailya said.
Faramir frowned at her. The words held a prophetic ring to them, but he couldn't divine as to why. The Lady Huntress frowned at that, but didn't attempt to comment further. Faramir considered the information exchanged for a moment before he turned to Healer Ailya.
"What of my brother?" He asked.
"Your brother will return to Gondor in time. His coming will herald the return of the king," Ailya said after a while.
Once again, a ring of prophecy. One that the Lady Huntress seemed to have a deeper understanding if he were to judge her contemplative frown. She looked as if she wanted to make a comment, but something kept her from voicing that thought.
"You will be allowed to leave the Halls for a short amount of time, but only if you have an escort," the healer said to her patient.
Huntress Artemis grimaced clearly not liking the order, but nodded in agreement anyway. The healer turned and slipped out of the room. Faramir watched her departure, marveling at the surety of her movement despite being blind.
"I will come escort you to the training grounds at dawn," Faramir said.
Artemis smiled, "Thank you, Captain."
With that, he took his leave.
They'd entered Rohan in the clear light of day. The Emyn Muil ended abruptly at the bottom of a hill and the wide grassy plains of Rohan stretched on before them like an endless sea of brown and green. They'd long left the view of the peeks of the White Mountains and the hearts of Boromir and Aragorn were heavy at the parting. Upon leaving the Emyn Muil winter seemed to be a thing of distant memory and the taste of spring was in the air. They'd enjoyed the change in weather for the first hour, but several hours after meeting the high sun Boromir found himself overheated with the layers of clothes he'd dawned to beat he biting cold. He noticed Aragorn and Gimli become affected by the change in weather, but the elf seemed to barely notice the change as they ran. They went in single file, with Boromir trailing behind them to catch whatever signs of the orcs Aragorn might have missed.
He had no illusions as to the true reason for the company leaving him in the back - as far away from them as possible. What better place for the man who'd betrayed his comrades and placed the integrity of the quest at great risk? Not only had he betrayed their trust, but he'd failed them in every way he could think of. Legolas and Gimli likely felt the sting the least, but Merry and Pippin, Frodo and Sam, all the hobbits were small defenseless creatures in the face of the enemy. He'd attacked one and failed to defend two more. Then there was the elven queen who had not only fought to protect them, but placed her life in jeopardy to do so. If anyone in the Fellowship had cause to resent him completely, it was Aragorn who more than likely lost his wife - the prize of prizes so far as the enemy were concerned.
Bitterness and self-hatred were his companions as was the wound in his back and on his head. The dressing itched and rubbed his skin and caused him to feel a general sense of discomfort. What troubled him was how little pain he felt. At first, he thought it was because of Aragorn's skills as a healer, but when he'd mentioned the lack of symptoms to the Ranger during one of their short breaks the man had seemed surprised at the lack of pain. There was little time to do any sort of investigating; however, and Boromir was left to ponder the issue during their marathon across the rocky hills of Emyn Muil. Upon entering Rohan, a nagging suspicion formed in the back of his mind that grew with each step into a plausible hypothesis.
What had she said? You've betrayed your friends for power. Power will hold you until you discover that which is more precious than it. There'd been power behind those words. While Boromir was no wizard and had little to do with the knowledge of Arda's magics, he'd felt the power behind those words and felt them take root in his very being. It begged the question: had the wound been worse than it originally appeared? Was this some sort of enchantment or curse? Power would hold him. It was an ominous promise and one that seemed to make it impossible for him to die from a mortal wound. Did that mean -?
No, there are some things best left discussed with she who uttered these words. Suppositions will only get in the way of a successful hunt, he thought and forced all consideration to the back of his mind.
As he made this new determination, Gimli stumbled, breathing heavily. It was a lucky moment because Aragorn gave a cry and turned aside to search the ground. Boromir rushed to the dwarf's side and helped him to his feet.
"Thank you, lad," Gimli said, smiling through heavy breathing. "Dwarves are not made for long distance running. We may be a strong, sturdy bunch, but that is mostly for working the forge and fighting in cramped spaces. This sprint is proving more difficult than I imagined."
Boromir, despite everything, laughed and replied, "You fair better than many men, master dwarf. Let Aragorn search the area and rest a moment. He will drive us hard after this, I expect."
When the ranger returned to them, his eyes glinted with a hungry light that made Boromir feel both pity and hope. There, in his hand, was one of the green-jeweled leaves of Lorien.
"The brooch of an elven-cloak!" cried Legolas and Gimli together.
"So we follow the correct orc pack," Boromir mused.
"Aye, not idly do the leaves of Lórien fall," said Aragorn. "This did not drop by chance: it was cast away as a token to any that might follow. I think Pippin ran away from the trail for that purpose."
"Then he at least was alive," said Gimli.
"Let us hope that he did not pay too dearly for his boldness," said Legolas. "But what of my niece? Did you see any sign of her?"
The light in Aragorn's eyes left him and he replied gravely, "Not even a footprint or strand of hair. I haven't seen prints from the elves of earth or their acolytes, but I suspect that is by their design. They must suspect we follow, but it means that, should they break from the main group of orcs, we won't know."
"Best not to think such grave thoughts for the time being," Legolas said. "Come! Let us go on! The thought of those merry young folk driven like cattle burns my heart."
They spurred to action once more. Gimli winced, but broke into a run as fast as he was able and Boromir, once again, trailed them. This time, he watched his dwarf friend for any signs of obvious fatigue and helped him when it seemed he would stumble. After a while, all Boromir knew was the itching of his wounds and the pounding of his boots against the grass. The orcs - who were barely visible on the horizon - had disappeared from sight.
Night crept in and still the company plowed onward. When it became dark enough that the shadows of the waning twilight began to play tricks with Boromir's eyes, Aragorn finally called a halt. The man looked frustrated, but resigned and Boromir wished he was made of stronger stuff to continue pursuit. Sadly, his limbs felt like lead and the itching of his wounds had intensified as they day wore on. Even their brief breaks did little to actually rest him well. While Legolas seemed perfectly composed, Gimli and Aragorn seemed to feel weariness just as keenly.
"We come at last to a hard choice," Aragorn said, breathing hard. "Shall we rest by night or shall we go on while our will and strength hold."
"Surely, the orcs must rest?" Gimli asked.
"No, if they've the strength to run in the day they will continue onward during the night," Legolas said.
Their leader frowned and turned to look out towards where the trail made by the orc-pack stretched toward the horizon. Gimli frowned at him.
"We can't see the trail at night. We may miss something," he remarked.
"The trail is straight and heads towards Isengard," Aragorn said and then sighed and shook his head. "But, if there is any deviation, I will miss it and we'll be delayed in our quest to find the correct trail once more."
"Assuming the enemy doesn't run off with one of the prisoners," Gimli said.
Aragorn frowned, "That could happen anyway and we'd be unawares. I have yet to discover signs of the Knight Elves and their acolytes with the rest of the orc-signs. There have been no other deviation besides that of Pippin but if they are taking great pains to conceal themselves, I fear we have no hope of knowing for certain in that regard."
Boromir frowned, but wisely kept his remarks to himself. The others - after he so long insisted on bringing the Ring to Gondor - would not trust his assessment of the land if freely offered. Those observations would only be appreciated if asked for.
"I fear I can only go on for a little while longer," Gimli said. "Dwarves are not made for these long distances and I find myself approaching exhaustion. To pursue them in such a state would be follow on our part, though it pains my heart to say so."
"Aye," Boromir spoke up. "I fear what could become of the entire venture if we don't rest."
"I said it was a hard choice," Aragorn said. "How shall we end this debate?"
"You're our guide and leader," Gimli said, looking a tad bit exasperated. "Our path is up to you."
Aragorn winced. Boromir frowned at the dwarf, but didn't speak up for the man. The failing of their leader was his indecision and, had the ranger been more decisive in his actions, it was possible their comrades wouldn't be in the hands of orcs. It may even had helped Boromir better resist the pull of the ring.
Though I suspect, had we remained together on this venture, I would have succumbed in the end, Boromir thought and cast his gaze to the shadowed ground.
Shame was such a small word, but it held much meaning. It would follow him for many days, possibly years, if he survived the war in its entirety.
Legolas frowned and said, "My heart bids we go on, but I will abide by whatever path you choose."
"You know Rohan better than any of us, I fear," Boromir said. "You know best your limits in tracking this terrain by night."
"They are short, almost non-existent," Aragorn said, running his hand over his eyes. "You give this choice to an ill-chooser. Since Argonath, my choices seem to have gone amiss many a time, but I fear I must agree with Gimli and Boromir. It is folly to give chase at night."
With that, Aragorn slipped both his pack and Aracasse's off his shoulders and lay on the ground to sleep. Boromir watched him for a moment longer before he, too, took to bed. Surprisingly, sleep, for the first time in several days, claimed him easily and he slept deeply.
War surrounded him.
It permeated the air and coated his tongue with blood and ash and sweat. His ears were filled with the anguished cries of the wounded and dying and the putrid smell of decomposing flesh helped along by open wounds and disemboweled corpses assaulted his nose. It made him want to wretch, but he carefully employed techniques taught to him long ago to breathe through the urge. Even as he breathed away the nausea, his sword still felt heavy in his hand from prolonged use in battle. Long were the hours of that wretched day and his blade cut down many a fell creature be they orc or vaguely human. Some of those who fell by his hand were humans - the Haradrim of the East - who had long since given themselves over to the will of the Enemy.
Thunder flared in the distance and cold pellets of rain spat from the sky. An unnatural chill filled the air and he found himself in an open space on the battle field surrounded by the bodies of the dead. He wasn't alone. Two others stood several meters away. One was the God of War and the other a shadow of what she once had been. It was she who Aragorn settled his gaze upon as he searched her for any remnant of the woman he loved.
There was none. Not even a shadow remained. Only an empty shell barely noticing the goings on around her. Aries leaned down to whisper in her ear and Aragorn closed his eyes and waited. He wasn't disappointed. The flames came and pain briefly flared about him as his body was consumed.
Aragorn was brought forth from his nightmare by a gentle hand that settled on his shoulder and roused him to wakefulness. The suddenness of the touch caused his body to jump in reflex and unsheathe a dagger kept under his pack. Legolas stared solemnly back at him and the tension left Aragorn as suddenly as it came. Even with this relief, his heart pounded violently in his chest and every breath was labored as if he'd spent the night running in place.
"Forgive me, friend, I didn't mean to startle you," Legolas said.
Aragorn shook his head and returned his knife to its sheath, "No, you are not at fault. My dreams have taken a horrific turn of late."
"About Ara?" His friend guess.
"Aye. Some… revelations about the curse haunt me this night and the one before. Truly, they never leave me, but I was able to keep such troubled thoughts at bay. It is no longer the case, now," Aragorn explained.
He didn't want to go too far into detail. Legolas; especially, would become distressed at the mention of the subject matters in the visions. As he didn't, in fact, hate his friend, Aragorn thought it best to keep his silence on the finer details of the matter.
"I had noticed your discomfort during sleep and had wondered at the origin of it," Legolas mused. "Nonetheless, it is time for us to rise. I have kept watch while you and the others slept. The orcs have run through the night and are now out of my sight for the time being."
Aragorn cursed - using a word Aracasse used frequently - and moved to sling his and Ara's packs over his shoulders and roll up his bedroll. He'd suspected such would be the case - as had Legolas - but decided on stopping the party all the same. Aragorn found himself second-guessing that choice. Had it been right? Were the hobbits and his wife doomed to serve the will of Sauron and Aries?
He considered the dream. He'd willingly submitted to his fate. Ara had become a living corpse and nothing of his vibrant, fiery wife had remained. The feelings of his heart were clear: should the situation be so hopeless, he didn't plan to survive long after she was beyond saving. He only wished that his fate should this be the case didn't consist of him dying by her hand. If anything of her remained by then, would such a violent act of murder completely destroy anything left?
It is possible, he told himself, but I must put these dower thoughts from mind. Should the situation become so bleak as to lead to my imminent demise I will ponder it then.
With very little consideration for breakfast - which was more of the lembas bread anyway - Aragorn charged forth into the grassy plains as quickly as he'd stopped. Legolas followed close behind with Gimli and Boromir once again making up the rear. They would find their enemies, he knew this, but he feared those he held dear wouldn't survive such an extensive wait.
But I must hope, or we are doomed to fail, he thought.