They had not yet make it out of the forest, when a soft voice reached the Ranger's ears :
"Sir ! Look ! In front of us !"
Deveron looked at where the Hobbit named Sam pointed and gasped at the sight. There laid a small party of Gondorian soldiers, some wounded, but most of them, dead.
"Nay..." said one of the soldiers as he rushed past the Second in Command and Gollum.
"Astor ! Wait !" Deveron shouted uselessly, running after his man. It was foolish ! They did not know if what had attacked the party was still here !
The young Ranger suddenly fell on his knees with a terrible cry when he reached one of the bodies.
A worried look on their faces, both Gandalf and Deveron hurried next to the crying man, closely followed by the Hobbits and the rest of the Rangers... The Second in Command's breath caught up in his throat at the side of the lifeless body Astor was holding tightly in his arms, which was quickly followed by various gasps and cry from the other Rangers when they found friendly faces amongst the dead or wounded soldiers. Oh, they should've gotten used to this by now, gotten used to found Gondorian parties massacred like this... It had become a quite common sight... Yet it was something one could not get used to...
Deveron had his eyes completely locked on the dead body Astor kept rocking back and forth in his arms, wetting his light armour with hot tears... He could not get his eyes away from the dark brown glazed eyes, the ginger hair, the thin lips and nose...
Alas, Deveron knew this man... He had known him since his youngest years... They had shared so much together...
This man was named Amdir, Astor's older brother and Deveron's childhood friend...
The Second in Command fell on his knees next to his man and gently closed Amdir's eyes, for his brother did not seem to have the strengths to do it.
Bitting is lips in a vain attempt to hide his tears, Deveron, gently brought a sobbing Astor close to his chest.
"I'm sure he is fine where he is," Deveron whispered, "He has joined his ancestors amongst the stars..."
Then, turning his head to face Gandalf, standing behind him, he added :
"You see, Mithrandir ? This is Gondor now. We are forbidden to fight, while the Enemy doesn't hesitate to strike whenever and wherever he wants to... Gondor is nothing more than a land of desolation..."
The Wizard gently bent down and put a hand on Astor's shoulder. He did not say a single word.
Neither did Frodo say a word. He simply stared at the scene that played before him. They had burried the dead and taking care of the wounded. Every Ranger had put his hood on their head and remained silent. Frodo knew what he had to do. He had to destroy the ring, no matter what. There was no other choice.
Éowyn couldn't and did not even try to restrain back her tears at the sight of the many litters both Elves and Men were carrying down the hill. One of them, the first one, she could not get her eyes off. It carried only one soldier. A brave soldier. One that had fell before the others. Her cousin, Théodred. She lowered her head. The sight of his white, lifeless face was too much for her to bear. Immediately, her brother and uncle grabbed her shoulders and held her firmly. But she did not look up, not even when the litter was brought nearly under her eyes, not even when Théodred was gently pushed in his richly decorated tomb.
She did look up only when the tomb was closed and that her cousin was out of sight. Taking a small step forward, straightening herself up, not bothering to wipe her tears away, she took a deep breath and began the lament she had wished she would not have had to sing so early.
Bealocwealm hafað fréone frecan forth onsended
Giedd sculon singan gléomenn sorgiende on Meduselde
Thæt he ma no wære, his dryhtne dyrest
And maga deorost
Bealo…
A long silence followed the Lady's words. Tears were running freely down her face. A part of her could not help but feel that the lament also addressed to the Gondorian Faramir, who had, he too, been lost to the Enemy. In another way of speaking.
Soon it was the Elves'turn to step forward and to begin another heart breaking lament, to pay homage to their own people, but also to the brave Rohirrim who had fought for their land until death.
Ai! laurië lantar lassi súrinen,
yéni únotimë ve ramar aldaron!
yéni ve lintë…
Et Eärello Endorenna utúlien.
Sinomë maruvan ar Hildinyar tenn' Ambar-metta!
Oh ! Their fair voices held so much pain and sadness... But also a powerful determination not to leave this crime unpunished. And all of their feelings spread into the crowd like water. Éowyn knew what she had to do. Rohan had been highly diminished, but not vanquished. She would fight. Fight for her lands, for her people, for those who had perished, for all the Elves that had selflessly renounced to eternal life to save Men. She would fight for those she had lost. Her family... Faramir of Gondor...
She would fight for Middle-Earth.
They were drinking, yes, but not celebrating. There was nothing to celebrate. Isengard had fallen, Rohan had been saved, but so much had been lost... And the fall of Isengard had apparently been planned by the Enemy... They had lost leaders, brave soldiers, family, long time friends... Lovers...
Legolas bit his lip at the remembrance of the glazed and unseeing eyes of Haldir... The two Elves had not known each other for a long time, yet they had almost immediately become friends...
This thought quickly dismissed from his mind to, once more, avoid crying before the Men and Lorien Elves,Legolas involuntarily began to think of Sellenya... This punch he had felt in his chest... The pain... Her voice... Oh, Valar ! How much he wished she had been spared by the war... He had prayed vainly... He had kept her away from the pain, but pain had come to her... Now he could do nothing but hope that whatever had happened to Lothlórien, to her had not been fatal...
The Prince brought a hand on his face, faking the movement of pushing his hair out of his eyes, while he actually brushed away a small tear in the corner of his pale blue eye.
His gaze slowly landed on the round form Estel was carrying in his travel pack... He could've used this to see...
No ! No, he wouldn't ! He couldn't !
Yet, now, he understood why Denethor had succumbed to darkness...
There they all sat. Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas, Boromir, Éomer and Théoden, around a great wooden table, surrounded by beautiful tapestries representing for most of them horses.
"There has to be a way ! There is always a way !" Boromir yelled out, smashing his fist against the table and getting up from his chair before starting to pace in the large hall. He sounded so different from the shocked and grieving man he had been only moments ago.
"I am afraid the only way to get inside is by strength. This place hosts one of the greatest parts of Mordor's army. There, Rohan is too weakened to be of any use..." Théoden explained calmly to the younger man.
"Then we will ask help from my father !" he countered, vainly, for the comment only owed Boromir a small chuckle from both the King and his nephew.
"Denethor ? You are not serious, boy... Why would he help us to rescue his second born ?"
"Don't you dare-..." Boromir began, but was interrupted by the strong hand of Aragorn on his shoulder.
"Get off me !" the Gondorian shouted at him, "I will not tolerate that kind of nonsense ! My father may be a firm man, but he is not heartless !"
This time, both Théoden and Éomer rose from their seats, but it was, once again, the king who spoke in a quite aggressive tone :
"Not heartless ? Then where was Gondor when the Wesfold fell ? Where was Gondor when our enemies closed in around us ? Where was Gondor...? Where was your father...?"
To that, Boromir could find no reply or retort... So he sat back on his seat and buried his head in his hands.
"We could try..." Gimli began, "There's nothing to lose..."
"But what if Denethor refuses ? We will not simply go back to where we came from..." Éomer argued.
"Point." admitted the dwarf, reluctantly.
"Mylord Aragorn ? Mylord Legolas ? Any suggestions ?" asked the King of Rohan.
"Alas, I wish I had..." answered Legolas, not even bothering to look directly at the King, eyes fixed on an invisible point on the table, seemingly lost in thoughts. Seeing the Elf's trouble, Gimli began to gently pat his back.
"In fact, I think I might have a suggestion..." said Aragorn, pinching the bridge of his nose in reflexion.
"Then speak, please !"
"The Army of Dead..."
"You do not have to join us, my King. This quest is not Rohan's..."
"The Elves have sacrificed themselves for us, Aragorn. It is our duty to honor their selfless act..."
"But the Elves have sacrificed themselves to keep the people of Rohan alive ! Not to see than killed moments after !"
"No, Mylord. I think they have saved Rohan so that there would be someone to carry on the fight for Middle-Earth in their stead."
Thranduil immediately and almost automatically straightened himself up when the Elf introduced him to Lord Celeborn :
"Hír-nîn ? Aran Thranduil," [My Lord ? King Thranduil]Elf Lord sat on the edge of the bed on which rested his way too pale wife, Lady Galadriel. He had not yet took his armour off and silvery blood dripped from small scratches on his face.
"Hannon-le, Aran Thranduil," he simply told the Elvenking, eyes locked on his wife, "Lothlórien would have been lost if not for your intervention."
Not knowing exactly how to answer thanks, Thranduil slightly bowed his head and brought a hand to his heart. To be honest, the Elf did not exactly knew how to behave himself when facing someone from the same, if not higher ranking than he was.
"The White Lady is fading," the Lord of Lorien continued, "She needs help we cannot give her. Without her protection, Lothlórien will soon be lost to the Enemy, I am afraid, yet there is no other choice for her but to sail before it is too late."
Again, Thranduil did not reply. What could he have possibly said to this ?
"We have suffered so many losses... And there are too many wounded for us to cure... The Age of Elves is now definitely over..."
"Why couldn't we send for Hír Elrond ?" the Elvenking finally spoke, even his those words cost him much to say...
"Alas, Hír Elrond has to watch over Imladris... He cannot leave..."
"Not we tell him what happened here. Not all of the Imladris' Elves have sailed yet, and I have heard that Hír Erestor is one of these Elves. Hír Elrond could ask him to look over the realm till his return..."
"Reforge the sword... Adar...""Your hands are cold. The life of the Eldar is leaving you.""This was my choice... Adar, whether by your will or not, there is no ship now that can bear me hence."
'Reforge the sword...'
Yes... Yes he would... For his daughter, for Estel... Elrond shall have it reforged... And shall bring it to his foster son... As soon as possible...
"Adar, you called for us ?" the voice of his elder twin, Elladan, brought him out of his thoughts. The Elf Lord turned around to face his sons. There was no going back, now.
Faramir woke up slowly to darkness, once again. What day was it ? Was it even day or night ? There was nothing that could tell him.
He tried the best he could to stretch his bare arms and legs, not looking up from what he guessed was the floor but it was completely useless. Nothing had worked until then.
By the stars ! His head was paining him so much ! How long would he be able to endure this without breaking ?
This was the first time he had woken up by himself and not by the rough fists of the Uruk-Hai in his chest... That could not be auguring anything good..
And the man wasn't disappointed when he finally looked up in front of him and startled in surprise and disgust.
A... Thing was standing before him. It had no eyes, hidden under a dark cloak, but its mouth... Faramir had never seen such a large one in his entire life. And the teeth... Dark, bloodied and of an incredible size !
"Who are you ? What are you doing here ?" the man asked, assuming that with such a large voice, the creature would surely be able to speak.
"I am here in the name of my Master... I am... His mouth..."
Laments translation :
Éowyn :
An evil death has set forth the noble warrior
A song shall sing the sorrowing minstrels in Meduseld
That he is no more to his Lord dearest
And of kinsman most beloved
Evil...
Elves :
Alas! golden leaves fall in the wind,
long years numberless as the wings of trees!
Long years like swift…
Out of the Great Sea to Middle-earth I am come.
In this place I will abide, and my heirs, unto the ending of the world !
There you go ! I hope you liked this chapter as well ! Again, thank you so much for all the wonderful feedback, all of you !