The brothers rode together in silence towards the increasingly
darkening sky that lay east of Gondor. Their company followed, silent save
for the hoof beats of their horses and the steady clink of armor. A sense
of dread fell over them all, knowing the danger that was before them, and
the importance of their mission. Many of Gondor's bravest were already
stationed elsewhere, but the sons of Denethor had raised many men who set
their faith in Boromir the brave and Faramir, who could master horses and
men. Boromir had said nothing of his dreams, which drew increasingly worse,
their meaning becoming less and less dim to him as time moved on.
It always began the same way. He felt the plodding of the horse beneath him, weary from many days travel. He saw a gathering of many concerned yet indiscernible faces. There was a great rise of desire within him, but of what he could not understand. A desire to hold, to control… dark eyes looking into his soul, urging, pleading, and then darkness. Screaming into a darkness that claimed him, consumed him entirely, leaving him feeling only despair and regret. A voice shook him from his reflection.
"The darkness grows." Faramir said, peering ahead.
"Evil is afoot." Boromir agreed, looking back at the men that followed. "Urge your horses on! The enemy must not prevail!"
Osgiliath seethed with struggling forms, and at the very sight of the looming black forms many in the company trembled, fearing for their souls. Even Boromir's jaw tensed at the scene before him, and his heart ached that so many men would be lost.
"For Gondor!" His brother's voice cried beside him, unsheathing his sword and raising it, rallying the men behind him. The cry was taken up, and Boromir's heart lifted a little in hope. He urged his horse forward into the fray, sword unsheathed and flashing, soon dulled with the dark blood of orcs. Bodies were falling in tremendous numbers, and it seemed that for every orc he slew, five more seemed to arise to replace it. Sweat was running from his brow, and blood flowed from several but slight wounds. His gray eyes kept tracking his brother, assuring his safety. He was dragged from his horse, which fell screaming beneath him, an orc axe buried deep in its neck. Boromir struggled against the grasping hands, severing a leg with his finely honed blade. He got to his feet, sword scything against rank bodies, grunting with effort. His eyes were drawn to the foot of the bridge, to movement there. He squinted, wiping sweat from his brow. His eyes widened in understanding. He whirled, searching for his brother. He waded through fallen bodies and wriggling orcs to where his brother was fighting.
"Faramir!" He caught his brother's arm and motioned to the foot of the bridge, where soldiers were gathering with torches and large barrels. His brother's eyes lit with understanding. He called out to the men nearby, motioning to the rails of the bridge.
"Come on!" Faramir cried, hacking at one last orc before perching on the rail, and glancing about him. He leapt, and Boromir followed, his heart in his throat. The fall seemed to last forever, but not quite long enough when he plunged into the frigid waters. He struggled immediately for the surface, his armor and sword weighing him down frightfully. He broke the surface, gasping and retching, searching frantically for his brother. Above him the bridge lit up brilliantly, flames licking towards the sky. Flames raced the length of the bridge as the barrels of oil flew through the air and exploded. The screams of orcs and men mingled in a horrible uproar, and Boromir shuddered, turning away from the bridge and searching for his brother again. He was beginning to panic. The waters were cold, and debris and bodies were falling from the decaying bridge. Where was Faramir? He heard a harsh call, a desperate call, only realizing it was his own when fetid water filled his throat. He gagged, sinking a bit below the surface, floundering desperately. He broke the surface again, finding the form of his brother struggling in the waters nearby. He swam over to the form, grasping Faramir tightly to him, and making for the bank. Faramir seemed to regain himself and pushed away from his brother, grasping onto a floundering soldier and helping him to shore. Boromir did the same, collapsing onto the bank in exhaustion.
"Faramir…" He gasped, blinking sightlessly up at the black sky. He felt a cold hand take his own.
"I am here, brother. There will be more to find and help. Please get up." Boromir knew that what his brother said to be right, and he struggled into a sitting position, wounds beginning to sting from the filthy water. The screams of the black riders echoed overhead in the aftershock, joined only by the sound of licking flames and crumbling debris from the ruins of the bridge. Bodies washed up on the shore, the waters tainted red with blood. Boromir moaned, collapsing to one knee, knowing that few would have survived the final insurance that the divide between Mordor and Gondor would be kept wide. He and his brother searched among the dead for those who yet lived and found none. The man who Faramir had pulled from the waters lay unconscious in safety.
"There cannot be only us three." Boromir said incredulously, covering his face from the putrid smoke that carried the smell of burning flesh of man and orc. Faramir fell to his knees in despair.
"Evil is indeed on foot. Too many have been lost here today." He paused, hearing something in the still air. Boromir quirked his head and moved slowly, trying to find the source of the low moan. He bent, tossing rubbish off a prone form. Kneeling, he lifted the soldier's head gently.
"Can you hear me?" He felt the soldier's pulse and looked back to Faramir. "He is alive. We must get back and tell father the bittersweet news." He stood, lifting the injured man to his feet.
It always began the same way. He felt the plodding of the horse beneath him, weary from many days travel. He saw a gathering of many concerned yet indiscernible faces. There was a great rise of desire within him, but of what he could not understand. A desire to hold, to control… dark eyes looking into his soul, urging, pleading, and then darkness. Screaming into a darkness that claimed him, consumed him entirely, leaving him feeling only despair and regret. A voice shook him from his reflection.
"The darkness grows." Faramir said, peering ahead.
"Evil is afoot." Boromir agreed, looking back at the men that followed. "Urge your horses on! The enemy must not prevail!"
Osgiliath seethed with struggling forms, and at the very sight of the looming black forms many in the company trembled, fearing for their souls. Even Boromir's jaw tensed at the scene before him, and his heart ached that so many men would be lost.
"For Gondor!" His brother's voice cried beside him, unsheathing his sword and raising it, rallying the men behind him. The cry was taken up, and Boromir's heart lifted a little in hope. He urged his horse forward into the fray, sword unsheathed and flashing, soon dulled with the dark blood of orcs. Bodies were falling in tremendous numbers, and it seemed that for every orc he slew, five more seemed to arise to replace it. Sweat was running from his brow, and blood flowed from several but slight wounds. His gray eyes kept tracking his brother, assuring his safety. He was dragged from his horse, which fell screaming beneath him, an orc axe buried deep in its neck. Boromir struggled against the grasping hands, severing a leg with his finely honed blade. He got to his feet, sword scything against rank bodies, grunting with effort. His eyes were drawn to the foot of the bridge, to movement there. He squinted, wiping sweat from his brow. His eyes widened in understanding. He whirled, searching for his brother. He waded through fallen bodies and wriggling orcs to where his brother was fighting.
"Faramir!" He caught his brother's arm and motioned to the foot of the bridge, where soldiers were gathering with torches and large barrels. His brother's eyes lit with understanding. He called out to the men nearby, motioning to the rails of the bridge.
"Come on!" Faramir cried, hacking at one last orc before perching on the rail, and glancing about him. He leapt, and Boromir followed, his heart in his throat. The fall seemed to last forever, but not quite long enough when he plunged into the frigid waters. He struggled immediately for the surface, his armor and sword weighing him down frightfully. He broke the surface, gasping and retching, searching frantically for his brother. Above him the bridge lit up brilliantly, flames licking towards the sky. Flames raced the length of the bridge as the barrels of oil flew through the air and exploded. The screams of orcs and men mingled in a horrible uproar, and Boromir shuddered, turning away from the bridge and searching for his brother again. He was beginning to panic. The waters were cold, and debris and bodies were falling from the decaying bridge. Where was Faramir? He heard a harsh call, a desperate call, only realizing it was his own when fetid water filled his throat. He gagged, sinking a bit below the surface, floundering desperately. He broke the surface again, finding the form of his brother struggling in the waters nearby. He swam over to the form, grasping Faramir tightly to him, and making for the bank. Faramir seemed to regain himself and pushed away from his brother, grasping onto a floundering soldier and helping him to shore. Boromir did the same, collapsing onto the bank in exhaustion.
"Faramir…" He gasped, blinking sightlessly up at the black sky. He felt a cold hand take his own.
"I am here, brother. There will be more to find and help. Please get up." Boromir knew that what his brother said to be right, and he struggled into a sitting position, wounds beginning to sting from the filthy water. The screams of the black riders echoed overhead in the aftershock, joined only by the sound of licking flames and crumbling debris from the ruins of the bridge. Bodies washed up on the shore, the waters tainted red with blood. Boromir moaned, collapsing to one knee, knowing that few would have survived the final insurance that the divide between Mordor and Gondor would be kept wide. He and his brother searched among the dead for those who yet lived and found none. The man who Faramir had pulled from the waters lay unconscious in safety.
"There cannot be only us three." Boromir said incredulously, covering his face from the putrid smoke that carried the smell of burning flesh of man and orc. Faramir fell to his knees in despair.
"Evil is indeed on foot. Too many have been lost here today." He paused, hearing something in the still air. Boromir quirked his head and moved slowly, trying to find the source of the low moan. He bent, tossing rubbish off a prone form. Kneeling, he lifted the soldier's head gently.
"Can you hear me?" He felt the soldier's pulse and looked back to Faramir. "He is alive. We must get back and tell father the bittersweet news." He stood, lifting the injured man to his feet.