((A few notes....First of all, I want to continue to assure my faithful readers that this is by no means the last chapter. But, first things first! Translation for the sindarin in this chapter is at the bottom. Many thanks to Keira for writing the poetic bit, and I hope you'll forgive me for doing a bit of editing on it. ----Actually, many thanks to Keira for kicking my butt into starting this chapter and then helping me write it!!! Anyway, Enjoy it. I promise, promise, PROMISE there'll be some comic relief in the next chapter....or so.))
Burning had become familiar to Kara. Burning emotions, burning thoughts, burning soul, and burning body. It was all the same in the end, really. Sometimes the degrees varied and the recovery time differed, but fire always pursued her, snapping at her heels, driving her to do the things she didn't want to do.
She didn't even bother to clutch at her chest, though it cried out in pain. Her hands were occupied, darting in and out, driving her dagger into the chinks in the armor of the things that were attacking them. Her arms and face dripped with blood, screamed in agony, but her chest glowed with a fierce light. With every orc-throat she managed to slit, the fire raged stronger. Arrows flew past her, never touching her. Intuition and a nameless life force took hold of her body, making her dance and dodge, then drive in with killing accuracy.
But it was taking her too long. For each orc she managed to kill, at least two more got past her. Behind her, she heard hobbit screams, heard their little hearts beating madly. She whirled around in time to see Merry and Pippin dragged away, clutched by the filthy orc-hands.
Where, oh where were the others?
Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the flash of a sword, heard a familiar voice calling her name.
Boromir!
Kara's mind whirled even as she jammed her dagger blade into an orc's forehead. She had to get to him somehow. Separated, they would never make it. Together they would be able to watch one another's backs, at least until the rest of the Fellowship arrived. Kara began forcing her way through the mass of orcish grime.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Boromir had lost track of how many times his sword had slid past armor and into flesh, how many death screams had pierced his eardrums. Blood gushed over him in rivers. Still he fought, undaunted. His sword flew, all confusion driven away, one purpose now pounding in his blood. Protect. The little ones had been taken. He did not know what had become of the others of the fellowship. They were dead, for all he knew. But there was still one that he could and would protect as long as he could still move. He struggled his way toward her now, frantically mowing down the orcs in his path.
Then, to his left, Boromir heard a deep, throaty growl. It almost sounded like a laugh, saturated with bloodlust. He whipped around, sword in front of him, feet braced. Standing not five yards away from him was the leader of this band of freaks. He had to be the leader, or at least their champion. His size was greater, his armor better, his weapons bloodier. His eyes burned with hate more than all the others.
Boromir watched, as if in slow motion, the orc-thing set an arrow on his bow, draw it back, teeth bared with relish at killing. A sickening twang of the bowstring, the whistle of rushing air. The arrow flew toward Boromir, black as death, dripping with poison...
And imbedded itself in the tree behind him.
Boromir's mind paused for a moment. The orcs were notoriously good shots at close range. There was no way this warrior could have missed at this distance.
Then Boromir heard a scream, saw a mass of cloth and red hair flying at the monster. The orc's gaze had shifted toward the attacker, one eye obscured from the blood of a cut just over his temple that had not been there before. Again, the aggressor charged, a bloodstained blade slashing at the hands that held the bow and arrow. It was Kara. Her eyes flamed with rage, her chest glowing with a piercing light. Boromir reached down and grasped his sword, but stood unable to do anything for fear that he would injure Kara. The orc threw her off, grabbing her arm with one bleeding hand and driving his sword into her shoulder. Kara gasped, then emitted a low moan of pain as the blade shoved through flesh and bone and pinned her to the earth.
Then the orc turned back to Boromir and set another arrow with his blood-soaked fingers. Its hands trembled weakly. The dagger blade had severed most of the tendons in its wrists. Still it drew back the bowstring and took aim straight at Boromir's heart. Boromir watched helplessly. This was too much like the vision Galadriel had shown him. He stood frozen, unable to move.
Then he heard the gurgling of blood, saw Kara struggling her way up the blade of the very sword that pierced her. The way she moved reminded him of a butterfly on a pin. Her chest still glowed with white-hot light, her eyes still frozen in determination. One hand extended toward the orc, the bloodied palm facing him. Her face was hard with fury. She opened her mouth, and a scream that was not Kara's voice tore from her throat.
"LIM BREITHA A FUIN!"*
Then a flash of light blinded Boromir. He strangled a cry of pain and covered his eyes with one hand. He heard a choaked roar, the sound of a heavy body thudding to the ground. Thin protests came up from all around him, then the sound of orcish feet thundering in a retreat.
The otherworldly scream slowly died into Kara's cry of pain and exhaustion.
The blinding light ebbed little by little until it became a warm glow. It seemed to
underline every blade of grass, every green leaf, every fallen twig, made the breeze visible, the sunlight tangible. Boromir felt his chest ache with the pain of exertion, smelled sweat and blood mixed with earth, heard the footsteps of the Fellowship, but saw only one thing.
Kara lay on the ground now. The earth was soaked with her blood. She had pulled the sword out of her body and hurled it away from her. Her eyes stared unseeingly into the sky, tears flowing freely. The glow in her chest did not die away.
Boromir scrambled to her, for the first time in his life nearly tripping over his own feet. His blood ran cold.
"Kara...can you hear me? Please, don't let it end like this. Fight, Kara!" Kara blinked slowly, then her eyes turned on him. A gentle smile fluttered over her lips. Boromir stroked her forehead, sighing with relief.
"Don't try to talk." He spared a glance down at her shoulder. The wound was open and vile, spurting blood with every heartbeat. A soft whimper escaped Kara's lips.
"Boromir..." Her voice was quiet, strangled. Boromir cradled her face in one hand, leaning closer so he could hear.
"I have to go now...I'll be back, though." Boromir's throat clogged.
"Don't give up hope, Boromir. Death is just as temporary as life." Her chest heaved in a sigh, and her eyes turned to the horizon, barely visible through the trees. Her eyes shone like stars.
"Oh, I do wish it were morning. The sun rising is such a miracle..." Her smile widened just a little. The glow in her chest brightened.
"As you are a miracle. My Boromir." A quiet breeze whispered through the trees overhead, blending with the sound of Kara's breath leaving her body. She sagged against Boromir, her eyes still open and gazing at him fondly.
With numb fingers, Boromir reached down and closed her eyelids. Her blood had soaked through his tunic, but her shoulder no longer oozed. Gently, he laid her down on the leaves. Her chest still glowed, the Mark seemingly unaware that she was gone. And still the trees whispered, though their song had changed from tranquil to furious.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Aragorn could have sworn that Boromir had been turned to stone. For endless minutes he stood with Gimli and Legolas, feeling as if he were watching Boromir's spirit drain out through an invisible wound.
Legolas's eyes held the look of a wounded animal, blinded by pain. His gaze darted from the orc bodies lying at their feet to Aragorn, as though seeking an answer to an unspoken question. Aragorn had nothing to offer him. Gimli leaned on his axe, head bowed in respect.
Kara's lifeless body still glowed, making even her ripped and bloodstained clothing seem a little cleaner. The birds seemed to have stopped singing in deference. Even the wind had died down.
At his elbow, Aragorn heard a murmur from Gimli.
"I do not know which was the greater loss to the party, Gandalf or Kara." Aragorn touched the dwarf's shoulder.
"Hush, Gimli. There will be time for comparisons later. Both are at rest now."
After a few moments, Legolas stirred. His voice was soft, but urgent.
"We must pursue the orcs. If we're to regain Merry and Pippin we must act quickly." Aragorn nodded in agreement. He would have gone to tell Boromir, but his good intentions of late had been shot down. He had only been thinking of Kara's well-being, and had meant to put his request gently to Boromir, and only as advice. The man irked him, however, and irritation for once outweighed reason.
Now, however, irritation was impossible. Someone had to speak. A hand motion sufficing to make a request to the elf. Legolas nodded, then stepped quietly over to Boromir. Slowly, almost timidly, he reached down and touched the other's shoulder.
Boromir shook himself, then looked up at Legolas. His once proud eyes were now raw with tears, filled with pain and anger. His tunic was soaked with blood, his own mingled with that of Kara's. Quietly, he nodded, then stood.
"We have not the time to bury her...but we cannot just leave her here." Uncertainly, he looked down at the still form. She looked as though she were in a deep, peaceful sleep, hands folded loosely over her ribcage.
Legolas turned and began walking with purposeful steps toward a tree. Out came his long knife, and with a swift motion he stripped off a peice of bark, then began to carve. Elf runes were more efficient than the common alphabet, and soon he looked up and nodded.
"Gimli, if you could fashion a flat surface to tack this to..."
"What does it say?" Aragorn asked curiously. The question seemed to be more for Boromir's benefit than Aragorn's, seeing as Aragorn could read Sindarin and runes. Legolas shrugged.
"It loses meaning in translation, but...." Clearing his throat, he read aloud,
"Life is uncertain full of change
Things in the past, once friendly, now strange
Ninety and nine will abandon in strife
The 100th, unthinking, will lay down her life
A truer of friends will never draw breath
Protection and healing, in life and in death
For that we owe honor and give her our thanks
And wait 'til the day she rejoins our ranks.
-The Fellowship, in honor of I Calad Aur"
Boromir nodded slowly.
"It will do." Wordlessly, he indicated a nearby flat piece of wood that would serve to tack the bark flat. Then he knelt again by the body of Kara, bathing in its gentle glow. Slowly, he reached up and took off his horn, laying it by her side. For a moment he watched the pulsating light emitted from Kara's Mark. Then, like one forcing himself to wake from a coma, he stood and pulled his shield onto his shoulder.
"Come! Let's find the little ones. We cannot stand around forever."
((Note: Lim breitha a fuin=Light shatters darkness. Just so y'know!))
Burning had become familiar to Kara. Burning emotions, burning thoughts, burning soul, and burning body. It was all the same in the end, really. Sometimes the degrees varied and the recovery time differed, but fire always pursued her, snapping at her heels, driving her to do the things she didn't want to do.
She didn't even bother to clutch at her chest, though it cried out in pain. Her hands were occupied, darting in and out, driving her dagger into the chinks in the armor of the things that were attacking them. Her arms and face dripped with blood, screamed in agony, but her chest glowed with a fierce light. With every orc-throat she managed to slit, the fire raged stronger. Arrows flew past her, never touching her. Intuition and a nameless life force took hold of her body, making her dance and dodge, then drive in with killing accuracy.
But it was taking her too long. For each orc she managed to kill, at least two more got past her. Behind her, she heard hobbit screams, heard their little hearts beating madly. She whirled around in time to see Merry and Pippin dragged away, clutched by the filthy orc-hands.
Where, oh where were the others?
Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the flash of a sword, heard a familiar voice calling her name.
Boromir!
Kara's mind whirled even as she jammed her dagger blade into an orc's forehead. She had to get to him somehow. Separated, they would never make it. Together they would be able to watch one another's backs, at least until the rest of the Fellowship arrived. Kara began forcing her way through the mass of orcish grime.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Boromir had lost track of how many times his sword had slid past armor and into flesh, how many death screams had pierced his eardrums. Blood gushed over him in rivers. Still he fought, undaunted. His sword flew, all confusion driven away, one purpose now pounding in his blood. Protect. The little ones had been taken. He did not know what had become of the others of the fellowship. They were dead, for all he knew. But there was still one that he could and would protect as long as he could still move. He struggled his way toward her now, frantically mowing down the orcs in his path.
Then, to his left, Boromir heard a deep, throaty growl. It almost sounded like a laugh, saturated with bloodlust. He whipped around, sword in front of him, feet braced. Standing not five yards away from him was the leader of this band of freaks. He had to be the leader, or at least their champion. His size was greater, his armor better, his weapons bloodier. His eyes burned with hate more than all the others.
Boromir watched, as if in slow motion, the orc-thing set an arrow on his bow, draw it back, teeth bared with relish at killing. A sickening twang of the bowstring, the whistle of rushing air. The arrow flew toward Boromir, black as death, dripping with poison...
And imbedded itself in the tree behind him.
Boromir's mind paused for a moment. The orcs were notoriously good shots at close range. There was no way this warrior could have missed at this distance.
Then Boromir heard a scream, saw a mass of cloth and red hair flying at the monster. The orc's gaze had shifted toward the attacker, one eye obscured from the blood of a cut just over his temple that had not been there before. Again, the aggressor charged, a bloodstained blade slashing at the hands that held the bow and arrow. It was Kara. Her eyes flamed with rage, her chest glowing with a piercing light. Boromir reached down and grasped his sword, but stood unable to do anything for fear that he would injure Kara. The orc threw her off, grabbing her arm with one bleeding hand and driving his sword into her shoulder. Kara gasped, then emitted a low moan of pain as the blade shoved through flesh and bone and pinned her to the earth.
Then the orc turned back to Boromir and set another arrow with his blood-soaked fingers. Its hands trembled weakly. The dagger blade had severed most of the tendons in its wrists. Still it drew back the bowstring and took aim straight at Boromir's heart. Boromir watched helplessly. This was too much like the vision Galadriel had shown him. He stood frozen, unable to move.
Then he heard the gurgling of blood, saw Kara struggling her way up the blade of the very sword that pierced her. The way she moved reminded him of a butterfly on a pin. Her chest still glowed with white-hot light, her eyes still frozen in determination. One hand extended toward the orc, the bloodied palm facing him. Her face was hard with fury. She opened her mouth, and a scream that was not Kara's voice tore from her throat.
"LIM BREITHA A FUIN!"*
Then a flash of light blinded Boromir. He strangled a cry of pain and covered his eyes with one hand. He heard a choaked roar, the sound of a heavy body thudding to the ground. Thin protests came up from all around him, then the sound of orcish feet thundering in a retreat.
The otherworldly scream slowly died into Kara's cry of pain and exhaustion.
The blinding light ebbed little by little until it became a warm glow. It seemed to
underline every blade of grass, every green leaf, every fallen twig, made the breeze visible, the sunlight tangible. Boromir felt his chest ache with the pain of exertion, smelled sweat and blood mixed with earth, heard the footsteps of the Fellowship, but saw only one thing.
Kara lay on the ground now. The earth was soaked with her blood. She had pulled the sword out of her body and hurled it away from her. Her eyes stared unseeingly into the sky, tears flowing freely. The glow in her chest did not die away.
Boromir scrambled to her, for the first time in his life nearly tripping over his own feet. His blood ran cold.
"Kara...can you hear me? Please, don't let it end like this. Fight, Kara!" Kara blinked slowly, then her eyes turned on him. A gentle smile fluttered over her lips. Boromir stroked her forehead, sighing with relief.
"Don't try to talk." He spared a glance down at her shoulder. The wound was open and vile, spurting blood with every heartbeat. A soft whimper escaped Kara's lips.
"Boromir..." Her voice was quiet, strangled. Boromir cradled her face in one hand, leaning closer so he could hear.
"I have to go now...I'll be back, though." Boromir's throat clogged.
"Don't give up hope, Boromir. Death is just as temporary as life." Her chest heaved in a sigh, and her eyes turned to the horizon, barely visible through the trees. Her eyes shone like stars.
"Oh, I do wish it were morning. The sun rising is such a miracle..." Her smile widened just a little. The glow in her chest brightened.
"As you are a miracle. My Boromir." A quiet breeze whispered through the trees overhead, blending with the sound of Kara's breath leaving her body. She sagged against Boromir, her eyes still open and gazing at him fondly.
With numb fingers, Boromir reached down and closed her eyelids. Her blood had soaked through his tunic, but her shoulder no longer oozed. Gently, he laid her down on the leaves. Her chest still glowed, the Mark seemingly unaware that she was gone. And still the trees whispered, though their song had changed from tranquil to furious.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Aragorn could have sworn that Boromir had been turned to stone. For endless minutes he stood with Gimli and Legolas, feeling as if he were watching Boromir's spirit drain out through an invisible wound.
Legolas's eyes held the look of a wounded animal, blinded by pain. His gaze darted from the orc bodies lying at their feet to Aragorn, as though seeking an answer to an unspoken question. Aragorn had nothing to offer him. Gimli leaned on his axe, head bowed in respect.
Kara's lifeless body still glowed, making even her ripped and bloodstained clothing seem a little cleaner. The birds seemed to have stopped singing in deference. Even the wind had died down.
At his elbow, Aragorn heard a murmur from Gimli.
"I do not know which was the greater loss to the party, Gandalf or Kara." Aragorn touched the dwarf's shoulder.
"Hush, Gimli. There will be time for comparisons later. Both are at rest now."
After a few moments, Legolas stirred. His voice was soft, but urgent.
"We must pursue the orcs. If we're to regain Merry and Pippin we must act quickly." Aragorn nodded in agreement. He would have gone to tell Boromir, but his good intentions of late had been shot down. He had only been thinking of Kara's well-being, and had meant to put his request gently to Boromir, and only as advice. The man irked him, however, and irritation for once outweighed reason.
Now, however, irritation was impossible. Someone had to speak. A hand motion sufficing to make a request to the elf. Legolas nodded, then stepped quietly over to Boromir. Slowly, almost timidly, he reached down and touched the other's shoulder.
Boromir shook himself, then looked up at Legolas. His once proud eyes were now raw with tears, filled with pain and anger. His tunic was soaked with blood, his own mingled with that of Kara's. Quietly, he nodded, then stood.
"We have not the time to bury her...but we cannot just leave her here." Uncertainly, he looked down at the still form. She looked as though she were in a deep, peaceful sleep, hands folded loosely over her ribcage.
Legolas turned and began walking with purposeful steps toward a tree. Out came his long knife, and with a swift motion he stripped off a peice of bark, then began to carve. Elf runes were more efficient than the common alphabet, and soon he looked up and nodded.
"Gimli, if you could fashion a flat surface to tack this to..."
"What does it say?" Aragorn asked curiously. The question seemed to be more for Boromir's benefit than Aragorn's, seeing as Aragorn could read Sindarin and runes. Legolas shrugged.
"It loses meaning in translation, but...." Clearing his throat, he read aloud,
"Life is uncertain full of change
Things in the past, once friendly, now strange
Ninety and nine will abandon in strife
The 100th, unthinking, will lay down her life
A truer of friends will never draw breath
Protection and healing, in life and in death
For that we owe honor and give her our thanks
And wait 'til the day she rejoins our ranks.
-The Fellowship, in honor of I Calad Aur"
Boromir nodded slowly.
"It will do." Wordlessly, he indicated a nearby flat piece of wood that would serve to tack the bark flat. Then he knelt again by the body of Kara, bathing in its gentle glow. Slowly, he reached up and took off his horn, laying it by her side. For a moment he watched the pulsating light emitted from Kara's Mark. Then, like one forcing himself to wake from a coma, he stood and pulled his shield onto his shoulder.
"Come! Let's find the little ones. We cannot stand around forever."
((Note: Lim breitha a fuin=Light shatters darkness. Just so y'know!))