Paths of Peril -- A Dynasty Broken Book II
By Adara
Back to Boromir and his twice-interrupted journey to Imladris. In this chapter, the heir to the Stewardship of Gondor meets the heir to the throne of Gondor near Rivendell. This is the time before the council when Aragorn would have had some spare time on his hands. For my story, he is scouting the lie of the land around Imladris with one of Elrond's twin sons.
When Heirs Collide
In took Haldir only a few minutes to remove the field splint that Boromir had spent hours devising. The Man gave a long-suffering sigh as the Elf deftly undid his handiwork. Boromir was lying on the ground and propped slightly up on his elbows so he could keep a wary eye on Haldir. The sigh soon turned into a deep groan, however, as slender hands gently probed the leg and the broken bone beneath the flesh. "Prepare yourself, for this will hurt a little," Haldir said good-humoredly as he took Boromir's left leg firmly in both his hands and pulled until the bones fit together properly once more.
"I set it already," Boromir hissed through clenched teeth. Haldir studied his patient silently, noting the extremely pale face drenched in sweat. The slight glaze to the eyes told him that the Man would soon become unconscious. "You did not set it straight enough. It would have knitted improperly and you would have walked with a limp the rest of your life. You are very fortunate I happened along."
Boromir groaned again and sank back onto the ground. He felt dizzy and nauseous, and the loud roar in his ears was making him deaf to external sounds. He knew he was passing out again and actually looked forward to the relief from pain unconsciousness would bring. As his vision darkened, Boromir felt something pressed against his lips. Faintly he heard a voice telling him to drink and he obeyed. Something warm and fragrant slid over his tongue. It tasted delicious, yet burned slightly as it flowed down his throat. "What is that?" Boromir asked Haldir between greedy sips.
"We call it miruvor. I am surprised you are not already acquainted with our cordial, which can do much to renew one's vigor and strength. How do you feel?"
Boromir's unspoken reply was to reach for the flask. "Easy, son of Denethor. You have had enough miruvor for now. Its effects are quite potent and I do not want you drunk before I can get you out of this ravine. Come, place your right arm about my shoulders and I will help you stand. There is a path yonder that leads to the top. Be careful, for it is very steep. Should you feel as though you may swoon, please let me know, for I have no desire to carry you."
Gondor's heir glared at him. "I have never swooned! Soldiers do not swoon. Women swoon. I will thank you to remember who I am and to treat me with the proper respect."
Haldir chewed on his lower lip, successfully staunching the torrent of scorching invectives he was about to unleash. Instead he "accidentally" allowed his grip on the Man to slip so that the injured leg came in contact with the ground. Boromir howled in pain and Haldir managed to hide a satisfied smile before apologizing for his clumsiness. Although Boromir had never seen a clumsy Elf, and much doubted that any of the Silvan folk could ever be clumsy, he remained silent. For now he was at the mercy of this precocious creature. Just wait until I can stand upon two legs and wield a sword again. I will teach him a thing or two about respect.
By placing his weight against Haldir, Boromir managed to hop on his right foot a few feet at a time before fatigue caused him to pause and lean more heavily upon the Elf. When he felt some of his strength return, they would continue. It was the dark of the morning when they finally reached the top. Boromir gratefully reached for a stout tree and leaned against it, gasping for breath. From somewhere off to his left, he thought he heard a soft nicker. He searched for the source of the sound and beheld the most magnificent horse he had ever laid eyes upon. Its white coat gleamed brightly in the moonlight, and its full mane flowed like silken threads over its long, muscular neck. He marveled at its height, estimating that the animal stood about 18 hands tall.
"You have a horse! Why the bloody blazes did you not bring him down into the ravine? You made me walk all that way when you have a horse!" Boromir was more than a little irate. He was shaking badly from the long walk, he ached in every muscle, and each breath he drew caused pain. With a start, he remembered his broken rib. They had not taken the time to bind it before beginning their trek.
"The path is too steep for a horse and I could not risk injuring Ethriel. Unless you would prefer to hop all the way to Rivendell?" Haldir tilted his head to the side and studied Boromir intently. The Man was at the end of his physical rope.
"Water under the bridge," Boromir muttered thickly. "We shall speak of it no more. Now I must rest. If you would kindly stand the watch..." As he spoke, Boromir began to slide down the length of the tree trunk. Haldir was beside him instantly, helping him sit upon the ground without jarring his broken limb. "Rest, Man of Gondor, I would be glad to take the watch as soon as I bind your chest. I am remiss in not looking to your rib sooner. Your wife would never forgive me if I caused you any more pain."
Haldir's voice sounded muffled and very far away. Boromir wanted to remain awake and ask the Elf about his beloved, but his body betrayed him and he lost consciousness. Haldir tended the remainder of the Man's injuries, then placed a blanket over him and chuckled softly. "Despite your protestations, you swooned like a girl." He shook his head and stood. His keen senses told him there was nothing to fear… for now.
* * * * * * * * *
Man and Elf spent three days among the trees near the ravine in which Boromir had plunged nearly a week before. They had managed to be civil to one another, perhaps because Boromir spent much of the first two days unconscious. When his strength began to return, he huddled beside the fire kindled by Haldir, wrapped in his great cloak. Finally he asked the question that had been uppermost on his mind. "How fares my lady? Is she well?"
"Oh, aye, she is most well, though she became distraught nigh on a week ago because of a dream. Seems she heard you cry out and, upon wakening, actually felt your physical pain. The Princess Eledwhen is a most remarkable young woman. She feared you seriously injured and was determined to ride after you, though one would believe she had learned her lesson about the folly of such heroics after the incident with the orcs. Still, I must admit that I greatly admire her fierce loyalty to those she loves. Were she a Man, she would be a formidable warrior indeed."
"Surely Eledwhen was not allowed to leave Lothlorien?" Boromir asked, absolutely horrified at the thought of his wife riding out alone to find him.
"Nay, the Lady of the Golden Wood thought it best that I seek the truth to Eledwhen's dream. I asked Ethriel to bear me and we rode as swiftly as the wind, following your tracks across Caradhras." Haldir added in an off-handed manner, as though the question were unimportant, "Did you know you were followed?" Boromir, who had been gazing into the fire, looked up sharply.
"I saw black riders and felt a darkness and fear I have not encountered since Osgiliath. At first sight, I merely wondered who those riders might be. Now I believe they were the same fell creatures my brother and I encountered on the bridge of Osgiliath before its collapse into the Anduin. But I doubt they search for me, for you found me alive."
"Perhaps they thought the fall killed you. Or, perchance, your destination coincides with theirs." Boromir stared blankly at Haldir; clearly this thought had not crossed his mind. "Since we first met I have felt a shadow upon your heart, as though you have been touched by some evil. Now I understand why. I fear you were touched by their foul breath as you stood upon that doomed bridge."
Boromir shifted uncomfortably. "Exactly what are those black riders?" Haldir heaved a great sigh.
"You are being obtuse. You know what the black riders are. They are the Ringwraiths… the Nazgul, the nine servants of the Lord of the Rings. The nine once were Men… great kings who fell into darkness because of their greed and insatiable lust for power. A bitter failing that and one, unfortunately, that I sense in you."
Boromir stiffened visibly. At length he replied softly, "I cannot argue that I have no desire for power and greatness. For, in truth, I desire to be King of Gondor after my father's rule ends. It is not fair that the Lord Denethor should remain a Steward, when he is King in all but name only. Should not the Stewards be rewarded for their faithfulness and diligence through all these dark years? If not for Minas Tirith and those who rule her, the power of Mordor would have grown great indeed. It is unjust that the heirs of the Stewards are not allowed to claim the deserted throne of a long-lost race of kings, for we have earned it."
As Boromir spoke passionately, a light sweat broke out upon his noble face and he shook with the ferocity of his feelings. Haldir watched him with a sense of growing dread, for he had more than a passing acquaintance with Isildur's heir. Denethor's son eventually would reach Rivendell, where the future King waited for a council summoned by the Lord Elrond. Haldir groaned inwardly but remained unreadable without. "What would you do should the King return?"
Boromir looked startled. "The King return? After all these centuries you believe that an heir to the throne of Gondor lives? Surely you jest. If there were such a Man he would already have stepped forward to claim what is rightfully his. Nay, no King shall ride out of the West upon a fiery steed to save us from Mordor. The Men of Gondor are all that stand between that cursed land and the rest of Middle-earth, and we have shed too much blood and become too few in numbers. I fear that we shall fall when the darkness is unleashed in full force."
Haldir kept his unwavering gaze upon Boromir, who kept his gaze locked to the fire. "I still would know what you would do should the King come to Gondor to claim his birthright. Would you follow him, or kill him?" A disgusted snort met the Elf's question.
"There is no sense in having a conversation based upon 'what ifs.' My uncle would counsel against such speculation and say that such a course might well drive a man mad. There is no king in hiding, waiting for who knows what sign to tell him that the time is right to take his throne. Waste no more of my time with such trivia." Boromir pulled his cloak more closely about him and stretched out upon the ground. "Good night, Haldir. I thank you for taking the watch. If you tire, wake me and I will keep an eye out for trouble." The Steward's heir was soon fast asleep and snoring lightly.
Haldir stared at the Man a long time. At last he smiled. "Never a dull moment when Humans are around. Nary a one."
* * * * * * * * *
Little more than a fortnight did it take Haldir and Boromir to reach the Misty Mountains, a long range running north to south between Eriador and the Vales of Anduin. Haldir's steed carried the Steward's heir tirelessly across the many leagues. As they neared the hidden valley in the mountain's western foothills, Ethriel became restive. "Easy, boy, only a few miles more. Soon we shall find food and rest at the Last Homely House." Haldir stroked the animal's soft nose affectionately and stared upward at the snow-tipped peaks towering above them.
"What did you call it?" Boromir asked. He had been staring intently ahead, seeking signs of Imladris. The Elf's words sparked his curiosity enough to stir him to speech. He had barely spoken a word for the past three days, preferring his own company and the solitude it offered. He had grown weary of sparring with the Elf and felt uncomfortable beneath his penetrating stare. More than once Boromir had wondered what thoughts lay behind that questing gaze.
"The Last Homely House it is called. Half-Elven Elrond Peredhil founded Rivendell during the Second Age. Within this hidden valley lies a haven the likes of which has never been seen, except in my own fair land of Lorien." The Elf tore his gaze from the majesty of the mountains and looked upon his companion. "I counsel you to be respectful at all times within Lord Elrond's home."
Boromir wondered what the odd look Haldir gave him might mean, but his thoughts were interrupted by an ear-splitting cry from Ethriel. His left hand reached for his sword as he pulled back hard on the horse's reins and strained to see beyond the fog-shrouded trees before them. Almost immediately, two shapes emerged from amongst the trees. Both were tall and lean and wore dark cloaks that effectively hid their identities.
As the two figures neared, Haldir cried out in his own tongue and moved forward at a trot to greet them. The three clasped each other tightly as would old friends or, perhaps, comrades-in-arms. After a hurried conversation, the three moved toward Boromir and his mount, which was now docile and the picture of perfect obedience. Haldir moved to Boromir's side and offered introductions.
"My Lord Boromir, allow me to introduce to you Elladan, son of the Lord Elrond, and Aragorn, a Ranger from the North and chieftain of his people."
Boromir bowed slightly to Elladan before turning his steel-gray eyes upon the Ranger. "We in Gondor have not seen one of the Dunedain for many years. We thought that race had all but died off."
Elladan made a slight choking sound and began to speak, but Aragorn held up a hand to still him before speaking softly to Boromir. "Long have we wandered in the Wilds, gathering news and doing what we can to combat the horrors of Mordor. We prefer anonymity."
Boromir nodded thoughtfully. "Are we near Imladris? My leg aches and my side burns as though on fire. I fear the broken rib may have done some damage whilst we traveled."
Aragorn reached the Man's side in two long strides. He gave Haldir a narrow stare. "You did not tell me he is injured. We will have to make camp here, for we are too far from Rivendell to journey onward tonight." Looking up at Boromir, he added, "I will do what I can to ease your suffering. Although I have treated many injuries, my skills pale when compared to those possessed by the Lord of Imladris. Elladan, would you gather wood for a fire? I deem it safe enough for a little light." The Ranger reached upward for Boromir's hand to help him off the horse. Wordlessly Denethor's heir positioned his uninjured leg on the same side of the mount as that of the broken one. Haldir moved to stand at Aragorn's side to keep Boromir from landing on both feet. Elrond's son left to gather wood for the fire.
It was not long before Boromir was seated on the ground, his back against a large tree and his injured leg stretched out in front of him. He watched Elladan build the fire. Strange that the son of the Lord of Imladris would so readily obey orders from a mere Ranger. He was curious about their relationship, but decided it was really none of his concern. The warmth of the fire did much to lift his spirits, as did the Cordial of Imladris that Aragorn bade him drink. "This tastes much like the Elf liquor Haldir carries," Boromir ventured.
"It is indeed miruvor, but the Lord Elrond's brew is far more potent than any other. I think, perhaps, you should go easy on that." Aragorn reached for the flask before the other Man could become drunk, even as Haldir had done before Boromir's ascent from the ravine. The Ranger knew from experience how easy it was to misjudge the cordial's potency, masked as it was beneath a velvety smoothness. He had drunk too deeply once, when he was much younger, and had never been allowed to forget. Elrond's sons, Elrohir and Elladan, swore he tried to mate with one of their father's prize mares. Aragorn had never believed that story, nor had he heard they repeated it to anyone else. Both twins possessed an oddly twisted sense of humor.
Aragorn studied the Steward's heir from behind the smoke that curled upward from his long pipe. When he was certain the man was soundly asleep, he motioned Haldir to join him. "What can you tell me of the Lord Boromir? How did he come to be injured?" Haldir offered a succinct account of how the Steward's eldest son managed to break his bones and why he journeyed to the Elven haven. He did not mention the Princess of Rohan or events in Minas Tirith. That was a tale best recounted by Denethor's heir. Aragorn was surprised by the riddle of the dream, yet seemed more interested in Boromir's account of the black-robed riders. "Are you certain these riders were Nazgul? The nine were together when we were attacked at the Bruinen." The Ranger hastily told Haldir about the flight from Amon Sul to the Ford of Bruinen.
"Aye, I am certain enough from his description that they were wraiths. Of course, they may not have been following him, but merely traveling toward Imladris by the same paths. I do not like that he goes to Rivendell, for there is a dark stain on his soul." Aragorn raised an eyebrow and bid Haldir explain himself. While the Dunadan and the Elf of Lorien talked, Elladan patrolled the camp's perimeter for signs of danger. Though it was rare to find danger this close to the Last Homely House, there had been reports of small bands of orcs seen on this side of Hithaeglir. He also was in a position to eavesdrop without being noticed.
"There is one more issue I must bring up. It would not be wise to tell Denethor's heir exactly who you are. He covets the throne of Gondor and would not act too kindly toward its future occupant. Unless you feel the need for a fight, I suggest you keep your lineage to yourself." Aragorn looked thoughtfully at the sleeping Man. He had heard tales of Boromir's prowess as a warrior, as well as his legendary pride and stubbornness. It came as no surprise, therefore, that the one who had been trained almost his entire life to rule the greatest country in Middle-earth would have dreams of a kingship.
"He is much like his father, although I do not consider that comparison entirely complimentary. I am well acquainted with the Lord Denethor, for I came to know him during the years I spent in Gondor's service. He is a Man who finds it difficult to accept aught but his own counsel. If he has tutored his eldest son and heir to mimic him in all manners, then I fear that Boromir will never be content with anything less than complete control." Isildur's heir made a sound that could have been a sigh. "Still, we shall see what we shall see. It is probable that one of us will not survive the struggle against the Dark Lord. Boromir could yet claim Gondor's throne."
Haldir looked at him strangely, but Aragorn simply shrugged his broad shoulders and returned his gaze to the fire. He withdrew more pipe weed from a pouch on his belt and remained by the fire, smoking, and did not sleep.
To be continued