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Echoes of the White Horn Chapter 2: Troubled Water

He could not afford such long stops any longer. He was to meet an old acquaintance who had asked him for his help. And so far, he had been able to do little by way of fulfilling that request, although he had not expected to find what they sought where he had searched. The chances that their ultimate destination laid further east were high, and he wished to get there soon. The days were not far when the snows would fall on the lower slopes and plains too, and in such a situation, the task at hand would only become harder. So, he hastened his way down the steep, winding trails. He had come to this land after long, and he had many memories of the paths he traversed now, and those he was heading towards. The memories were both good and bad, so he dwelt on the good through his ride, hoping to better his frame of mind and to think of other matters.

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It was a quiet path for a while, as the steepness of the route required concentration from both the riders and their mounts, and for many long seconds the only sounds to be heard were those of the trees swaying in the wind, the stream flowing below, and the chinks made by the pebbles they dislodged, each plummeting into the water with a barely audible splash. Lower and lower they descended, slowly and steadily, carefully winding down the steep rocky trail which followed the same path as the stream, hugging their cloaks for warmth as the skies above grew steadily greyer.

"The weather turns foul," Faramir commented softly, forcing Boromir to turn around in his saddle, one that like the horse it serviced had purely utilitarian value and little appearance. The stout little pony snorted at the sudden movement, and nearly came to a stop, before her rider controlled her expertly, dislodging a fairly large chunk of earth that entered the water below with a loud splash, and made both riders almost wince.

"'Tis nothing," Boromir dismissed lightly, when he resumed speaking, "It often gets this way in the mountains. It rains suddenly, and just as sudden does it stop. And it is the time of the year for the seasons to change."

Faramir glanced at the sky distrustfully. He doubted if what they faced ahead would stop at a sudden downpour. But Boromir had found other matters to talk of.

"You spoke to the horsemen we met while leaving Lossarnach for a long while. Was there aught of interest in what they said?"

There was just the slightest hint of hesitation before the answer came from the rider following closely behind, "They spoke of seeing Mithrandir." And then after another short pause, "I wondered if he would visit Minas Tirith, should he be in these parts as they say."

"The wizard? He has not been seen in Gondor for many a month now, has he?"

"Nay. I fear he comes merely if he feels there is need for it."

Boromir shrugged, no longer interested. His attention wandered back to the new bow that he was still holding. He tested it for its balance once again, an exercise that he kept repeating over and over again.

"I wish he would come more often," Faramir ventured slowly. He had fond memories of the few precious hours he got to spend with the old wizard on his visits to Minas Tirith. They had been hours abounding in knowledge and wisdom for an impressionable child who had seen in the Istar a mentor akin to Boromir. Where Boromir helped him in physical prowess and military matters, the old visitor helped him learn in other matters, those of lore and learning, and many more subjects. What he could not find out from the libraries or from his tutors and dared not ask his father, he had often asked Mithrandir, should he be visiting, which however, was a rare occasion. And when he did visit, the one who welcomed him the most in the steward's household, if at all, was always Faramir, who looked eagerly to him to satiate a natural curiosity honed by his love for learning.

Boromir gave another non-committal shrug; "There is need in Gondor for other things than wizardry, and tales of old."

"There is need for many things in many places," came a distant reply, and then with a greater degree of pertness, "But, all I see need for now is that you watch your path as you advised me to some while ago."

Their horses seemed to be inordinately comfortable at the outer edge of the trail, rather than at its middle, a situation that often left the onlooker more apprehensive than the rider, especially as they were more accustomed to riding on relatively level ground.

"And what need do you think Mithrandir has in Gondor at this time?" Boromir asked curiously, drawing his eyes away from the steep drop below them.

"Perhaps, he has not the need," Faramir suggested, "I think it is oft others who need him, than he need someone. And I think father does not see that or he would be more welcoming towards him."

"I do not know of that," Boromir said softly. His interaction with the wizard was limited. They had met a few times when he had been younger but not in recent years while he served with his company, and spent much less time in Minas Tirith. But he knew from what he overheard that his brother spent much time with this infrequent visitor from some land far and distant, and that his father disapproved of it.

But then, his father disapproved of many things his brother did. Boromir often wondered if it was because his father and his younger brother were so similar in nature that they clashed so often in their own subtle way. When he was younger he had often wondered if his father seemed to favour him in many matters, over Faramir for the simple reason that he looked like him while Faramir seemed to resemble their mother from what they could remember of her. That was the simplest reasoning a child's mind could come up with for something that seemed unreasonable. But in later years, it had become abundantly clear that while Denethor and his elder son might resemble each other physically, that was where the similarity ended. And that was where the similarity between Denethor and Faramir took off, and grew with each passing year, to an extent that left even Boromir bewildered, because it seemed to hinder rather than aid their interaction.

"I suppose father sees no need for his counsel. He fares quite well on his own," he continued musingly.

"Father rarely sees the need for heeding counsel from any other save himself," Faramir stated calmly.

"It has served him fairly well as of now," his brother pointed out.

He shook his head a little, and then changed the subject pointing out to a spot where the track widened out and a small spring appeared across the incline, before vanishing underground somewhere below. The horses needed water and their riders carried with them some bread the old man in the tiny hamlet had given them, to partake of on their way. They stopped briefly by the small water source, and while the horses drank water and nibbled at the small tufts of yellowing grass, they bit into large chunks of bread, sweet to taste and different from what they normally ate, but still enjoyable, and still soft for the loaves had been kept wrapped in thin, damp cloth.

Most of their time sitting there, they spent wondering aloud as to where the small spring disappeared to, and finally settled for the easiest solution that it probably flowed somehow into the swift stream that they could still raging its way down some distance below. There were other smaller trails setting off deep into the mountains from near the spring. They were narrower than the one they used, and seemed to have fallen into disuse many years ago, probably a relic from the days when these routes were more frequented than now, for few came this way now.

All through their journey to the hamlet and all this way returning from it, the brothers had come across none other along their way, neither friend nor foe. And they were prepared for either. Both carried their swords, and Faramir had a quiver full of arrows, although the bow lay in Boromir's hands. And Boromir carried with him as always, a great horn, a legacy borne for centuries by the eldest son of the House of Hurin, which if used could immediately summon aid without fail.

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He frowned sharply as the wind floated in the sound of voices. He had reached the lower heights making rapid progress through old disused trails that many had forgotten about, but he did not think he had reached so low as to encounter the inhabitants of the mountain dwellings that he had once visited long before. He could make out that they came from further below, perhaps a lower trail running parallel to his. Over the sound of a stream running somewhere distant, a tinier one running somewhere near, and the leaves rustling in the stiff breeze, the voices were distinct enough for him to make out that the speakers were fairly young and spoke in Westron, but too indistinct to decipher the exact words they uttered. He frowned a little when an indistinct word reaching his ears, seemed to sound very familiar, but then decided there was much in this land he was familiar with.

He could however make out the distinct sound of their horses as he listened carefully. The trotting motion of the sturdy feet told him they were local horses that people in the vales reared, pack animals unlike the one he rode, a slightly more magnificent steed, but an ageing one. He decided he would continue his own way. The snows had not fallen yet, so surely there would be people travelling in these parts for some more days. It was not unlikely.

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The mounts and their riders both set off refreshed from their stop, and picked up speed for a while. Both animals strayed close to the edge in the precise and sure-footed way that was their wont, but by now the brothers were used to this. The path continued to remain narrow as it hugged the edge of the steep slopes. They could no longer ride abreast and Boromir rode a few paces ahead of his brother, turning around every now and then should he wish to address him. Above them the sky continued to darken and the patches of blue and white they had noticed earlier had now vanished behind a dense grey curtain. Not far below them, the stream their path followed continued on its rapid way. Boromir still held the bow in his hands, and continually balanced it lightly on his fingers even as he rode.

They slowed down when Faramir found his pony limping slightly and on dismounting and examining her hoof, found a small stone lodged in it. He knelt down to dislodge it with the aid of the small knife he carried, while Boromir reined in his own mount to a slow trot near the edge and turned around to speak to him. It never became clear exactly what transpired after that. It might have been the sudden streak of lightning that flashed through the mountains for it obviously scared both horses, causing them to neigh furiously, but when Boromir turned in his saddle at the same time, the little pony reared up with a start, forcing her rider to fight for control on a horse he was unaccustomed to and in terrain he was unused to.

Boromir grabbed at the reins to control the horse, and in the sudden movement the bow slipped out of his hands. To Faramir, his next course of action seemed completely foolhardy when mounted on a skittish horse standing at the edge of a steep cliff, but Boromir acted purely on reflex as a soldier would. Sliding his feet out of the stirrups, he reached out one hand as soon as the bow fell from it, the other still holding tight to the reins. His mount reared up again, this time neighing furiously. The distressed animal moved sideways, right onto the edge.

Faramir watched in complete disbelief from his kneeling position as his brother lost his balance and tilted off the horse towards the drop, his legs slipping off the stirrups. Before he could realise it, a second flash of lightning struck and the horse had reared up again, this time accompanied with a particularly scary whinny, and her rider had slid over the edge of the near vertical drop with a speed that left the extremely distraught onlooker completely unable to help. A loud drumming set off in his ears that drowned any other sound around him, and left him nearly rooted to where he still knelt on the ground. It was not until the feeling subsided and he heard the sound of something connecting water that he recovered and dropping the hoof he still held, ran towards where barely a second ago, Boromir had been getting off his horse. The animal backed away as he neared it, snorting rapidly. The rapid fall had thrown up a cloud of mud and stones, blocking Faramir's vision even as he reached the precipitous spot.

He could make out nothing from where he stood. It was a sheer vertical face, smooth and bereft of any vegetation. While not very high, it fell straight into the stream below, with no barriers in the way.

All he could see were the white, swirling waters below that swiftly cut deeper and deeper through the brown cliffs. The bow lay on the edge of the path where it had fallen, and the rider-less horse snorted softly.

A loud peal of thunder sounded from above.

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He fretted at the sight of the covered sky, and watched annoyed as lightning streaked the mountains. They seemed to be in for a storm unless the clouds were to clear up. A small series of neighs sounded, and he had to keep his own horse calmer after that. His steed was not unused to lightning, but it seemed the horses they could hear, were. A second streak cut the sky, and then a particularly loud whinny sounded through from somewhere ahead, followed by a series of noises that his extremely sharp hearing managed to pick up.

It occurred to him as he heard the sky rumble loudly that what he had heard definitely did not bode very well for someone.

To be continued-

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Thanks to Susan, Nazgul, Rachel and IceAngel for their reviews and encouragement!

Updates will probably be weekly, but it's a pretty short story!