Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings, its characters and places are the property of the Tolkien estate. The authors of this piece are merely borrowing them and derive no financial benefit from the exercise.
Echoes of the White Horn Chapter 3: A Silent Valley
The loud rumbling noise magnified as it struck the tall horn shaped peaks, resonating through deep valleys and gorges. The long drawn sound caused the horses to neigh again and louder this time. But Faramir ignored them as he continued to stand at the edge of the cliff his eyes riveted on the water, hoping to see Boromir break through the surface and wave up at him. Instead, the stream flowed on undisturbed by any outside influence.
A sound resembling a horse whinnying floated in from a completely different direction, startling him for a moment. He decided it had probably been an echo. The thunder died away and an unnerving silence took its place. It might have been barely a second or perhaps two since it had happened, but to Faramir, it seemed as though time had come to a standstill before he found himself able to move. Even the leaves seemed to have stopped rustling with the wind as a deafening quiet hit his straining ears.
To him the entire predicament seemed unreal and yet he knew what was happening was no dream but was actually taking place. One moment his brother had been sitting astride his mount and the next moment he was doing so no longer, all by some quirk of fate, and Faramir had been unable to help. And yet it seemed unimaginable that by something as seemingly ordinary as a flash of lightning, a horseman as excellent as Boromir was known to be could be unseated. But it had happened, and now he found himself wondering what to do as he sank down to his knees and peered over the edge feeling a mix of trepidation and hope stirring in his heart.
He looked closely, focusing his gaze on the water once again as though willing Boromir to make an appearance. They had followed the stream on its downstream path knowing that it would drain into a larger stream running towards the flatlands. The water curved out of his gaze almost immediately, winding around behind the cliff that formed one wall of its valley. The spot where it turned away however, was hidden from his sight by a rocky overhang. That there was no one in the section of water he could see now was clear. As he watched the flow, he realised it was swift enough for Boromir to have rounded the cliff by the time he had reached this spot. If he had been unable to fight the rapid current, it was likely he had simply allowed himself to float some way down before reaching a more pliant section. He might well be swimming ashore a little way downstream at this very moment.
Cupping his hands around his mouth, he resorted to a most natural reaction and called out for his brother. The name resounded back at him loud and manifold, and he knew anyone who could, would have heard it.
But there was no reply, just the sound of the returning echoes dying away. Closing his eyes and trying to maintain some measure of calmness, he tried once again and the result was the same. The answering voice his ears ached to hear remained absent. He continued sitting there with his eyes closed, partly from shock and partly because he still harboured the notion that the answer would soon come ringing through.
By his side, Boromir's pony reared up again, whinnying piteously as she realised her rider was nowhere to be seen. She stamped an impatient hoof on the ground twice near Faramir until he opened his eyes and looked up, his face still a mirror of disbelief. He looked at the horse, and then at the bow lying on the edge of the path and realised he would have to do something other than sit there and wait for a reply. If Boromir had not answered his call, it could only mean that his brother was not in a condition to do so. And knowing him as he did, that was definitely a cause for immense worry.
Picking up the weapon, he rose sluggishly and grabbed the animal's bridle to soothe her, "It was naught to do with you. He turned to talk to me, or he would not have fallen. I distracted him. And now I must find him," he spoke softly more to himself than to the animal he was trying to quieten. And all the while, he found himself steadily losing composure.
Taking a deep breath, he made up his mind quickly. He had to get down to the water and find his brother. If he could not see any sign of him, it simply meant he had rounded the bend, and probably lay ashore somewhere along the bank.
He glanced up and down along the path, his mind attempting to analyse as quickly as possible, what his choices were. He could not reach the water's edge from where he stood, but a little down the way they had come he had noticed a portion where the sharp fall had taken on a gentler slope. It was not at all far, barely a few paces from where they were. His pony seemed alright now that the stone had been removed, so he gathered the two ponies together. Tying Boromir's pony to his, he led them back some paces until they reached the spot he sought. Hewn into the hillside were a series of ruts and depressions where once a seasonal stream might have cut its way down. The water had dried up but the path it might have taken for a few months each year for centuries, now provided some semblance of a route downwards. Bushes and small trees stood out almost horizontally all along.
Wondering what to do with the horses now, he finally settled on taking them along but decided that the food, medicinal herbs and other necessary items should remain in his hands. He opened Boromir's small pack and transferred all the required contents into his and slung it over his shoulder. The weight was little for they had carried along nothing but the barest provisions, sending along their larger packs ahead to Minas Tirith with the couriers from Lossarnach. Looking at the rough track he had to follow, he decided he could not possibly risk riding either horse, no matter how stable or sure-footed they might be. But he could walk them down. When he found Boromir they might find it easier, he thought, to move on from there than to come back up the cliff for their mounts and retrace their steps.
That there might be any other conclusion to his quest he did not pause to consider.
It did occur to him as ironic, however, that a soldier of his brother's calibre, one who had at a very young age led his men adeptly and efficiently with great courage, and survived countless skirmishes against men and Orcs and all manner of foe, should suffer from a chance incident such as this. The more he thought of it the more it annoyed him. They had feared a verbal reprisal from their father, when they returned, for riding unescorted through the mountains because Orc attacks were not unknown in the region. Instead, all it had taken was a pebble, a streak of lightning, a skittish horse and a steep cliff and no escort could have foreseen or prevented that. His father's words on this were another matter he decided not to bring into consideration.
He gave out another shout, as loud as the previous ones, but this time laced with a greater degree of despair than earlier. Beside him the ponies started at his sudden yell. Each passing second weighed heavily on him and to not know where Boromir was or how he was, was beginning to scare him excessively.
The skies above darkened further as he set off rapidly down the natural ladder; pack slung over one shoulder, quiver over the other, and the bow still held in his hand. It was intact despite the drop, and the smooth feel of the curved wood in his hands gave his fingers something to clutch onto and helped him regain a little of his usual calm. He trudged his way down, preferring not to dwell on the unsavory thoughts that lay dormant but uppermost in his mind, thoughts that he feared to voice even to himself, preferring instead to search for some instinct that told him that everything would be alright. He found if he concentrated on his tight grip of the bow in one hand, and of the reins of Boromir's pony in the other, and of the scree strewn path he followed, he would not have to cast his mind in a direction he wished it not to head towards.
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He was not entirely certain, but it seemed to him that someone, or something, had taken a fall and come in contact with water. Hearing a series of high-pitched neighs along with the thunder, his immediate conclusion was that a horse had been injured. But then he realised the animals' cries were more of fright than hurt. His own steed reacted none too well to those noises, the fright felt by a kindred transmitting itself easily through the air. Gently running one weather-beaten hand along the mane of the uneasy horse, he soothed him down speaking softly and calmly into his ears. That done, he stood silently waiting for the thunder to roll away, trying to decide which direction the sounds had come from.
That someone was in trouble, he no longer doubted. The sounds he had heard indicated a descent from a height into water. And he could hear the sounds of a stream nearby.
It was the sound of a shout that pierced through the silence, which told him what he wished to know, and confirmed what he had already deduced. It was a voice fraught with worry and concern calling out a name that was lost to the winds by the time it carried over to him. It was however apparent that it came not far from where he stood and it did not take him long to deduce that whatever had occurred involved the stream he was nearing. Feeling the chill in the air increase as the clouds continued to gather together, dark, heavy and foreboding rain, he tightened his cloak, adjusting the small silver brooch pinned to the left shoulder.
Riding carefully on the overgrown track through a dense wood towards the sound of the water, he heard the shouts again. They were louder this time, and more desperate. His horse snorted softly as though in response. Once again, he heard no answering echoes.
As the sound of the stream grew louder to his ears, so did another loud shout. A huge thunderclap followed. There were, he now knew, at least two other than him in these lonely paths, one apparently well enough to give voice to his concern for the other. The other, though, seemed to be unable to respond. There may have been more, but he had already decided that no matter how many they were, they could pose no threat to him. And that they seemed unworried of attracting any threat judging by the noise that emanated.
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Faramir stood at the water's edge watching it flow before him through the valley. From his vantage point it seemed as though huge walls rose up on either side of him, towered by an unfriendly roof of grey clouds. The stream flowed swift and uninviting, as dark as the skies reflected in it, save where angry white foam swirled on the surface each time it hit a rock embedded in its bed. Standing upon smooth stones slicked with water where the spray hit them continuously, he shouted yet again. Forming a horn with his hands, he called out for Boromir as loudly as possible, to be heard over the sound of the water, unheeding of the fact that he might be attracting attention towards himself. They had seen none other along the way and that there might be other dangers lurking along the route was a fact that had slipped from his mind. He was simply becoming increasingly worried. There was no sign of anyone along either bank as far as he could see. He would have to follow the stream till he found Boromir.
The thunder sounded again, and this time the echoes were louder as they bounced off either mountainous wall. He scrambled inelegantly over the wet, slippery surface along the stream, managing somehow to maintain his balance as he raced towards the spot where he could see the river curve around the cliff, his hands still clutching onto the bow. The two horses ambled along steadily behind him. A cold wind whipped around them, setting up a whistling roar in Faramir's ears to compete with the rushing noise of the river. But the sound of the wind felt more pleasant to his ears, reminding him as it did of the horns and trumpets blown each morning and evening from the parapets of his city.
As he neared the area that he thought might correspond to the place Boromir had fallen from, the bank kept narrowing until it vanished altogether. The cliffs simply fell into the water with merely a very narrow and shallow shelf of moss-covered rock that provided for a walking surface. He found that he had to wade through the water very carefully if he wanted to move ahead.
He stepped in carefully, trying to use the cliff as a support for his free hand to maintain his balance. The water tugged at his ankles inducing him to step even more carefully over the slimy moss-covered bed. The ponies stepped into deeper water, as ones used to it, calmly ignoring the water swirling around them. He contemplated whether to mount one to make his way easier but decided against it. Lightning seemed to make them uneasy, and he had no wish to find himself falling headfirst into a river because his horse got scared. The curve of the valley was marked by a rock formation that hung over the flowing water, and seemed to be the only dry surface he could look forward to climbing onto. It created a small eddy on the river surface, churning water in and out, and causing a small mass of rotting leaves, grass and moss to pile up at the base of the rocks as the swirling waters deposited them there each time they entered the circular current.
He was just about to clamber onto the rocks over the tiny maelstrom they had created, when the churning waters dashed something against his foot. He nearly fell over from the impact as the hard object hit his ankle, jarring his bone, and not very gently. Reaching the safety of the rocks, he scrambled onto them and regaining his balance, bending down and fished in the water for the object for it felt like more than an ordinary rock. His fingers closed around a strangely shaped object and he pulled it out. But its feel in his hand had already warned him what to expect.
It was a horn, a great horn bound with silver and inlaid with writing. Boromir's horn.
To be continued-
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Thank you for the reviews. They were lovely!
Susan- Sorry for the delay with the second chapter. You do seem to have figured out what's going on, though;-)
Runaround – Thank you
My own – Ah well, that's the brothers themselves;-) They're really wonderful characters and have plenty of depth.
Heartsings –Thank you
IceAngel- You liked the description of the accident? That's nice to hear because it was quite worrisome to write. It just would not come out sounding correct and it still does not feel all that satisfactory.
The Oboist's Apprentice – probably of medium height;-)
Rose – Glad you like it so far. Please feel free to nitpick. The commonly used language did pose a question. Appendix F seemed to indicate it should be Westron. There was that scene in Ithilien of course, but it wasn't clear which was more commonly used. Thanks for reverting on it again. It's really quite easy to figure out who the stranger is; he's definitely canonical. Remember it's AU, so a few unspecified things were inferred and stretched broadly (a little too broadly, perhaps) and if you like, hints can always be given out;-)
Osheen –Hope you got the email? Thank you for your lovely reviews. It was too kind of you to make such a comparison! And thanks for pointing out those bits. They're sorted out now. Do quibble all you like; it helps.
