Mystra: Here's more right now... :)
Shlee Verde: Yep, Mergil is gone. But I decided I had to get rid of him at least sometime prior to LOTR (he's an original character after all)...
Agador-of-the-woods: It is sad, but what will happen when Boromir finds out? He did like Mergil's company even more than Faramir.
Arwen: The end. Just kidding, of course I wasn't going to end the story there! I think that would even drive me crazy. lol
Aragorns Evenstar: I am updating as much as I can; unfortunately, between school, graduation stuff, and Sea Scouts, my time is getting extremely limited. But I am flattered by your comments :)
And now, for the story:
______________________________________________-
Faramir's eyes snapped shut at the sight of the boy down below, but he found himself unable to erase the terrifying image that kept appearing in his mind. He continued to see the twisted shape of Mergil, blood slowly emerging from a single arrow wound. Time seemed to stop, and the noises from the fighting suddenly grew dimmer, as though an invisible cloak of darkness were falling upon Faramir. His long forgotten bow slipped from his trembling fingers, and landed somewhere next to him, but though he opened his eyes to glance at it, he no longer cared.
Men ran by Faramir, too preoccupied with the threat of the Haradrim to stop and question the boy. Even if one had spared the necessary instant, Faramir could not have spoken, for he was too deep in his own dark thoughts, and only vaguely registered the commotion that still surrounded him.
"Why?" he cried in his head. "What have we done to them! Why do they attack our city? Haven't the Haradrim lands enough of their own, without waging a war upon Gondor?"
Again, an image of the fallen Mergil flashed before his mind, causing him to shudder. "He liked to fight; that's true enough," he mused to himself. "But he was not a murderer! Not like the Haradrim! Why did he have to die, when the only real crime he committed was defending the city from heartless invaders?"
A strange feeling seemed to engulf the boy at this most recent thought, and he suddenly began shaking again, though it was no longer from fear. Instead, he felt like a small flame had begun to burn, deep in his heart; a fire that quickly began to spread.
As he crawled back to his feet, a change was apparent in the eyes of Faramir. Gone was his usual thoughtful gaze. In its place was an expression more akin to one commonly worn by the Steward; a steely expression brought on by pain and frustration. The boy snatched his bow from the stones where it had fallen, and took an arrow from the abandoned quiver of Mergil, lying only a few yards away. He fitted it to his bow, and threw caution to the wind by standing at the wall facing the wide Pellanor.
Suddenly, an anguished cry emerged from Faramir, as he let a wild arrow fly. "WHY!!!" he yelled, tears streaming down his reddened face. In the noise, his cry did not seem to carry far, but he continued, sending a tirade of words down at the shadows of the Haradrim below. "Go away! We haven't done anything to you! Why do you force us to fight you!"
Again, he snatched an arrow, and sent it hurtling below, not paying attention to where it landed. "Why! Go away!"
Yet again, an arrow was released from his bow. "Why?!"
Within only a matter of moments, Faramir had emptied all of the arrows from Mergil's quiver into the immense shadow below. He had carefully aimed not one of the lot, choosing instead to simply let them loose in his frustration. Now, Faramir collapsed where he was, on the top of the outer wall, and lay their wallowing in his pain. The noise of the battle grew dimmer around him. Then, there was naught.
********
Boromir was also atop the outer wall, using a borrowed bow to repel the Haradrim from the city. He was not used to such battle, and had been slightly apprehensive at the start; however, now his mind seemed to be set on one thing. He, Boromir, son of Denethor, was taking part in defending the cruel Haradrim from Minas Tirith.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized that he was not the only person responsible for the safety of the city, and that there were probably many men more skilled with a bow than he. At the same time, Boromir felt the slightest glimmer of pride. It did not matter that his arrows flew a little crooked, or might miss their mark during practice. Out here upon the wall, aimed at a massive group of men below, he felt as though it were impossible to miss.
"Even Faramir could not best me now!" he thought to himself, smirking a little. "At best, he might be my equal!"
Boromir paused for a second at the thought of his younger brother, distracted from the shadows below. He silently chastised himself, for he knew that in a hand to hand battle, taking a break might cost him his life. However, Boromir did not feel much fear upon the wall, even during the volleys of arrows, and he couldn't help wondering where Faramir had disappeared to.
"He must be up at the tower still," Boromir finally said aloud, unable to decide whether his comment came from his true thoughts, or from a desire that his brother be somewhere safe. "He probably wouldn't care much for fighting such as this."
Suddenly, his thoughts of Faramir completely left his mind. The wall upon which he stood had begun to shake in a strange manner. Boromir felt it move underneath his very feet, and he was forced to hold out his arms to avoid stumbling. The Haradrim must be using a battering ram to knock down the gate! It was, after all, quite close to where he now stood.
Boromir's suspicions were confirmed when he hazarded a glance over to his right. Sure enough, a massive pole, apparently made from the trunk of some giant tree, was being hurled against the gate by a group of men. Each time they connected, the wall around them shook.
"They are going to knock the whole city down, if they keep it up!" Boromir cried aloud, raising his bow once again. He fitted to it another arrow, and attempted unsuccessfully to strike one of the men wielding the battering ram.
********
Faramir was jolted to his senses by some tremendous crashing noises that seemed to be coming from the very walls of Minas Tirith. He scrambled to his feet in surprise, momentarily pushing his other thoughts aside. "What is that?" he wondered, confused.
His anger returned to him in a sudden rush as he spotted the battering ram being hurled against the main city gate. Each time it connected, a shudder seemed to run along the wall, and only intensify the battle. "No!" Faramir yelled, though he found that his voice was a little hoarse from his previous shouting. "Go away!" He searched for an arrow to fire at the group of men wielding the battering ram, and, finding none, Faramir hurled his own bow at them, wildly off the mark.
No one seemed to notice. There were men running back and forth along the wall, sending arrows flying towards the ground, but they had no time to notice Faramir. The great crashing against the wall echoed all around, seeming to drain the morale of those around. A single thought crossed the minds of the army; stop the Haradrim.
Faramir was left standing on top of the wall, unprotected and weaponless.
********
From his spot on the wall, Boromir continued aiming arrows at the Haradrim near the city gate. However, he eventually reached a point when he found that his last arrow had been spent. Slightly annoyed at the thought of leaving the Haradrim to crash against the gate, he sighed, and quickly glanced around. Perhaps he could find arrows somewhere nearby.
Although night had long since fallen upon Gondor, the city was well lit with torches. Boromir did not have any great difficulty scanning the surrounding wall for arrows. At first he attributed this completely to the light source; then, his heart fell a little when he realized that his vision was only partly obscured by men. Certainly, there were still many left, running along the walls, but he also noticed that quite a few had fallen while he was busy.
There was no time to dwell on this fact, however; for something else caught Boromir's eye. As he was glancing to his right, past the city gate, he noticed a small figure standing close to the wall's edge, failing to heed the arrows speeding past. The figure appeared to be no more than 10 or 11 years of age, with dark brown hair, and, upon further inspection, Boromir saw something very familiar about him.
"Faramir!" the older brother yelled. "Watch out!"
The voice could not carry far enough in the noise of the battle; yet, even if the whole of Gondor had heard the shouted words, it would have been to no avail. As Boromir watched, the small figure of his brother collapsed on to the wall, as if struck by some foe.
All thoughts of battle instantly left Boromir's mind. He forgot about the arrows he had been seeking. He forgot about the Haradrim. He even forgot the nervous-excitement of his first real battle. These were replaced by a single goal; reach Faramir.
Boromir wildly scrambled along the wall, shoving his way through anyone who seemed to get in the way. A few men noticed, but were too absorbed in the battle to care about a single person when there were so many lives on the line.
At one point, while Boromir was nearly above the gate, the wall shook violently. He stumbled and fell, snapping his bow in the process. Brushing it aside, he stood up and continued running.
It took only a moment to reach the spot where Faramir lay, but to the older brother, it seemed an eternity. Shaking with fear, he knelt down next to the fallen figure, cringing as he saw a black arrow in his side. Was his brother still alive? Why had he been out here upon the wall?
Boromir at first found himself unable to speak, and attempted to rouse Faramir. Finally, he said softly, almost in a whisper, "Faramir?"
There was a small moan from his brother.
"Faramir!"
Boromir thought he had never been so relieved in his life to hear his brother, but, he soon realized that his celebration might have come too soon. Faramir was barely clinging to consciousness, and grew weaker with every passing minute. He needed help from a healer, and quickly. Boromir noted his brother's tear streaked face, and, as the latter slowly opened his eyes, he noticed that they seemed clouded with pain.
"Come on," Boromir said softly, picking up Faramir. The younger brother cried out when he was moved.
"Go away," Faramir sobbed.
Boromir ignored the comment, attributing it to the pain from the arrow wound. "I know it hurts, but you can't stay here all night." He was forced to wait for some of the Haradrim arrows to fall; then he carried Faramir down from the wall, hoping that he could locate a healer in time.
Shlee Verde: Yep, Mergil is gone. But I decided I had to get rid of him at least sometime prior to LOTR (he's an original character after all)...
Agador-of-the-woods: It is sad, but what will happen when Boromir finds out? He did like Mergil's company even more than Faramir.
Arwen: The end. Just kidding, of course I wasn't going to end the story there! I think that would even drive me crazy. lol
Aragorns Evenstar: I am updating as much as I can; unfortunately, between school, graduation stuff, and Sea Scouts, my time is getting extremely limited. But I am flattered by your comments :)
And now, for the story:
______________________________________________-
Faramir's eyes snapped shut at the sight of the boy down below, but he found himself unable to erase the terrifying image that kept appearing in his mind. He continued to see the twisted shape of Mergil, blood slowly emerging from a single arrow wound. Time seemed to stop, and the noises from the fighting suddenly grew dimmer, as though an invisible cloak of darkness were falling upon Faramir. His long forgotten bow slipped from his trembling fingers, and landed somewhere next to him, but though he opened his eyes to glance at it, he no longer cared.
Men ran by Faramir, too preoccupied with the threat of the Haradrim to stop and question the boy. Even if one had spared the necessary instant, Faramir could not have spoken, for he was too deep in his own dark thoughts, and only vaguely registered the commotion that still surrounded him.
"Why?" he cried in his head. "What have we done to them! Why do they attack our city? Haven't the Haradrim lands enough of their own, without waging a war upon Gondor?"
Again, an image of the fallen Mergil flashed before his mind, causing him to shudder. "He liked to fight; that's true enough," he mused to himself. "But he was not a murderer! Not like the Haradrim! Why did he have to die, when the only real crime he committed was defending the city from heartless invaders?"
A strange feeling seemed to engulf the boy at this most recent thought, and he suddenly began shaking again, though it was no longer from fear. Instead, he felt like a small flame had begun to burn, deep in his heart; a fire that quickly began to spread.
As he crawled back to his feet, a change was apparent in the eyes of Faramir. Gone was his usual thoughtful gaze. In its place was an expression more akin to one commonly worn by the Steward; a steely expression brought on by pain and frustration. The boy snatched his bow from the stones where it had fallen, and took an arrow from the abandoned quiver of Mergil, lying only a few yards away. He fitted it to his bow, and threw caution to the wind by standing at the wall facing the wide Pellanor.
Suddenly, an anguished cry emerged from Faramir, as he let a wild arrow fly. "WHY!!!" he yelled, tears streaming down his reddened face. In the noise, his cry did not seem to carry far, but he continued, sending a tirade of words down at the shadows of the Haradrim below. "Go away! We haven't done anything to you! Why do you force us to fight you!"
Again, he snatched an arrow, and sent it hurtling below, not paying attention to where it landed. "Why! Go away!"
Yet again, an arrow was released from his bow. "Why?!"
Within only a matter of moments, Faramir had emptied all of the arrows from Mergil's quiver into the immense shadow below. He had carefully aimed not one of the lot, choosing instead to simply let them loose in his frustration. Now, Faramir collapsed where he was, on the top of the outer wall, and lay their wallowing in his pain. The noise of the battle grew dimmer around him. Then, there was naught.
********
Boromir was also atop the outer wall, using a borrowed bow to repel the Haradrim from the city. He was not used to such battle, and had been slightly apprehensive at the start; however, now his mind seemed to be set on one thing. He, Boromir, son of Denethor, was taking part in defending the cruel Haradrim from Minas Tirith.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized that he was not the only person responsible for the safety of the city, and that there were probably many men more skilled with a bow than he. At the same time, Boromir felt the slightest glimmer of pride. It did not matter that his arrows flew a little crooked, or might miss their mark during practice. Out here upon the wall, aimed at a massive group of men below, he felt as though it were impossible to miss.
"Even Faramir could not best me now!" he thought to himself, smirking a little. "At best, he might be my equal!"
Boromir paused for a second at the thought of his younger brother, distracted from the shadows below. He silently chastised himself, for he knew that in a hand to hand battle, taking a break might cost him his life. However, Boromir did not feel much fear upon the wall, even during the volleys of arrows, and he couldn't help wondering where Faramir had disappeared to.
"He must be up at the tower still," Boromir finally said aloud, unable to decide whether his comment came from his true thoughts, or from a desire that his brother be somewhere safe. "He probably wouldn't care much for fighting such as this."
Suddenly, his thoughts of Faramir completely left his mind. The wall upon which he stood had begun to shake in a strange manner. Boromir felt it move underneath his very feet, and he was forced to hold out his arms to avoid stumbling. The Haradrim must be using a battering ram to knock down the gate! It was, after all, quite close to where he now stood.
Boromir's suspicions were confirmed when he hazarded a glance over to his right. Sure enough, a massive pole, apparently made from the trunk of some giant tree, was being hurled against the gate by a group of men. Each time they connected, the wall around them shook.
"They are going to knock the whole city down, if they keep it up!" Boromir cried aloud, raising his bow once again. He fitted to it another arrow, and attempted unsuccessfully to strike one of the men wielding the battering ram.
********
Faramir was jolted to his senses by some tremendous crashing noises that seemed to be coming from the very walls of Minas Tirith. He scrambled to his feet in surprise, momentarily pushing his other thoughts aside. "What is that?" he wondered, confused.
His anger returned to him in a sudden rush as he spotted the battering ram being hurled against the main city gate. Each time it connected, a shudder seemed to run along the wall, and only intensify the battle. "No!" Faramir yelled, though he found that his voice was a little hoarse from his previous shouting. "Go away!" He searched for an arrow to fire at the group of men wielding the battering ram, and, finding none, Faramir hurled his own bow at them, wildly off the mark.
No one seemed to notice. There were men running back and forth along the wall, sending arrows flying towards the ground, but they had no time to notice Faramir. The great crashing against the wall echoed all around, seeming to drain the morale of those around. A single thought crossed the minds of the army; stop the Haradrim.
Faramir was left standing on top of the wall, unprotected and weaponless.
********
From his spot on the wall, Boromir continued aiming arrows at the Haradrim near the city gate. However, he eventually reached a point when he found that his last arrow had been spent. Slightly annoyed at the thought of leaving the Haradrim to crash against the gate, he sighed, and quickly glanced around. Perhaps he could find arrows somewhere nearby.
Although night had long since fallen upon Gondor, the city was well lit with torches. Boromir did not have any great difficulty scanning the surrounding wall for arrows. At first he attributed this completely to the light source; then, his heart fell a little when he realized that his vision was only partly obscured by men. Certainly, there were still many left, running along the walls, but he also noticed that quite a few had fallen while he was busy.
There was no time to dwell on this fact, however; for something else caught Boromir's eye. As he was glancing to his right, past the city gate, he noticed a small figure standing close to the wall's edge, failing to heed the arrows speeding past. The figure appeared to be no more than 10 or 11 years of age, with dark brown hair, and, upon further inspection, Boromir saw something very familiar about him.
"Faramir!" the older brother yelled. "Watch out!"
The voice could not carry far enough in the noise of the battle; yet, even if the whole of Gondor had heard the shouted words, it would have been to no avail. As Boromir watched, the small figure of his brother collapsed on to the wall, as if struck by some foe.
All thoughts of battle instantly left Boromir's mind. He forgot about the arrows he had been seeking. He forgot about the Haradrim. He even forgot the nervous-excitement of his first real battle. These were replaced by a single goal; reach Faramir.
Boromir wildly scrambled along the wall, shoving his way through anyone who seemed to get in the way. A few men noticed, but were too absorbed in the battle to care about a single person when there were so many lives on the line.
At one point, while Boromir was nearly above the gate, the wall shook violently. He stumbled and fell, snapping his bow in the process. Brushing it aside, he stood up and continued running.
It took only a moment to reach the spot where Faramir lay, but to the older brother, it seemed an eternity. Shaking with fear, he knelt down next to the fallen figure, cringing as he saw a black arrow in his side. Was his brother still alive? Why had he been out here upon the wall?
Boromir at first found himself unable to speak, and attempted to rouse Faramir. Finally, he said softly, almost in a whisper, "Faramir?"
There was a small moan from his brother.
"Faramir!"
Boromir thought he had never been so relieved in his life to hear his brother, but, he soon realized that his celebration might have come too soon. Faramir was barely clinging to consciousness, and grew weaker with every passing minute. He needed help from a healer, and quickly. Boromir noted his brother's tear streaked face, and, as the latter slowly opened his eyes, he noticed that they seemed clouded with pain.
"Come on," Boromir said softly, picking up Faramir. The younger brother cried out when he was moved.
"Go away," Faramir sobbed.
Boromir ignored the comment, attributing it to the pain from the arrow wound. "I know it hurts, but you can't stay here all night." He was forced to wait for some of the Haradrim arrows to fall; then he carried Faramir down from the wall, hoping that he could locate a healer in time.
