Finally a new chapter. It certainly took more time then I would have thought, but it's also the biggest one yet :)
Helena: I think so too. I mean, we would never want anything bad to happen to our favorite would-be Steward now would we? Except for major angst of course :) Thans for the review!
Alynna Lis Eachann: More Faramir! As far as Legolas and Boromir friendship goes, they're my favorite Elf and Human, so they like each other a lot.
Lady of Legolas: *ducks* Sorry, I made you wait again. But this is an extra long chapter ...
skahducky: Hum, Frodo and Sam are going through their own private Hell at the moment, so I don't think they'll turn up soon, but Boromir still owes them a nice appology, so their parts will be prolongued somewhere near the end :))
As for now, I hope you'l all enjoy this new chapter!
Chapter 9: Approaching darkness
--------------------------------------
They seemed to have rode forever, Glír below him trotting on obediantly as dawn broke softly around them. The name of the horse always made him laugh, even in this less than optimal condition. Legolas had picked it, since the Rohirrim had neglected to tell them the horse's real name. It meant 'song' and it was strangly fitting to the animal since it always perked up it's ears if it heard somebody singing.
Dunharrow already lay behind them, and still they headed for the mountains, never stopping beyond a short rest. Boromir's thought were turned inward, as were those of most of their company. The Dúnedain were by nature not people who talked a lot and the depression they felt hanging over their destination did nothing to inspire conversation. So there really was no other thing to do than think.
And because of their circumstances, those thoughts tended to be depressing.
Boromir found himself reflecting on the despair that had shown in even one as fair and courageous as the Lady Éowyn. He hadn't mentioned her crying to anyone, but he thought that Gimli and Legolas had been close enough to catch it. It had been a sad necessety that they had to leave her there like that, but he understood Aragorn's reasoning behind it. Yet he wondered if the despair wouldn't be replaced by something even worse.
They finally came to an area where they had to ride between large stones that stood on either side of their path. The air seemed to thicken and everybody became nervous, squirming in their saddles. The cracks of the saddles and the soft murmurings of the horses did nothing to relieve the weight of the air around them. Indeed, Boromir found the familiar noises to be adding to the eeriness of this place, rather than to lighten the atmosphere.
The mountian loomed up before them and the trees, darker and and more black than he expected even those around Dol Guldor would be, seemed to close them of from everything but the doom that surrounded this place.
Hoping to draw comfort from the Elf at his side, Boromir turned in his saddle to face his companion, but found no words as he saw the same concern in the prince's eyes as he knew to be in his own.
Legolas, feeling somebody watching him, let his eyes meet those of the Tirithean, and spared him a small smile. Both knew it to be the futile gesture of comfort that it was.
They approached the mountain-wall and swa the entrance they had come for: a small hollow that opened at the base of the mountain. In the middle of the path stood a huge boulder, pointing upwards the sky, a finger on the hand of Doom.
They halted the horses and for a while just sat their, staring at the rock. Glír and the other horses shook their heads nervously. Boromir was jerked out of his thoughts when he felt the leather of the reins pulling against his fingers.
It was not a place he would have liked to visit in his lifetime. The son of the Steward of Gondor was no coward and had seen many dangers, from something as common as an Orc or Southern Men in the service of Sauron, to the great, flame-clad evil of the Balrog of Moria, a creature of terror from ages long since passed. He had known fear, but he had always been able to look it in the eyes and conquer it.
Maybe it was because his fear had been directed against something tangible at those times. Maybe because it had been something he could see, toutch, smeel and slay. Something that could bleed just as he could. Or maybe it was because of a reason he could not even begin to fathom, but this time...
This time the fear did not go away. It was not replaced with battle-lust or anger. No, this time it clung to him like a tight fitting set of robes.
The simple knowledge that they were about to enter a domain that was forbidden to those that still lived, that they would cross a treshold that would lead to death and ruin and other nameless things of dread, scared him. It scared him more than anything he had ever come acress and he knew in that moment that if he had been here alone he would have turned and fled until Glír would drop down out of fatigue.
Instead he thanked the Valar that he was not alone down here. The presence of the others, even if they were silent and probably every bit as shaken as he was, kept him on the path he had chosen.
When Gimli's voice finally cut through the silence, Boromir had recovered at least a part of his composure.
"My blood runs chill." the Dwarf's booming bass rolled through the trees, but more silence was his only answer. None was really needed: everybody could feel what he was talking about.
In silent agreement they pushed their horses forward, but as Aragorn reached the guardian stone that stood in their path, Roheryn refused to pass. The horse nickered softly and held it's head high, nostrils wide as it sniffed the air. Aragorn took pity on the frightened animaland dismounted, keeping himself between horse and stone as he gently led Roheryn past the stone.
The others followed suit, dismounting and stepping between the rock and their mounts. Boromir could see the shiver that ran through Glír as he moved past and patted the horse on the nose in comfort.
They came finally to deep into the glen, befor ethe very base of the mountain itself, and before them loomed threateningly the Black Door thay had willingly sought. Signs and figures, unreadable in the dark gloom, spiralled around it and fear flowed from it in tabgible waves. The first part of the journey was over, the worst part about to begin.
Boromir felt himself quail and he shivered harshly as Legolas and Gimli came to stand beside him. The Dwarf had gripped his axe to stil his own trembling hands, while the Elf seemed much calmer than he had at the stone. The prince held the reins, stroking Arod gently, saying a few words to it in his own language. His eyes were riven on the signs that surrounded the door.
Boromir drew strenght from the fact that the Elf didn't seem as much afraid as he appeared to be curious. Grinning inwardly, he thought 'Why would he be afraid of the spirits of Men. Our Elf is probably more interested with those symbols then he is with the Door.' Unfortunately that did nothing to dampen the waves of dread coming straight at them.
"This is an evil door and my death lies beyond it." Halbarad said from in front of him, looking intently at Aragorn, as if asking him to reconsider, "and my death lies beyond it. I will dare to pass it nonetheless; but no horse will enter."
A grimace slid across the Ranger's face before he answered. "But we must go in, and therefore the horses must go too. For if ever we come through this darkness, many leagues lie beyond, and every hour that is lost there will bring the triumph of Sauron nearer. Follow me!" And with those words he led them once more towards the Door.
As he followed Aragorn, Boromir knew that he was following a true King. It was Aragorn's will that spurred everybody, save perhaps Legolas, on: the will of a King to lead his people through darkness back into the light. And indeed those that followed him in that hour found that they had the courage to pass through the Black Door and face the Dead.
The Dúnedain and their horses had all passed inside, and although the horses were skittish they allowed themselves to be led. Soon only Boromir, Gimli, Legolas and their horses stood outside. The Elf raised his shoulders and tugged on Arod's lead, approaching the darkness.
Just as Legolas had faded into the blackness, Arod rolled his eyes and began to back of, shaking and sweating heavily. The Elf felt the reins go stiff and turned around inside the Door. He went back outside swiftly, covering the horses eyes and muttering to him in Elvish. Boromir and Gimli looked on in amazement as their companion began to sing to his frightened horse and how, eventually, Arod suffered himself to be led inside as well.
Boromir felt a tug on the leads in his hand as Glír, liking the fact that someone was singing, made to follow the Elf and the Human quickly complied to his horses wishes, fearing that he would not get the animal in by himself.
As he stepped into the darkness behind the door, Boromir was instantly blinded. He stopped after he and the horse were both inside, giving his eyes time to adjust to the blackness that seemed darker than a night without either moon or stars.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
~Osgiliath~
Faramir surveyed the ruins that surrounded him and his men. The city had been under almost constant attack since the attempt to take it from the Tiritheans almost a year ago. They had managed to keep this side, but at a great cost of lives.
Boromir had been in charge of that company and Faramir found that his thoughts wandered along the now famaliar path to where the memories of his brother were stored. He cherised those, convinced that they were all that was left of him.
Valiantly he blinked back the excess moisture in his eyes: now was not the time. He was expected to be the warrior in the family now, although he knew that it was not his part in life. He would only be a disappointment to his father in the end, like he always had been.
A whining sound as the catapults of the Ennemy fired again, brought him back to the current situation. The buildings around him were already beaten and cracked from several hits with big rocks. At this rate, Faramir feared that the orcs and humans on the other side would venture an all-out attack within three days from now.
He also knew that he didn't nearly have enough resources to stop them, or even slow them down for a short amount of time. The only warning Minas Tirith would have, would be the burning of what was left of Osgiliath.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
~On the Paths of the Dead~
Once inside, the darkness was complete, more complete even than any simple absence of light would warrant. Boromir could hear the others in front of him and moved carefuly in that direction, his left hand ghosting over the clammy cavern-wall as his right held the reigns tightly.
He heard a sound like a tinder being struck and red-orange light bloomed into being in front of him as he saw Elladan accept a torch and Aragorn striking fire to another one, wich he took with him to the front of the company.
Elladan stayed behind, probably to form the rear, and by the light of his torch, Boromir could see that Legolas stood slightly to the side, stroking Arod's nose in comfort, looking somewhere behind his Human friend. But before he could ask what was wrong, Elladan gave a slight tug at his own reigns and they were both forced to move or stay behind in the dark. The last, in Boromir's opinion, was not even to be considered an option.
He lead his horse forwards until he could fall into step beside his friend. As he turned his head to question the Elf, a shorter figure stumbled between the horses and they turned their eras nervously. Instantly at guard in this hostile place, Boromir moved his hand towards his sword, although he would never have enough place to wield it effectively in this narrow cavern.
Turning towrds the new treath, he breathed out in relief as their Dwarven companion emerged from the shadows.
"Gimli." he said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. The Dwarf simply harrumphed, but said nothing else. The glances he cast around betrayed his ill feelings for the place without need for speech.
They continued their underground journey for a long time, as far as time could be estimated with no sun to look to for confirmation, sometimes stopping for no apparent reason, then moving on until they were forced to halt again.
It was during the first of those stops that Boromir's ears picked up the sound of whispering behind him. There appeared to be no clear words in it, at least not that he could distinguish, but it made him feel haunted. When they moved again the voices dimmed, nearly unhearable, unless on short moments when there was no sound of hooves to drown them out.
Nothing halted them or hindered them in any way and the short rest were more for determining the right path then aught else, but still an unnamed fear seeped steadily into the Gondorian, stoked by the voices that whispered in the air around him, seeming to object to the simple fact that he was still alive and, therefor, had no business here. There seemed to be so many of them that Boromir thought it well possible that the Dead had gathered into an army and were now following them tirelessly.
At another stop, the light of Aragorn's torch reflected of of something and the Ranger went to investigate. The cavern was wide at this point, and no walls were revealed in the circle of life they brought with them. Boromir could hear Gimli muttering at his side, but all he caught were the words 'fear' and 'gold'. Although the feeling of dread was heavy, his curiousity momentarily won out, and he also stepped closer to look at what had grabbed Aragorn's attention.
In the dust, a skeleton lay, girded with a shining armour. The gold on it, and the dry air in the cavern had kept it well-preserved. One arm lay outstretched towards a door, but he seemed to have failed to enter it, for his fingers were still grasping at the cracks in an urgent manner. A shock of recognition went through him, as he remembered the tale of one of the heirs to the throne of Rohan, who had disappeared, never to be seen again. Aragorn's words soon confirmed his suspicion.
"Hither shall the flowers of simbelmynë come never unto the world's end. Nine mounds and seven there are now green with grass, and through all the long years he has lain at the door that he could not unlock. Wither does it lead? Why would he pass? None shall ever know!" Then Aragorn's stance altered, and he seemed to focus on the present and their mission again as he continued. "For that is not my errand. Keep your hoards and your secrets hidden in the Accursed Years! Speed only we ask. Let us pass, and then come! I summon you to the Stone of Erech!"
If Aragorn had excpected an answer, he was to be disappointed, for there was only a silence more eerie than the whispering voices that had haunted them earlier. The next thing Boromir knew, a chill wind blew all around them and doused their torches. Blindness struck them and the beginnings of panic started in his mind, when he heard a firm command to relight the torches. 'Thank the Valar for Aragorn', he thought to himself, realizing once again the strength of the other's mind and presence.
But the torches could not be ignited again, though the wood was dry and the flint still good. Anxious they moved along, struggling through the layers of darkness that surrounded them. It was long before they could see a dim light grow larger in front of them, always spurred further by a nameless fear behind them, but at last they came to the end of the cavern, and passed through another gateway to walk under the sky again.
It was night, and the stars sparkled brightly. At his side, Legolas gave a soft sigh of appreciation, and Boromir felt a grin tug at the sides of his mouth. The Elf may not have felt the dread they had encountered, he had been uncomfortable for his own reasons as well.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
~Pellenor Fields~
Osgiliath had fallen. Despite Faramirs best efforts, he and his Men had not been able to hold back the flood of dark men and Orcs that had streamed to their side of the fallen city. He had sounded the retreat, and they had fallen back, regrouping where possible. The number of people that didn't show up was disconcerting, but there was no real time to stand still over it.
The retreat was still fairly organized, but Faramir had no illusions that that would last. 'As we near the city, they will overtake us. Sauron's forces as fresh, where we have battled constantly and are weary. They will cut through us like a knife through butter.' So he ordered his people to stay together, knowing, as he caught view of the great walls of Mians Tirith that it was only a matter of time before they would scatter.
A moment later he heard hoofbeats behind him and sreams from above as the Nazgûl stooped for the kill. The men around him broke away from formation and the horse that were left reared in panic. Men screamed an cast down their weapons running for their lives. Every effort to pull them back together now would be in vain. The horses had now overtaken them, and he was soon forced to defend himself against their sword.
And then when all semmed lost, a trumpet sounded from the walls and the Gate of the city opened, letting through a fierce battalion of knights on horseback. "Amroth for Gondor! Amroth to Faramir!" they cried and Faramir felt like he could cry out of sheer joy. He parriad a blow from the Southron rider that sought to strike him, and turned around to look for their saviors.
Only to fall to his knees as white-hot agony coursed through his side. He moved his hand towards the spot and felt the smootheness of his blood as it ran down from the arrow-wound. The world started spinning in front of his eyes and the sounds around him became slurred and unrecognizable. Then suddenly in a flash, he saw his brother, standing on the prow of what looked like one of the ships from Pelargir. Thinking of the stories the Elves told, about the Undying Lands far across the Great Sea, he smiled, then fell away into darkness and knew no more.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
~Paths of the Dead~
The journey onwards started with very diconcerting news. Legolas, turning to face backwards so he could speek to Gimli, suddenly sat a little straighter. His eyes flicked around, looking behind Gimli and Elladan, who was the last of the Company. "The Dead are following." he said softly, and Boromir felt a shudder pass through him at the words, "I see shapes of Men and of horses, and pale banners like shreds of cloud, and spears like winter-thickets on a misty night. The Dead are following."
Elladan merely nodded and siad "Yes, the Dead ride behind. They have been summoned."
The rest of their journey appeared to be a bad dream, when Boromir thought back to it years later. They were never sure what time it was, since all had become dark around them, and they never rested for long. The miles glided by under Glir's hooves and he felt like he was riding towards the end of Middle-Earth itself. If he hadn't had companions with him, he was sure he would have faltered.
They crossed the wide lands, making for the harbour of Pelargir. Aragorn sought to capture the fleet back from the Corsairs and use it to come to the aid of Minas-Tirith. It was the best plan possible under the circumstances, since it would also free a large band of the Gondorians that resided there to march to the White City to help in it's defense.
Though time had no meaning for them now, Boromir would later learn that it been the sixth day since the entering of the Paths when they finally arrived at Pelargir, driving the ennemies they had encountered on the journey before them. The might of the Dead that rode with them could not be denied and after a short but heavy battle, the harbours were theirs.
Aragorn chose the largest ship for himself and his friends and they left, going slowly up the Anduin. Boromir cursed their ill-luck when the wind refused to fill their sails and let them make any sort of spead. Time was of the essence now. He stood with Gimli and Legolas at the stern, feeling tense as a drawn bow.
Then suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his side. He grasped at it, letting out a shout, more of surprise then of anguish, and fell to his knees on the deck. Legolas and Gimli rushed over to him and he felt the Elf's gentle hands on his shoulders forcing him to stay down when he sought to rise.
"Peace, Boromir." the Prince said as he went down on his own knees before him, moving one hand to tilt up the Human's face so their eyes met.
"What is it?" Gimli said grufly, trying to mask his concern, "Were you injured during the fight, Master Human?"
Boromir shook his head in denial. "I do not know what ails me." he admitted, "I just felt a stabbing pain in my side, but it's gone now." The words hadn't even left his mouth when the pain was replaced by a terrible anxiety. He was afraid, Boromir realised, afraid that the pain he had felt was in truth a reflection of someone else's pain. Somebody he knew and loved well. 'Faramir!' his thoughts screemed.
He could not let his friends know this, could not allow them to get upset because of his pain. It would not do to let them go to war with this extra concern on their minds. No, this was something he had to bear alone.
"It's over now." he said, looking into Legolas' eyes and willing the Elf to believe his words. 'Please don't ask anymore questions.' He could not tell if his friend believed the lie or had heard the unspoken plea, but Legolas nodded softly and helped him back to his feet.
They turned back to their contemplation of the shores that went by agonizingly slowly.
In his mind though, Boromir cursed their slowness now more then ever, and questions tumbled through his head. 'Where are you Faramir?'
Hours later, the boats were being slowed down and turned. The wood underbeath Boromir's feet cracked because of the change of pressure on them.
The tension in the men around him mounted. Soon they would all join the battle that raged on the shores and plains that stretched towards Minas Tirith. Through years of training, the Man recognized several banners that were presented on the field, even though they were still blurred from the distance that separated them from the shore. Rohan, Dol Amroth and a few who he thought to be Southern regions, from Harad or beyond. The fight would be hard and long, and much blood would flow before the evening fell.
Boromir shifted his weight anxiously, the reigns of his horse Glir in his right hand, cluthing the railing with the other one. He could feel Legolas' eyes on him. The Elf had felt the change in him that had occured before. He knew that he was concerned about something, other than the upcoming battle, and seemed to be dying to get back to his city. But he didn't pry, wich was just fine with Boromir because even he didn't know quite what it was that was pulling at him so. All he knew was that it had something to do with his brother.
Sudenly, when the ship was only about ten feet away, Boromir raised his head abruptly and found his gaze drawn towards the King's palace on the upper level of Minas Tirith. Two thoughts passed through his mind, alarmingly clear and urgent. *Faramir* one said, while the other yelled *danger*. It was enough for him at the moment. Boromir grabbed the knob of his saddle and jumped up into it. He let Glir take a couple of paces back, then gave a shout and charged towards the railing, flying over it and barely reaching tha shore. But he made it, adrenalin rushing in his veins as all of his focus was fixed on getting to his little brother as fast as he could.
Behind him, Legolas, Gimli and Aragorn could do nothing but stare. Then Aragorn took control of the situation.
"Legolas!" The Elf turned to face the Human at this call. "Stay with him, he'll need all the help he can get!"
Shaking of the surprise that had stopped him from momentarily doing anything, the Elf pulled himself swiftly on top of Arod's back and followed the same course as his friend had taken, racing over to the shore, followed by Gimli's cry to be carefull. He cursed himself inwardly. Maybe if he had asked what was wrong, Boromir wouldn't have reacted that way. Now they were both rushing into a great roiling chaos of friend and ennemy, caught in an insane race towards whatever it was that was calling Bormir home.
He just hoped they would make it there in one piece.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Well that's it for this chapter (*evil grin*). Exams are over next Tuesdayevening, so I should be able to begin the new chapter then. Meanwhile, please review? They're what keeps me going :)
Helena: I think so too. I mean, we would never want anything bad to happen to our favorite would-be Steward now would we? Except for major angst of course :) Thans for the review!
Alynna Lis Eachann: More Faramir! As far as Legolas and Boromir friendship goes, they're my favorite Elf and Human, so they like each other a lot.
Lady of Legolas: *ducks* Sorry, I made you wait again. But this is an extra long chapter ...
skahducky: Hum, Frodo and Sam are going through their own private Hell at the moment, so I don't think they'll turn up soon, but Boromir still owes them a nice appology, so their parts will be prolongued somewhere near the end :))
As for now, I hope you'l all enjoy this new chapter!
Chapter 9: Approaching darkness
--------------------------------------
They seemed to have rode forever, Glír below him trotting on obediantly as dawn broke softly around them. The name of the horse always made him laugh, even in this less than optimal condition. Legolas had picked it, since the Rohirrim had neglected to tell them the horse's real name. It meant 'song' and it was strangly fitting to the animal since it always perked up it's ears if it heard somebody singing.
Dunharrow already lay behind them, and still they headed for the mountains, never stopping beyond a short rest. Boromir's thought were turned inward, as were those of most of their company. The Dúnedain were by nature not people who talked a lot and the depression they felt hanging over their destination did nothing to inspire conversation. So there really was no other thing to do than think.
And because of their circumstances, those thoughts tended to be depressing.
Boromir found himself reflecting on the despair that had shown in even one as fair and courageous as the Lady Éowyn. He hadn't mentioned her crying to anyone, but he thought that Gimli and Legolas had been close enough to catch it. It had been a sad necessety that they had to leave her there like that, but he understood Aragorn's reasoning behind it. Yet he wondered if the despair wouldn't be replaced by something even worse.
They finally came to an area where they had to ride between large stones that stood on either side of their path. The air seemed to thicken and everybody became nervous, squirming in their saddles. The cracks of the saddles and the soft murmurings of the horses did nothing to relieve the weight of the air around them. Indeed, Boromir found the familiar noises to be adding to the eeriness of this place, rather than to lighten the atmosphere.
The mountian loomed up before them and the trees, darker and and more black than he expected even those around Dol Guldor would be, seemed to close them of from everything but the doom that surrounded this place.
Hoping to draw comfort from the Elf at his side, Boromir turned in his saddle to face his companion, but found no words as he saw the same concern in the prince's eyes as he knew to be in his own.
Legolas, feeling somebody watching him, let his eyes meet those of the Tirithean, and spared him a small smile. Both knew it to be the futile gesture of comfort that it was.
They approached the mountain-wall and swa the entrance they had come for: a small hollow that opened at the base of the mountain. In the middle of the path stood a huge boulder, pointing upwards the sky, a finger on the hand of Doom.
They halted the horses and for a while just sat their, staring at the rock. Glír and the other horses shook their heads nervously. Boromir was jerked out of his thoughts when he felt the leather of the reins pulling against his fingers.
It was not a place he would have liked to visit in his lifetime. The son of the Steward of Gondor was no coward and had seen many dangers, from something as common as an Orc or Southern Men in the service of Sauron, to the great, flame-clad evil of the Balrog of Moria, a creature of terror from ages long since passed. He had known fear, but he had always been able to look it in the eyes and conquer it.
Maybe it was because his fear had been directed against something tangible at those times. Maybe because it had been something he could see, toutch, smeel and slay. Something that could bleed just as he could. Or maybe it was because of a reason he could not even begin to fathom, but this time...
This time the fear did not go away. It was not replaced with battle-lust or anger. No, this time it clung to him like a tight fitting set of robes.
The simple knowledge that they were about to enter a domain that was forbidden to those that still lived, that they would cross a treshold that would lead to death and ruin and other nameless things of dread, scared him. It scared him more than anything he had ever come acress and he knew in that moment that if he had been here alone he would have turned and fled until Glír would drop down out of fatigue.
Instead he thanked the Valar that he was not alone down here. The presence of the others, even if they were silent and probably every bit as shaken as he was, kept him on the path he had chosen.
When Gimli's voice finally cut through the silence, Boromir had recovered at least a part of his composure.
"My blood runs chill." the Dwarf's booming bass rolled through the trees, but more silence was his only answer. None was really needed: everybody could feel what he was talking about.
In silent agreement they pushed their horses forward, but as Aragorn reached the guardian stone that stood in their path, Roheryn refused to pass. The horse nickered softly and held it's head high, nostrils wide as it sniffed the air. Aragorn took pity on the frightened animaland dismounted, keeping himself between horse and stone as he gently led Roheryn past the stone.
The others followed suit, dismounting and stepping between the rock and their mounts. Boromir could see the shiver that ran through Glír as he moved past and patted the horse on the nose in comfort.
They came finally to deep into the glen, befor ethe very base of the mountain itself, and before them loomed threateningly the Black Door thay had willingly sought. Signs and figures, unreadable in the dark gloom, spiralled around it and fear flowed from it in tabgible waves. The first part of the journey was over, the worst part about to begin.
Boromir felt himself quail and he shivered harshly as Legolas and Gimli came to stand beside him. The Dwarf had gripped his axe to stil his own trembling hands, while the Elf seemed much calmer than he had at the stone. The prince held the reins, stroking Arod gently, saying a few words to it in his own language. His eyes were riven on the signs that surrounded the door.
Boromir drew strenght from the fact that the Elf didn't seem as much afraid as he appeared to be curious. Grinning inwardly, he thought 'Why would he be afraid of the spirits of Men. Our Elf is probably more interested with those symbols then he is with the Door.' Unfortunately that did nothing to dampen the waves of dread coming straight at them.
"This is an evil door and my death lies beyond it." Halbarad said from in front of him, looking intently at Aragorn, as if asking him to reconsider, "and my death lies beyond it. I will dare to pass it nonetheless; but no horse will enter."
A grimace slid across the Ranger's face before he answered. "But we must go in, and therefore the horses must go too. For if ever we come through this darkness, many leagues lie beyond, and every hour that is lost there will bring the triumph of Sauron nearer. Follow me!" And with those words he led them once more towards the Door.
As he followed Aragorn, Boromir knew that he was following a true King. It was Aragorn's will that spurred everybody, save perhaps Legolas, on: the will of a King to lead his people through darkness back into the light. And indeed those that followed him in that hour found that they had the courage to pass through the Black Door and face the Dead.
The Dúnedain and their horses had all passed inside, and although the horses were skittish they allowed themselves to be led. Soon only Boromir, Gimli, Legolas and their horses stood outside. The Elf raised his shoulders and tugged on Arod's lead, approaching the darkness.
Just as Legolas had faded into the blackness, Arod rolled his eyes and began to back of, shaking and sweating heavily. The Elf felt the reins go stiff and turned around inside the Door. He went back outside swiftly, covering the horses eyes and muttering to him in Elvish. Boromir and Gimli looked on in amazement as their companion began to sing to his frightened horse and how, eventually, Arod suffered himself to be led inside as well.
Boromir felt a tug on the leads in his hand as Glír, liking the fact that someone was singing, made to follow the Elf and the Human quickly complied to his horses wishes, fearing that he would not get the animal in by himself.
As he stepped into the darkness behind the door, Boromir was instantly blinded. He stopped after he and the horse were both inside, giving his eyes time to adjust to the blackness that seemed darker than a night without either moon or stars.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
~Osgiliath~
Faramir surveyed the ruins that surrounded him and his men. The city had been under almost constant attack since the attempt to take it from the Tiritheans almost a year ago. They had managed to keep this side, but at a great cost of lives.
Boromir had been in charge of that company and Faramir found that his thoughts wandered along the now famaliar path to where the memories of his brother were stored. He cherised those, convinced that they were all that was left of him.
Valiantly he blinked back the excess moisture in his eyes: now was not the time. He was expected to be the warrior in the family now, although he knew that it was not his part in life. He would only be a disappointment to his father in the end, like he always had been.
A whining sound as the catapults of the Ennemy fired again, brought him back to the current situation. The buildings around him were already beaten and cracked from several hits with big rocks. At this rate, Faramir feared that the orcs and humans on the other side would venture an all-out attack within three days from now.
He also knew that he didn't nearly have enough resources to stop them, or even slow them down for a short amount of time. The only warning Minas Tirith would have, would be the burning of what was left of Osgiliath.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
~On the Paths of the Dead~
Once inside, the darkness was complete, more complete even than any simple absence of light would warrant. Boromir could hear the others in front of him and moved carefuly in that direction, his left hand ghosting over the clammy cavern-wall as his right held the reigns tightly.
He heard a sound like a tinder being struck and red-orange light bloomed into being in front of him as he saw Elladan accept a torch and Aragorn striking fire to another one, wich he took with him to the front of the company.
Elladan stayed behind, probably to form the rear, and by the light of his torch, Boromir could see that Legolas stood slightly to the side, stroking Arod's nose in comfort, looking somewhere behind his Human friend. But before he could ask what was wrong, Elladan gave a slight tug at his own reigns and they were both forced to move or stay behind in the dark. The last, in Boromir's opinion, was not even to be considered an option.
He lead his horse forwards until he could fall into step beside his friend. As he turned his head to question the Elf, a shorter figure stumbled between the horses and they turned their eras nervously. Instantly at guard in this hostile place, Boromir moved his hand towards his sword, although he would never have enough place to wield it effectively in this narrow cavern.
Turning towrds the new treath, he breathed out in relief as their Dwarven companion emerged from the shadows.
"Gimli." he said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. The Dwarf simply harrumphed, but said nothing else. The glances he cast around betrayed his ill feelings for the place without need for speech.
They continued their underground journey for a long time, as far as time could be estimated with no sun to look to for confirmation, sometimes stopping for no apparent reason, then moving on until they were forced to halt again.
It was during the first of those stops that Boromir's ears picked up the sound of whispering behind him. There appeared to be no clear words in it, at least not that he could distinguish, but it made him feel haunted. When they moved again the voices dimmed, nearly unhearable, unless on short moments when there was no sound of hooves to drown them out.
Nothing halted them or hindered them in any way and the short rest were more for determining the right path then aught else, but still an unnamed fear seeped steadily into the Gondorian, stoked by the voices that whispered in the air around him, seeming to object to the simple fact that he was still alive and, therefor, had no business here. There seemed to be so many of them that Boromir thought it well possible that the Dead had gathered into an army and were now following them tirelessly.
At another stop, the light of Aragorn's torch reflected of of something and the Ranger went to investigate. The cavern was wide at this point, and no walls were revealed in the circle of life they brought with them. Boromir could hear Gimli muttering at his side, but all he caught were the words 'fear' and 'gold'. Although the feeling of dread was heavy, his curiousity momentarily won out, and he also stepped closer to look at what had grabbed Aragorn's attention.
In the dust, a skeleton lay, girded with a shining armour. The gold on it, and the dry air in the cavern had kept it well-preserved. One arm lay outstretched towards a door, but he seemed to have failed to enter it, for his fingers were still grasping at the cracks in an urgent manner. A shock of recognition went through him, as he remembered the tale of one of the heirs to the throne of Rohan, who had disappeared, never to be seen again. Aragorn's words soon confirmed his suspicion.
"Hither shall the flowers of simbelmynë come never unto the world's end. Nine mounds and seven there are now green with grass, and through all the long years he has lain at the door that he could not unlock. Wither does it lead? Why would he pass? None shall ever know!" Then Aragorn's stance altered, and he seemed to focus on the present and their mission again as he continued. "For that is not my errand. Keep your hoards and your secrets hidden in the Accursed Years! Speed only we ask. Let us pass, and then come! I summon you to the Stone of Erech!"
If Aragorn had excpected an answer, he was to be disappointed, for there was only a silence more eerie than the whispering voices that had haunted them earlier. The next thing Boromir knew, a chill wind blew all around them and doused their torches. Blindness struck them and the beginnings of panic started in his mind, when he heard a firm command to relight the torches. 'Thank the Valar for Aragorn', he thought to himself, realizing once again the strength of the other's mind and presence.
But the torches could not be ignited again, though the wood was dry and the flint still good. Anxious they moved along, struggling through the layers of darkness that surrounded them. It was long before they could see a dim light grow larger in front of them, always spurred further by a nameless fear behind them, but at last they came to the end of the cavern, and passed through another gateway to walk under the sky again.
It was night, and the stars sparkled brightly. At his side, Legolas gave a soft sigh of appreciation, and Boromir felt a grin tug at the sides of his mouth. The Elf may not have felt the dread they had encountered, he had been uncomfortable for his own reasons as well.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
~Pellenor Fields~
Osgiliath had fallen. Despite Faramirs best efforts, he and his Men had not been able to hold back the flood of dark men and Orcs that had streamed to their side of the fallen city. He had sounded the retreat, and they had fallen back, regrouping where possible. The number of people that didn't show up was disconcerting, but there was no real time to stand still over it.
The retreat was still fairly organized, but Faramir had no illusions that that would last. 'As we near the city, they will overtake us. Sauron's forces as fresh, where we have battled constantly and are weary. They will cut through us like a knife through butter.' So he ordered his people to stay together, knowing, as he caught view of the great walls of Mians Tirith that it was only a matter of time before they would scatter.
A moment later he heard hoofbeats behind him and sreams from above as the Nazgûl stooped for the kill. The men around him broke away from formation and the horse that were left reared in panic. Men screamed an cast down their weapons running for their lives. Every effort to pull them back together now would be in vain. The horses had now overtaken them, and he was soon forced to defend himself against their sword.
And then when all semmed lost, a trumpet sounded from the walls and the Gate of the city opened, letting through a fierce battalion of knights on horseback. "Amroth for Gondor! Amroth to Faramir!" they cried and Faramir felt like he could cry out of sheer joy. He parriad a blow from the Southron rider that sought to strike him, and turned around to look for their saviors.
Only to fall to his knees as white-hot agony coursed through his side. He moved his hand towards the spot and felt the smootheness of his blood as it ran down from the arrow-wound. The world started spinning in front of his eyes and the sounds around him became slurred and unrecognizable. Then suddenly in a flash, he saw his brother, standing on the prow of what looked like one of the ships from Pelargir. Thinking of the stories the Elves told, about the Undying Lands far across the Great Sea, he smiled, then fell away into darkness and knew no more.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
~Paths of the Dead~
The journey onwards started with very diconcerting news. Legolas, turning to face backwards so he could speek to Gimli, suddenly sat a little straighter. His eyes flicked around, looking behind Gimli and Elladan, who was the last of the Company. "The Dead are following." he said softly, and Boromir felt a shudder pass through him at the words, "I see shapes of Men and of horses, and pale banners like shreds of cloud, and spears like winter-thickets on a misty night. The Dead are following."
Elladan merely nodded and siad "Yes, the Dead ride behind. They have been summoned."
The rest of their journey appeared to be a bad dream, when Boromir thought back to it years later. They were never sure what time it was, since all had become dark around them, and they never rested for long. The miles glided by under Glir's hooves and he felt like he was riding towards the end of Middle-Earth itself. If he hadn't had companions with him, he was sure he would have faltered.
They crossed the wide lands, making for the harbour of Pelargir. Aragorn sought to capture the fleet back from the Corsairs and use it to come to the aid of Minas-Tirith. It was the best plan possible under the circumstances, since it would also free a large band of the Gondorians that resided there to march to the White City to help in it's defense.
Though time had no meaning for them now, Boromir would later learn that it been the sixth day since the entering of the Paths when they finally arrived at Pelargir, driving the ennemies they had encountered on the journey before them. The might of the Dead that rode with them could not be denied and after a short but heavy battle, the harbours were theirs.
Aragorn chose the largest ship for himself and his friends and they left, going slowly up the Anduin. Boromir cursed their ill-luck when the wind refused to fill their sails and let them make any sort of spead. Time was of the essence now. He stood with Gimli and Legolas at the stern, feeling tense as a drawn bow.
Then suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his side. He grasped at it, letting out a shout, more of surprise then of anguish, and fell to his knees on the deck. Legolas and Gimli rushed over to him and he felt the Elf's gentle hands on his shoulders forcing him to stay down when he sought to rise.
"Peace, Boromir." the Prince said as he went down on his own knees before him, moving one hand to tilt up the Human's face so their eyes met.
"What is it?" Gimli said grufly, trying to mask his concern, "Were you injured during the fight, Master Human?"
Boromir shook his head in denial. "I do not know what ails me." he admitted, "I just felt a stabbing pain in my side, but it's gone now." The words hadn't even left his mouth when the pain was replaced by a terrible anxiety. He was afraid, Boromir realised, afraid that the pain he had felt was in truth a reflection of someone else's pain. Somebody he knew and loved well. 'Faramir!' his thoughts screemed.
He could not let his friends know this, could not allow them to get upset because of his pain. It would not do to let them go to war with this extra concern on their minds. No, this was something he had to bear alone.
"It's over now." he said, looking into Legolas' eyes and willing the Elf to believe his words. 'Please don't ask anymore questions.' He could not tell if his friend believed the lie or had heard the unspoken plea, but Legolas nodded softly and helped him back to his feet.
They turned back to their contemplation of the shores that went by agonizingly slowly.
In his mind though, Boromir cursed their slowness now more then ever, and questions tumbled through his head. 'Where are you Faramir?'
Hours later, the boats were being slowed down and turned. The wood underbeath Boromir's feet cracked because of the change of pressure on them.
The tension in the men around him mounted. Soon they would all join the battle that raged on the shores and plains that stretched towards Minas Tirith. Through years of training, the Man recognized several banners that were presented on the field, even though they were still blurred from the distance that separated them from the shore. Rohan, Dol Amroth and a few who he thought to be Southern regions, from Harad or beyond. The fight would be hard and long, and much blood would flow before the evening fell.
Boromir shifted his weight anxiously, the reigns of his horse Glir in his right hand, cluthing the railing with the other one. He could feel Legolas' eyes on him. The Elf had felt the change in him that had occured before. He knew that he was concerned about something, other than the upcoming battle, and seemed to be dying to get back to his city. But he didn't pry, wich was just fine with Boromir because even he didn't know quite what it was that was pulling at him so. All he knew was that it had something to do with his brother.
Sudenly, when the ship was only about ten feet away, Boromir raised his head abruptly and found his gaze drawn towards the King's palace on the upper level of Minas Tirith. Two thoughts passed through his mind, alarmingly clear and urgent. *Faramir* one said, while the other yelled *danger*. It was enough for him at the moment. Boromir grabbed the knob of his saddle and jumped up into it. He let Glir take a couple of paces back, then gave a shout and charged towards the railing, flying over it and barely reaching tha shore. But he made it, adrenalin rushing in his veins as all of his focus was fixed on getting to his little brother as fast as he could.
Behind him, Legolas, Gimli and Aragorn could do nothing but stare. Then Aragorn took control of the situation.
"Legolas!" The Elf turned to face the Human at this call. "Stay with him, he'll need all the help he can get!"
Shaking of the surprise that had stopped him from momentarily doing anything, the Elf pulled himself swiftly on top of Arod's back and followed the same course as his friend had taken, racing over to the shore, followed by Gimli's cry to be carefull. He cursed himself inwardly. Maybe if he had asked what was wrong, Boromir wouldn't have reacted that way. Now they were both rushing into a great roiling chaos of friend and ennemy, caught in an insane race towards whatever it was that was calling Bormir home.
He just hoped they would make it there in one piece.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Well that's it for this chapter (*evil grin*). Exams are over next Tuesdayevening, so I should be able to begin the new chapter then. Meanwhile, please review? They're what keeps me going :)