For Angel, the day the Fellowship was due to leave Lórien came far too soon. Not only would she greatly miss the breathtaking beauty of the elven realm, but traveling with the Fellowship would mean no more time to herself, and it would be difficult to avoid them now. She wondered how long it would be before they found out about her magic. Angel winced. Already, she was no longer thinking if they found out, but when. But perhaps this was bound to happen now. Perhaps it was only a matter of time.
They left Lórien under the full light of day, from a haven out into dire peril. The Lady Galadriel bestowed upon each of the Company gifts. Aragorn was given a elven sheath for Andúril. Boromir, Merry, and Pippin were given belts crafted by the Galadrim. To Sam she presented a small wooden box with fine grey soil from the gardens of Lórien and a mallorn seed. Frodo received a phial of light from the star Earendil, to see him through the light-forsaken lands of Mordor. She granted to Gimli three strands of her hair, which he promised to treasure and set as an heirloom and peace token between the elves and the dwarves.
Angelyn was surprised when the Lady of the Golden Woods pulled her aside for a few private words. The rest of the Fellowship and the Galadrim watched them curiously as they retreated into a small clearing beside the river of Nimrodel.
The young witch wondered if Galadriel wanted her to stay in Lórien, or if she wanted to tell her to be careful – she mentally rolled her eyes at the thought. She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself.
"Angelyn."
Angel looked up at Galadriel and their eyes met. She could feel the elf's clear eyes reading her emotions, looking in her soul. She licked her lips and tried to return the gaze. "Yes?"
"I entrust the fate of the Fellowship and Middle-earth into your hands."
The statement was so straightforward, so. . . unexpected, that it caught her completely off guard. Angel just stared for a while, shocked, until she realized what she was doing and averted her eyes in haste.
She did not look at the Lady, but if she had, she would have seen a kind smile gracing her lips. "I know what you hide from the Fellowship, Angel," said Galadriel.
Angel could have sworn that her heart stopped beating when she heard that. She turned around sharply to see if they were alone in the glade, and nearly sighed aloud in relief that they were. Then she turned back to Galadriel and whispered, "I do not know what you are talking about."
She knew that Galadriel would see right through the lie immediately, and could not help the thought that came through her head. I just lied to the Lady of the Golden Woods. An involuntary shiver wound down her spine
"There is no need for you to deny it, child." Galadriel shook her head slowly, still with that knowing smile. "I know who you are, as did Gandalf."
"Then who am I?" Angel could not help the trace of defiance in her voice. Gandalf knew! He knew it all along! He could have told everyone! But part of her knew that he wouldn't have. He wouldn't betray her like that. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears as she awaited the answer.
"You are Angelyn Halliwell, daughter of Phoebe and Matthew Halliwell." Galadriel laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. "You are a Charmed One."
Angel tried feigning denial, though the effort was wasted before Galadriel's perceptive eyes. I was never a good actress anyway, she thought glumly as she clenched her fists unconsciously.
"You have no need to hide your identity from me. The fate of both our future and yours hang in the balance." Galadriel waved her hand expressively around her. "Lórien is one of the last sanctuaries of Middle-earth, but even it cannot last should the Quest fail."
Angel was reminded once again of the enormity of the charge she had taken on when she volunteered for this. Not for the first time, she wondered if it should have been entrusted to someone else, someone who was stronger and more capable. She must have allowed some of her doubt to surface on her face because Galadriel shook her head and said softly, "Do not wallow in self-doubt. You were chosen because you were the best for the undertaking. It would be wrong to regret it."
"Thank you," whispered Angel earnestly. She looked back at the Fellowship, who were filling the boats with their packs. "But. . .sometimes I wonder – " She relaxed her hands when she felt her nails digging into her palm and glanced back at Galadriel. She faltered, but plowed on at the Lady's nod for her to go on. "I wonder if I am prepared for what Belthazor has in store for me," she confessed bleakly.
Galadriel straightened up and shook her head. "Do not second guess yourself, Angelyn. While it may be true that the demon is powerful, you are our best chance against him."
"How did you find out about me?" Angel asked. "Does anyone else know?"
"There are many things that are best left unsaid," answered Galadriel elusively, reaching into her robes and taking out a small object wrapped in linen. She unfolded the cloth slowly and as she did so, Angel caught a swift flash of silver. "This is my gift to you, Angelyn," she said as she held the object up.
It appeared at first sight to be a necklace, a silver chain with a small milky white stone pendant. Then she noticed that something was marked upon the smooth surface of the teardrop pendant. Curious, she peered closer and gasped. Carved upon the pure stone was a circle with what resembled an intertwined triangle set inside. It was the familiar sign of the essence of good magic – the triquetra symbol. The lines were fine, but deep set, and Angel doubted that they had been carved. Set by magic, probably.
"This is an amulet!" she said in a hushed voice. Amulets were charms that protected its bearer from harm, and only great strength could overcome them. They were rare, as well. To put it lightly, Angel was shocked that Galadriel was offering her this.
"This was given to me long ago by a witch like yourself. Her name was Amanriel, meaning 'blessedly wreathed', for that is what she was."
Angel assumed that Amanriel had been blessed in the sense that she had powers of a witch, though that seemed to be a euphemism.
"She died an honorable death fighting a demon. I believe I can only honor her memory by helping you in your cause." Galadriel fastened it around her neck and Angel heard a faint click as the clasp was secured. She looked up at the elf, wordless gratitude in her eyes. "This will ward you against all but the most evil of demons."
"Th-thank you," Angel managed to stammer out.
"Do not thank me until it saves your life." Angel wondered if this was another of Galadriel's predictions. The elf's smile seemed sad and distant. "May your road be smooth and fare well, Angelyn Halliwell."
"Good-bye." Angel wondered briefly if she should bow or curtsey or something, but decided against it at the awkward mental image of herself doing so. "And thanks again."
It was with absence of mind that Angelyn fingered the stone at her throat as she sat calmly gazed into the swirling of Anduin. She was sitting in one of the three boats that the Galadrim had bestowed upon the Company. She resided somewhere near the middle of the boat, with Legolas and Gimli paddling in front and behind her.
They had been paddling for several hours now, and Lothlórien was long out of sight. For a long time, they were flanked on both shores by tall dark trees. They had been ominous and foreboding, and Angel clearly remembered being unable to push the concern out of her mind that the band of orcs that had pursued them out of Moria might be hiding in them. Even now, when the trees had eventually thinned out and disappeared, the feeling of being exposed and vulnerable seemed even worse.
So far though, the ride had been uneventful, indeed, so much so that Angel was actually bored with nothing better to do than watch the clear river water pass them by. Neither Legolas nor Gimli would allow her to paddle, and they might as well been deaf to her protests. She had a suspicion it had something to do with the sexism that seemed to run rampart around here.
At one point, Gimli asked her what the talk with Galadriel had been about, and Angel replied that she had only wanted to remind her to be careful, and to give her the gift. The former seemed to conform to Gimli's view of Angel as a helpless girl, and the latter inevitably led to the dwarf's question of what the gift was.
Angel showed him the amulet, careful to keep it at a distance so that the dwarf would not see the triquetra symbol. She let him assume that it was only a necklace, as it was the safest way to avoid questions.
At night, they pulled the boat ashore and camped on the bank. Frodo spoke to Aragorn and Sam of a creature he thought was following them, a green-eyed creature that had been paddling on a log in the river behind them all day. Angel was lying not far from the three as they conversed in low undertones. They had believed her fast asleep until she stirred when Aragorn mentioned Gollum.
"He's following us?" she asked tentatively. "I thought we lost him in the mines."
"As did I," said Aragorn dryly. "But it seems that he has not been shaken off our trail yet." He looked down at Angel in the moonlight. "Go to sleep. We have a hard day in front of us."
Not for someone who's not allowed to paddle, Angel remembered thinking before sleep claimed her.
The same routine endured for several days. River by day, shore by night. Angel felt awkwardly out of place among the Fellowship, as the only female member of the expedition. She spoke with the hobbits on some occasions, and they seemed to accept her, if nothing more than that. She tried to stay clear of Aragorn and Legolas, for while they were polite to her, she knew that they were also the most wary. If Gimli and Boromir had any misgivings about the girl, they were minimal and tolerated her at the least.
Often, she was left alone with her thoughts, and the others left her at that. More than once she found herself thinking about Kendall and Adrian back at home. She wondered at night if they were safe in their dormitories or out chasing demons, and hoped that they managed to hold out until she was able to get back to them. Her concerns touched on Comet briefly as well, and she recoiled at the pitiful image of her pampered dog out alone lost somewhere in the cold streets.
After some days on the river, they came upon something that took their breath away. It started out like any other day, with the three boats of Lórien rowing in the silent gloom, the two in front with the Men and hobbits, and the third with the elf, dwarf, and witch trailing slightly behind.
Angel stared tranquilly ahead, eyes open, though not registering what she was seeing. Physically, she was in the boat in Anduin, but she had retreated into a small corner of her own mind, as she had been doing a lot of these days. Then suddenly Legolas stopped rowing for a moment and went still. Angel stirred from her half-trance to see why the elf had paused, but saw nothing. She was ready to dismiss it and go back to her musings when she saw two dark shadows towering above the three boats. Startled, she leaned forward slightly, straining her eyes and as the Fellowship got closer she nearly gasped aloud. Two immense stone sculptures flanked either side of Anduin, regal figures of Men, holding an arm forward, palm outwards, as if warding what lay beyond.
"What is that?" she asked Legolas softly, breathless in awe.
"The Argonath, the Pillars of Kings," he replied in equal tones. He did not look back at her as he said it, and Angel could hardly blame him for it. The Argonath was a sight to see. "They are statues of the Kings Elendil and Isildur."
"Long have I desired to look upon the Kings of old," said Aragorn in the boat to their right. "My kin."
As they drifted closer beneath the Argonath, the only thing Angel could do was stare in wonder at the sheer size and majesty of it. It hurt her neck just to look up at it, but she could not tear her eyes from it nonetheless.
This was who Aragorn was descended from?
Somewhere close to midday they stopped by the riverbank. Angel helped unload the packs from the boats, eager to do something after sitting around feeling useless for so many days. After a while, everyone settled down, Gimli grumbling about the course they were going to take.
"Where's Frodo?" came the unexpected question from Sam.
Angel looked around, and her heart skipped a beat when she saw that the hobbit in question was not there. Neither, she noticed, was Boromir.
Uh-oh.
Kendall's prediction was already coming to pass.
Angel hurriedly excused herself, ignoring Aragorn's suspicious stares, and as soon as the Fellowship was out of sight she broke into a full run.
Some time later she heard the faint sounds of someone shouting – Frodo. Dodging a low-hanging branch, Angel came upon a small glade.
She entered the clearing just in time to see Boromir jump on Frodo, crying, "Give me the Ring!"
"Boromir!" Angel vaulted the remaining five feet between them and fell beside the Man and hobbit. She grasped Boromir by the arms and tried to wrestle him off the frightened hobbit. "Boromir, you don't know what you're doing. Stop it!"
Boromir loosened his grip on Frodo only for a second to throw Angel aside in his fury. The young witch landed on her side a few feet away, the air knocked out of her lungs. She felt her a sharp flame crawl up the back of her head, and when she lifted it up, it was spinning. She shook her head and when the dizziness cleared somewhat she caught a flash of gold before Frodo disappeared.
Boromir froze and he scrambled to his feet. He looked around wildly, his eyes filled with a crazed rage as he screamed, "I see your mind! You will take the Ring to Sauron and betray us all! Curse you! Curse you and all the halflings!" He started to run, and tripped. When he struggled to his knees, he was sobbing. "What have I done?" he moaned, looking up. "Frodo! Frodo, where are you? I am sorry!"
Angel crawled over to him, still dazed and slightly disorientated. Slow waves of throbbing pain coursed up and down the back of her head and the world before her eyes seemed to be spiraling. She flopped down beside him and he noticed her, seemingly for the first time. The Man shook his head in grief and gathered the girl into his arms. "Are you alright?" he asked, sounding frantic. "Did I hurt you?"
"No," she whispered back into his chest. "Boromir."
He held her there for a moment, his arms wrapped protectively around her. Finally, Angel pulled away and they both stood up.
Suddenly, he stiffened. Angel regarded him curiously and unconsciously inched closer to his side. "What is it?"
"Orcs." Boromir's voice was flat. Several moments passed before Angel heard them as well. Harsh grating cries mingled with the clashing of metal on metal. His hand flew to the hilt of the sword at his belt and he drew it slowly. "Run," he said to Angel.
"What?" asked Angel absently as she unsheathed one of the pair of katanas she kept strapped to her back. In her other hand she gripped the athame that Kendall had given her, ready to use it if need be.
"RUN!"
Angel shook her head fiercely. "No! I can defend myself."
Boromir tried futilely to push her away, but the witch dug her heals in and refused to go anywhere. "That's an order. Go to Aragorn and the others."
There was no more time to argue as the first of the orcs appeared. Boromir cursed and took on a fighting stance, the sword held out before him. Angel hurriedly copied his position and she brushed her shoulder against his in a silent gesture of friendship. Boromir managed to smile briefly and added a brief, "Be careful."
"You too," replied Angel roughly. The orcs were no more than 30 paces away now, and covering the distance fast. She heard a buzzing sound as a black blur zipped past her ear, clipping off several strands of her hair and missing both her and Boromir by mere millimeters.
The first Uruk-hai that reached them was felled by a single stroke of Boromir's blade. He took the second down as well, running his sword through the midsection and then slitting upwards up to chin, creating a wide laceration from naval to throat. Angel slashed several times at another with the katana, and it was slain only by the third swipe. Dark blood erupted from the gash, staining the blade and splattering the ground. A third went down from the combined strokes of both girl and Man, and two others fell beneath their cold steel. That was all Angel could keep track of. After that, the orcs surrounded them and the two were overwhelmed. Angel was using both katana and athame in the frenzy, not having time to distinguish between them and by then the only thought that occupied her mind was striking out at whatever orc flesh she could find. She was not fighting in any organized manner, she had no plan of attack, for her in that moment, everything was reduced to the simplest of terms: survival.
She could no longer see Boromir; the orcs had swept them apart in the confusion. She had no time to wonder what might have happened to him, where he was, because just then she was faced with an Uruk who had his scimitar swung over his shoulder, ready for a swing that would take her head off.
Out of pure instinct, Angel flung out the arm holding the athame. She reached for her magic desperately, gathered up what she had managed to collect in the split second she had to act, and channeled it through the knife. She felt the power erupt from the blade and lash out toward the Uruk, and he exploded. The concentration of energy caught him full force and it blew his body apart. A blood-curdling screech tore from the orc as it felt its body being torn apart. Its face contorted in the middle of a second scream before the body shattered like glass and left no traces where it had been.
The other orcs who had seen what happened froze in shock. They had just seen one of their own be ripped to pieces and then vanish from existence. She was quite sure that they had not seen how it happened. Angel took advantage of the situation and quickly ran through several of them. When the rest started coming back to their senses and realized what she was doing, they hissed and redoubled their efforts to bring her down. Angel knew that she would not be able to keep going at this rate for long. Once again, she concentrated her magic and guided it through the athame, this time aiming to freeze. She waved the athame before her and the orcs stopped in their tracks as time stood still.
They were still real enough, with snarls distorting their twisted features. Yellow fangs and blood-red tongues leered at her, and their weapons were poised to kill. It was as if someone had pressed the pause button in the middle of a movie, and that someone was her.
Angel started shoving through the melee of frozen orcs, careful to avoid the blades. On her way out she slid her katana between as many ribs as she could, but the orcs she stabbed did not flinch, nor show any signs of pain. When time resumed, they would either find themselves suddenly dead or with a stab wound they did not remember receiving. By then, she would be safely out of their way, and to them it would look as if she had disappeared right before their eyes. Then Angel heard something that froze her just as well as she had frozen the Uruk-hai.
A horn blast.
The Horn of Gondor, she realized in horror.
Then another came, more urgent this time, its deep calls echoing. The second call snapped her into action. She sprinted toward the direction it came from.
Steeled as she was, knowing that it would happen, it still chilled her blood to realize that it was already happening.
She had warned him about this, told him to be careful. Dammit, why the hell didn't you listen to me? thought Angel angrily as she came to a small glade not far from Parth Galen in time to see Boromir staggering as a second arrow struck him in the shoulder. She saw Merry and Pippin screaming as orcs grabbed them roughly and left the glade empty except for her, the remaining Uruk, and Boromir. The Uruk-hai drew back a third black-fletched shaft and took aim. She struggled to get to him before he released, in that instant forgetting everything she had promised about not interfering.
In strength born of desperation, she lashed out with her magic. She held the athame out before her and sent a wave of power towards the Uruk. The arrow was never released from the bow. It clacked against the bowstring and fell awkwardly to the ground. The Uruk was flung backwards as if hit by a monster truck. He was thrown nearly fifty feet across the glade and crashed into a sturdy tree trunk. Before he had time to recuperate, Angel ran forward and summoned another upsurge of energy and directed it at the orc. She slashed the athame before her, not once touching the orc, but all the same, gashes opened up on its body. She was barely aware of what she was doing at the time, and afterwards looked back on it and wondered how she had done it. The orc was screaming, raw cries that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. By the time she was spent and left gasping for breath, the Uruk was a mass of torn flesh and deep lacerations.
Angel took three steps back, half stunned but mostly satisfied by what she had done. She had cut the orc up quite thoroughly, but she did not take long to look. She turned back just as Aragorn appeared and ran to Boromir's side. She stayed back purposely to leave them room for what needed to be said.
Then she noticed something that had not been there before.
A tall figure stood to the side, robed in black. His arms hung at his sides, and a cowl cast his features in darkness. He did not seem evil, but he had a patient air about him, and seemed neither concerned nor disturbed by the dying Man not 20 feet before him. A moderate breeze ruffled Angel's hair, but she saw that his cloaks did not shift at all.
His robes bothered her. There were an impossible shade of black, black as the shadows. . . black as the night. . .
Black as death.
Her breath caught in her throat as she realized who this was.
The Angel of Death had come for Boromir.
"Farewell, Aragorn! Go to Minas Tirith and save my people. I have failed," Boromir was saying to Aragorn, but Angel was not listening. She watched in paralyzed horror as Death strode over to Boromir, though Aragorn did not stir, nor do anything to acknowledge his presence.
She needed to say something, to persuade the Angel not to take him. But her tongue did not seem to work right, and no words came. No! she pleaded silently. Don't take Boromir! Please! He does not deserve this!
The Angel of Death lifted his head in her direction. It is time, came his level answer. The words filled her head, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once.
Angel shook her head, despite the knowledge that it was hopeless. She knew all too well that The Angel of Death could not be stopped or fought, and he never gave on a claim, but that did not stop her from crying out again. Please! He has done too much for this world to die!
Death shook his head solemnly. His voice carried no emotion, as empty as a shell, but it still resonated in her mind. Death comes for everyone. He stopped, and Angel got the impression that he was studying her. You are a witch, a Charmed One.
Angel nodded eagerly. Death raised his hand over Boromir and Aragorn and froze them. Boromir was immobilized in mid-breath, and Aragorn's stricken air stayed chiseled on his strong features. Time stood still as Death's reply came. You would fight me, young witch, if you could. I do not make exceptions, but perhaps I can convince you that it would be all for the better that I come for this Man.
Angel repeated his words over in her mind. She looked over at the two Men, who showed no signs of waking. Convince her that this was all for the best? Even if it did nothing for Boromir, maybe she could see why this must be so. She saw no harm in accepting, and so she nodded.
As soon as she did, a blinding light engulfed the witch, and everything around her as well. She snapped her eyes closed and flung an arm over her eyes to shield herself, but even beneath the closed lids she could see the brightness, a burning flame of brilliance, swallowing her entire world. She could feel herself being whisked away to another time and place, yet part of her, her corporeal self, stayed behind in the glade with Aragorn and Boromir. She was no longer on the physical plane, she had been taken to the astral plane, the plane of spirits and energy.
After a few moments, she risked opening her eyes and saw that the light was gone, and her surroundings were unfamiliar. No longer was she in the clearing, with trees flanking her on all sides. Aragorn and Boromir had disappeared as well. She was in a long hall of white stone, and at its end were two tall figures. As she came closer, she recognized one of them, Boromir kneeling before the other, an older Man with graying hair and cold flinty eyes.
"What is your report?" asked the older Man.
"The halfling has left for Mordor, Father."
This is his father? thought Angel, edging forward. Strange, she thought, that neither paid her any attention. She looked toward the Angel of Death, standing not far off to her side, his cloaked form melting into the shadows. He returned her gaze, and she understood. She was in a vision, and as invisible to all but herself.
Watch, Death commanded.
She did, turning back to Boromir and his father. Now that she could observe him clearly, she could see the resemblances between father and son. The strong features, confident manner, and the proud way of holding themselves were evident in both.
"The Ring is not beyond our grasp, we can still have it and save our people!" declared Boromir firmly.
Angel gasped out loud. I don't understand, she thought. What is he saying?
"Rise, my son," commanded the father, and Boromir climbed to his feet. "You have done well. I will send a dozen men with you in search of this halfling. Find him, and take the Ring through whatever means need be. We shall use it against the Enemy."
Without warning, the scene changed, and Angel found herself in a different place once again. This time she stood in the middle of a battlefield, the fighting raging on all around her. She did not see Death this time, but she felt his presence everywhere. The cries and clashing of weapons seemed strangely muted to her as she watched a figure standing on a lone hill.
It was one of the Nazgûl, one of those sickly foul servants of Mordor. He stood carefully poised in a battle stance, wielding a long blade. As she watched, he struck out before him, though Angel could not see what he was striking at. She pushed through the crowd of fighting men, elves, and orcs toward it for a closer look. As in the previous vision, no one took notice of her, not even sparing her a second glance. She approached the Nazgûl, and stared as he continued to swing, thrust, and parry in a continuous cycle of deadly motion at an unseen foe. Finally, the Nazgûl turn his blade sharply, and Angel saw another sword fall to the ground, seemingly out of nowhere. He stepped two paces forward and swung the weapon. There came a shrieking cry, and Angel caught a flash of gold falling to the ground. A figure appeared kneeling on the grass, cradling a bloody hand. Angel felt a hard knot in her chest as she recognized the Man.
Boromir.
Everything seemed to come to a stop at that moment. The warriors, orcs, elves, and men alike stopped fighting to watch.
The Nazgûl bent down and retrieved the Ring. With the accursed thing safely enclosed in his black hand, he laid his blade down on the vulnerable back of the bowed and defeated Man before him. Boromir neither struggled nor resisted. The Nazgûl lifted his sword and beckoned for the Man to rise. He did.
Angel couldn't believe what she was seeing. Who was this broken and wretched Man? It was Boromir, she knew, but at the same time she could not make herself believe that Boromir had degenerated into this.
With a wound from a Nazgûl blade, Boromir would surely die. If he survived. . .Angel shuddered at the thought. If he lived, he would be worse than dead. He would become a wraith like the Black Riders, lower than them, but still a soulless shell under the domination of Sauron.
Then it was all gone. Angel saw no more as the radiance obscured everything once again.
I don't understand! She screamed the thought at the Angel of Death.
This is what might have passed, if I had not come for him.
This is the future if Boromir lives? she demanded furiously.
Nothing is guaranteed, but the chance is there that this is how it will play out. The Angel of Death's voice was devoid of all sympathy or feeling, it was a flat answer.
But how can one Man change it all?
A butterfly flapping its wings on one side of the world can change the wind patterns on the other, answered Death cryptically. The future cannot be predicted. Any change of events will affect the web of destiny, large or small. What you have seen was but one possibility in a myriad of futures that could have been.
She knew that he was speaking the truth. The Angel of Death did not lie.
Angel found herself back in the glade with the lake Parth Galen close by. She was in the same place and position she had been in before the vision. Death stood beside Aragorn and Boromir, for whom time had resumed again.
They exchanged last farewell words, and then Boromir fell silent. The young witch watched as the Angel of Death bent down and laid one hand on Boromir's chest. A translucent form lifted away from Boromir's body. It straightened up and Angel saw that it was Boromir's spirit, faintly glowing. He was in the astral plane, Angel knew, as she had been only a while ago. He was smiling sadly as he looked down at his body and Aragorn. Aragorn, of course, did not see him, but Boromir's ghost looked at Angel and his smile widened.
Say hello to the Lady Kendall for me. He mouthed the words silently, and Angel nodded in perception. Tell her that I love her.
Angel felt a gentle smile lift the corners of her mouth and nodded again. She loves you as well, Boromir, she replied. A genuine smile graced his handsome face as he said his last word to Angel. Farewell.
Farewell. The simple word ripped through her soul with terrible keenness. It was too permanent. . . Namárië.
Angel closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, both Boromir's ghost and the Angel of Death were gone.
She turned to Aragorn, numb with so many emotions roiling within her. A thousand different feelings were pulling her down all at once that it lacked description. At least, Boromir was in a better place, where there was no war and evil. His soul would be sent back to earth, though in a different form, but he was not truly dead. Somehow, that was little comfort at the moment.
Aragorn had his head bowed and his shoulders shook with silent grief. Angel stopped less than five feet behind him and her vision blurred. It was only when she felt the warm tears on her cheeks that she realized she was crying. Before she knew it, she had lost all control and the tears came in a flood.
She was aware when Legolas and Gimli appeared at the glade, but she did not care at the moment that she had lost her composure in front of them. She felt Legolas put his arms around her in solace, and she accepted him gratefully.
"Damn the orcs," she sobbed angrily. "Damn this war," she said a bit softer. She thought then of the Angel, his apathetic manner and his matter-of-fact way of dealing with death, and she felt a surge of helpless rage. "Damn the Angel of Death," she murmured.
Wahoo! I FINALLYfinished that chappie! And you know what else? I'm proud of it too! nods happily
There was a slight reference to Shakespeare's Macbeth in this chapter, for those of you who might have noticed it. I included that because of the similarities between Boromir and Macbeth.
Sorry to everyone who was hoping that Boromir would live, but on a positive note, he /will/ make another show before this is over! hint hint
Kendall: WAHOO!!!
Angel: walks in He's not coming back to life, you twit. Gilluin would never do that, knowing her as the selfish, sadistic, evil. . .
Gilluin: walks in
Angel: . . .brainless, pigheaded, intellect-forsaken. . .
Gilliun: turns very red looks at audience members listening to the authoress being brutally bashed by her main character
Angel: . . .self-centered, egotistic. . .
Gilluin: turns to Harry Potter at her side Do you ever speak this way of J.K. Rowling?
Harry: No. She's still angry at you for discontinuing the Legomance, isn't she?
Gilluin: nods But she was stealing kisses with him backstage. It was a punishment.
Harry: Would you like me to do something about her? takes out handy wand
Angel: . . .thick-skulled, yellow-bellied lowlife. . .
Gilluin: grins wickedly Do you know the Cruciatus Curse?
Harry: Of course, having had it used on me before how would I not? points wand at Angel Crucio!
Angel: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!!!!!! starts rolling around in pain
Kendall: looks up at her authoress and Harry Potter She was asking for it. stares at Harry Hey! You're not supposed to be here!
Harry: blinks
Kendall: This story is LOTR and Charmed only! Get out! Out! Out! OUT!
Harry: stares blankly, then looks at Gilluin Uh. . .
Kendall: waves arm and sends Harry crashing back into the HP universe telekinetically
Angel: stops screaming and gets up Whew
Gilluin: Get back onstage, both of you!
Angel and Kendall: scuttle off hurriedly, not wanting to incite the authoress' wrath any further
Ah well. Just FYI, the next chapter may take a while because I have finals to study for. Wish me luck guys!