Attack on the Greenway
PAST EDORAS TO MINAS TIRITH
Oh Arwing.
What I have not been able to write, I will attempt to put into words now.
In my last letter I believe I left you with Huinlas and myself standing on the hill. That was now three days ago, and we have come and gone through Edoras. We will soon be in Minas Tirith. Although you probably already know of our coming, for we will not be the first of our party to arrive, if all goes as planned.
While Huinlas and I were standing on the hill the sun was just creeping over the horizon. Then we heard it. A shout. Horses neighing. More shouts answering. Oh Arwing.
We turned around and looked down at the camp. Huinlas grabbed my arm and pulled me behind his back. But I had seen. Yes, I had seen.
Orcs. Big, awful, ugly, brutal orcs. Where they came from we do not know, nor wither they were going.
Swords clashing.
Huinlas pulled me over behind the nearest tree and let go of my arm.
"Delio hi!" he whispered hoarsely.
I did not understand what he had said, but I couldn't do anything else. I fell to the ground, my back against the tree trunk.
Then he ran back to camp, his bow singing.
I shivered all over. I could hear the voices of Boromir and my father and the king. And I heard cruel voices. Shouting, always shouting.
I looked around the tree. My heart quickened. They were fighting, desperately. There were many orcs. I tried to turn farther to see more, but something caught on the tree. I looked down. My sword.
With shaking hands I reached for the hilt. It felt cold and terrible. I could not grasp it. My fingers were sweating, shaking, and freezing cold.
Oh Arwing, I could not move. How I wanted to help, wanted to be able to do something, anything. But I was not able. My arm would not move when I commanded it, nor would my legs support me. Twice I tried to stand and twice I fell.
I felt useless. Miserable.
I knew my father and brother were below, fighting for their lives. And Huinlas.
I was in a wretched state.
Then a scream. Louder than the others, and more desperate, for it was cut off at its height. I turned around.
Several orcs were lying, headless and dead on the ground. Hideous.
And then, my brother.
Oh Arwing! I saw my brother fall.
Three figures I recognized running and charging, stabbing and grappling. I saw the remaining orcs turn and run away, vaguely.
I saw my brother lying on the ground.
The three figures followed the retreating orcs northward quickly. There were shouts and grunts in the distance.
The dust settled over the camp.
Then, and only then, did I find the strength to stand. Now I was not frightened. I was angry. I was on fire. My brother lay on the ground, and they had cause this.
I half stumbled, half fell down the hill. I tripped over a dead orc, my dress tore and was smeared with something horrible. I crawled over to my brother.
He lay on his back. His face was covered with grime. His eyes were closed.
"Boromir?" I whispered.
Nothing.
"Boromir!"
Nothing.
"Brother!"
Nothing.
I put his head in my lap. And sat staring at him. I pushed my hair out of my eyes, and realized I was crying. I sat there for what seemed a long while.
Footsteps made me stir.
It was Father, the king, and Huinlas.
They all looked anxious. They all were tired and worried. They all seemed older.
"I told you to stay where you were!" Huinlas said roughly.
"Let her be," said my father.
"Suppose more had come!" Huinlas nearly shouted.
"What will be shall be," the king answered. "We cannot alter fate."
Father knelt beside me and looked over Boromir. King Elessar watched Boromir intently.
"He is not yet dead," the king said.
"No," said Father gravely. "Not yet."
"Huinlas, gather the horses," said King Elessar.
Huinlas obeyed, but returned with only three.
King Elessar stood and took the bridle of his horse.
"They fled?" he asked.
Huinlas nodded silently.
I sat on the ground, now a ways from my brother, tears running unwanted down my face.
Father and the king talked softly together. They lifted Boromir onto the king's horse.
"What are you doing?" I asked, but the voice did not sound like mine.
Neither looked at me.
"Taking Boromir to Minas Tirith by the quickest road," the king answered.
"Wait," I whispered. Even my voice did not obey me.
But they did not wait. They did not even look back at me. King Elessar jumped onto his horse behind Boromir and sped off into the distance.
Father stood staring after them.
Huinlas gave Father his horse's bridle.
"Come," the elf said. "Let us be gone also."
"Silwen," said Father. "Ride with me."
I mounted behind him. My horse was one of the two who had fled.
Huinlas started at a quickly, and we followed.
I must close now. Memories from that day are not pleasant; it has been painful to write of them.
Silwen
PAST EDORAS TO MINAS TIRITH
Oh Arwing.
What I have not been able to write, I will attempt to put into words now.
In my last letter I believe I left you with Huinlas and myself standing on the hill. That was now three days ago, and we have come and gone through Edoras. We will soon be in Minas Tirith. Although you probably already know of our coming, for we will not be the first of our party to arrive, if all goes as planned.
While Huinlas and I were standing on the hill the sun was just creeping over the horizon. Then we heard it. A shout. Horses neighing. More shouts answering. Oh Arwing.
We turned around and looked down at the camp. Huinlas grabbed my arm and pulled me behind his back. But I had seen. Yes, I had seen.
Orcs. Big, awful, ugly, brutal orcs. Where they came from we do not know, nor wither they were going.
Swords clashing.
Huinlas pulled me over behind the nearest tree and let go of my arm.
"Delio hi!" he whispered hoarsely.
I did not understand what he had said, but I couldn't do anything else. I fell to the ground, my back against the tree trunk.
Then he ran back to camp, his bow singing.
I shivered all over. I could hear the voices of Boromir and my father and the king. And I heard cruel voices. Shouting, always shouting.
I looked around the tree. My heart quickened. They were fighting, desperately. There were many orcs. I tried to turn farther to see more, but something caught on the tree. I looked down. My sword.
With shaking hands I reached for the hilt. It felt cold and terrible. I could not grasp it. My fingers were sweating, shaking, and freezing cold.
Oh Arwing, I could not move. How I wanted to help, wanted to be able to do something, anything. But I was not able. My arm would not move when I commanded it, nor would my legs support me. Twice I tried to stand and twice I fell.
I felt useless. Miserable.
I knew my father and brother were below, fighting for their lives. And Huinlas.
I was in a wretched state.
Then a scream. Louder than the others, and more desperate, for it was cut off at its height. I turned around.
Several orcs were lying, headless and dead on the ground. Hideous.
And then, my brother.
Oh Arwing! I saw my brother fall.
Three figures I recognized running and charging, stabbing and grappling. I saw the remaining orcs turn and run away, vaguely.
I saw my brother lying on the ground.
The three figures followed the retreating orcs northward quickly. There were shouts and grunts in the distance.
The dust settled over the camp.
Then, and only then, did I find the strength to stand. Now I was not frightened. I was angry. I was on fire. My brother lay on the ground, and they had cause this.
I half stumbled, half fell down the hill. I tripped over a dead orc, my dress tore and was smeared with something horrible. I crawled over to my brother.
He lay on his back. His face was covered with grime. His eyes were closed.
"Boromir?" I whispered.
Nothing.
"Boromir!"
Nothing.
"Brother!"
Nothing.
I put his head in my lap. And sat staring at him. I pushed my hair out of my eyes, and realized I was crying. I sat there for what seemed a long while.
Footsteps made me stir.
It was Father, the king, and Huinlas.
They all looked anxious. They all were tired and worried. They all seemed older.
"I told you to stay where you were!" Huinlas said roughly.
"Let her be," said my father.
"Suppose more had come!" Huinlas nearly shouted.
"What will be shall be," the king answered. "We cannot alter fate."
Father knelt beside me and looked over Boromir. King Elessar watched Boromir intently.
"He is not yet dead," the king said.
"No," said Father gravely. "Not yet."
"Huinlas, gather the horses," said King Elessar.
Huinlas obeyed, but returned with only three.
King Elessar stood and took the bridle of his horse.
"They fled?" he asked.
Huinlas nodded silently.
I sat on the ground, now a ways from my brother, tears running unwanted down my face.
Father and the king talked softly together. They lifted Boromir onto the king's horse.
"What are you doing?" I asked, but the voice did not sound like mine.
Neither looked at me.
"Taking Boromir to Minas Tirith by the quickest road," the king answered.
"Wait," I whispered. Even my voice did not obey me.
But they did not wait. They did not even look back at me. King Elessar jumped onto his horse behind Boromir and sped off into the distance.
Father stood staring after them.
Huinlas gave Father his horse's bridle.
"Come," the elf said. "Let us be gone also."
"Silwen," said Father. "Ride with me."
I mounted behind him. My horse was one of the two who had fled.
Huinlas started at a quickly, and we followed.
I must close now. Memories from that day are not pleasant; it has been painful to write of them.
Silwen