Boromir- for the last time, people- DOES NOT-I repeat- DOES NOT, DIE! To find out how, you will have to read "Journey through the Dark".
And on a side note, I don't own anything...heheh? Smiles unsurely as Tolkien's ghost stares her down.
This chapter takes place after Faramir and the rangers have retreated from Osgiliath, and he's had his chat with Pippin when he got back to the city.
On with the show...er, story!
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Rhoswen looked out her window, half hoping to see sun. But no ray of light or hope graced the ivory towers today- not a single speck. At the crack in her door, she heard the familiar sound of Faramir's boots on the stone floor, but his stride today was heavy, else Rhoswen would not have noticed. She got up from her vain window watching and opened the door, only to see Faramir's retreating back. His shoulders were slumped, and today he wasn't whistling. Rhoswen looked at him with growing pain, and half ran to catch up to him.
When she did, he was leaning against his door, as if some spasmodic pain had hit his lower stomach.
"Faramir? Be you ill?" The ranger shook his head, a hand to his forehead, eyes tightly closed. He seemed to recover, enough to open the door, at least, and led his sister in law inside. The steward's second son sank into a chair, face still grimacing, and Rhoswen poured him a glass of the light wine he kept in his apartments.
"No, Rhos. It is my brother who drowns himself in his wine when he has problems. I simply make myself sick."
"Please, dear brother, I beg you, do not." She paused, and looked at the crystal goblet in her hands. "You have not yet told me why you are feeling ill."
"Forgive me, sister."
"It needs not merit forgiveness."
"Father would have me ride back to Osgiliath, and retake the city." Rhoswen gasped.
"Even I know it cannot be done. Boromir would think it folly." At this, Faramir shook, and put his head in his hands, weeping.
"Rhoswen, I had not the heart to tell you..." He beckoned in a servant, took the box in the bondsman's arms, and opened it to the lady. She looked at the box's contents, and clenched her throat, tears welling in her eyes.
"Tell me it is not so!"
"I cannot lie to you. They have...had news that he is dead." The fair haired man said to her, and she collapsed into his arms, crying. The glass in her hands crashed to the floor, splintering into shards, the wine looking like a pool of blood.
Faramir knelt at her side and held her close, looking at the hysterical woman in his arms. His brother's fiancé was not taking the news of his death well. The slight, tall woman in his brotherly embrace was crying uncontrollably, the tears raining on his shirt a sign of the intense devotion she had for the man he called brother.
"D-d-dead?" Faramir nodded, his hands wet with Rhoswen's tears. Rhoswen knelt on the floor, looking forlorn.
"Faramir- I...I...I have something your ears need hear." He swallowed nervously, and Rhoswen looked up, eyes red and bleary with crying. "Before Boromir left...he had said it was his wish that I should marry you in his stead. I think it unwise to not have asked you first, but...he was loath to bring the matter up with his father." Faramir looked at her, and with a sad smile, pulled her into his chest, still struggling to hold back tears.
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As Rhoswen stood on the ramparts to the city, watching the men from Lamedon, Lebannin, and even her homeland, the Langstrand, march solemnly into the city, she had to will herself not to weep. So much death, she thought silently as the soldiers of her father's house touched their spears to their helms in a salute to her, the daughter of their lord, so much unthinking death. They all look at me with the same glint in their eyes, the same desire to prove to me, though it matters not, that they are worthy of some non-existent glory. Oh gallantry, thou art a cruel master, though you play outside to be pure and just.
The lord Denethor came to stand by her, his robes whipping in the wind, the Prince Imrahil arrived, leading his Knights with the blue banner of the Swan ship whipping with the wind. He raised his sword in salute to the Steward, and Denethor raised a hand, acknowledging his brother in law. The knights raised up a cheer, all of them lifting spears to the Lady who stood by the steward. But as one passed, Rhoswen could see that the hair streaming from the helmet was pure raven black, issuing forth in almost womanly curls. And the eyes beneath the helmet seemed oddly familiar, burning with singular, fierce flame.
And for Rhoswen, the eyes turned away when they caught the Rose's gaze, as if afraid to see that their bearer had stared at the betrothed to the Steward's first born son.
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The next day, Rhoswen rushed to the gates to the seventh level to see Faramir being brought up the steps in a litter, the only one of two hundred cavalry to come back alive- and he was barely just. The Swan Knights who bore his bier stepped back for the distraught woman, allowing her to kneel next to the body of Faramir. The young woman looked at the arrows in his body, the half parted lips, and ran light fingers over the shock of bright crimson blood beneath his fair hair, and broke down crying next to his body. A maid placed a hand on her shoulder, hoping to comfort the woman.
"Why is it that all of this family should perish? What device has heaven set against them?" Rhoswen lamented, the tears falling on Faramir's armor as rain falls upon tainted ground, hoping beyond hope to renew what cannot be brought back to lush greenery and full life.
The Steward came out, robes flapping, and he too, broke, crying tears for the son he pretended not to love.
"Faramir! Say not that he has fallen!" The Prince of Dol Amroth spoke, his voice a grave thunder.
"They were outnumbered. None survived."
"My sons are spent!" Pippin ran up, followed closely by Gandalf, and both looked at the half dead body of the steward's second born with remorse. Gandalf leaned close to Pippin, conferencing whisperedly. In front of them, Denethor was still weeping over his son's body.
"My line his ended!" Pippin fixed his eyes on Rhoswen, kneeling, head in her hands, and then at the body on the ground, watching as ever so slightly, Faramir's chest rose and fell with the steady tides of breath.
"He is alive!" Denethor paid him no heed.
"The house of the Stewards has failed!" Rhoswen looked at Pippin, and in her once strong eyes Pippin saw the crumble of strength. The young woman ran inside, and he looked back at Denethor.
"He needs medicine, my Lord!"
"My line has ended!" The steward half blindly looked over the walls at the advancing tide of Mordor. He said nothing.
"My Lord!" When the steward spoke, he voice was dissevered from his body, not paying attention to what he said.
"Rohan has deserted us." There was a rising wave of anger in his voice. "Théoden has betrayed me! Abandon your posts! Flee! Flee for your lives!" Gandalf smacked the steward with his staff, and the elderly man crumpled, unconscious.
"Prepare for battle!" The men looked at him, and Rhoswen ran out, holding the white horn in her hands tightly. With red eyes and a scowl, she looked ready to kill the first person that stood in her way.
"You heard him! Defend this city with your lives and your honor, as the Lord Faramir has done! Now get back to your posts!" The men, gaping at the normally demure and quiet woman, scampered back to the defenses. Rhoswen still stood, fists clenched, and looked at the sky.
"You've taken Boromir from me, Ring giver. Must you take Faramir too?" There was a wind from the east, and Rhoswen could have sworn she heard a whispered
"Yessssss..." floating on with it. She raised a fist to the sky.
"Rhoswen Nerys-daughter it is who curses you, Sauron the Deceiver!" And she decisively raised the horn to her lips and blew, the sound echoing over the city.
It was said by some that at that moment, an ominous chuckle resonated through the black gates.
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Wow...can you believe I actually cried while writing this?
And before you yell at me for violating the F/E pairing, I tell thee, good people that it is not as it seems. Like I mentioned at the beginning, BOROMIR IS NOT DEAD!
Roisin Dubh- your name means rose something, right? Anywho-thanks for the REALLY long review and the emails. I'm glad that you like this piece, and I hope that in future chapters we can share characters. HOPEFULLY. Key word there-hope. A Question, If You Will-who's Red Sonja? Oh, and you're not the first person who's thought that the actions and dialogue are a little...strangely formatted. I just have this vision in my head, and it all makes sense there. Sorry!
OHOHOH-question to the presses- I am polling as to when it is most convenient for you-the readers- for me to post. When do you read, and when would it be nice to get updates?
And if you please, ladies and gentlemen, leave a review. Did you get any strong emotions? Did you like/ dislike something? It's very good moral support, and it helps me improve.