Chapter Eighteen
Choices
I awoke when Legolas shook my shoulder, wrapped in a suffocating fog. Sam, it appeared, liked fog as little as I did, but he pointed out that it was hiding us from the orcs. I had to agree.
Then Aragorn felt the need to dampen an already damp day by commenting that if the fog didn't lift, we wouldn't be able to find the path, and that if we couldn't find the path, we couldn't get past Sarn Gebir and to the Emyn Muil.
Boromir then spoke up and said, quite sensibly, I thought, that why didn't we just abandon the boats and strike out from the western shore.
Aragorn agreed that that was fine—if the Fellowship was going to Minas Tirith, which we hadn't yet agreed to. He added that the Entwash, which we'd come to first, going west, was boggy. Very dangerous in the fog. The River, the Ranger concluded, was the path to keep to while we could.
To which Boromir responded that the Enemy held the eastern shore, and that if we passed the Tindrock, as he called Tol Brandir, what would we do then. Jump off the Falls to land in the marshes?
I stifled a giggle, as both men were showing signs of temper. "No," said Aragorn, his voice gravelly with control. "No, we will carry the boats and baggage to the bottom of the Falls. Have you forgotten, Boromir, or do you not know of the great North Stair, hewn when the great kings of Gondor made the seat on Amon Hen? I would stand in that place again before I decide my course. And there we may see some sign to guide us." He turned away to answer some question of Sam's.
Boromir scowled at being spoken to like this. He stepped out of the boat, nearly turning Merry and Pippin into the water, and stalked up the rocky bank to perch on its summit. After a moment, I followed, loving and dog- like.
He looked like he'd expected me. "Firiel, I will set out this morning, if you will come with me. You are not bound to the Ring." He spoke quietly, so the others could not hear.
"But you are, my lord," I said, laying my hand over his, "and I would not have you foresworn."
"My honor is a little thing beside the fate of Gondor." Boromir drew his knees up to his chin.
"So you will bring your city two bodies, my lord? Presuming we reach Minas Tirith." I tried to play devil's advocate kindly and with respect.
"That is not all I mean to bring," he muttered, but did not elaborate, and I did not ask for an explanation.
Instead, I grasped his hand and said, "I stand with you, lord. Wherever our paths may lead, I stand with you. But if you would hear my counsel--" I stopped, unsure.
"I would hear it, Firiel," Boromir assured me, grasping back, "for may not a squire counsel his lord, or a lady her husband?"
"Am I squire or lady to you?" I asked, momentarily distracted.
"You are both, and more than either." He stared up into the clouds of fog as if looking for inspiration. "I do not know."
"My counsel, lord, is that you stay with the Fellowship until they decide upon a course. If that course lead to Gondor, so much the better. If not, then I suppose we must strike out on our own."
"That is well," Boromir said, giving my hand a final squeeze before standing. "Come, I mislike their watching." We skittered back down the bank, dislodging rocks large and small. My staff helped me remain upright, and Boromir had a swordsman's posture.
"What is the Ringbearer's decision?" he asked, once we were back in the boats.
I had to admire Frodo's courage as he met Boromir's eyes, saying simply, "I will go with Aragorn."
Boromir looked around at all of us once more. "The Men of Minas Tirith do not abandon friends in need, and my strength will be needed to reach the Tindrock. I will go to that tall isle, but no further, and from there will I depart for Gondor, if the company's destination lies elsewhere."
It was midmorning. The sunlight danced down through the now-patchy fog, turning it golden. "Legolas and I," Aragorn announced, "will search along the shore for some way to carry both boats and baggage to the smooth water beyond the Rapids. Elvish boats will not sink, perhaps, but we will. None have ever yet come through Sarn Gebir alive." He informed us that the Men of Gondor had made no roads in this area, but that there was a portage-way some where on this shore, if they could find it.
"Few boats have I seen come out of the North. Orcs prowl the eastern shore. Our peril will grow with every mile, even should we find a path," Boromir argued, arresting their departure.
"Peril lies before us on every southbound road." Aragorn's voice was patient but testy. "Wait for us one day. You will know that the evil you foretold has befallen us if we do not return. Then take for yourselves a new leader and follow him." I knew who was getting my vote, in that case.
The man and elf disappeared into the fog. Boromir's chin sank to his chest in brooding thought, which I did not disturb. The hobbits started a game of pitch and toss with bits of lembas, making Pippin eat the ones that fell in the water, until Gimli stopped them. Robbed of entertainment, I dozed uncomfortably.
Only a few hours had passed when Aragorn and Legolas returned. They had found a path, and a landing, but a short distance away. We were only half a mile above the Rapids, and they were only a mile long. We'd just have to get the boats and baggage to the old portage-way, which they'd also found. The scouting party, however, had not found the entrance off the River, so, of course, we'd have to leave the water here, and carry everything.
Boromir scowled. "Even if we were all Men, that would not be easy." I hoped he meant the race and not the gender.
"Yet we will try it," replied Aragorn. I could see the two of them getting ready for a grudge match.
Gimli spoke up. I wanted to cheer. "We will go on. A Man's legs may tire, but not a Dwarf's!"
That seemed to settle it. First the baggage, then the boats were carried up to the top of the bank where Boromir and I had so lately sat. From there, we hauled everything over a sloping, rocky waste pocked with pitfalls and briars, all of it soggy.
Aragorn and Boromir handled the boats while the rest of us muddled along with the baggage. All of it was placed at the top of the portage-way. Moving everything took two complete trips, while the River, which we could not see, raged at us.
The portage-way was almost cute, and certainly a welcome change of scenery. It curved back to the water, seemingly carved by the water itself, and ended in a tiny pond. We bathed our sweaty faces in the cool water. Already dusk had fallen.
We sat by the River, stupidly tired and morose. "Here we must pass another night," said Boromir. "We need sleep, and we are to pass the Argonath tomorrow."
"Now we must rest as much as we can. If this weather holds, we shall pass unseen tomorrow, even by day." Aragorn cast a meaningful look at Boromir and I when he mentioned that two were needed to watch.
"Wake me when it's my turn." I whispered, snuggling against Boromir's side. He patted my head as I drifted off.
I do not believe he would have woken me at all. As it was, seeping damp drew me from my dreams, about an hour before dawn. I sat up, noticing that my blanket had replicated, and that Boromir's had mysteriously disappeared. He hunched in the rain, water droplets glistening in his hair and beard. My attempts at returning his blanket politely met with no success. Exasperated, I threw both his and mine over his head and sat up, yawning.
When Boromir reemerged, he insisted upon sharing. He also warmed my hands considerably with his own. But he did not sleep, which worried me.
The drizzle stopped, and we started off at first light. Whereupon the rain began again, with malice. We kept close to the western shore, but the fog was taking its leave like a guest who has stayed to long and knows it. I helped Legolas and Gimli cover the boat and baggage to prevent flooding. We drifted on.
I huddled in the prow, hating rain and rivers and boating in general. As if in answer to my fervent wish, the clouds retreated to be replaced by a brilliant sun set in a gloriously blue sky. I believed in miracles.
Unfolding myself, I looked around. Our boat sped through a ravine, the sheer rock walls casting ominous shadows over us as we picked up speed. In the distance, the river narrowed, and on either side stood two-I squinted–pillars.
"The Argonath! The Pillars of the Kings," called Aragorn, with no heed to listeners who might wish us ill. "Hold the boats to the middle of the stream."
At first, I wondered if two giants guarding the River had been turned to stone, one on either side of the water. Their left hands reached out to us in warning, not friendship. Crowned in crumbling rock, they held battle- axes, challenging those who would enter their kingdom. I wondered who the megaliths were meant to be. Aragorn, proud in the stern of his boat, was explaining it to Frodo, but I listened to Boromir, whose voice was softer but no less reverent.
"Of old this was Gondor's northern border, guarded by the forms of her first kings, Isildur and his brother, Anarion." The statues seemed no longer foreboding. Instead, they extended their hands in benediction to me, a squire of their kingdom. 'And to be wife of her Captain-General,' I reminded myself, which finished erasing my bad mood.
Our boats, carried by the racing water, shot out of the canyon into bright winter light. The current dissipated into an oblong lake. "Nen Hithoel," Legolas whispered. It was set with trees as gems are set in a ring, and crowned at the opposite end with three peaks. In the distance roared the Falls of Rauros.
Over this cacophony, Aragorn again played tour guide. The middle mountain was Tol Brandir, and those to the left and right were Amon Hen and Amon Lhaw, respectively. They were called the hills of Sight and Hearing for good reason, too. In the ancient days, there had been watchtowers upon them. We would reach the hills by nightfall.
Drifting in the lake, we rested a bit. I munched a lembas reflectively as the sun set. I had wasted the time given me to keep the Fellowship together, and now it seemed that I would have a hand in splitting it. Would have to choose between my love . . . and my friends.
For they were my friends. At some time, either in Lorien or on the River, my attitude toward them and, I hoped, their attitudes toward me had slipped from tolerance to genuine liking. True, Aragorn could still puncture me with my own faults, and the hobbits became annoying at times, but I did not want to abandon them.
Not even for Boromir, whom I loved beyond life's ending. I had begun to grasp his priorities and, while I did not resent my ranking just below his city, the fact that he would do anything to keep me (and it) safe worried me. I did not suspect his motives, only his means.
We camped on a lawn that sloped down from Amon Hen to the River. Aragorn called in Parth Galen. It reminded me of the grassy banks of Lorien that we'd set out from ten days ago. It seemed like ten years.
Choices
I awoke when Legolas shook my shoulder, wrapped in a suffocating fog. Sam, it appeared, liked fog as little as I did, but he pointed out that it was hiding us from the orcs. I had to agree.
Then Aragorn felt the need to dampen an already damp day by commenting that if the fog didn't lift, we wouldn't be able to find the path, and that if we couldn't find the path, we couldn't get past Sarn Gebir and to the Emyn Muil.
Boromir then spoke up and said, quite sensibly, I thought, that why didn't we just abandon the boats and strike out from the western shore.
Aragorn agreed that that was fine—if the Fellowship was going to Minas Tirith, which we hadn't yet agreed to. He added that the Entwash, which we'd come to first, going west, was boggy. Very dangerous in the fog. The River, the Ranger concluded, was the path to keep to while we could.
To which Boromir responded that the Enemy held the eastern shore, and that if we passed the Tindrock, as he called Tol Brandir, what would we do then. Jump off the Falls to land in the marshes?
I stifled a giggle, as both men were showing signs of temper. "No," said Aragorn, his voice gravelly with control. "No, we will carry the boats and baggage to the bottom of the Falls. Have you forgotten, Boromir, or do you not know of the great North Stair, hewn when the great kings of Gondor made the seat on Amon Hen? I would stand in that place again before I decide my course. And there we may see some sign to guide us." He turned away to answer some question of Sam's.
Boromir scowled at being spoken to like this. He stepped out of the boat, nearly turning Merry and Pippin into the water, and stalked up the rocky bank to perch on its summit. After a moment, I followed, loving and dog- like.
He looked like he'd expected me. "Firiel, I will set out this morning, if you will come with me. You are not bound to the Ring." He spoke quietly, so the others could not hear.
"But you are, my lord," I said, laying my hand over his, "and I would not have you foresworn."
"My honor is a little thing beside the fate of Gondor." Boromir drew his knees up to his chin.
"So you will bring your city two bodies, my lord? Presuming we reach Minas Tirith." I tried to play devil's advocate kindly and with respect.
"That is not all I mean to bring," he muttered, but did not elaborate, and I did not ask for an explanation.
Instead, I grasped his hand and said, "I stand with you, lord. Wherever our paths may lead, I stand with you. But if you would hear my counsel--" I stopped, unsure.
"I would hear it, Firiel," Boromir assured me, grasping back, "for may not a squire counsel his lord, or a lady her husband?"
"Am I squire or lady to you?" I asked, momentarily distracted.
"You are both, and more than either." He stared up into the clouds of fog as if looking for inspiration. "I do not know."
"My counsel, lord, is that you stay with the Fellowship until they decide upon a course. If that course lead to Gondor, so much the better. If not, then I suppose we must strike out on our own."
"That is well," Boromir said, giving my hand a final squeeze before standing. "Come, I mislike their watching." We skittered back down the bank, dislodging rocks large and small. My staff helped me remain upright, and Boromir had a swordsman's posture.
"What is the Ringbearer's decision?" he asked, once we were back in the boats.
I had to admire Frodo's courage as he met Boromir's eyes, saying simply, "I will go with Aragorn."
Boromir looked around at all of us once more. "The Men of Minas Tirith do not abandon friends in need, and my strength will be needed to reach the Tindrock. I will go to that tall isle, but no further, and from there will I depart for Gondor, if the company's destination lies elsewhere."
It was midmorning. The sunlight danced down through the now-patchy fog, turning it golden. "Legolas and I," Aragorn announced, "will search along the shore for some way to carry both boats and baggage to the smooth water beyond the Rapids. Elvish boats will not sink, perhaps, but we will. None have ever yet come through Sarn Gebir alive." He informed us that the Men of Gondor had made no roads in this area, but that there was a portage-way some where on this shore, if they could find it.
"Few boats have I seen come out of the North. Orcs prowl the eastern shore. Our peril will grow with every mile, even should we find a path," Boromir argued, arresting their departure.
"Peril lies before us on every southbound road." Aragorn's voice was patient but testy. "Wait for us one day. You will know that the evil you foretold has befallen us if we do not return. Then take for yourselves a new leader and follow him." I knew who was getting my vote, in that case.
The man and elf disappeared into the fog. Boromir's chin sank to his chest in brooding thought, which I did not disturb. The hobbits started a game of pitch and toss with bits of lembas, making Pippin eat the ones that fell in the water, until Gimli stopped them. Robbed of entertainment, I dozed uncomfortably.
Only a few hours had passed when Aragorn and Legolas returned. They had found a path, and a landing, but a short distance away. We were only half a mile above the Rapids, and they were only a mile long. We'd just have to get the boats and baggage to the old portage-way, which they'd also found. The scouting party, however, had not found the entrance off the River, so, of course, we'd have to leave the water here, and carry everything.
Boromir scowled. "Even if we were all Men, that would not be easy." I hoped he meant the race and not the gender.
"Yet we will try it," replied Aragorn. I could see the two of them getting ready for a grudge match.
Gimli spoke up. I wanted to cheer. "We will go on. A Man's legs may tire, but not a Dwarf's!"
That seemed to settle it. First the baggage, then the boats were carried up to the top of the bank where Boromir and I had so lately sat. From there, we hauled everything over a sloping, rocky waste pocked with pitfalls and briars, all of it soggy.
Aragorn and Boromir handled the boats while the rest of us muddled along with the baggage. All of it was placed at the top of the portage-way. Moving everything took two complete trips, while the River, which we could not see, raged at us.
The portage-way was almost cute, and certainly a welcome change of scenery. It curved back to the water, seemingly carved by the water itself, and ended in a tiny pond. We bathed our sweaty faces in the cool water. Already dusk had fallen.
We sat by the River, stupidly tired and morose. "Here we must pass another night," said Boromir. "We need sleep, and we are to pass the Argonath tomorrow."
"Now we must rest as much as we can. If this weather holds, we shall pass unseen tomorrow, even by day." Aragorn cast a meaningful look at Boromir and I when he mentioned that two were needed to watch.
"Wake me when it's my turn." I whispered, snuggling against Boromir's side. He patted my head as I drifted off.
I do not believe he would have woken me at all. As it was, seeping damp drew me from my dreams, about an hour before dawn. I sat up, noticing that my blanket had replicated, and that Boromir's had mysteriously disappeared. He hunched in the rain, water droplets glistening in his hair and beard. My attempts at returning his blanket politely met with no success. Exasperated, I threw both his and mine over his head and sat up, yawning.
When Boromir reemerged, he insisted upon sharing. He also warmed my hands considerably with his own. But he did not sleep, which worried me.
The drizzle stopped, and we started off at first light. Whereupon the rain began again, with malice. We kept close to the western shore, but the fog was taking its leave like a guest who has stayed to long and knows it. I helped Legolas and Gimli cover the boat and baggage to prevent flooding. We drifted on.
I huddled in the prow, hating rain and rivers and boating in general. As if in answer to my fervent wish, the clouds retreated to be replaced by a brilliant sun set in a gloriously blue sky. I believed in miracles.
Unfolding myself, I looked around. Our boat sped through a ravine, the sheer rock walls casting ominous shadows over us as we picked up speed. In the distance, the river narrowed, and on either side stood two-I squinted–pillars.
"The Argonath! The Pillars of the Kings," called Aragorn, with no heed to listeners who might wish us ill. "Hold the boats to the middle of the stream."
At first, I wondered if two giants guarding the River had been turned to stone, one on either side of the water. Their left hands reached out to us in warning, not friendship. Crowned in crumbling rock, they held battle- axes, challenging those who would enter their kingdom. I wondered who the megaliths were meant to be. Aragorn, proud in the stern of his boat, was explaining it to Frodo, but I listened to Boromir, whose voice was softer but no less reverent.
"Of old this was Gondor's northern border, guarded by the forms of her first kings, Isildur and his brother, Anarion." The statues seemed no longer foreboding. Instead, they extended their hands in benediction to me, a squire of their kingdom. 'And to be wife of her Captain-General,' I reminded myself, which finished erasing my bad mood.
Our boats, carried by the racing water, shot out of the canyon into bright winter light. The current dissipated into an oblong lake. "Nen Hithoel," Legolas whispered. It was set with trees as gems are set in a ring, and crowned at the opposite end with three peaks. In the distance roared the Falls of Rauros.
Over this cacophony, Aragorn again played tour guide. The middle mountain was Tol Brandir, and those to the left and right were Amon Hen and Amon Lhaw, respectively. They were called the hills of Sight and Hearing for good reason, too. In the ancient days, there had been watchtowers upon them. We would reach the hills by nightfall.
Drifting in the lake, we rested a bit. I munched a lembas reflectively as the sun set. I had wasted the time given me to keep the Fellowship together, and now it seemed that I would have a hand in splitting it. Would have to choose between my love . . . and my friends.
For they were my friends. At some time, either in Lorien or on the River, my attitude toward them and, I hoped, their attitudes toward me had slipped from tolerance to genuine liking. True, Aragorn could still puncture me with my own faults, and the hobbits became annoying at times, but I did not want to abandon them.
Not even for Boromir, whom I loved beyond life's ending. I had begun to grasp his priorities and, while I did not resent my ranking just below his city, the fact that he would do anything to keep me (and it) safe worried me. I did not suspect his motives, only his means.
We camped on a lawn that sloped down from Amon Hen to the River. Aragorn called in Parth Galen. It reminded me of the grassy banks of Lorien that we'd set out from ten days ago. It seemed like ten years.