Chapter Nineteen
Encounters
I woke to an angry dawn. Black clouds skulked low in a red sunrise. Everyone was glad when the orb moved to perch on Tol Brandir, gilding its peak.
We made a meager breakfast of lembas and leftover game and spring water, and then Aragorn addressed everyone: "Now we must choose what will become of this Fellowship that has traveled so long together? Shall we go with Boromir to the wars in the west, or to the east and the Dark Lord's lands? Or is now the time for the breaking of our company? We have not overlong for counsel. The Enemy may now patrol both shores." No one spoke. I shivered, and Boromir's hand appeared in the small of my back. Still, silence.
"Frodo." Aragorn's voice was low and gravelly with something I could not name. "The burden is laid on you. The Council named you to bear the Ring, and its path you alone can choose. I am not Gandalf, that I may advise you, and I know not his mind on this matter or for this hour. Were he here, you might still have to decide. It is your fate."
Frodo spoke slowly after a little while, and my heart went out to the poor hobbit. "Haste may be needed, but I cannot choose. I will speak in an hour's time. Let me alone to think." Aragorn gave his assent, and, after a moment, Frodo wandered into the trees at the foot of Amon Hen. I tried not to stare after him, but Boromir followed the Ringbearer with his eyes, looking curiously hungry.
We sat in silence for I didn't know how much of Frodo's hour. I shivered silently until Boromir got the hint and stumped off, muttering something about firewood. Five minutes later, I followed, choosing a path perpendicular to his, hoping to circle around once out of the Fellowship's scrutiny.
The gathering of firewood had become our task, and none of the others ever attempted to join us at it. I suppose they realized we needed time alone to...do whatever they thought we did, which wasn't really much.
From my vantage point from atop Amon Hen, I looked down through the trees, finding, to my surprise, that Boromir had found Frodo. They appeared to be in conversation.
I frowned and walked down the hill to do a bit of eavesdropping, but something stopped me out of their sight and my hearing. Perhaps it was Boromir's leaping up and beginning to pace. As he strode back and forth, his voice rose, so that I could hear his words quite clearly.
"So I have heard from Mithrandir and Lord Elrond, and so they have taught you to say also! It may be true for them; I know not of Elves and Wizards, but the Men of Minas Tirith will not be corrupted. We do not desire power, only the strength to defend our homes, our families! The Ring would give us that strength. What could be more fitting than to use the Enemy's power against him? Victory is given to those who take it. If Aragorn will not, why not Boromir? With the power of Command, I could roust the foes of Mordor and rally all men to me!" Boromir went on in this vein for some minutes, ignoring Frodo.
I wanted so badly to believe his stirring words. He said, quite rightly, that we had no reason to hope for the Ring's destruction, but my faith in Frodo's mission held. I tiptoed closer, in time to hear Boromir address the hobbit.
"Do you not see, friend?" His look turned compassionate. "You are afraid, you say. None blame you. But is it not your sense that revolts at this prospect?"
"No, my courage," Frodo answered. "But my mind is clearer after hearing you."
"Then you will go to Gondor?" Boromir's face lit with a frightening eagerness.
"You misunderstand me." My blood chilled at Frodo's statement, and I edged farther up the hill.
Boromir couldn't take a hint. He offered his city as a haven, a place to regroup, but Frodo would have none of it. He stepped out from under the friendly hand on his shoulder. Boromir protested, which was endearing but unsubtle.
"I need your Ring," he said simply. "May we not at least try my plan? Lend me the Ring!"
"It is mine to bear," Frodo persisted.
Boromir turned to insults, and then to demands. Part of me had known that this side of him existed, but he had been careful never to direct it had me, and I did not like it. Frodo backed away, eyes wary. Seeing this, Boromir softened his tone, affecting reason, but when that failed, he lunged at Frodo, his face twisted with rage.
I scrambled down the slope, hoping to stop Boromir if I could. Before I reached them, however, Frodo vanished, with the aid of the Ring, I supposed. Boromir gaped, and then scrabbled about trying to find him, shouting at the invisible hobbit. He tripped and sprawled in the grass, and a change of heart seemed to overtake him.
"What have I said?" he cried. "Frodo, come back!" But I walked up instead, looking down at the man by my feet. Boromir raised his head, his hair and beard in disarray. I planted my staff next to him, waiting for an explanation, aware for the first time that it was a weapon, and one I knew how to use.
"Firiel?" Boromir stood, dusted himself off, and looked at me defiantly. Our nearly touched, and I could smell that morning's meat on his breath, but I remained where I was, solid, expecting the Middle Earth equivalent of, "Honey, I can explain..." Instead, "Where is Frodo?"
"I know not, lord," I answered, "and did I know, I would not tell you." It was rude, but it was true, and at the moment I did not feel like being polite. Boromir did not look as though he thought he deserved courtesy, either.
"You would be right not to." He had the grace to look chagrined.
"My lord, your honor is my own, and I will not have you drag it in the dirt while I watch." I reached up to brush away a leaf that still clung in his hair, and he wrapped his arms around me.
"My honor is a small thing beside my wish to see my city safe. To see you safe," he growled into my hair. "You should be safe, Firiel, not here, fighting."
"I fight because I wish to, lord," I replied, trying to hug him and keep hold of my staff at the same time, failing to mention the fact that I hadn't actually been in any combat to date. "And to stay with you."
"To stay with me." He pulled back, grasping my shoulders. "And you will have your way, Firiel, will you not?"
I grinned in spite of myself. "Yea, lord."
Boromir bent his head. "Since I came of age my father has paraded women past me, comely maidens and young widows, any one of whom would have made a fine wife, and I would have none of them. I chose a stubborn, dowerless girl in men's dress who dogs my steps and my nights." He shook me until my teeth rattled.
"Um," I began, not knowing if I should apologize or not, gauging Boromir's scowl. "Perhaps you would have done better to keep me as your squire, lord." I wilted, hoping he had been speaking in jest. The description did rather fit me.
"Oh, no. For not even the Captain-General of Gondor may use his squire so." He bent and captured my mouth in a long kiss. Fireworks erupted behind my eyes and my knees buckled as my mind ceased to function momentarily.
When he finally pulled away, I said shakily, "That's probably a good thing."
He ignored me. "Do you see now why I seek to use the Ring?"
"The Ring may save your city, my lord, but it will taint and corrupt all that you do." I pointedly left all mention of myself out.
"So you have been told," he muttered, "but who can say if it is truth."
I played my final card, feeling horrible about it. "I will not wed a man who wields such a thing of evil." His body went rigid against mine, but I did not amend my statement.
"So that is how it must be." His monotone broke my heart, and nearly my will. "Would you be a cotholder's wife as gladly as the Lady of Gondor?"
"If you were that cotholder, lord," I replied. A chill spiked up my backbone, and I looked around nervously. "Should we not return to the others now?" Boromir scowled, and to take his mind away, I said, "Gondor may be saved by other means, lord." It did not work; I could tell he did not believe me.
Silence greeted our arrival back at camp, and Frodo had not returned. Boromir seated himself with the others not looking at anyone. I stood behind him.
"Where were you?" Aragorn addressed us both. "Have you seen Frodo?"
I allowed Boromir to answer. He gave only the briefest summary of the encounter I'd observed, saying he'd gotten angry. I wanted to prod him in the back with my staff, but refrained.
Aragorn guessed, I think, that there was more to the tale. "Is that all you have to say?" he asked with a hard stare. Boromir replied that it was all he would say for the moment.
Sam had a fit, questioning Boromir's scruples and Frodo's actions. Merry, always the sensible one, pointed that Frodo wasn't likely to keep the Ring on for very long. Pippin merely clambered to know where Frodo was. Confusion, I had noticed, was typically how the youngest hobbit dealt with obstacles.
Aragorn thought to ask Boromir when he'd last seen the Ringbearer. I didn't know; Boromir guessed an hour, or half that. Then, to my surprise, he hid his face in his hands, shaking with silent grief.
"An hour," Sam shouted, and ran off.
Aragorn tried in vain to organize everyone into search parties, but by this time Merry and Pippin had followed Sam, all three shouting, "Frodo!" at the tops of their lungs. Legolas and Gimli took off as well, with considerably less noise. I knelt beside Boromir as Aragorn told us to go after Merry and Pippin and protect them. The Ranger followed Sam.
"My lord," I shook Boromir's shoulder. When he didn't respond, I moved in front of him and slipped my hands under his to draw them away from his face. "Come, lord, we must find the hobbits."
He stood, face smoothing unnaturally fast, and ran down the path that the two had taken. I followed, staff at the ready.
Encounters
I woke to an angry dawn. Black clouds skulked low in a red sunrise. Everyone was glad when the orb moved to perch on Tol Brandir, gilding its peak.
We made a meager breakfast of lembas and leftover game and spring water, and then Aragorn addressed everyone: "Now we must choose what will become of this Fellowship that has traveled so long together? Shall we go with Boromir to the wars in the west, or to the east and the Dark Lord's lands? Or is now the time for the breaking of our company? We have not overlong for counsel. The Enemy may now patrol both shores." No one spoke. I shivered, and Boromir's hand appeared in the small of my back. Still, silence.
"Frodo." Aragorn's voice was low and gravelly with something I could not name. "The burden is laid on you. The Council named you to bear the Ring, and its path you alone can choose. I am not Gandalf, that I may advise you, and I know not his mind on this matter or for this hour. Were he here, you might still have to decide. It is your fate."
Frodo spoke slowly after a little while, and my heart went out to the poor hobbit. "Haste may be needed, but I cannot choose. I will speak in an hour's time. Let me alone to think." Aragorn gave his assent, and, after a moment, Frodo wandered into the trees at the foot of Amon Hen. I tried not to stare after him, but Boromir followed the Ringbearer with his eyes, looking curiously hungry.
We sat in silence for I didn't know how much of Frodo's hour. I shivered silently until Boromir got the hint and stumped off, muttering something about firewood. Five minutes later, I followed, choosing a path perpendicular to his, hoping to circle around once out of the Fellowship's scrutiny.
The gathering of firewood had become our task, and none of the others ever attempted to join us at it. I suppose they realized we needed time alone to...do whatever they thought we did, which wasn't really much.
From my vantage point from atop Amon Hen, I looked down through the trees, finding, to my surprise, that Boromir had found Frodo. They appeared to be in conversation.
I frowned and walked down the hill to do a bit of eavesdropping, but something stopped me out of their sight and my hearing. Perhaps it was Boromir's leaping up and beginning to pace. As he strode back and forth, his voice rose, so that I could hear his words quite clearly.
"So I have heard from Mithrandir and Lord Elrond, and so they have taught you to say also! It may be true for them; I know not of Elves and Wizards, but the Men of Minas Tirith will not be corrupted. We do not desire power, only the strength to defend our homes, our families! The Ring would give us that strength. What could be more fitting than to use the Enemy's power against him? Victory is given to those who take it. If Aragorn will not, why not Boromir? With the power of Command, I could roust the foes of Mordor and rally all men to me!" Boromir went on in this vein for some minutes, ignoring Frodo.
I wanted so badly to believe his stirring words. He said, quite rightly, that we had no reason to hope for the Ring's destruction, but my faith in Frodo's mission held. I tiptoed closer, in time to hear Boromir address the hobbit.
"Do you not see, friend?" His look turned compassionate. "You are afraid, you say. None blame you. But is it not your sense that revolts at this prospect?"
"No, my courage," Frodo answered. "But my mind is clearer after hearing you."
"Then you will go to Gondor?" Boromir's face lit with a frightening eagerness.
"You misunderstand me." My blood chilled at Frodo's statement, and I edged farther up the hill.
Boromir couldn't take a hint. He offered his city as a haven, a place to regroup, but Frodo would have none of it. He stepped out from under the friendly hand on his shoulder. Boromir protested, which was endearing but unsubtle.
"I need your Ring," he said simply. "May we not at least try my plan? Lend me the Ring!"
"It is mine to bear," Frodo persisted.
Boromir turned to insults, and then to demands. Part of me had known that this side of him existed, but he had been careful never to direct it had me, and I did not like it. Frodo backed away, eyes wary. Seeing this, Boromir softened his tone, affecting reason, but when that failed, he lunged at Frodo, his face twisted with rage.
I scrambled down the slope, hoping to stop Boromir if I could. Before I reached them, however, Frodo vanished, with the aid of the Ring, I supposed. Boromir gaped, and then scrabbled about trying to find him, shouting at the invisible hobbit. He tripped and sprawled in the grass, and a change of heart seemed to overtake him.
"What have I said?" he cried. "Frodo, come back!" But I walked up instead, looking down at the man by my feet. Boromir raised his head, his hair and beard in disarray. I planted my staff next to him, waiting for an explanation, aware for the first time that it was a weapon, and one I knew how to use.
"Firiel?" Boromir stood, dusted himself off, and looked at me defiantly. Our nearly touched, and I could smell that morning's meat on his breath, but I remained where I was, solid, expecting the Middle Earth equivalent of, "Honey, I can explain..." Instead, "Where is Frodo?"
"I know not, lord," I answered, "and did I know, I would not tell you." It was rude, but it was true, and at the moment I did not feel like being polite. Boromir did not look as though he thought he deserved courtesy, either.
"You would be right not to." He had the grace to look chagrined.
"My lord, your honor is my own, and I will not have you drag it in the dirt while I watch." I reached up to brush away a leaf that still clung in his hair, and he wrapped his arms around me.
"My honor is a small thing beside my wish to see my city safe. To see you safe," he growled into my hair. "You should be safe, Firiel, not here, fighting."
"I fight because I wish to, lord," I replied, trying to hug him and keep hold of my staff at the same time, failing to mention the fact that I hadn't actually been in any combat to date. "And to stay with you."
"To stay with me." He pulled back, grasping my shoulders. "And you will have your way, Firiel, will you not?"
I grinned in spite of myself. "Yea, lord."
Boromir bent his head. "Since I came of age my father has paraded women past me, comely maidens and young widows, any one of whom would have made a fine wife, and I would have none of them. I chose a stubborn, dowerless girl in men's dress who dogs my steps and my nights." He shook me until my teeth rattled.
"Um," I began, not knowing if I should apologize or not, gauging Boromir's scowl. "Perhaps you would have done better to keep me as your squire, lord." I wilted, hoping he had been speaking in jest. The description did rather fit me.
"Oh, no. For not even the Captain-General of Gondor may use his squire so." He bent and captured my mouth in a long kiss. Fireworks erupted behind my eyes and my knees buckled as my mind ceased to function momentarily.
When he finally pulled away, I said shakily, "That's probably a good thing."
He ignored me. "Do you see now why I seek to use the Ring?"
"The Ring may save your city, my lord, but it will taint and corrupt all that you do." I pointedly left all mention of myself out.
"So you have been told," he muttered, "but who can say if it is truth."
I played my final card, feeling horrible about it. "I will not wed a man who wields such a thing of evil." His body went rigid against mine, but I did not amend my statement.
"So that is how it must be." His monotone broke my heart, and nearly my will. "Would you be a cotholder's wife as gladly as the Lady of Gondor?"
"If you were that cotholder, lord," I replied. A chill spiked up my backbone, and I looked around nervously. "Should we not return to the others now?" Boromir scowled, and to take his mind away, I said, "Gondor may be saved by other means, lord." It did not work; I could tell he did not believe me.
Silence greeted our arrival back at camp, and Frodo had not returned. Boromir seated himself with the others not looking at anyone. I stood behind him.
"Where were you?" Aragorn addressed us both. "Have you seen Frodo?"
I allowed Boromir to answer. He gave only the briefest summary of the encounter I'd observed, saying he'd gotten angry. I wanted to prod him in the back with my staff, but refrained.
Aragorn guessed, I think, that there was more to the tale. "Is that all you have to say?" he asked with a hard stare. Boromir replied that it was all he would say for the moment.
Sam had a fit, questioning Boromir's scruples and Frodo's actions. Merry, always the sensible one, pointed that Frodo wasn't likely to keep the Ring on for very long. Pippin merely clambered to know where Frodo was. Confusion, I had noticed, was typically how the youngest hobbit dealt with obstacles.
Aragorn thought to ask Boromir when he'd last seen the Ringbearer. I didn't know; Boromir guessed an hour, or half that. Then, to my surprise, he hid his face in his hands, shaking with silent grief.
"An hour," Sam shouted, and ran off.
Aragorn tried in vain to organize everyone into search parties, but by this time Merry and Pippin had followed Sam, all three shouting, "Frodo!" at the tops of their lungs. Legolas and Gimli took off as well, with considerably less noise. I knelt beside Boromir as Aragorn told us to go after Merry and Pippin and protect them. The Ranger followed Sam.
"My lord," I shook Boromir's shoulder. When he didn't respond, I moved in front of him and slipped my hands under his to draw them away from his face. "Come, lord, we must find the hobbits."
He stood, face smoothing unnaturally fast, and ran down the path that the two had taken. I followed, staff at the ready.