Disclaimer: The Implication of Darkness is a part of this good breakfast and a good source of calcium, with milk added. This product may contain traces of orc. Suggested serving size is one and a half cups, based on a 2,000-calorie diet. I don't own diddly.
AN: sorry. Too much sugar. Sugar… maniacal grin
Chapter 6
A period of time passed uneventfully. Said period of time would constitute of about a week of paddling and kicking, seven sequels to my exercise plan, five thousand, eight hundred thirty-two trees, seventy-five squirrels, five hundred twenty-one birds, forty-two additional verses to the Princess Pat, eleven volumes of deep philosophy, and thirty-five raw fish.
I find it amazing how people can entertain themselves when bored.
Even the Fellowship was bored. They just paddled their blessed little canoes in silence, Sam sometimes glancing behind his boat, only to see a log floating down the river behind him. The rest just sat there and stared into space.
At one point, the cold and wetness finally got to me, and I began to get sick. This put me in a dilemma: I didn't want to lose the Fellowship after all this time, but I didn't feel up to paddling behind them. After several hours of debating, sneezing, a fever, and a sore throat, I decided to try Galadriel's salve again. Once more I rubbed a little of it on my skin, this time on my forehead, my throat, my nose, and every other part of my body that hurt. Surprisingly, the salve had the same effect on fevers and sore throats as on sprained ankles: by morning, I was as good as new. The bad news is that I was back to boredom.
Then, after the first seven days of monotony since Lorien, Aragorn stood up in his canoe, which I recall is not safe, because the little boat started to rock and sway. The movement startled me into awareness, and I lost count of how many fish I had counted since morning (ninety-three). I glanced up and saw what at first sight seemed to be two giant stone pillars. When I looked again, I could make out two giant figures, both wearing robes and crown-like helmets. One of them, bearded, held a sword at his side, the other, beardless, had a sword. Both of them had their left hand extended and their palm outward, looking as forbidding.
I lifted myself onto the log with my arms, my legs trailing in the water, all kicking forgotten. The detail in the figures was amazing. They were so real I almost thought they would blink, almost expected the hands to be emblazoned with soft fingerprints. And yet these statues were so huge, so overwhelming, so daunting…
I felt a prickling at my neck, and an uncomfortable feeling of being watched. I tore my gaze from the statues and glanced at the boats in front of me.
And found myself locked eye to eye with Boromir. For about a minute, we just stared at each other, neither one moving. He had apparently looked back while I was examining the statues and seen me, looking like I had just popped out of the Little Mermaid. I felt my cheeks burning, and the sudden desire to lay down and die.
"Boromir?" Pippin asked from the front of Boromir's boat. For an instant, the man shifted, his eyes turned away from me. I seized the opportunity with both arms and slipped back into the water as fast as humanly possible, if not faster, though careful not to cause a splash and attract any more attention.
"Frodo," Aragorn said, moments after I fled into the water. "The Argonath." The arbor-what? I thought, silently gasping for breath at the base of the log. "Long have I desired to look upon the kings of old, my kin." It took me about an hour to piece that together
I didn't mind. I was too embarrassed to count fish anyway. In the end, I got something kind of bizarre: if the 'kings of old', otherwise known as royal dead guys, were his 'kin', as in family, then that would make our smelly little sword slinger who seemed incapable of taking a bath… that would make him royalty.
We had a prince/king/duke/whatever on our hands, and he was running around in the middle of the wilderness, sleeping out of doors (according to all the movies I have ever seen, this is physically impossible for a sovereign), and being followed almost obsessively by a teenage girl. This was a bit more than I could handle, so I decided to go into denial and concluded that I had misheard, and returned to wallowing in embarrassment about Boromir. Go figure.
For the next three days, I stayed plastered to the bottom of the log, the blush stained against my cheeks. I had messed up. Again. Boromir had seen me. Again.
I heard once that everyone had a little dark cloud once in a while. But if that was true, mine housed a tornado. I mentally beat myself to a pulp before I found the silver lining on my little funnel cloud.
This time, at least, I was actually dressed.
The Fellowship stopped for the night on the western bank of the river. Eager to stay near our quarries and desperate for a rest, Elvis and I pulled our log to the bank about a hundred yards behind the Fellowship. We then stalked to their campsite, settled in one of the trees, and listened to their conversation. Or half listened, in my case. I was a bit preoccupied with massaging my sore legs and studying the fact that the landscape was dotted with statues.
"…just a simple matter of finding our way through Emyn Muil? An impossible labyrinth of razor sharp rocks? And after that, it gets even better!" Gimly said, nearly hysterical. Something touched the edge of my mind. Something familiar… "Ferstering, stinking marshland, as far as the eye can see!" I became suddenly aware of Gimli's acute love of adjectives.
"That is our road," Aragorn said, sounding like he was trying to reassert his authority. Despite the fresh knowledge that he was… royalty… he seemed to be strained. It sounded as though his confidence was beginning to wear away. "I suggest you take some rest and recover your strength, Master Dwarf," Gimli's eyes widened.
"Recover my-" he seethed. He muttered angrily to himself.
"We should leave now," Legolas muttered to Aragorn, ignoring Gimli.
NO! I mentally screamed at him, desperately wishing I had the Force. NO! Don't even think of it! My legs are about to fall off, you toy tinker! Besides, you guys just ate and everything. You'll get cramps and drown and stuff like they do on TV. Tell him, Sam! Tell him you guys shouldn't leave yet! Think about Frodo, (it isn't like you ever stop fretting about him)! I glanced around for Frodo, preparing to mentally yell at him too. But Frodo wasn't there. I looked again. Boromir had also noticed Frodo's absence, and was slowly rising and creeping into the forest. I found this behavior strange and suspicious, so I followed above him, moving from tree to tree over his head like some kind of giant hairless squirrel.
The two of us moved oddly quickly. Boromir seemed driven by some strange force, though he kept absently picking up a part of a tree branch. I was curious. Where was he going? Lost in my thoughts, I let my spear collide with a tree branch, resulting in a loud thud. Boromir stopped and looked around, alarmed, nearly dropping the small bundle of wood. His eyes sifted through the branches above him, but I was experienced at hiding at a moment's notice, and I was well hidden in a thick patch of leaves. We stalked on for a while, until we came to part of a stone figure, something that looked like the head of a sleeping giant. Wandering in front of the head was Frodo, apparently lost in his thoughts.
"None of us should wander alone," Boromir said suddenly, picking up another piece of wood. "You least of all. So much depends on you." Frodo looked startled, almost afraid. "Frodo?" Boromir approached the Hobbit. "I know why you seek solitude. You suffer. I see it day by day. Are you sure you do not suffer needlessly? There are other ways, Frodo. Other paths that we might take." He was still advancing.
"I know what you would say," Frodo said. "And it would seem like wisdom, but for the warning in my heart,"
"Warning? Warning against what? We are all afraid, Frodo. But to let that fear drive us to destroy what hope we have? Don't you see, that's madness!"
"There is no other way." Frodo protested.
"I ask only for the strength to defend my people!" Boromir cried, throwing the wood against the ground in a burst of rage. "If you would but lend me the Ring…" Boromir moved closer. Something was very wrong.
"No!" Frodo stumbled back.
"Why do you recoil-I am no thief!" Boromir shouted.
"You are not yourself." Frodo turned and began to walk away.
"What chance do you think you have?" Boromir chased after the hobbit. I began to climb down from the tree. I didn't know why, or what I would do once on the ground. I just knew I needed to get out of the tree. "They will find you. They will take the Ring. And you will beg for death before the end!" He broke into a run. I followed, horrified. "It is not yours save by happy chance. It could have been mine. It should be mine! Give it to me!" he pounced on Frodo, pinning the Hobbit to the ground.
"No!"
"Boromir!" I shouted, running to them.
"Give it to me!"
"Boromir! Stop it!" I cried again, pulling at his shoulder.
"Give me the Ring!"
"NO!" Frodo shouted. His hands flew to his throat, I saw a glint of gold, and he disappeared. Boromir pawed at the ground madly.
"Boromir, no! Stop it! Get up!" I shouted. I was pulling his shirt for what seemed to be my dear life. His head jerked back suddenly, as though he had been struck, and I felt something brush my arm, though I couldn't see anything there.
"I see your mind," Boromir snarled into the air, beginning to rise. "You will take the ring to Sauron. You go to your death, and the death of us all!"
"Stop it! Boromir, please!"
"Curse you! Curse you! And all the Halflings!"
"Stop!" I screamed, pulling at his shirt with all my might. Boromir jerked back, lost his balance, and toppled onto his back, right over me. He hit his head on a stone going down, and for a moment he was out of it. I leaned over him, checking to see if he was all right, ready to pin him to the ground if he kept shouting. Boromir came to a moment later. I saw his eyes focus on me, and something in his face changed.
"It's you…" he whispered. His expression was that of surprise.
"Yes. Are you all right?" I asked gently.
"I… I am. Thank you…" suddenly his eyes widened in horror. "No… Frodo? Where is Frodo?" he asked me, despair growing in his voice.
"He disappeared." Boromir rose shakily to his knees.
"Frodo?" he called. "What have I done? Please, Frodo…" His voice grew thick with grief. Tears began to form in his eyes. "Frodo! I'm sorry!"
And Boromir began to cry. He struggled to look calm, collected, but he couldn't.
"I'm sorry…" he murmured again. I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around him, giving him a tight squeeze.
"It's okay," I whispered to him as he hugged me back. "It's all going to be okay. Shh. Don't worry," I felt like an idiot: I was in the middle of nowhere, trying to comfort this great warrior, physically unable to find something to do or say that would make things okay again, and finally resorting to hugging him. That and trying to cope with why Boromir had just lost it like that and why and how Frodo had disappeared. I'm not sure how long we stayed like that, but finally Boromir broke away and dried his face.
"Are you alright?" I asked quietly. He looked at me and smiled. It was a real smile, brimming with gratitude and relief and… something else. Something I couldn't place.
It was a perfect moment.
And as we all know, perfect moments are meant to be short.
Because that's when the orcs came.
Almost simultaneously, Boromir and I looked at the sudden wave of rushing figures, then looked back at each other. I must have looked scared out of my wits, if not a bit flustered, but Boromir looked driven and ready for action, his sword drawn. I smiled.
"Let's do this," I said. In a flash I grabbed my spear and was at his side.
The way orcs attack reminds me a bit of cockroaches, or ants. They just keep coming and coming, and when one dies, the rest just run over him. Of course, if they were ants, they'd be a lot easier to get rid of, because I have quick feet and ants are small and crunchy. Though if they were cockroaches, I don't think a spear would get rid of them. Nothing kills cockroaches. Especially not the big ones. Eww.
The fighting was brutal. I stabbed and smacked with my spear, dodging the orcs to the best of my ability, while Boromir slashed and cut his way through their forces. At first he was surprised that I was going to be in the battle, but he quickly got over that and joined the fray.
"You have skill with a spear," he said through the turmoil, bringing down another orc.
"Thank you, but my skill is amateur," I replied, skewering an orc myself.
"Not at all, fair lady," he said. I felt my cheeks go red. "You have true talent. In my land, few can wield a spear with such accuracy. And fewer women fight," he decapitated two orcs with one swing, while I knocked one to the ground and stabbed it.
"With men such as yourself to keep them safe, I doubt they would ever need to take up arms," I said. "But women can fight when they have to," I tripped one orc with the shaft of my spear and saw him fall into another orc's sword. Ten more orcs fell before the area was clear.
"Are you hurt?" Boromir asked me.
"No… I'm fine," I answered. "Are you?"
"I have suffered a scratch, but nothing more." He motioned to a cut on his arm. It wasn't huge, but it was no scratch. "Let us go."
"Go? Where?" I asked.
"I doubt that those were the only orcs to reach this place. Aragorn and the others will want our aid in this matter," Boromir began to hurry to the camp.
"Right. Let's go." I said, joining him. We didn't have to go far. After a few hundred feet we saw another wave of the black armored orcs. There seemed to be hundreds of them. But that's not what really scared me. The things that scared me were the two small figures they were chasing.
Merry and Pippin.
"Rrraaaaaauuuuuggggghhhh!" Boromir cried, charging at the army, taking down at least a dozen of the orcs on impact.
"Remember the Alamo!" I shouted, for lack of a better battle cry, rushing after him. At least ten soldiers stopped suddenly and just stared at me. Which was wonderful for me, because I brought them down almost effortlessly. Ten down was great, but for every one that died, two more rushed toward me.
Boromir, Merry, Pippin, and I were soon surrounded by a sea of orcs. The hobbits had drawn out little swords and started hacking at their attackers, but the situation seemed hopeless. No matter how I looked at it, no matter how many orcs were falling because of my spear, there seemed to be no way of winning. No way to get out of this alive. I noticed Boromir from the corner of my eye. Still fighting, he had raised his horn to his mouth and sent out a blast of sound. For a moment, all of the orcs froze. Shortly after that, more than twenty of them died, due to the combined efforts of two hobbits, Boromir and myself.
But more orcs came. Boromir sent out another blast of clear sound. The orcs halted for less than a second, then were back in action. More came. As I fought, I felt as though I was watching the battle from far away. My actions seemed to become mechanical: swing, hit, swing, slash, swing, hit… a few of the orcs managed to nick me, drawing a bit of blood, but never much. I was still on my feet, still fighting. And the orcs were beginning to retreat.
One of the orcs stepped out from behind a tree, in his hand a bow. As I knocked one of his fellows to the ground, I met his gaze for an instant. He grinned, fitted an arrow to his bow, and took aim.
I froze.
The arrow flew through the air with a twang, its head aimed directly at my heart.
Oh no, I pleaded silently. I don't want to die. Not now. Please…
The arrow came to a sudden halt.
It had embedded itself deep in Boromir's right shoulder. Boromir had dashed in front of me at the last moment, taking my blow.
Boromir fell back slightly from the force of the arrow. Merry and Pippin cried out again, hacking and slashing with all their might. I speared a nearby orc who was coming after Boromir from behind.
There was another sharp twang. Boromir recoiled for an instant, then continued to slash at the orcs. As he turned I saw that a second arrow had hit him, lodging itself in his ribs. I ran at the archer. I had to stop him. I had to do something.
I heard Merry and Pippin cry out, and glanced back for an instant as they were grabbed from the ground by two orcs. A few of the retreating orcs passed in front of me, and the hobbits had disappeared from my sight.
Ready to scream with despair, I looked up. Boromir had fallen to his knees, breathless, and the archer was standing near him, readying another arrow. Desperate, I threw my spear at the archer. The projectile hit its mark, and the orc spun, dropping his bow.
But he didn't fall. His glare turned to me, and murder was in his eye. He pulled my spear out of his chest and came after me. He stabbed at me, but I dodged behind a tree. There was a thud, as the spear was embedded in trunk. The orc pulled out a dagger, my spear forgotten, and continued his chase. I rushed around the tree and began tugging at my weapon. The orc came up behind me, ready to bring the blade down on my back…
When my spear came free. I fell back into the orc, sending us both to the ground. I seized the opportunity with all enthusiasm.
"PERVERT!" I shouted at the top of my lungs, slapping the orc. Besides trying to kill me, he hadn't actually done anything, but I always wanted to do that. I grabbed my spear and his dagger and rolled off of him. The orc, slightly confused, grabbed a sword and shield and rose to his feet, ready for another round. He shook his head and was instantly aware again, now more enraged than ever. He lunged at me, ready to kill.
I became suddenly aware of the fact that a spear, which is made out of wood, is no defense against a sword in one on one combat.
Aragorn chose just that moment to leap out of who knows where and send the orc flying. I sent a quick prayer up in thanks.
"You take care of him," I called to Aragorn. "I'll help Boromir," I probably shouldn't have called, because for a moment, Aragorn stopped, his face turned a deep crimson, and then he resumed in fighting the orc.
Clearly he still remembered the incident at the pond.
I rushed over and knelt by Boromir's side. He was as pale as death and leaning weakly against a tree. From his chest stood three arrows. I squeezed Boromir's hand, searching my mind for anything I ever learned in Health class, Girl Scouts, or television. I finally found something useful.
"Okay," I said. "Um… Brace yourself…this is going to hurt a bit."
"Wha-aaauurrgh…" Boromir winced. I had pulled one of the arrows from his chest, and judging by the barbed head, it must have really hurt.
"Sorry," I said, reaching for another arrow. "I swear, give me a second and it'll be over,"
"Leave it!" Boromir gasped, batting my hand aside.
"You wish," I said gently. "Now brace yourself," I pulled out another arrow. Boromir didn't cry out this time, but he was paler than ever, and his breathing had gone haggard. His forehead was becoming damp with sweat.
"Just one more." I tried to be reassuring. I gave one more pull and the last arrow came out.
Now what? I asked myself.
Girl scouts, you idiot. Bandage the wound. Myself answered.
How, exactly, am I supposed to do that? I snapped. It's not like I've been to Wal-Mart lately, and I'm all out of Band-Aids.
I heard Aragorn's battle cry, followed by a metallic swish and a thump. I glanced up to see that Aragorn had succeeded in decapitating his opponent. He cleared his head and jogged over to Boromir and me.
"Aragorn," I muttered. "I need bandages. Fast."
Now what? I wondered.
You'll need to take off his shirt. My sensible, first aid savvy side said.
Eww…
It won't do him any good if you bandage his clothes. You have to get at the wound itself, and that is under his shirt.
But…
Stop being a baby and get to work!
I ignored the fact that my face was getting red and began to pull at Boromir's tunic. As gently as humanly possible, I pulled the cloth over his head and put it aside. Just to find that he was wearing leather armor. I struggled with the clasps that held the leather to his chest and began to pry that layer off him. Under that was another shirt. It might have been white once.
But not anymore.
It had been dyed bright red. I helped Boromir out of this garment as well, though struggling not to throw up. Aragorn was busy cutting a black cloak into long ribbons, evidently for bandages. I grabbed the hood of the shredded cloak and tried to clean Boromir's wounds, but they were bleeding heavily, and the hood was quickly saturated.
What do I do? I pleaded silently. What do I do? I could think of nothing. If only Galadriel were here, she would know what- Of course! I pulled the case of salve out of my pocket.
"Please let this work," I muttered, rubbing some of the salve into Boromir's wound. As I applied the salve I prayed, and I saw something miraculous. Though I had used little of the Mavelas, it was filling the wound, keeping the blood contained, just like one of those nifty liquid Band-Aids. I quickly spread salve in the other two wounds and watched in awe as the wounds were closed.
"What magic is this?" Boromir asked wearily. Aragorn had finished cutting the bandages.
"The good kind," I said simply. Aragorn nodded in wonder, then produced a clean cloth and helped me clean Boromir up. "Okay… the bleeding's stopped, but we have to make sure it stays that way. Boromir, can you sit up?" I asked.
"Of course," he said. He tried to rise, but slowly returned to the ground, his face contorted into a look of frustration.
"That's alright," I said gently. Aragorn and I helped Boromir into a sitting position. I gathered the strips of cloth and began to wrap them around his torso in a crude bandage.
"Aragorn," Boromir said quietly. "They have taken the little ones."
"No…" Aragorn muttered, alarmed.
"Where is Frodo?" Boromir asked.
"I let him go," Aragorn said.
"Then you did what I could not. I…" Boromir looked at me. "I tried to take the Ring from Frodo." I had no idea why this ring was so important, but I could read the shame in his voice well enough to keep quiet.
Aragorn looked even more alarmed, then allowed a pained smile to cover his face.
"The Ring is out of our reach now," he said. Legolas and Gimli walked onto the scene at the next moment, just as I finished bandaging Boromir's chest.
"What under the Mountain…" Gimli sputtered. I suddenly remembered that he had never seen me before. I waved gingerly.
"Um… hi." I said.
"Aragorn," Legolas said. "What has happened here?"
"The orcs have captured Merry and Pippin," Aragorn said. Their faces fell. Legolas breathed deeply for a moment, then looked at Boromir with concern.
"And Boromir?" Legolas asked. Boromir shook his head slowly.
"I was hurt, but my injuries have been treated," he said. "They will heal quickly enough."
"And who under ground or over it is she?" Gimli snapped. Clearly this was a good question, because everyone was suddenly looking at me expectantly. I suddenly found myself wishing the earth would open up and swallow me whole. What was I supposed to say? 'I'm just the girl who's been stalking you since Moria, and no, you shouldn't feel at all disturbed about this or anything, because it happens all the time where I come from.' Even in my head it sounded stupid. I swallowed and smiled nervously.
"She is a friend," Boromir said. "And the one who saved me from certain death." I sent him a million mental thank you cards. I took a deep breath.
"My name is Stephanie," I said quietly.
"Lady Stephanie," Boromir said, looking me straight in the eye. "Thank you. It seems I owe you my life," I smiled.
"No," I said. "I think we are about even." There was a clang in the distance as a disembodied helmet went crashing into the ground a few dozen yards from us. Boromir, Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli all turned instinctively, weapons drawn, ready to take down any new enemy. I seized the opportunity and disappeared into the forest. A few minutes later I was in the trees next to Elvis.
"Thanks for the diversion," I said quietly. "Perfectly executed."
"We has to go after the hobbits, Precious. Across the river and over rockses…" Elvis said. "Is she coming, Stephses?" I smiled.
"Yes, I'm coming."
AN: Oh goodie! Long chapter! … or longer than I'm used to, anyway… Oh well…
