Test of Courage and Heart
I do not own Lord of the Rings
Chapter one
It was time. All knew it. It was time to abandon Osgiliath to the enemy. All agreed that there was no point in staying there to be overwhelmed.
Everyone, that is, except one man.
And his name was Boromir, son of Denethor, the steward of Gondor.
He walked around the ruins of the once great city. Boromir tried to imagine what it looked like in the days of its glory and power.
Glory. Power. The words echoed in his head.
Boromir brushed them aside. He had things to worry about.
"Gerhard!' He yelled out, and a tall soldier approached him, 'how many men do we have?"
Gerhard was an older man, a veteran of many battles. He had been an instructor to a young Boromir, and now they fought side by side inside Osgiliath. He had on dented armour, and a well-used sword that was still sharp. Gerhard was clever, and a good fighter.
Now he gave the garrison strength to his commander, "Two hundred wounded sir. Half of those wont recover. That leaves eleven hundred soldiers, nine hundred archers, and twenty civilians that may or may not help us."
Boromir stared, "Only two thousand men? We had twice that last year!"
Gerhard shrugged, "Some have gone back to Minas Tirith, most have died fighting Mordor."
Boromir was astonished that so many men could die in such a short amount of time. He knew many friends in the army. He was a soldier's man, and fought, ate, and laughed with some of these men.
Suddenly, the men on lookout duty called out in panic, "Orcs! An attack!"
Everything forgotten, Boromir grabbed his shield and drew his sword. It shone like a beacon in the half-darkness, "Rally, men of Gondor, rally to me!"
There was a shout of many voices, but it sounded vile to Boromir's ears.
Orcs.
Ugly and cruel, they gave shrieks of fury as they attacked the captain of Gondor.
It was a grave mistake. Boromir was a great soldier, and he could hold his own against any half-dozen orcs. He yelled out his battle cry as he defended himself. Running an orc through, he stunned another with his shield.
Then a cry answered Boromir's call. Dozens of armoured men rushed to their leader, swinging long swords. Orcs returned the blows with equal savagery. This was war, as Boromir knew it to be.
Boromir fought on with all his skill, as his soldiers pressed forward. The tide had turned against the orcs. Screaming, they fled as if Elendil himself were chasing them.
No one pursued them. The price had been a high one. Nineteen men of Gondor had died, and everyone else was wounded. No one cheered, for it was an endless circle, draining them of soldiers every time. They were losing this war.
And Boromir wished he could do something about it.