Boromir, Thou Shall Live
By Priscilla Stafford
Author's Note: I can't believe how long it took for me to get this chapter up! Many, thousands of apologies to all my faithful readers! After I had uploaded the most recent chapters, I got all involved in college finals and couldn't find time to write much. Then I went back to Japan for the holidays then on New Year's Eve I received news that my grandmother had suddenly passed away. So I took an unplanned trip to Seattle with my family for the funeral and got back to Hawaii the day after the first day of school. So I've been busy… :P
Ok, enough of excuses. I had written the first eight pages before I had gone on winter break; the rest of the twelve pages I wrote in the past two days. Pretty good, huh?
Enjoy! Things are REALLY going to start moving along now so I hope you're getting all excited! Without further ado…
Chapter Forty-three: Dawnless Day
Eowyn eyed the sky warily, not liking what she saw. It was a few hours more till dawn, yet the very air seemed brown with all things seeming black and grey but strangely shadow less. What made her heart clench however was that this great gloom seemed to crawl from the east for only in the westward were there any signs of clouds far, far away.
Whether it was from the stillness of the air or the strangeness of the weather, Eowyn shivered and felt a chill through her very bones. She walked a little faster, eager to reach her destination though she was still debating to herself whether he would be there at all.
She came upon the small clearing Boromir and she had decided to meet; not too far from the encampment to worry her handmaiden yet just enough so that any sounds from the sparring wouldn't disturb anyone. It was the same lookout place she had only a few days ago waited for the arrival of her uncle and the Rohirrim army. A time when her desperation to not be alone had made her seek out the cold night as her companion…
Boromir was already there, sword in hand and going through a series of light exercises. As she neared him, she noticed his eyes were closed, seemingly unaware of his surroundings.
Careful to not disturb his concentration, Eowyn slowly walked to the edge of the clearing where Boromir had put his cloak down. As she took off her own cloak and folded it, she saw that Boromir's cloak was half-heartedly folded, probably due to his right arm still in a sling. The fastenings of the strange, earth colored cloak were on top with a leaf-shaped brooch visible; as she knelt down to place her folded cloak on the ground, she could not help reaching out with one finger to carefully trace its edges. Where had she seen it before…?
She pulled her hand away and stood up, reminding herself where she was. And who she was with.
Boromir had noticed her and stopped his movements; as their eyes met he bowed slightly. "Good morning. You honor me with your presence."
"Did you not believe I would come?" Eowyn said with a smile though suddenly frowned as she saw him give her a look. Did he think that she wouldn't show up…?
With the discomforting thought that she actually had been fighting within herself whether to come or not, Eowyn could only choose to break eye contact with the excuse of drawing her sword out. She flexed her fingers over the handle of the sword and twirled the sword once, then twice to loosen her wrist.
As she went through her own light exercises to warm up, Boromir continued his. Soon, Eowyn found herself observing him while she moved almost without thought, her exercises so ingrained into her body even more than into her mind.
She chided herself for forgetting that his one arm was in a cast, most probably his sword arm. However, even with the dark colored sling wrapping his right arm in such a way that it prevented as much movement and jostling as possible, he moved as if he hardly noticed its encumbrance. Even switching his sword arm to his left, he moved at ease as if he had practiced as much with his left as with his right. His style was as unique as each person is unique; extremely straight forward and undeniably powerful.
And the more she watched, the more Eowyn focused on the man himself than his fighting. She wondered what kind of a man he was, above all what kind of man was he, a lord of Gondor no less, to be sparring with her. A woman!
Recalling how he had insisted on escorting her to her quarters after Aragorn had left, she had thought that he was chauvinistic; more than anything she had hated the pity in his eyes. Yet now, what was she supposed to think with him here, right now, in her company? Was it even more pity?
"Do you wish to intimidate me with your watchful gaze before we even spar?" Boromir's tone was laughing and Eowyn could not help but blush and smile back.
"I only wish to see what I am going up against," Eowyn said as they both stopped their movements to face each other square on, relaxing their sword arms with the blades pointing to the ground.
"You have nothing to fear, you are facing but a cripple," was his gracious reply. "The advantage is all in your favor."
"Cripple or not, I hope you do use it as an excuse to be easy with me," Eowyn insisted seriously. She would hate to have to lower her estimation of him if he even tried to spar as if with a beginner.
At this he raised his eyebrows but inclined his head in acceptance of her words. "Shall we?" He lifted his blade and motioned her to do the same. When she did, they bowed then shifted their feet as they settled into a comfortable stance.
Eowyn sized him up in a few moments. He was taller and most definitely stronger, even putting into consideration that he was fighting left-handed. She had to admit that of all men she had ever met in her lifetime, he was among the rare few she knew would meet no equal on the battlefield.
Boromir waited as if wanting her to make the first move; she didn't disappoint him.
They started out slow, their movements rhythmical and almost as if it had been all choreographed between them. Each anticipating and correctly assuming the other's next move, they sparred for a while in that manner.
Yet after some minutes, the pace was picked up slightly, so unassumingly that Eowyn couldn't tell if it was by her doing or his. She knew that she was eager for more than a simple exercise and had wanted to change the almost 'relaxing' rhythm. Boromir's face never changed, ever calm and eyes almost lazy, caught up into the dance.
Slowly and surely however, Eowyn found herself picking up the speed, using more intricate moves, strategizing and acting up on them. She delighted herself in seeing that Boromir's gaze hardened almost imperceptibly as he concentrated more, casting aside his earlier casualness.
Eowyn would not allow him to take her lightly.
Soon, the two of them were no longer able to remain in one small area. They began moving within the edges of the clearing, sidestepping lunges and trying to find any opening to land a hit which would mark the end of the session. Yet Boromir was proving to be quite a challenge, considering that even for his size, being much taller and broad shouldered as well as injured, he still moved smoothly without a single hesitation.
At one point, Eowyn took a slight misstep when Boromir surprised her with a feint to the right only to sweep his sword towards her exposed left side. She was able to deflect his blow but she saw a slight shift in his style as Boromir pressed his advantage of finding the slight weakness in her defenses. She mentally cursed herself for not working on her footwork more; she knew that for too long her practices had not covered much ground, hindering in her practicing in a large area.
She was paying for it now as Boromir forced her to be constantly on the move as one moment he would draw her towards him then suddenly be almost steering her backwards or to the right or left as she tried to keep up with his pace.
Suddenly, to Eowyn's amazement, there was an opening for her to strike. She knew another moment like this would never arise again so quickly made the decision to act upon her instincts. She took a step forward to lunge, hoping to tap him on his side to mark herself as having made a 'hit'.
Yet as soon as she put her foot forward, seeing the look on Boromir's face made her realize she had made the wrong choice.
Without seeming to make any big movement, Boromir hooked the toe of his boot around her ankle and pulled her off balance, making her stumble forward. She didn't completely fall forward onto the ground and was just about to get up, swinging her sword at him from below until she felt his blade lightly tap her exposed shoulder.
Eowyn met his eyes and saw that though he was breathing deeply after the exercise, the corners of his mouth were pulled up slightly.
And to her surprise, she realized that she, too, while gasping slightly for breath, was smiling.
She couldn't remember the last time she had as much fun sparring today than she had in so long. She smiled all the more, this time directly at him, in silent thanks.
Boromir seemed to understand what was behind her smile as he brought his sword up and gave her a little nod. "You are a very worthy opponent, my lady. I must admit you surprised me."
Picking herself off of the ground, Eowyn replied, "I am honored such an excellent captain as yourself would compliment me in such a way. It is long since I had such a… vigorous session.'
The man chuckled as he sheathed his sword. "I must thank Dunhere for the sword. I believe it will do."
"Are you leaving with my uncle and his men today?" Eowyn asked quietly as she sheathed her own sword.
Boromir stiffened and caught her eye with a questioning but almost stern look. "You wish to come with us."
The statement, for it was not a question, was unexpected and Eowyn tried to brush it aside, for fear of him seeing through her plan… "I am to remain here to – "
"That is not what I asked. You wish to come with us."
His interruption was swift and too direct for Eowyn to counter. Yes, oh yes how she wanted to go! To prove to everyone, to prove to someone, that she was not just another woman… And she would do just that.
Eowyn however only lowered her eyes slightly and whispered, "Yes."
She heard his steps as he came to stand right in front of her so that he saw his boots in view. She saw then felt his gloved finger under her chin which lifted her head up so that her eyes were captured by his eyes which looked at her kindly in green and grey hues.
"My lady, there is no shame for you to remain here."
Shame… In a sudden burst of fury Eowyn jerked her head away from the soft touch under his chin but remained standing where she was. "Shame; no shame?" she bit out. "What is there but shame for being a woman, unable to fight alongside the ones she love, to protect and fight for her country?"
"There is no glory to be found in battle as you may think, my lady," Boromir said as if explaining to child which infuriated Eowyn all the more.
"I am no child – "
"Then stop acting like that one."
Before her hand was raised high enough to deliver the slap on his face she had intended, he had already reached out and grabbed her by the wrist, staying her movement. In frustration she tried to free her hand but his grip only tightened so that she could no longer even move.
"I demand you release me, my lord," Eowyn said quietly though inwardly she wanted to scream. How dare he…
"Only if you promise not to eve try hitting me again."
For a few tense moments, they stared at each other, Eowyn defiantly and Boromir… how exactly was he looking at her? With pity…?
Eowyn nodded and he finally let go. Once free, she purposely turned on her heel, her back turned to him. Standing there as if made of stone, Eowyn tried desperately to control her raging emotions. She could not, would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her in complete loss of control.
"Out of their love for you, they wish to protect you," she heard him whisper after some silence. "All that they do for you is out of love. Why do you scorn it?"
The words, though softly spoken, stabbed at her heart and an overwhelming sense of shame enveloped her. Was she scorning her own uncle and brother for their protectiveness? Had she any right to do so?
Yet it was not her uncle and brother whom she was scorning…
A new stubbornness took hold of her as Eowyn answered back, "It is my love that is being scorned, I who wish to fight for the land and people I love. If I cannot be loved for being who I am, what kind of love is there left for me?"
"That is rather a negative feeling for one such as you are."
At this she turned to look at him questioningly. "What do you mean?"
Boromir shrugged. "You are beautiful, young woman, strong in character and passionate in what you believe in. You will never be in want of love."
His tone was so matter of fact that it took Eowyn by surprise. Realizing that he had complimented her, she suddenly dropped her eyes and blushed. "You are too kind, my lord. But you are sorely mistaken."
The corners of his mouth twitched upwards as he asked politely with a kind of wide-eyed, feigned innocence, "Which part?"
The light hearted manner in which he spoke confused and irritated Eowyn past the point of being able to make any sort of reply. How was he able to be so flippant about something that was torturing her constantly?
She brushed past him to where her cloak was and threw it over her shoulders, all the while wondering what had ever possessed her to be here with such a man.
Men were all alike and she could feel nothing but contempt for them in their belittlement of her.
Eowyn, composing her face in a stern manner, finally faced Boromir and nodded stiffly. "Thank you for your time, my lord."
She was surprised to see a hard glint in his eye as he, too, appeared almost wooden as he bowed to her. "A pleasure."
His tone was hard and cool, making Eowyn feel sick at her stomach to realize that she was the one who was causing him to act in such a way. But before she could think of anything to say to such a reply, he had already broken eye contact to lean forward and reach for his own cloak.
It took only a moment for Eowyn to see that he was going to have a problem with his one arm in a sling; it took only one more moment for her to go to him and whisper, "If I may."
Their eyes met once more, hers looking more humbled than just a little while ago, his still looking hard and unmoving. Yet she refused to back down and it was Boromir who finally allowed her to reach out and take the cloak from his hand.
There was something surreal in the whole situation as Eowyn moved behind the Gondorian to place the cloak on his shoulders, no longer able to ignore the width of his shoulders, to ignore the fact that there was no mistaking that this person, this man, made her feel that as a woman, there was something more…
As she moved around so that she stood in front of him and began fastening the ties at his neck, she was hit with the memories of watching so many women part with their husbands as they left for battle. She had always watched with a sort of curiosity as they would take the longest time in silent farewells; neither side speaking but conveying so much more through glances and soft touches.
Eowyn pinned the brooch at the neck of the cloak, finished but for an unknown reason, the images of the women of Rohan invaded her sense and for the first time in her life, she wondered and marveled at the strength of those would could let their loved ones just leave.
With hesitant hands she reached out and smoothed out the material on his shoulders. All earlier frustrations melted away instead into an engulfing feeling of helplessness. She could not for the life of her fathom how other women could act as they did; remaining behind with the knowledge that it they might never see their loved ones again.
She suddenly pulled away.
She would not be the same as those women, helpless and unable to prove her love for country and family and…
And what? And for who?
Strong determination settled over her as she became all the more resolved to carry out her plan. Nothing and nobody would stop her.
Least of all a strange, Gondorian captain with green-grey eyes which struck right at her guilty conscience…
Not guilty!
Eowyn tried to leave before he could stop her; but it was no hand which grabbed her arm or shoulder that stopped her.
Instead, all that stopped her was his hand which gently touched her cheek.
That simple gesture was all it took for Eowyn to remain frozen where she was, uncertain as to how to react to the soft touch. When he leaned forward so their faces were closer, an odd weakness swept through her so that her breathing was shallow, her mind unable to come to grips with her body's reaction.
"My lady," he whispered so quietly that it was little more than a breath, "you would not be so unhappy if you could only be content with being a woman."
He bent down to kiss her forehead and she lowered her gaze, eyelids fluttering until something caught her eye. The leaf brooch clasped at his neck.
Aragorn…
With the remembrance of where she had seen that brooch before, she gasped slightly and backed away; away from his lips and his hand which had frightened as much as excited her.
Disorientated, her eyes searched for something to focus on; anything but him. For unknown reasons, she felt the pricking of tears at the corners of her eyes and instantly a flare of anger shot through her. Why was she acting the fool, acting like a little child?
"Then stop acting like that one."
His voice ringing in her ears, speaking words she didn't want to hear, Eowyn shook her head as if thinking it would make his voice go away.
"You would not be so unhappy if you could only be content with being a woman."
"My lady?"
Hearing Boromir's voice for real made her jerk back to reality. "I'm fine," she said quickly, in vain hoping that he would not press for the truth.
Yet in just the little amount of time she had known him, she knew that he didn't have to say anything to make her feel an uncomfortable clenching in her stomach as if she was guilty of something.
Frustrated, she looked at him pleadingly, trying to fathom this man standing in front of her. "Why do you spend time with me? I who cannot find my place anywhere?"
Boromir stepped towards her but she just stepped the same distance away from him. As if sensing her wariness with any close proximity to him, Boromir stopped moving, his hand outstretched and open as if calming a nervous, agitated animal.
Yes, that would be me, Eowyn thought bitterly.
"My lady, there is not a person in Middle-earth without his or her place as you so call it." He smiled sadly. "I recently had to realize and learn on my own just how true that is."
"You? Not knowing your place?" Eowyn could not help but scoff. "Boromir, Captain of Gondor, heir to the Stewardship!"
"Aye, even I," Boromir said and for an instant, Eowyn detected a tortured, hurt look flicker in his eyes. But it was soon replaced with a gentle, prodding look. "And what of you, Lady Eowyn, daughter of kings?"
Eowyn frowned and turned away. She was suddenly tired and drained of all thought and feeling. Daughter of kings…
And shield maiden.
Her determination to do what she had carefully planned to do was wavering. All because of one man…
Summoning up all of her resolve, Eowyn whispered, "I have to go." If only Boromir knew just to what extent she meant when she said that she had to go…
He nodded then looked up into the sky. "I fear that the sun will not be rising today." The grim set of his mouth and the haunted eyes now looking towards the East made Eowyn shudder involuntarily. Who knew what awaited in the East for the Rohirrim… and for Boromir.
And for herself.
Boromir appeared so deep in thought that Eowyn believed him to have forgotten her presence. Thinking that this was perhaps the best way for her to leave now without anything more spoken between them, she started walking away.
As she did, his voice reached her ears, saying, "Peace be with you, my lady."
Her steps faltered but she kept going. She refused to let him have such a hold over her, to allow his soft voice to make her bare her soul to him.
With Aragorn she felt like she had something to prove, to somehow gain his respect, show that she was worthy to stand next to him.
But with Boromir, entirely conflicting feelings filled her mind. How strange that though she had at first thought to somehow prove herself to him, oddly enough it hadn't been long before she realized he had accepted what kind of person she was.
That realization frightened her for it meant that the foundation for her desperation of being alone and unaccepted was not as firmly founded as she might have thought.
What do I care what a man I hardly know thinks of me! Eowyn berated herself, quickening the pace of her walk back to her quarters. She decided to try not to think about him anymore. But it was so hard to ignore just how much he had affected her with just his look and his touch…
Bawuer decided against calling out to Eowyn. Her face seemed like a complete mask, devoid of all emotions except for the furrowing of her eyebrows and a slight tightness around her mouth.
He stopped for a moment, just watching her go by, Eowyn apparently not noticing him. Or if she did, completely ignoring him though he couldn't think of a reason why she would choose to do so.
She was soon out of sight and Bawuer contemplated whether to continue in seeking out Boromir. He knew of the 'sparring session' between Boromir and Eowyn; he smiled in memory of the disapproving look his mother had given Boromir when she had heard about it.
Only hoping that Boromir wasn't in the same sort of mood as Eowyn, Bawuer began walking in the direction Eowyn had come from. He glared into the sky, muttering under his breath a thousand curses upon the Dark Lord. More than anything, he cursed himself for allowing some fear and despair to fill him with one look at the disheartening sky.
Bawuer found Boromir standing in a large clearing, boldly facing the Eastern sky with his head held high, defiance evident in his very posture. Seeing Boromir in such a stance put Bawuer to some shame for having felt any sort of hopelessness at the dark, cloudless sky which hung over them like a dismal roof; who knew what the Gondorian was feeling, facing the gloom coming from the direction of his homeland…
Getting close enough to see that Boromir's mouth was set in a grim line, Bawuer stopped to stand at the man's side, deciding not to be the first one to speak and break the silence.
And such a deafening silence it was…
But Bawuer refused to speak and disrupt any thoughts going through his friend's mind. Instead he focused on what the future would hold for him…
He was going back to Minas Tirith, after so many, many years. When he had first left Helm's Deep with Boromir, it hadn't seemed as real as it did right now, looking towards the East. He couldn't ignore the strange, fluttering nervousness in his stomach. As much as he hated to even admit it, he wanted to know how his family left behind in Minas Tirith was fairing. To be more specific, two very special people…
And he had no idea as to what he could possibly say to them… he wondered if he wanted to see them…
Of course you want to see them you fool…he thought ruefully. He shifted his feet uncomfortably, admitting to himself that he was a fool… and a hypocrite.
"I assume it won't be long before we leave Dunharrow," Boromir said, breaking the silence.
Bawuer nodded, then realizing that Boromir wasn't looking at him, said out loud, "Aye. The young hobbit has already awakened; the king had called for him."
At this Boromir smiled. "The hobbits never cease to amaze me."
"And probably will continue to do so for as long as anybody is lucky enough to know them."
They shared a quiet laughter as if afraid to make too much of a noise to somehow break the strange spell over the lands.
After a few moments, Boromir spoke. "I owe much to you and your family, my friend."
"My family and I acted as anybody would have," Bawuer said humbly. "It was an honor to be of service."
"I'm sorry that you did not have much time to spend with your family before we leave," Boromir said, peering intently into Bawuer's face as if searching for something.
Shrugging, Bawuer tried to speak lightly. "My family will be here when I come back."
"Aye, that they will," the Gondorion whispered, looking away.
Wishing to change the subject, Bawuer asked how the morning's sparring session went. At this Bawuer earned a sly look from Boromir. "The fair maiden can certainly use a sword."
Bawuer looked at him inquiringly, eyes resting for a moment on Boromir's arm in a sling. "Don't tell me she… umm…" He dared not finish the sentence as astonishing as the answer might be.
The Gondorian eyes him with a look of mock disappointment. "I am not the complete cripple, no matter how much your mother may try to make me believe so. The worst has passed and I can assure you that I am ready to get back in the saddle."
Though he did not completely trust Boromir's assessment of his health condition, Bawuer decided not to press the issue. Instead, he changed the subject though it still concerned their imminent departure. "My lord, I would like to ask permission to ride alongside you."
This caused Boromir to stare at him in disbelief. "You know very well that you need no permission; there are few men I would be more honored than to have ride beside me."
"I thank you for your kind words," Bawuer said with a slight bow. "It is only that I realize that due to your rank, you would most likely be riding with King Theoden and the king's householdmen, Riders of much renown. I could not even dream of imagining myself riding with you without any sort of – "
"I understand completely; it was only that the question caught me by surprise." Since their conversation, for the first time Boromir turned so that he was completely facing the Rohirrim soldier. "Bawuer, you do know that you are under no obligations to be in my service. I know of Eomer's command to you but I hope you know that you were released from any obligation long ago."
Bawuer stopped him. "My lor… Boromir. Even if Eomer only suggested for me to travel with you, I still would have done so. And do not think you can get rid of me that easily. I would pity you to even try stopping me from watching your back." He smirked. "Someone needs to do so."
Boromir smirked right back. "You need a lot of taking care of, too, my young Rohirrim friend."
The two shared a smile before without a word spoken between them, they began walking back towards the encampment.
Merry watched Theoden get up from the noon meal which had been prepared for the king and his men at Edoras. He knew that without a doubt, this was the end of the journey for the hobbit. After all that he had gone through, he would be the one left behind.
Once more resolved to somehow change the king's mind, Merry followed Theoden. "My king!"
No more words needed to be said as Theoden only had to take one look at the hobbit's face to know what he wanted to say. "This is no journey for such steeds as Stybba, as I have told you," Theoden said not unkindly. "And in such a battle as we think to make on the fields of Gondor, what would you do, Master Merioadoc, swordthain though you be, and greater of heart than of stature?"
Merry gripped the handle of his sword, desperately clenching and unclenching his hand over it. "As for that, who can tell? But why, lord, did you receive me as swordthain, if not to stay by your side? And I would not have it said of me in song only that I was always left behind!"
"I received you for your safe-keeping," Theoden answered as he looked away to oversee his men. He then rested a stern gaze upon Merry. "And also to do as I might bid. None of my Riders can bear you as burden. If the battle were before my gates, maybe your deeds would be remembered by the minstrels; but it is a hundred leagues and two to Mundburg where Denethor is lord. I will say no more."
Shamed beyond words at the dismissal, Merry knew that there was nothing more to be said. He bowed and with one last look, Theoden turned away to prepare for the hard ride ahead of him and his soldiers.
Merry dropped his head. Suddenly he felt someone stand behind him and place a hand on Merry's shoulder. "Perhaps this is for the best, little one."
"Oh, Boromir!" Merry whispered, immediately having recognized the voice as belonging to none other than his friend and companion in the Fellowship. "Was I so complete a burden to you and the others in the Fellowship in our journeys as Theoden makes it seem I will in the battlefield."
He felt rather than heard Boromir sigh. "Everyone had a part to play in the Fellowship, Merry. You know that."
"I don't want to be left behind…"
Boromir turned Merry around then got down one knee so that they were more even in height. "If I could, I would bring you with me," Boromir said. "But – " he spoke up before Merry could try to interrupt, "I trust you to keep this to yourself when I tell you that I am going to have a hard time enough as it is to keep up with the Rohirrim in the condition I'm in without you riding with me."
Merry bit his lip, not knowing the extent of Boromir's injuries except that for Boromir to admit as much, it must be worse than Boromir was allowing others to see.
"Also young Merry, neither you nor I should ever think of going against the good King Theoden's wishes for you to remain behind." Boromir patted Merry's shoulder. "It will be all right. You know that as soon as I can, I will send for you."
When will that be… if ever? Merry thought dismally. He met Boromir's eyes and saw that though the man had a small smile on his face, there were traces of worry and despair in those eyes. He realized just how hard Boromir was trying to make Merry feel better before…
Before Boromir goes off to battle; perhaps never to reach Minas Tirith…
Merry did not want to part with that thought and instead smiled brightly. "Tell Pippin that I'll see him soon."
The comment made the Gondorian smile a genuine smile; Merry knew he had said the right thing… for the both of them. "Aye, that I will." Giving Merry's shoulder one last squeeze, Boromir stood up and left Merry to stare after him until the man was lost among the countless horses and Riders.
Deep in thought, wondering what would become of him in Edoras, Merry gazed at the soldiers in quiet contemplation. That is, until someone approached him from behind, whispering in the hobbit's ear, "'Where will wants not, a way opens,' so we say," the person said in a low voice. "And so I have found myself."
Curious as to who would talk to him, Merry looked up and saw that it was the young Rider whom he had noticed in the morning. The young man, less in height and girth than most, who had the face of one without hope who goes in search of death.
The clear, light blue, almost grey, eyes peered down at him from under the helm. "You wish to go where the Lord of the Mark goes… I see it in your face."
Merry found himself answering the young man with an 'I do', which prompted the Rider to beckon the hobbit to follow him.
"Then you shall go with me; I will bear you before me, under my cloak until we are far afield and this darkness is yet darker. Such good will should not be denied."
For a moment, Merry could hardly believe his ears. Was the Rider offering what he was thinking? A chance to join the Rohirrim?
"Say no more to any man, but come!" the Rohirrim said quietly, his voice laced with strong insistence.
Merry knew that he had already made up his mind. "Thank you indeed!" he said. "Thank you, sir, though I do not know your name."
The young man seemed taken aback slightly, then turned away slightly as if in thought. The action made Merry wonder if indeed he did not know this man. Had they met before? He could not be certain with helm on the Rider's head.
"Do you not?" the Rider said almost to himself. He paused then looking straight in Merry's eyes, he said, "Then call me Dernhelm."
Pippin had never felt so weary and depressed before in all of his life. Yesterday had proved to be an 'informative' day for when he had gone to see after Shadowfax for Gandalf, he had met Beregond, a soldier of Minas Tirith. Pippin had been surprised that the Lord Denethor had sent someone to look after Pippin and teach the pass-words as well as answer any questions Pippin might have (and many he had, too!).
Through Beregond he had learned so much, more than his head seemed to be able to take in. Then it was later in the afternoon that he had had a chance to have a guide about the City with Beregond's son, Bergil. Bergil had proved to be a good comrade, the best company Pippin had had since he parted from Merry.
With the thought of his cousin, Pippin felt even more depressed. It didn't help that the sky was so dark and cheerless, seeming to sap the very life out of the city itself.
It didn't help that he had been stuck indoors for the most part of today. To make it worse it had been in the presence of Denethor whom Pippin could not help but feel uncomfortable towards. He could hardly believe that the Steward was the father of Boromir.
He decided to try to forget about the day as much as possible and enjoy being outside. Beregond sat next to him though neither of them had spoken for quite a while. They were sitting side by side again in the embrasure looking eastward where they had eaten and talked the day before.
Grimly Pippin realized that though it was sunset-hour, the great gloom from the East had now stretched far into the West, and only as it sank at last into the Sea did the sun escape to send out a brief farewell gleam before the night. He sighed then turned his tired gaze away from the dark fields below and yawned.
"You are weary of this day?" Beregond asked, green eyes looking at him with a questioning glance.
Pippin nodded. "Yes, very. Tired out with idleness and waiting. I have kicked my heels at the Steward's door for many slow hours while he has debated with Gandalf and the Prince of Dol Amroth and other great persons who have just arrived yesterday. And I'm not used to waiting hungry on others while they eat."
At this Beregond grinned widely while Pippin just fixed him with a mock glare. "It is a sore trial for a hobbit, that," Pippin insisted. "No doubt you will think I should feel the honor more deeply. But what is the good of such honor? Indeed, what is the good even of food and drink under this creeping shadow? What does it mean? The very air seems thick and brown!"
His voice growing louder and louder as he let out some of his frustration, Pippin finally stopped and sighed deeply. He spoke again, this time in a calmer tone. "Do you often have such glooms when the wind is in the East?"
"Nay," Beregond replied, his expression dark. "This is no weather of the world. This is some device of his malice; some broil of fume from the Mountain of Fire that he sends to darken hearts and counsel. And so it does indeed…"
Beregond paused for a moment, deep in thought while Pippin could only try to ward away the sudden chill he felt at the Gondorian's words.
"I wish the Lord Faramir would return," Beregond suddenly said. "He would not be dismayed. But now, who knows if he will ever come back across the River out of the Darkness."
Pippin noticed the same gleam in Beregond's eyes he had noticed whenever the man spoke of the Steward's younger son. Not for the first time Pippin felt the stirrings of the insatiable curiosity about Boromir's brother. What was Faramir like, to instill such devotion from others? Yes, indeed, Pippin wanted to meet this man…
"Gandalf, too, is anxious," Pippin said, pursing his lips in thought. "He was disappointed, I think, to not find Faramir here." This made him remember and wonder where Gandalf himself had disappeared to. The wizard had left the Lord's council before the noon-meal, and certainly not in a good mood. Pippin feared that perhaps Gandalf had some foreboding of bad news.
Suddenly, a cry that froze the very blood flowing through his veins reached Pippin's ears. Terror filled and overflowed him that he felt like he was drowning in it; he cowered down with his hands pressed to his ears, wishing in vain that this was just a nightmare. He knew that cry, heard it long ago in the Marish of the Shire.
But now! Now it was grown in power and hatred, piercing his heart with a poisonous despair.
Summoning up the courage, Pippin slowly and carefully uncovered his ears tentatively, ready to mute the frightening sound again if there be any need to do so. He quickly put his gaze on Beregond whose eyes were fixed at the Pelennor which lay beneath them. The Gondorian spoke with an effort, a slight quiver in his voice. "They have come, take courage and look! There are fell things below."
Extremely reluctant, Pippin however moved slowly to climb on to the seat and look out over the wall. He saw in the air below him five birdlike forms wheeling swiftly across the Pelennor like shadows of untimely night. Pippin wrinkled his nose in disgust at the terrible beasts, horrible as carrion-fowl yet greater than eagles and cruel as death. As they swooped near, Pippin flinched until they circled away again.
"Black Riders," Pippin muttered, eyes watching the dark figures as if mesmerized. "Black Riders of the air…"
It was then that Pippin narrowed his eyes, noticing something. He spoke in a loud voice to Beregond. "But see, they are looking for something, surely? See how they wheel and swoop, always down to that point over there! Can you see something moving on the ground?"
He squinted even more, then realizing what he was seeing, opened his eyes wide in horror. "They are men on horses, four or five!" Unable to tear his gaze away, Pippin could only watch and fear for those men. Gandalf, Gandalf! Where are you?
Another long screech rose and fell, making Pippin throw himself back away from the wall. His heart beating wildly, trying to catch his breath which was coming fast and shallow, Pippin could not stop the slight tremble in his hands.
Pippin's and Beregond's eyes met suddenly when they heard a seemingly remote sound of a trumpet ending on a long high note.
"Faramir! The Lord Faramir! It is his call!" Beregond cried out, excitement lighting up expression. Worry soon replaced it as Beregond went to look down over the wall again. "How can he reach the Gate if these foul hell-hawks have other weapons than fear?" Beregond gasped and spoke more to himself than for Pippin's sake, in almost a daze. "The horses are running mad and the men have been thrown. No, one is still up… and is riding back to the others! That will be the Captain… no, no!"
With that, Beregond sprang away and ran off, to the Gate Pippin could all but guess. The hobbit, suddenly feeling shame for hiding in terror, got up and forced himself to look upon the scene unfolding upon the fields of Pelennor.
At that moment, he caught a flash of white and silver coming from the North, like a small star, moving with the speed of an arrow. It grew as it came, converging swiftly with the flight of the four men towards the Gate. The light seemed to spread through the heavy shadows which gave way to it.
Pippin heard a great voice from the light and knew without a doubt who it was. "Gandalf! Gandalf!" he cried out. He always turns up when things are darkest… Pippin continued to cheer on the wizard, shouting wildly and waving his hands.
The Nazgul were now very aware of the newcomer but when one tried to approach Gandalf, Gandalf raised his hand and from it a shaft of white light stabbed upwards. The Black Rider swerved away and with a loud cry, the other four wavered and they all passed away eastward, vanishing into the dark clouds and shadows.
Men now hurried out from the City to greet the riders and the White Rider and Pippin knew that they would soon be entering through the Gate. Guessing that they would most probably be going to the Tower and the Steward, he hurried to the entrance of the citadel, dodging others who joined him in the rush, others who had also watched the race and rescue from the high walls. He could hardly contain his excitement, all previous fears extinguished with the thought that perhaps he could catch a glimpse of the one so highly regarded by Boromir, Gandalf, Beregond, and so many others.
It was not long before he heard great shouts and cheering throughout the levels of Minas Tirith, all crying out the names of Faramir and Mithrandir. He soon could make out the gate-arch to the citadel and as he looked down the path, presently he saw torches followed closely by a throng of people.
Pippin stood as high as he could until he finally saw two horsemen riding slowly towards the citadel. They stopped and dismounted, grooms moving to lead the horses to the stables.
The hobbit first laid eyes upon Gandalf, all in white yet shining no longer as he had in the field of Pelennor, pale in the twilight as if his fire was spent or veiled. Yet his head was held high and Pippin could make out a fire still smoldering in his eyes. His walk was steady… different from the man walked alongside him.
Cocking his head slightly, Pippin could make nothing of the man's features except that he was clad all in green, walking slowly, swaying a little as a weary or a wounded man.
Frustrated that he could not see the man, Pippin used his shorter stature to advantage as he weaved through people, pressing forward until he was in front of the crowds of people. As Gandalf and Faramir passed under a lamp, Pippin finally caught his first good look of the man.
He was stunned by the pale face he saw, the face of one who had been assailed by a great fear or anguish, but had now mastered it and was in quiet contemplation. Proud and grave Faramir stood for a moment as he spoke to the guard.
He looks exactly like Boromir, was the first thought that entered Pippin's head.
Before he knew it, Pippin was crying out Faramir's name with the others in the street. He saw that Faramir, catching the hobbit's strange voice among the clamor of the men of the City, turned and looked down at him.
Their eyes met and Pippin gasped in wonder; those eyes! The same eyes except for the green edges in Boromir's; the same piercing eyes!
Pippin's heart was strangely moved with a feeling that he had not known before; except once when he had regarded Boromir almost… changed after what the Gondorian had gone through with the guilt of taking the Ring. Here was one with an air of high nobility such as even Aragorn at times revealed… No, less high perhaps, yet… also less incalculable and remote. One of the Kings of Men born into a later time.
But touched with the wisdom and sadness of the Elder Race, Pippin thought a little sadly, noticing almost imperceptible lines of hardness at the corners of Faramir's eyes similar to Boromir's haunted ones.
He felt a strange connection to this man, this stranger whom he had never met. Linked only by someone Pippin knew was close to the both of them…
Faramir finally seemed to find his voice after the initial amazement of seeing the hobbit. "Whence come you?" the Gondorian asked, and Pippin noticed the different voice qualities between the two voices; while Boromir's had a lower and slightly rough tone, Faramir's seemed softer and clearer. "A Halfling, in Minas Tirith! Whence…?" Here he faltered, as if he could not form words of what was going through his head.
By that time, Gandalf had noticed the two having made eye-contact and stepped to Faramir's side. He regarded Faramir's look of wonder with a curious eye when something seemed to dawn upon the wizard. "This is not the first Halfling you have seen…" the wizard stated slowly and worriedly.
What?
Pippin's eyes widened as Faramir slowly nodded. The hobbit's heart seemed to skip a bit with the implications of that little head gesture. "Frodo and Sam…" Pippin whispered. The names caused Faramir whole expression seemed to harden.
Gandalf looked at the sea of faces surrounding them and spoke quietly for only Pippin and Faramir to hear. "There is much to say and to do. Come, Faramir, you are weary, but your father awaits."
At the mention of his father, a wearied look came over Faramir's face. Gandalf and he started moving toward the citadel and Pippin could not help but stare at them. Were they actually thinking of leaving him behind?
But Gandalf had not taken two steps before he paused then sighed and looked down at Pippin. "Well, come along Master Took, follow us!"
He couldn't stop the grin from appearing on his face as he followed the two before him.
That is, until he realized that he was following them back to the Steward's presence.
Pippin grimaced for though he knew that he didn't know half of what was going on, he knew for certain that the meeting between Denethor and Faramir, father and son, would prove to be more than just interesting.
He just hoped it wouldn't be too terrifying…
Author's Note: Boromir has finally left! So, what do you think? Did you like the Eowyn and Boromir scene? I can tell you honestly that one of my friends went absolutely silly when I sent her that part before finishing the whole chapter. :P Boromir has finally left! So, what do you think? Did you like the Eowyn and Boromir scene? I can tell you honestly that one of my friends went absolutely when I sent her that part before finishing the whole chapter. :P
Thanks to everyone who has continued to read my humble 'little' story! As you all probably know, 'shout-outs' are now illegal on fanfiction so I will be replying to your reviews personally now. 836 reviews now and over 3,000 hits on my story! You guys are fantastic! (when you review my story, please be sure to be logged in so I can send you a reply!)
Special Note! I have a wonderful, WONDERFUL reader named Marta/Carnen who has done the most AMAZING photo manipulations for this story, Boromir, Thou Shall Live. My friend Racetrack's Goil has been nice enough to post them on her site so please take a moment to check them out! Marta/Carnen has made a really amazing one including the character of Bawuer, portrayed in my mind by the fantastic Kiefer Sutherland. Many many thanks to her for her inspiration!
geocities.jp/kosmeokanai/btsl.htm
Next Chapter: No Boromir or the Rohirrim; will focus on Faramir having arrived in Minas Tirith and will also include him leaving Minas Tirith the next day. I hope to have it done as soon as possible… keep those inspiring reviews coming!