Chapter Twelve: Moving Forward
A/N: I feel like I'm over analyzing the structure of the first ten chapters, planning this next part out, heheh… Like, how many chapters furthered the story, set up where we're going, etc. And then there's how single character POV chapters would work, if they would work… Maybe I'm just overthinking everything. Also, thank you all so much for the love and support for the fic! I never say it enough, but being able to create something that people can read and enjoy and to be able to interact with you guys in here is the absolute best and means the world to me! I'm so sorry I've been away for so long! So many little things were fighting me on this one. Let's check in with Talion and Eltariel after the breaking of the Fellowship.
Boromir felt the muscles in his shoulders and back seize up, his legs painfully numb from walking without end, feet on fire, head beginning to spin. The trees around him—gnarled, tall, imposing, their shadows seeming to taunt him in the waning light, branches seeming to reach towards him menacingly—felt unchanging, the limp body in his arms cold and heavy, his battle wounds, before ignored in favor of putting as much distance between himself and Amon Hen as possible, now rearing their ugly heads. He felt himself stumble over the uneven ground of brush, branches, tree roots, leaves, and dirt. The sudden movement to right himself made his vision blur, his steps almost slowing to a stop.
No! He had to keep going, had to keep moving if he wanted a chance to catch up to Sam and Frodo before making his way to Gondor. He had to… He had to properly lay Talion to rest. Gritting his teeth and ignoring the stinging of his eyes he willed his body forward, seeing the trees start to thin ahead of him. At last, an end to the forest they'd been in! Just a bit further…
Boromir gave a weak cry as his legs failed him, crumbling under the stress and fatigue and lack of rest. His knees hit the ground first, and Talion's body pitched forward, landing a few feet away, face up. His arms betrayed him as well, with no strength to hold him up as he tried to brace himself from the fall. He felt his breath get knocked out of him as his chest hit next, his face buried in the undergrowth as it collided with the ground last. He reasoned with himself that rest could wait, that if he could just make it a little further… But he knew his body was at its limit. At this rate… He looked over at Talion in guilt, a spider, smaller than most he'd encountered before, crawling over to him. He weakly reached for his sword…
XxX
Talion blinked awake with a pained groan, still feeling the places where arrows had struck at Amon Hen. It had been a while since he'd last died. At first there was an endless darkness as his fea realized it couldn't move on from Middle-earth. Then, it began. What twisted memory would he be thrown back into next? Ioreth and Dirhael's deaths? The fall of Minas Ithil? Celebrimbor's betrayal, perhaps? He was the farthest from peace as one could get in undeath. None of these greeted him this time, however. He looked around in a daze at the not quite darkness. Deep grays and whites swirled around him, as if he were in the Wraith World, but there was something… Different about it. There were streaks of black in the air, of blood red, of necromancer green, of pale, bright blue in unidentifiable shapes all around him, constantly shifting and going in and out of focus.
"I've never witnessed the state of undeath before," a quiet voice called out. Talion looked to the voice behind him, eyes landing on a pale and exhausted looking Shelob. She slowly made her way over to him, kneeling down beside him, fingers barely skimming the fletching of the arrows still in his chest. "Is it always like this?" Talion shook his head.
"It is usually reliving your worst memories, this void, this unnatural state finding different ways to twist them to torment you each death until you awaken again." He looked around again briefly. "It's never been like this." Shelob followed his eyes, humming thoughtfully.
"Perhaps it is my doing," she told him. Talion met her gaze in question. "My vision is clouded beyond a certain point. Events change without end as you approach Mordor. I cannot see clearly beyond your arrival but one moment."
"Show me," Talion pleaded. Shelob hesitated, something Talion had never seen her do.
"These have remained unchanged as the days and nights pass…" she whispered almost regretfully. "But no events are ever truly set in stone. Do not lose hope, Talion." She cradled his head softly in her hands, Talion's vision warping, witnessing images that made his heart stop.
A battle ruined city lay under siege as men and orcs fought relentlessly, one warrior standing out among them with the White Tree of Gondor on his breastplate as a Nazgul on a fellbeast descended upon Sam and Frodo.
A fortress overrun by Uruk-hai and Ologs, a torrential downpour, women and children hidden, shaking and terrified, elves and men fighting for their lives as the walls are breached. A sword driven through Eltariel's back as she protects another…
A large group, consisting of much of the Fellowship—Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Merry, Pippin, and a man in white… Gandalf?!—and those who bore the Mark of Rohan gathered at the base of an ominous, looming tower of black rock. In Pippin's hands was a familiar looking orb swirling with darkness: a palantir.
Minas Morgul and its dark tower loomed in the distance, the Witch King at the helm of a great force of dark warriors, riding off into the West. Sam, Frodo, Gollum, and Talion himself, eyes flaming red and hood drawn, watching warily from above, finally returned to the land of Mordor.
Talion's vision went black after that, and he thought perhaps that was the end, but one more vision came to him, different to the others. It was vague, blurry and uncertain in all aspects but one: him.
A faint beastial cry sounded from above, scorching heat burning at his armor, all determination and will to live drained from his body, what was left of his heart. His surroundings rushed past him as he plummeted down, down, down, and yet… As he felt the wound in his neck open once more, as he felt his life slip through his fingertips… A bright hand desperately reached out to him, and with the last of his strength Talion felt himself reach back.
XxX
Eltariel, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli marched on, slower than the swift pace they'd started with, trail growing steadily harder to follow as they traversed the highlands of Emyn Muil. Steep slopes and rocky terrain finally gave way to open land, green as far as the eyes could see, clusters of rock scattered on the hills below. Eltariel and Legolas stopped at the top of the rocky slope they were on, Aragorn not too far behind, Gimli struggling to catch up behind him.
"Rohan… Home of the Horse Lords," Aragorn whispered, a frown on his face. "There's something strange at work here. Some evil gives speed to these creatures, sets its will against us."
"You feel it as well?" Eltariel asked. She started out at the area as Legolas went a little ahead of her, gaze sharp, cold. "There is a darkness in the air, a taint in every breath we take. Sorcery." She looked over to Legolas. "What do you see, mellon nin?"
"The Uruks head northeast!" He squinted, eyes going wide as he told them, "They're taking the hobbits to Isengard!"
"Saruman," Eltariel and Aragorn both whispered, a rather stiff and chilly breeze blowing briefly past as the name was spoken. They both joined Legolas' side, Eltariel following his gaze. The horde was moving faster than she'd ever seen before!
"We must move quickly," she told them.
They nodded to her, carefully clambering down the slope as Gimli huffed behind them. They raced across the open land, over grassy and rocky hills ahead of them before they finally found flat ground underneath their feet. Eltariel watched Aragorn take the lead, gaze lingering briefly over the Leaf of Lorien brooch he clutched in one hand, something they'd found earlier in their search as they headed that way. No matter how hard he tried to hide it, Aragorn couldn't conceal the worry in his eyes. It wasn't just worry over Merry and Pippin's safety that she saw, however. It went deeper than that. Whether he would admit it or not, she knew a part of Aragorn worried that they may be too late. She wondered if Gimli or Legolas ever noticed it too.
The four of them kept moving, even as darkness fell, time flying by, the morning catching up with them before they knew it. Legolas stopped, turning around and staring up at the sky. Aragorn and Eltariel stopped a few steps ahead of them, and Gimli stopped when he reached them.
"A red sun rises," Legolas told them, gaze thoughtful and concerned. "Blood has been spilled this night."
They all exchanged worried looks before Aragorn stiffened, head whipping around. He suddenly moved, gesturing for them to follow, ushering them behind a small rock formation as a thundering of hooves echoed throughout the air. A small cavalry, wielding sharp spears and in full armor, rode past, horses kicking up a cloud of dust in their wake. Aragorn, a determined look in his eye that Legolas returned, stood up from their cover.
"Riders of Rohan! What news from the Mark?!" The other three joined him as the cavalry circled back, looking less than welcoming.
They surrounded the group, not leaving much room for them to move. Gimli looked wary of a fight, Legolas and Aragorn looking cautiously optimistic, Eltariel suspicious and not trusting. Their spears were pointed threateningly, one wrong movement away from impaling one of them. Aragorn held up his hands in a placating manner, and the others followed his lead. The leader of the cavalry rode forward to meet them, less than impressed, stern and cold.
"What business do two elves, a man, and a dwarf have in the Riddermark? Speak quickly!" Gimli didn't take too kindly to the rude greeting.
"Give me your name, horsemaster, and I shall give you mine," Gimli responded evenly. Aragorn's gaze darted between both of them as the man dismounted, making his way towards them. He put a hand on Gimli's shoulder in warning.
"I would cut off your head, dwarf, if it stood but a little higher from the ground," the man spat. Legolas drew his bow and nocked an arrow in the blink of an eye with a snarl, Eltariel drawing her swords and protecting his back.
"You would die before your stroke fell." Legolas spoke those words with nothing but confidence, arrow barely an inch from the man's face.
Aragorn was quick to push his bow down and away, trying to calm the tensions. Eltariel sheathed her swords again, nodding to Aragorn, who turned to address the man.
"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn. This is Gimli, son of Gloin, Legolas of the Woodland Realm, son of King Thranduil, and Eltariel, Blade of the Lady Galadriel. We are friends of Rohan, and of Theoden, your king." The man, now calmer, looked despondent at that.
"Theoden no longer recognizes friend from foe." He took off his helmet, shaking out his hair slightly. "Not even his own kin." The four exchanged looks of disbelief and confusion. Who or what was influencing Theoden in such a way that not even his own family was safe? The cavalry lifted their spears away, standing down, a different kind of anger filling the man's eyes now. "Saruman has poisoned the mind of the king and claimed lordship over his lands." Saruman. What else had he managed to do since their last encounter with his magic? "My company are those loyal to Rohan, and for that we are banished."
"Banished?" Eltariel questioned. Aragorn met the man's eyes in shock.
"The White Wizard is cunning," the man growled. "He walks here in Theodas as an old man, hooded and cloaked." He paced in a small circle. Gimli's expression fell, apprehensive and not as confident as it was. The man glared at Aragorn accusingly. "And everywhere his spies slip past our nets."
"We are no spies. We track a party of Uruk-Hai westward across the plains." Images of a terrified Merry and Pippin flashed before his eyes. "They've taken two of our friends captive," he explained sadly.
"The Uruks are destroyed. We slaughtered them during the night."
"But there were two hobbits. Did you see two hobbits with them?!" Gimli asked desperately.
"They would be small, only children to your eyes," Aragorn added. The man looked resigned, shaking his head.
"We left none alive. We piled the carcasses and burned them." He pointed behind them, a pillar of smoke in the distance.
It was as if the air was sucked completely out of every member of the group, none of them daring to breathe for fear of time resuming at the thought that… That Merry and Pippin…
"Dead?" Gimli whispered. The man nodded slowly after a moment of hesitation.
"I am sorry." He whistled, and two horses one white as snow and the other chestnut brown, trotted over to him. "May these horses bear you to better fortunes than their former masters." He held the reins out to Aragorn, who took them with a nod of thanks. The man replaced his helmet and mounted his own horse again, taking one last look at them. "Look for your friends, but do not trust to hope. It is forsaken in these lands… I am Eomer, son of Eomund, Third Marshal of Riddermark. I hope if next we meet it is under better circumstances." Eomer galloped forward, his company following as he declared, "We ride north!"
The four watched them go, until they were barely specks in the distance. Eltariel watched Aragorn clench his fists before letting out a deep breath. Legolas cast his gaze towards the smoke from the burned bodies, Gimli staring blankly at his axe.
"We must go," Aragorn finally told them , breaking them all out of their stupor. "We have lingered for long enough. There is hope to be had. Let us continue onward."
Gimli vehemently refused to get on a horse, teased mercilessly by a smug Legolas, who removed the saddle and mounted the slightly smaller of the two horses with no problems at all. Gimli found himself clinging to Legolas as he was ungracefully seated behind him, latching onto him for fear of falling off. Eltariel and Aragorn looked to each other grudgingly.
"I do not desire to share a horse any more than you do," Aragorn addressed her calmly, "But we have no other means of travel in which you could keep up with us."
"If I can survive riding on the back of a fire drake with Talion I can tolerate riding on a horse with you," Eltariel told him, unconcerned. "Besides, I have a feeling there are things you'd like to ask me." Aragorn gave a small smile as he mounted the remaining horse.
"Many things. But there is time for that later." He held out a hand to help her up. She looked at it for a moment before mounting perfectly fine on her own. Aragorn took his hand back, unsurprised.
"Lead the way." She gestured towards the others, and Aragorn looked up to see Legolas and Gimli looking to him for their next move. He took another deep, centering breath before nodding. The four of them took off to continue the search.
XxX
Talion gasped awake, a wraith green glow briefly overtaking his body before it returned to normal. A felled spider laid beside him. He sucked in huge breaths, disoriented as his eyes darted around to take in his surroundings. Was he still at Amon Hen? The trees looked familiar, but this wasn't the last place he remembered being. He didn't have much time to dwell on the fact before he found himself with a sword pointed at his throat, weakly pressing against his skin. A pale and shaky Boromir, who looked like he hadn't slept or bathed in days, kneeled next to him, terror and grief and bewilderment in his eyes as Talion met his gaze. Talion attempted to raise a hand to reassure him, but he felt the sword press just a little harder against his throat. He stilled.
"Boromir—
"I watched you die," Boromir whispered, words barely audible. "I watched you die," he stated more firmly, voice rising. "I saw the life leave your eyes. I held you in my arms as your skin turned pale and cold. I mourned you!" he screamed, voice echoing through the otherwise silent forest. Talion felt the cold steel blade begin to tremble against his skin. "How are you alive? What are you?!"
"I am a man banished from death," Talion told him after a moment, eyes sorrowful and full of anguish. "I face death time and time again, but my fea is forbidden from leaving this world. I return to my body to start again, to watch the people I care about fall and move on from this world without me, knowing I can never join them…" Talion raised his hand again, this time to lower Boromir's sword. Boromir let him, frozen in place, looking at Talion as if he couldn't possibly be real. "I am a man who mourns his wife and son, and all of his companions he's had to watch die because of Sauron's grip on this world." Talion gingerly sat up, wincing at the phantom pains from the freshly healed wounds in his chest. "How long have I been gone?"
Boromir hesitated before telling him, "I have walked what has felt like days without much rest. We're at the edge of the forest." He didn't get much more than that out before he suddenly swayed, Talion darting forward to catch him before he could collapse.
His eyes frantically searched around him, settling on the pack at Boromir's belt. In it was lembas and a half full water skin. Talion didn't know if it would be enough, if he would have to… His eyes flickered briefly to Isildur's Ring, which glowed slightly, mocking him. He shook his head. No. He would use no wraith magic unless he had to. He looked back down at Boromir, whose eyes were sliding shut. Talion shook him gently, firmly, and Boromir's eyes jolted back open.
"Stay with me, Boromir. I need you to stay awake," Talion urged. He broke the lembas into smaller pieces, slowly feeding it to Boromir and giving him sips of water, until a bit of color returned to his face and he looked semi-alert. He put everything back in the pack. "Do you have strength enough to walk?"
"I… I think so." Talion winced as he slung one of Boromir's arms under his shoulder, bringing them both back up to their feet. Talion let out a hiss at the pull in his chest. Damned warchiefs and their crossbows. He felt Boromir's feet drag slightly as they finally cleared the trees, and Talion went down on one knee to take a few deep breaths. Boromir sat next to him, looking more than a bit unwell.
"I forget how draining undeath can be," he murmured to himself before looking up at the terrain that lay ahead and sighing heavily. Rocky, treacherous mountain, sharp peaks, dangerous slopes, sudden drops in elevation. Trying to navigate that while injured was a death sentence. Talion looked back at Boromir, who met his gaze after a moment of hesitation. "How are you with heights?"
"I have travelled through mountains before," Boromir told him tiredly.
"By air?" Talion asked with a raised eyebrow. Boromir looked at him quizzically and Talion smirked slightly. "The both of us are in no condition to travel those mountains by foot, and while I can fall to my death and recover, you cannot. Air is the fastest and safest way to get where we're going."
"How in Middle-earth are we going to travel by air?" Boromir questioned. Talion's smirk grew wider as he held his fist up, blue magic swirling around it for a few moments before he lowered his hand back to his side.
"I will warn you, she is a bit wary around strangers, but she won't harm you. Although, I did tell that to Ratbag once and she nearly set him on fire…" Boromir's eyes went wide in shock, but it was nothing compared to the expression on his face as Luinil descended from the sky with a greeting roar, settling around them and eyeing Boromir suspiciously. "Breathe," Talion reminded him, and Boromir gulped in a huge breath after letting out the one he didn't know he was holding. Talion looked up at her fondly. "We need to get over the mountains," he told her, "But neither of us are in any condition to travel on foot." She gave a low rumble, nudging Talion gently with her snout in understanding.
When Boromir regained enough calm to speak, he asked, "Can she take us to Osgiliath?" Luinil turned to Boromir with a not so friendly growl, and Talion gently patted her snout.
"Be nice, Luinil. He's a friend." He looked to Boromir. "Of course."
"How… How did you come to befriend a fire drake?" Boromir asked hesitantly. Talion smiled.
"She came to my aid against one of her own kind. I haven't the slightest idea why… But she has not left my side since." Luinil gave a low, affectionate rumble in response. "But why Osgiliath? Why not directly to the White City?"
"I… Would like to see my brother again. Osgiliath has been under constant attack from orcs for some time now, and he and I and our men have been defending it. I'm sure he'll be there. And…" He averted his eyes, guilt overcoming him. "Frodo was heading that way, when he fled Amon Hen. I… I have to apologize for what I did." Talion's gaze softened, hand falling lightly on Boromir's shoulder. Boromir looked at it, expression anguished when he observed Isildur's Ring so close. He had no desire for a Ring anymore, not after what he did, ignoring its attempts to get him to take it despite a small, distant voice in his head urging him to.
"The One Ring affected you, as it does all those it comes into contact with. You are not at fault, Boromir."
"But I could have been stronger," Boromir argued. "I could have resisted. I could have been better!"
"You wished to do good, and the One Ring used that against you, tried to justify you harming Frodo as necessary to achieve that good. Boromir…" Talion waited until Boromir met and held his gaze. "It is not your fault," he stressed adamantly. "And I am sure Frodo holds no ill will towards you for it." Boromir's eyes became haunted then, remembering those moments.
"He looked so frightened… Like he didn't recognize me."
"The Rings can make one unrecognizable," Talion agreed, smiling grimly, acutely aware of his own situation. Boromir caught his meaning, looking again at Isildur's Ring, swallowing uncertainly.
He asked him, "Why don't you simply take it off?" Talion didn't answer immediately, grip tightening slightly on Boromir's shoulder instead.
"I freed the Nazgul who once possessed this Ring. It is now my burden to bear."
"But why?" Boromir questioned quietly. "You don't have to condemn yourself to such a fate." He held Talion's gaze again. He knew why, of course. He remembered the council meeting, yet still couldn't fathom how anyone like that could have the will to keep going.
"You know why," Talion answered him, knowing where his thoughts were. His other hand wandered absentmindedly to his neck, where the Black Hand had slit his throat once before, a small shiver racking his body. He changed the subject. "Are you injured?" Boromir assessed his body for a moment.
"Battered and bruised from battle, weary from no rest, perhaps." He huffed slightly. "Yearning for a warm meal." That got a slight chuckle out of Talion.
"It may be a while yet before you have one. There is enough lembas left in your pack should you need it until we stop again." He looked towards the quickly darkening sky. "But let us rest for the night. We can leave out tomorrow and start to cover ground."
"And your drake will keep watch?" Luinil gave an affirmative rumble, wrapping her body around them, providing warmth and cover.
Talion nodded, leaning heavily against her stomach and letting out a long, low breath, staring up at nothing in particular. Boromir tried to make himself comfortable, but his mind wouldn't stop racing. He turned one way, laid there for a few moments, then the other. He sighed, glancing over at Talion, who didn't look much better.
"You should rest as well." Talion met his gaze. "Whether you physically need it or not, some sleep might do you good." Talion smiled sadly at him.
"I… It's… Difficult, the first night back after…"
"Ah," Boromir replied. "Yes. Dying seems… Unpleasant." Talion laughed softly at that, and Boromir couldn't help a brief chuckle at the ridiculousness of his statement.
"That's one way to put it, I suppose. I wouldn't recommend it."
In an effort to pass time the two struck up a small and light conversation as stars began appearing in the now dark sky, about everything and nothing in particular. They discussed things ranging from their plans to reach Osgiliath and what they would do if a battle raged on, to who would win in a sword fight, to the actual meals they would have when they finally reached Gondor. Before long, Boromir was fast asleep, snoring softly, body relaxed. Talion smiled gently at that, letting his head loll back and his eyes slip shut.
Closing A/N: Not a whole lot happening, buuut there's setup for what's to come! Again, I'm so sorry for being away for so long. Thank you so much to the people who left comments and reviews and for everyone's patience. I appreciate y'all! :)
*Also, a friendly reminder that if you don't like something in the fic, no one's making you read it. XD I wrote it that way because that's how I wanted it. There are plenty of others out there if there's such a big issue and something is too "cringey" for you. The tags were there. You knew what you were getting into. Said with love and respect.