I don't anything, well, I own the clothes I'm wearing...
The Important Things in Life
It was the Southrons again. They were invading Ithilien and the rangers were doing everything in their power to discontinue their march to the black gates. They were thick in the forests making it hard to see in the growing dim light of the early morning. Few of the enemy was left but they were harsh fighters and had been great in number, always attacking in groups. Faramir and his bodyguards had been separated a few minutes into the battle and Damrod was now looking for Faramir and Mablung when he saw one of fellow rangers, and friend in trouble.
Anborn was encircled by three of them but Damrod could see two more approaching stealthily. He could also see a steady line of blood coming from Anborn's side. Enraged, he readied his sword to aid his friend when he heard a noise behind him. Spinning around, he barely missed getting his throat slit open. Instead he received a deep gash to his arm. Without a second glance he easily killed the man who had snuck up on him. That done, he jumped forward into the small clearing alongside the river to help Anborn.
Between the two of them and their skills with the sword they won victory with ease. Just as they turned to depart in search of the others, a man of the south, feigning death thrust his sword up, catching Damrod off guard in the side. Determined, he raised his sword, wishing to destroy this man who dare put a sword in his side. He nodded to Anborn to proceed back to the others; he would be just fine. Anborn could always send someone after him if need be, but Anborn had to go, he was hurt and had to be looked after.
He almost wished he hadn't sent Anborn off, but two rangers attract more attention than one, and he already had enough on his hands. His side was in searing pain as he twisted and dodged the other man's blows but that was the least of his worries. His shoulder wound was just setting in and it screamed in resistance each time he swung, each time he moved his arm; it was in constant pain. He breathed heavily, trying to ignore his shoulder, just fight through the pain, and he concentrated on his movements, particularly his feet; he had gotten backed up on the edge of a three foot or so drop off where a swift river was flowing below. Damrod needed to end this, and end it quick.
In a last effort he brought his blade down and across the man's chest. The man jumped back expectantly. Knowing he would, Damrod used the momentum from the swing to bring the blade around in a circle and back up catching the man where the shoulder meets the neck; an almost instant death. What he hadn't counted on however was for the man to make a last move, bringing his sword up, hitting Damrod in the side of the head with the flat of his blade, causing his ears to ring and the stars to come out early. Together they toppled over the edge of the bank into the chilly water below, swiftly sinking to the bottom. The weight of the dead man and Damrod's light leather armor was dragging him down. He floated down stream a few feet but quickly caught his arm fast on a rock, holding him in place as he surfaced and tried to clear his head. Shaking the water from his eyes he looked around.
He was on the far side of the river bed now, a good fifteen to twenty feet across. The bank here was slightly higher, about five feet above his head. He knew that injured as he was he would never be able to swim across the river…but perhaps he could climb up the bank. Reaching up with his good arm he grabbed whatever would hold firm under his weight; a small rock, and hoisted himself up. He only managed to clear another foot when he brought his injured arm up. He bit his lip in pain as his shoulder screamed in protest. His head swimming from the blow and he rested his forehead against the dirt, waiting for the pain to pass. But it didn't. Breathing in deeply his vision cleared a little where dark spots had suddenly began dancing. His arm was going numb, he let out a low cry and sank deep against the bank, trying to hold on as his fingers began to loosen and darkness ebbed in once again.
Faramir stepped into the small clearing, closing his eyes and letting the sound of the nearby river calm his mind a bit. He shook his heading thinking over what happened. Anborn had come stumbling back, half fainting for lack of breath and injury.
"Anborn?" Faramir caught the man as he swayed and helped him to sit down. "Anborn? Here." He handed the man some water and helped the ranger to take a drink. "Are you alright?" The other ranger nodded, still catching his breath, staring off in the direction he had come. Faramir pulled his shirt aside, assessing the wound, and stood to go find another pair of hands to aid him while Faramir went in search of Mablung and Damrod. As he stood Anborn grabbed him by the forearm, pulling him back down.
"Damrod…is out there." He panted while he looked around. Most of the men had already returned to the edge of the forest where they were to meet. "He was helping me…saved me…fighting a Southron…should be back by now. Or very…very soon. He…I think he was hurt." Faramir stood and stared off in the woods. There was no sign of anyone coming out of them. He would wait. First he had to go find Mablung…there he was, on the other side of the camp.
"Mablung, have you seen Damrod?" He placed a hand on is shoulder, leading him towards the edge of the ring of men.
"Nay, not since the attack…is he not here?"
"Anborn last saw him in the forest fighting a Southron. He said he should have returned by now." He shook his. "He's thinks he may be injured."
"Faramir…" Mablung looked in his commander's eyes.
"I'm worried."
"Time for round two, lets go find our stray."
Faramir let out a deep sigh, nothing yet. Wait…off to the side a noise sounded... "Damrod!" He could hear his friend calling faintly from near the river, very faintly. He broke into run and stopped at its banks to see his faithful companion slip into the icy water. "Damrod!" Water temperature no longer mattered as Faramir plunged in after him.
The water was cold; his extremities were fast going numb. If Damrod is injured this must be awful for him. He didn't want to think about other possibilities. If Damrod were to…no, don't think.
Swift hands wrapped around Damrod's waist, pulling him carefully, quickly to the surface. Faramir hauled him up on the bank, struggling with his weight and the wet clothes. "You are so lucky….you aren't as heavy as…my brother." He collapsed, Damrod on his chest pinning him down. "Damrod?" he rolled him over with great effort and stared down at his still form. Visibly his chest was gently rising up and down, but nothing other than that…yet still one could be thankful, it could have been so much worse, right?
"Damrod?" He gently tapped the man on the face.
"Faramir…" Groggy eyes slowly opened.
Faramir shook his head in relief. "Good to see you again."
"Likewise." Damrod accepted Faramir's outstretched hand after struggling to sit up and soon found himself wishing to lie back down. Water still seemed to be swashing around in front of his eyes.
"How do you fare?" His eyes spotted the cut in his shoulder and the other mark in Damrod's side.
"Ah, just a little scratch," he bit back a gasp of pain as he breathed in deeply. "Be fine…by tomorrow."
"Faramir!" Mablung came running into the clearing. "Thank the gods you are both well…why are you both sopping with water?"
"We fell in." Faramir said without looking up. No need to tell details. "Can you walk?" he asked Damrod.
"With difficulty. Might… need a shoulder to lean on." Mablung and Faramir exchanged a smile.
"Come on." Two helping hands pulled him up. Between the two of the them Mablung slowly made his way back, back into the fold. Friends are always a good thing to keep around during a war. These three were no exception.