An Unexpected Ring

Chapter 5

Denethor the Grump

Thanks to the efforts of my new friend Faramir, I did not resort to using my blood as ink.

That being said, he could've gotten me a bigger inkwell.

I did accidentally spill this one already.

Did I mention Boromir's dad is quite sour?

Wait! I just realized something. A memory, I think?

Who is Naga and why do I swear by them?

Boromir leaned against the wall of the cave as he gazed out one of the hidden entrances. So well hidden were these caves in Ithilien that only Gondor's Rangers, and the occasional lizard or bat, could find them. While not comfortable like the splendorous chambers of the White Tower in Minas Tirith, they were dry and warm so long as a fire burned.

The fire had long since died out. A silver moon hung in the sky; half obscured by dark clouds. In the distance, the black mountains of Mordor towered like dark fangs taking a bite from the starlight. The sight made Boromir grimace. He ran a hand over his short beard, feeling grime and dirt staining the hairs. It had been too long since he had felt the comforts of home, but as he stared at those mountains, he couldn't help but find such things trivial. What good was a bath, a luxurious meal, or warm company when a threat hung over them all like an executioner's blade quivering at the peak of its draw, waiting for the order to strike?

Each day that passed was another moment of bated breath and still hearts. Boromir did not let the other men see the worry he felt though. How could he? His father demanded that he be the leader. A strong pillar for all fighting men of Gondor to look upon and feel encouraged. He was asked to be a General, one greater than even some of the kings before. It was a task that felt so monumental, so vast, and for a while, he thought himself unable to accomplish it.

Indeed, he still felt unworthy of the accolades he had earned in his life.

But what am I to do other than continue? Boromir's eyes fell from Mordor's peaks to the glistening pool of water below the cave mouth. Faramir liked to joke that it was a forbidden pool, as if they all did not drink water from it when thirsty. His little brother, always caught up in that imagination of his. He is why I must continue.

Small feet crunched against stone and dirt. A little yawn caught his attention. Morgan, the girl from the fog, flopped to a seat in the cave mouth, letting her legs stretch out towards the lip of the ledge in front of them. She tilted her head as she followed Boromir's eyes to the Land of Shadow.

"It's pretty."

Boromir frowned. Morgan gave him a puzzled look.

"You obviously don't think so."

"I cannot comment on the beauty of something that wishes to see me and my people destroyed. If there even is any beauty there to begin with," Boromir muttered.

A low whistle came from Morgan. "Wow, you sound like Faramir."

That made Boromir chuckle. Indeed, he did sound like his little brother. Faramir was the one who would wax poetic about the way things were in the world. The wordsmith: it is what he should have been rather than a ranger. But even the gentlest of souls were needed to stem the rising darkness.

"So, when do we leave this place?" Morgan asked.

Boromir shrugged. "That's up to Faramir."

"But aren't you his captain?"

Boromir looked down at her. For a girl without a shred of memory, she retained details with surprising accuracy. She had only been in the company of the Ithilien Rangers for a week now, and already she had learned everyone's names by heart and figured out the order of command.

She is sharp, even if she is naive.

"If we were in Osgiliath, perhaps," Boromir replied. "But this is the edge of Gondor's borders. Ithilien is not well known to me, and I would be foolish to assume I could take command over something I do not know. Faramir and his rangers have mapped every square mile of this country. They know where every dried-up stream and dusty rock lies. So, while I may outrank him, I will not overrule his judgment here. He knows when the Orcs are on the move and when it will be best for us to cross back over the Anduin."

Morgan grunted as she got to her feet. "You almost sound proud of him."

"I am," Boromir replied. "Faramir has grown much in our time apart. I simply hope I am not the only one that sees it."

"Well, you're not, 'cause I see it, and I've only just met him," Morgan remarked. "Don't worry. You'll share the glory with him. I don't know what it'll be from 'cause, from what I can tell, we've just been sitting on rocks for the past week." Boromir chuckled at that. "But you won't be alone when someone cheers for him."

Boromir gave Morgan a small smile. Yes, she was hopelessly naive, and not voluntarily so. She knew nothing of the world. When he and Faramir pressed her about her origins, about where she, a young elf, came from, she could not recall no matter how hard she tried. Once, Boromir witnessed her banging her head against the wall in an attempt to trigger a memory. Faramir had to nurse her concussion personally.

There was a strange innocence in her green eyes. It was something Boromir had not seen in some time. Yet, behind that innocence, Boromir knew that Morgan was so much more than an elven child. He and Faramir had only seen her in action once when they found her, but the power she wielded boggled the mind. Other than the Istari and the most ancient elves, Boromir did not know of anyone else who could command fire and lightning the way Morgan had. She put fear into the Orcs.

Ironic, considering she is so young and unassuming.

"Have you recalled anything?" Boromir asked her.

Morgan shook her head. He could see the frustration on her face.

"Not a thing. It's as if… I don't know. I feel like something is there, it's just locked away. Like cookies in a jar, y'know."

Boromir laughed at that. "I know all too well. Faramir and I were professionals at getting cookies out of the jars in the kitchens when we were your age."

"My age?" Morgan put her hands on her hips. "How old do you think I am?"

A slight sense of panic hit Boromir. "Well- I- I'm not sure. You're an elf, even if you are a strange one. Elves age differently than men, but I do know that maturity for an elf is fifty."

"So, you're calling me immature?"

"I'm calling you young, and youth lends itself to… well… fine yes, I'm calling you a bit immature."

"And how old are you, Boromir of Gondor?" Morgan asked, folding her arms.

A smile tugged on the corner of Boromir's mouth. "Nearly forty."

"Then by your metric, you're just as immature as me. Ten years too young to actually be mature, in fact. So, ha!" Morgan let out a haughty sound. "Now that we've established that neither of us knows anything-"

"I know some things," Boromir countered.

"Like what?"

"Why must you put me on the spot like that?" Boromir asked.

Morgan shrugged. "Cause I'm curious and immature, and I have no memory of anything so I might as well be a toddler in the body of an- um?"

"Adolescent."

"That, yes," Morgan nodded.

Boromir shook his head. Morgan could be ridiculous sometimes. Even downright confusing, but she, so far, never ceased to make him smile at her antics.

"You at least do not have the tantrums of a toddler."

"Do you want me to?"

"Absolutely not."

"Then don't call me immature."

Boromir gave her a pointed look. Morgan's lips puckered.

"That was an immature comment, wasn't it?"

"Very," Boromir nodded.

Dirt crunched behind them. Boromir twisted to see Faramir moving toward them.

"It is time," Faramir reported. "Scouts have returned. The orc bands we've been tracking have moved back east. Now's our chance to make for Osgiliath and the western bank of the Anduin."

Morgan threw her hands in the air. "Finally! No more staring at rock walls! Sky and fresh air. Not that the air isn't fresh here. It's only just a tad stale in the back, but still, there's something about open spaces that I much prefer to this." She rushed past Faramir. "I need to grab my coat!"

As she bounded away, Boromir puffed out a breath. Faramir shook his head in disbelief as his eyes followed Morgan.

"She's energetic," Boromir commented.

"Yes. Inquisitive, energetic, and witty. A terrible combination."

"Oh, most certainly," Boromir agreed. "She's now the second person I've encountered like that. The first made me want to tear my hair out at times too."

"The first being?" Faramir waited for Boromir's response. When none came, the younger brother scoffed. "You like my witty nonsense."

"I've gotten used to it," Boromir chuckled.

Faramir tossed a gray cloak at him, making Boromir laugh harder.

"Get ready to move. The dawn is coming, and its cover will serve us well."

"As you command, little brother."

Morgan's feet ached. She did not know if she was used to so much walking. After all, she could not recall going on a journey of any substantial length before. But, as she strode alongside Faramir and Boromir, her shorter legs burning with strain, forehead dripping with sweat, she couldn't help but let out a pathetic groan. She reached down and massaged her thighs, wincing as she felt large knots roll out of them.

"Don't slow down now, Morgan," Boromir called to her as Faramir and the other Rangers kept moving. "We don't want to lose you."

"Like you could. Everything's gray around here, and I'm not."

Boromir cracked a smile. "Well, I suppose we would have to get quite far ahead to lose track of you. After all, that gold on your coat is rather shiny." His brow furrowed. "Do you mind if I ask where you got it?"

Morgan gave him a sidelong look as she kept walking, her boots crunching atop dry earth and dusty stones.

Boromir nodded. "Right, that was a stupid question."

"No, not a stupid one. Just one said out of reflex," Morgan replied. "I guess it's natural for people to want to get to know as much about their friends as possible."

Boromir arched an eyebrow. "Friends?"

"Well, aren't we? I mean, I haven't burnt you all to a crisp, yet, and you all haven't skewered me, yet. So, by all metrics, we are, at the very least, decent acquaintances. I guess friendship doesn't come until you figure out the origins of my coat. Nor does it happen until I figure out why you are carrying a musical instrument in the middle of a wasteland." She finished, gesturing at the large horn against Boromir's hip.

"This?" Boromir patted it. "The Horn of Gondor. It is said that when a blast is blown from it, all those who hear come to the aid of he who used it."

"Enchanted?"

Boromir gave her a perplexed look. "What?"

"I mean, if it were enchanted, that would make some sense." Morgan peered closer. "I don't see any discernible magical markings though." She poked it with her finger. "Feels like normal uh… whatever it's made of. Hmm…"

"Morgan?"

"Great craftsmanship though." She tapped her knuckles against it. "Sturdy."

"Morgan."

"Hm?" Morgan flicked her eyes up to Boromir again. A sheepish expression crossed her face as she folded her hands behind her back. "Scholarly curiosity."

Boromir hummed. "You were a scholar before you lost your memory?"

Morgan shrugged. "I dunno. But, I'm a scholar now. I know nothing, therefore I am always learning." She hopped up onto a fallen tree trunk and threw her hands out to the side, balancing as she walked. "Say, Boromir, where exactly are we going again?"

"You can remember all our names, but you can't recall the name of the place we are heading?"

"I wasn't paying attention."

"Why?"

Morgan hopped down from the end of the trunk. "I was busy trying to figure out how to pronounce 'Ahadan'."

"Ahadan? Oh, you mean the long-neck one."

Morgan tilted her head. "How is it that I know his name, yet you, the captain, don't?"

Before Boromir could answer that question, the trees ahead of them broke. A gentle slope rose. As they ascended, they exited the trees of Ithilien and rocks of Ithilien and stared out at broad plains. In the distance, rising high into the sky from the pains, stood white peaks that towered over the rest of the land. A rushing river snaked through the grasslands closer to their location. Straddling the river was a ruined city.

"Behold, the realm of Gondor," Boromir said as Morgan's mouth fell open. He nodded to the river. "The mighty Anduin, which old Osgiliath, mighty in its day, resides. That is our destination."

He then pointed to the mountains, specifically to a city Morgan failed to notice at first glance. But, once she saw it, she couldn't tear her gaze. It shimmered like a fresh pearl amid the golden fields and against the rocks of the mountains. Massive walls ascended in several rings against the cliffs reaching a tower that crowned the city. Her eyes widened.

That might be the biggest city I've ever seen. She shook her head and blinked. It is the biggest city I've ever seen.

"Minas Tirith," Boromir said, a smile breaking across his face, "the City of Elendil. The City of Kings. There resides the seat of my father, Denethor, whom you will meet once we return."

"I will?"

"Of course," Boromir said, "I intend to make sure you are properly rewarded for the help you have given us."

"Boromir, come already! We should reach Osgiliath by nightfall!" Faramir called before beginning his descent towards the Anduin. He hesitated and his shoulders fell.

"What is it?" Boromir moved to Faramir's side, concern filling him. Morgan followed, her sharp eyes peering at the ruins on the river. "Orcs?"

Faramir sighed then shook his head. "Look at the color of the banners over the city."

Boromir peered at the city. Morgan tilted her head.

"A white tree?" She said.

"Father's banner," Faramir breathed. "He's in the city. Likely waiting for our return."

"Why would he be doing that?" Boromir asked, puzzled.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Faramir looked down at Morgan. "I suppose our tagalong will get to know him sooner than expected."

"Indeed," Boromir nodded. "Well, we better not keep father waiting."

"Best not. Knowing him, he'll already be in one of his moods."

Morgan didn't say anything. She simply followed the two brothers on the trail to Osgiliath, anxious to see what Gondor was like, and curious to meet the father of the first two friends she could remember having.

Osgiliath was in shambles, and that caused Morgan enormous amounts of alarm. Once mighty watchtowers and domes were now nothing more than crumbling walls of stone. Houses and grand estates were rubble. The roads had been trodden to gravel by the constant march of soldiers and generations of neglect. The black and white banners that fluttered over the western half of the city were the only new additions this place sported. Morgan grimaced.

Gondor has seen better days.

As she followed Boromir and Faramir into the western half of Osgiliath, they passed armored soldiers standing guard along the banks of the Anduin. Unlike the rangers, who wore mostly mail and leather, these soldiers donned plate armor, sturdy, strong, and shiny.

The regulars of Gondor's army.

Morgan's lips thinned. Many were not wearing their helms, instead having them set near their feet or sitting in the crook of their arms. The guard positions appeared to be haphazard in design. Some were situated low, far too low to be effective watch posts.

What can they even see from the ground? Fish? Morgan's mind worked rapidly as she flicked her gaze around. Two watchmen should be in that shattered tower. It'd only take a day to clear the rubble and establish a decent shelter for them. Some lumber would do the trick. Another two or three should be on the causeway running parallel to the river. Better field of view and a decent show of strength. Yet, none are… gods; who is in charge here?

"My sons!"

Morgan's answer came with the jovial greeting of a man in rich dark furs and velvets. Like Boromir, he was tall and carried himself with a regal, commanding bearing. Unlike Boromir though, he was older, with long silvery hair and stress lines on his face. Still, his pale lips bore a smile as he approached Boromir and embraced him. He clapped Boromir's shoulder and then glanced at Faramir. All the little brother received was a slight smile and a nod. With that, Faramir moved to step around.

"I trust Ithilien is clear of the enemy?"

Faramir paused and turned to his father. "I did not have the numbers to-"

"Bah!" Denethor waved a hand, his smile evaporated as a disgruntled frown creased his lips. "Numbers? They are orcs, and we are men of Gondor. Quality over quantity, or do you prefer the latter?"

"Father," Boromir placed a hand on Denethor's shoulder, "he speaks truthfully. In fact, Faramir was so short-handed that he was doing scouting missions alone until I brought several men to assist him. And, on one of those missions, I joined him, and we stumbled on a rather interesting discovery."

Boromir stepped to the side. Immediately, Denethor's gaze fell on Morgan. She didn't shrink or step back though. Instead, she tilted her head and glanced at Boromir, then at Faramir.

"You look at lot more like Faramir, y'know," she said, making Faramir's eyes widen and Boromir cough.

"This is Morgan," Boromir explained. "As you can see, she is one of-"

"I know an elf when I see one," Denethor grunted, his frown remaining as he looked at Morgan. "Although, I don't believe I have ever had the chance to greet an elven child." He looked at Boromir. "You found her in Ithilien?"

"We found her," Boromir replied, nodding at Faramir, who did his best to avoid his father's gaze. "Not only did we save her life, but she also saved us from an enemy ambush."

"Did she?" Denethor's frown lessened as he raised his brow. "And how does a child save my sons?"

Boromir opened his mouth, but before he could reply, Morgan opened her hand and allowed a flame to burst to life in her palm.

"Like this, only a lot louder and more violent."

Murmurs emerged from the soldiers around Morgan. Most were already gawking at her due to her supposed elven heritage. Her little display of magic, so inconsequential to her, caused them all to stare at her with awe. Even Denethor looked at her with surprise, though he did his best to hide it.

"I see…" Denethor grimaced and turned to Boromir, whispering something to him. Boromir's face turned to stone. He nodded then gestured at Faramir.

"I leave Morgan to you for now."

Denethor patted his son's back as he led Boromir away from the crowd of gawking soldiers. As they left, Morgan shook her hand, extinguishing the flame. She flexed her fingers as smoke twirled from her fingertips. Faramir approached her, a weary look on his face as he watched his father and brother walk away.

"Now you have met my father," Faramir muttered.

Morgan nodded and then met his gaze. "Did I offend him?"

Faramir furrowed his brow. "No more than I did."

"Oh…" Morgan leaned closer then spoke out of the corner of her mouth. "I was aiming to."

"What?"

"He wasn't nice to you."

"But-"

"I don't like grumpy people."

Faramir opened his mouth to reply but found he lacked words. He reached for his face and rubbed his eyes then just nodded.

"Fair enough. Come, let me show you where you will likely be staying."

"I won't be staying with you and Boromir?"

Faramir urged her along, pushing her through a slowly growing crowd of soldiers coming to see the latest curiosity.

"We will be staying either with our father or with our men. You-"

"I'll sleep with the men!" Morgan declared, causing Faramir to sputter.

"That, um, Morgan-"

"What? Did I say something wrong? Shouldn't you want to spend time with your comrades and friends, especially since death and ruin could be around any corner at any time? Oh, what a better way to connect, right?" She noticed Faramir's flummoxed look. "Am I wrong? Drats! I need to take notes, but I don't have a pen to write with." She twisted to look at the closest stunned soldier. "Do you happen to have a pen? I'll take charcoal at this point, but Naga I need to take notes!"

The soldier shook his head.

"Well darn," Morgan folded her arms, the sleeves of her coat billowed as she did so. "The old-fashioned way it is. Stone tablet?"

"Morgan!" Faramir hissed, grabbing her by the shoulders and steering her away from the crowd. "I think that is enough attention for today."

"I was getting attention?"

"You didn't notice?"

"No! I was a bit busy trying to figure out how to take notes without having to use my blood for ink."

Faramir closed his eyes and then sighed.

"How is that the least strange thing you've said since I've met you?"

And chapter! Yup, I've found a new favorite dynamic to write, and it involves two exasperated brothers who have no idea how to parent a gremlin. This is going to be a lot of fun! Anyways, let me know what you all think of this chapter. As always, I hope you all enjoyed it! Have a nice day!