Author's Note: In case you haven't already noticed (if you haven't, then I would guess that you can't read) this fic contains spoilers for RotK. Just a warning. ^__^ Thanks for the spiffy reviews, by the way. 300! Yay!

Disclaimer: I only own Steph. Boromir belongs to Tolkien.

Chapter 21-Blood

Boromir could see that the Éored were a few leagues from him. As he drew closer, Minas Tirith also came into view. He gasped in horror. His beloved city had fallen, and he was too late. Rage overcame him and every fiber of his being wanted to fall to the ground, weeping bitterly and crying out in anguish. Time seemed to move very slowly.

As he began to feel as though he could not stand one more moment of looking upon the broken city, he felt a change. Far off, a light was glimmering. Clouds were drifting in the South, and morning was beyond them.

A flash, almost like lightening, seared through the sky, and for a second it stood dazzling far off in black and white. Boromir could see Théoden, who moments before had looked bent and defeated, spring up. His strong voice carried on the wind, and Boromir felt hope. Reaching into a bag at his waist, he withdrew something that he had forgotten about for quite a while.

A blue ribbon.

"Hopefully," he said, tying it around his index finger, "it will bring us luck in the coming battle." He smiled at Steph.

"Hopefully." She managed with a weak, lopsided smile.

Boromir caught the last of Théoden's words.

"-Ride now, ride now! Ride to Gondor!" Théoden blew his great horn, and Boromir frowned as he remembered the loss of the Horn of Gondor. These feelings were quickly replaced with as the horns of Rohan were lifted up like music. Minas Tirith would not fall!

As the host moved forward to battle, morning came upon them and Boromir spurred his own steed onward, riding parallel to meet the Rohirrim. The darkness was moved and the hosts of Mordor cried out in fear as the Rohirrim came upon them. The Northmen burst into song as they slew the enemy, and Boromir laughed aloud, the joy of battle upon him.

Looking ahead, he could see Minas Tirith. He smiled, hoping with all his heart that his father could hear the singing and know that Minas Tirith was saved.

The fighting continued until the city was less than a mile away. Théoden slackened his speed, seeking new foes, and his knights gathering around him as he did so. Boromir stayed where he could still hear. He wasn't sure if Théoden had seen him, and he didn't want to waste time with greetings.

Steph was pale as she watched the fighting ahead, taking deep, steadying breaths. She had grabbed a fistful of his tunic when they rode into battle, but he hadn't really noticed. He loved battles. Noticing a splash of orc blood on her long knife, he quickly reminded himself to try and keep an eye on her; he wouldn't last long if his life source was killed.

He sighed. It was going to be hard watching out for two people. But he had to do it. As the oldest child, it was habitual to watch out for himself and another. But in battle? That was going to be tricky.

"I can't believe I lived through that." Steph said, her voice shaky.

Boromir smirked. "You seem to have done well." He said, nodding at her long knife.

"This?" she asked, smirking back, "I was holding it wrong, cut him across the face. But, better than me getting skewered."

Realizing that he had missed what Théoden had said, he scowled. The Rohirrim were now going hither and thither at their will, yet they still had not overthrown the siege, nor won the Gate.

Steph didn't seem to inflict much damage upon the enemy as they made their way through. The most she managed was to leave nasty hack marks (after which Boromir yelled, "It is not an axe, woman!") and gouge out an eye or two ("Decapitate it!"). She was not very good at fighting, she soon found, and settled for letting Boromir do most of the work while she succeeded in irritating the foes with her hacking and cutting moves. After all, if it came to it, she did have teeth and nails.

Taking Boromir's advice, she managed to partially decapitate one he had missed, and was grotesquely reminded of Nearly Headless Nick, from the Harry Potter books. She looked away in disgust as it fell to the ground, dead.

No sooner had she done this, the chieftain of the Haradrim shouted aloud upon seeing the banner of the king, and he held aloft his own standard. The Southrons' scimitars resembled stars as they were drawn. The Northmen rode to meet, Boromir shouting a war cry as he went. Steph simply shrieked as she hacked off an arm, scimitar and all. Boromir delivered a quick blow to the neck, laughing as the head rolled away. He seemed to be having fun as he rode through, hewing off arms and heads. Steph was a different story.

"Augh, Boromir! That's disgusting!"

"That is war!"

It was clear that the Northmen were the better fighters, and Boromir grinned as Théoden slew the chieftain and then the bearer of the Haradrim standard. The unslain turned and fled.

However, the morning was suddenly blotted from the sky and dark fell about Théoden. Horses screamed. Men on the ground groveled. Boromir could feel Steph shivering in fear behind him. He too was afraid, but he straightened up, unwilling to show it.

Boromir couldn't hear Théoden anymore, though he could see his lips moving.

"It will not be long now, Boromir…"

The Unseen One was back.

As his hearing returned, he watched in horror as Snowmane, the King's steed, reared and fell on his side, pierced by a black dart, the king beneath him.

A black shadow descended and Boromir caught a glimpse of a monstrous beast before everything went black. He could smell the foul creature, and started to cry out when the Unseen One's voice tore through his head.

For the first time, its voice was harsh and painful, and by the time it had finished, Boromir's ears were ringing.

"Fate cannot be changed or avoided, Boromir of Gondor. I do not doubt that you know this." Instinctively, he swung his sword in different directions, hoping to hit the Unseen Annoyance. The Unseen One seemed to ignore him, continuing unphased. "However, it is possible that the people who Fate inflicts its torture upon receive help. Everything is done for a reason. The time remaining is waning…"

Boromir regained his sight and hearing, and shook his head to clear the ringing in his ears. It seemed that he had fallen off his horse. The beast he had seen had been slain, its head not far from its body. It was a grotesque beast, and it disgusted him so that he did not look upon it for long. The Rohirrim were not too far away, bearing two bodies, though Boromir did not stop to take a closer look. A new thought had seized him.

Steph. Where was Steph?

Leaping to his feet, he spun in a circle, looking for Steph. He spotted her long knife a few feet from him, and picked it up. She would have been going in that direction, probably dropping it as she went. That sounded like Steph; dropping her only weapon.

He still couldn't find her, though he was sure she was alive.

'If she was dead, I would be dead.' Boromir thought, 'If she was gone, the arrows would reappear.'

These thoughts did nothing to calm his mind, and he could feel beads of sweat forming on his face as he continued to search for her. Panicking, he called her name, running frantically past the dead. Blonde hair caught his eye, but he sadly noted that it was only a member of the Rohirrim.

Continuing on, a glimpse of rough looking, blue material caught his eye. No one wore clothes like that in his world. He ran towards it, anxious to see if it was truly her. He released breath he didn't know he had been holding at the sight of blonde hair. But when he reached the body, his mouth dropped open in horror.

Indeed, it was Steph.

Facedown in a pool of blood.