This chapter's really short. I'm sorry!
Anyway, I don't own anything other than my OC's. Also, this is a non-slash story.
Enjoy!
Chapter 3: Falling Down
"Bye Philip!"
"Great shot, man!"
"See you Monday!"
Philip Hughes waved goodbye to his teammates as he began walking home. His basketball team had just won their third consecutive game, and he had made the game-winning shot. Trying to relive the moment, Philip dribbled the basketball on the pavement, dodging imaginary opponents, before he jumped and tossed the ball into the air.
"Oops."
Philip failed to catch the basketball, and it bounced into the mass of trees bordering the sidewalk. He hurried after it, only to see it fall into a rather large rabbit hole. "Great," he groaned, before dropping to his hands and knees beside the hollow. Philip groped around blindly, trying to find the round shape of the ball in the darkness of the hole. Nothing. With a frustrated sigh, Philip crawled into the burrow, determined to retrieve his basketball. Still nothing.
"Man, this hole must be deeper than I thought." Philip edged further down the hole, not even noticing the white star pendant slip out from underneath his shirt and begin to glow. Suddenly, Philip felt the ground disappear from beneath his hands and knees. A sense of free fall overcame him. There was a bright white flash of light, and then he knew no more.
~o*o*o*o~
Boromir stood on his balcony in Minas Tirith, looking over the fields of Pelennor. His younger brother Faramir had left with the other Ithilien Rangers the previous day, and Boromir missed him very much. But Faramir had his duty to protect Osgiliath, Boromir thought, and I…
A flash of bright white light shocked Boromir out of his musings. He immediately rushed outside, surveying the city. A body could be seen lying just outside the walls. "Open the gate!" Boromir commanded, sprinting down to the lowest level. The great stone doors creaked open, and Boromir ran outside.
A young boy, about fifteen years old, lay unconscious on the grass beside the wall. He had reddish brown hair, similar to Faramir's. Boromir's eyes widened in disbelief when he saw the white star pendant around the boy's neck, but he quickly disregarded it. There are probably several necklaces like this, he told himself, but he wasn't so sure. After a few moments, the boy awoke, revealing his light blue eyes. "Are you alright?" Boromir asked as the boy sat up.
The boy nodded, looking around confusedly. "Uh, where am I?"
"You are outside of the gates of Minas Tirith," Boromir replied.
The boy's eyes widened. "Minas Tirith? The capital of Gondor?"
"Yes," Boromir answered. "May I inquire of your name?"
"I'm Philip. Who're you?"
"I am Boromir, son of the Steward Denethor."
Philip's eyes widened again. "Whoa, that must have been some fall!"
Boromir gave him a quizzical look. "You fell?"
"Yeah. I was trying to get my ball out of a rabbit's hole, but I fell down the hole and somehow ended up here."
Boromir nodded, helping Philip to his feet. "Well, I do not think it will be a problem if you stayed in Minas Tirith. I am sure my father would not mind."
Philip smiled. "Thanks." The two walked into the city. Many of the townsfolk gawked at them as they passed. "What are they all looking at?" Philip wondered.
Boromir laughed. "Well, it is not everyday that they see someone dressed in such strange clothes."
"Hey, these are quite normal where I come from!" Philip retorted indignantly, gesturing to his basketball shorts and jersey.
The two continued to banter as they climbed to the very top of the city. Here, Boromir paused. "Wait out here," he instructed. "I must speak with my father." Philip nodded, and Boromir pushed open the doors of the Citadel.
Denethor looked up from his papers. "Ah, Boromir, to what do I owe this visit?"
"I found a young boy outside the gates, Father," Boromir replied. "He doesn't know how he came to be there. I was wondering if we could allow him to stay here."
Denethor paused for a moment in thought. "Yes, he may stay. But that is not all you wish to tell me." The Steward surveyed his son. After many years of raising him, he could tell when something was bothering Boromir.
Boromir took a deep breath. "The boy, Philip, wore a white star necklace. It bears a striking resemblance to the pearl star pendant in the Legend of the Elenmîr."
"Boromir, surely you do not believe that story to be true," Denethor chuckled. "It is just a legend. I will find the boy a room. He will be a welcome guest in Minas Tirith."
"Thank you, Father." Boromir turned and left the room, finding Philip sitting right where he had left him. "My father said you may stay," Boromir informed him.
Philip scrambled to his feet. "Thanks."
"It is almost time for midday meal. Do you wish to accompany me?"
"Yeah, that would be nice."
The two walked through the halls, idly chatting. Suddenly, Philip stopped. He stared at the nearby tapestry. It depicted a warrior, clad in shining armor, standing atop a pile of dead orc bodies. His reddish-brown locks flew in the wind as he triumphantly lifted his sword into the air. "Who's that?" Philip asked.
"That is the legendary Captain Herion," Boromir replied. "He was a great leader of the forces of Gondor long ago. No one knows what happened to him. It is said that he joined the Order of Legend, but that is just a tale. Come now, we will be late."
Philip's eyes lingered on the tapestry a moment longer. The face of the captain seemed so familiar, but where had he seen it before? Philip sighed and shrugged his shoulders, following Boromir to the dining hall. The answer would come to him soon.
~o*o*o*o~
Elrond smiled as he watched Hope spar with his son Elladan. The young girl had informed him that she had taken swordfighting lessons since she was very young. Suddenly, Galadriel's voice cut through his thoughts like a knife.
Philip Hughes, the bearer of the Nimornegîl, has arrived in Middle-Earth.
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