A/N: This is it, folks! The end of Fellowship Of The Ring. At the end of this chapter, I'll announce the title for The Two Towers. Enjoy reading this chapter (I didn't like writing it.)
WARNING: Sad, sad, sad. Character death.
Amy lay sprawled on the ground, buried underneath a heap of blankets. She was wet, tired, and very hungry. Samwise had been trying with limited success to make a fire, but the wood was too soggy and damp. She tossed herself over and closed her eyes again. Lizzie, after their water fight that afternoon, had begun acting strangely again. She had thrown a hissy fit after not being allowed to ride in the boat with Aragorn and Frodo. Amy wondered what was going on with her; she had been acting weird ever since they had left Moria. A rock the size of her thumb was digging into Amy's back, and she reached behind her to dig it out. Throwing it aside, she turned over again and was greeted with a welcome blaze of multicolored sparks. Samwise, the plump blonde Hobbit, was rocking on his heels, looking extremely pleased with himself. "Yes!" Amy said, sitting upright and holding her hands close to the small flames. Breathing on it carefully, Samwise added a handful of dry pine needles to the small fire. A tongue of flame licked up, devouring the brittle branches eagerly. The warmth was satisfying, and Amy watched sleepily as Sam built up the fire. It would take quite a while until the fire was hot enough for cooking, and even then there was only one gamy hare that Boromir had snared. Boromir, too, was acting oddly. He and Lizzie had been making curious excuses to accompany Frodo wherever he went. Amy had a nasty feeling in her stomach about it, but she passed it off to too much lembas bread.
Sam chewed on her thumbnail broodingly. There was a heavy tension in the air, a thickness that couldn't be attributed to humidity or oncoming rain. She glanced towards the sky, noting the hard, clear blue, and flicked her eyes back down. Amy was close to the fire, warming her hands on it as her head drooped lower and lower. Sam smiled fondly. For all of Amy's worry and bluster, she was still the baby of the group. Sam remembered when they were children; Amy had been the weak one, the one everyone played pranks on, and Sam always had to be the bully to make the other kids apologize. But now the positions had turned somewhat. Amy was the one defending Sam, and she didn't know why. Sam tossed a handful of moss into the flames and watched them lick around the crumbling leaves. For the first time, Sam worried about what would happen after everything was over. Would they go back home? Could they go back home? She worried and chewed on her thumb, every so often glancing critically at the sky. The approaching feeling was still there, but no rain was forthcoming. So why was the back of her neck prickling so suddenly?
Lizzie waited deliberately, sitting a predetermined space away from Frodo. The young Hobbit was already suspicious of her, but Lizzie had a feeling things were coming to a head. The Ring was singing to her in a humming, sweet voice. It swung, exposed, on Frodo's neck as the Hobbit pawed it thoughtlessly. Lizzie felt her hands clamp to fists. His dirty hands, with the ragged nails, touching her Ring! Jealousy crackled over her like the spreading of a flame, and she itched to tear the chain off his neck. Wait, wait, the Ring told her soothingly. Wait, wait. Lizzie waited, like a panther taut to spring. She would get the Ring if it was the last thing she did. She would get it, and then she would wear it for all to see. They would all see and fear her. She would be the prettiest, most powerful person on the face of the earth, and they would all fear her beauty and wisdom. She was so deeply involved with this fantasy that she almost didn't hear Frodo get up quietly and pace off, his finger still hovering over the Ring. Lizzie shot to her feet in an instant, forcing a big smile as she looked at the Fellowship. "I need to go to the bathroom, I'll be right back," she announced. They all looked at her with a 'why-did-you-just-announce-that' look, and then she darted off.
That Ring would be hers if it killed her.
Aragorn was sketching a design on the ground with a twig. He frowned at the dirt which he was using as an easel, and then added a few more squiggles. Legolas crouched next to him, and they studied the scrawling as though they were some cryptic text. Aragorn finally sighed and scraped a hand over his stubbled chin. "It would be best to approach Mordor from the North. If we hide the boats in the bushes, we could continue on foot in relative ease. Nightfall would be best to cross the lake, by my reckoning." he said, half to himself. Gimli tapped the ashes from his pipe and snorted, planting the pipe back in his cheek. He drew in a long breath for a moment, then expelled a plume of blue-gray smoke which was whipped away in the wind.
"Crossing Emyn Muil won't be in 'relative ease', I can tell you that, laddie!" Gimli said gloomily. "They say 'tis an impassible maze of knife sharp rocks. And then, by my reckoning, we only have a stinking, festering swampland to cross! With women, no less!" Here he threw a look at Sam and Amy. Sam sneered at him. Aragorn cut in hastily, knowing Sam's hot temper and razor tongue.
"It will not be an easy road, Master Dwarf. I suggest that we all rest and recover our strength." Aragorn said firmly. Gimli sputtered a few indignant excuses, mostly things along the lines of 'My strength? Dwarves have more bloody strength than you do, laddie!' and other such things. Legolas glanced around, cerulean eyes growing darker with urgency as the forest crept in closer. A steady pressure, like the swell of a tide or the thump of a heartbeat, was increasing in his mind.
"Estel," he murmured in Elvish, not wanting Amy or Sam to panic. "We should leave." The Elvish was short, clipped and tight. Aragorn looked at him, brow furrowing. He shook his head once, eyes curious.
"Orcs patrol these eastern shores, Legolas," Aragorn said, dropping his voice to a whisper. Sam looked at the two of them bemusedly, wondering what they were saying in that beautiful language.
"Fie on the eastern shores, Estel!" Legolas said softly. "They do not bother me. No, the presence is here, now. Can you not feel it?" He waited, and then Aragorn's eyes widened. The two of them listened to the ebb and flow of evil surging towards them, the steady thrum of feet approaching. They got to their feet hastily as Merry came back, his arms full of wood. The little Hobbit struggled manfully with the logs, then let them fall near the fire. He put his hands on his knees, panting, and then looked over near where Amy had been sleeping.
"Where's Frodo?" he asked curiously. Aragorn's eyes shot to Boromir's shield, which lay forgotten propped against a tree. And then, Lizzie's abrupt departure. He exchanged a glance with Legolas, and the two of them took off into the woods.
Lizzie panted as she ran, weaving through trees with feather light steps. Her blonde hair was tucked in her shirt, and her cheeks were rosy with power and exertion. A little grin, exposing a wicked smile of pearly white teeth, was spreading across her pouting lips. She could see him up ahead, shuffling slowly along, head bowed, shoulders bent. He was brooding. Lizzie hesitated, slowing herself. She would have to approach this diplomatically, conversationally, easily. He would give her the Ring. He was weary of it, and she was his friend. Wasn't she? She dismissed these thoughts. If he would not give her the Ring, she would take it. He was smaller and weaker than she - she towered over him - and she wouldn't hurt him. Well, maybe a little. She sprang forward, startling Frodo. He cried out a little, jumping backwards, his face chalky white. Lizzie beamed at him, the smile growing larger. "Hi!" she said perkily, giggling slightly. Frodo was still trying to catch his breath, eyes wild. "Oh, I'm sorry," Lizzie said, sympathy dripping from her words. "Did I frighten you?"
"No ... no," Frodo said in a whisper. Then he turned on her abruptly. "Why do you seek me?"
"Oh, I just wanted to talk with you for a bit," Lizzie said smoothly. She felt the rippling waves increasing from the Ring. It was calling to her, begging her to just pounce on Frodo and tear the chain from his neck. But she fought her urges and continued up the path, using every effort to appear nonchalant. "Why are you out here in the middle of nowhere? Don't you wanna talk with your little friends?"
Frodo eyed her warily. "I needed solitude for a brief moment," he said under his breath. "Their talk of passageways, dragons, wizards...It frightens me. I do not belong here." He scuffed the dirt moodily with his big toe. Lizzie felt a cool surge of triumph.
"It's the Ring, isn't it." her voice was flatter than it had been, more tired, less excited. "I'm sorry, Frodo. I know it's hard." She laid a hand on his arm, and he flinched away. Her hand was cold as ice. But her blue eyes, clear as glass, were soft and warm. "Can I see it, just for a second?" she asked.
"I...don't think I should," Frodo said hesitantly, taking a step away. Those eyes did not seem quite so warm now. There was something bestial in them, a danger that was singing in his system. She advanced a single step, and now she was too close for comfort. Her fingers stretched out, stroking along his neck, those damp, cold fingers dropping lower and lower, searching for the fine chain that held the Ring. He jerked away angrily, taking off into the woods. Anger burned in Lizzie's chest, constricting bands of iron clamping down.
"You little brat!" she hissed between her teeth. She raced after him, pouncing on him and jerking him to the ground. Fingers scrabbled for dominance, and Lizzie locked her legs around his smaller ones. Frodo panicked, fingers groping desperately for the band of gold around his neck. His first finger slipped inside, and he vanished without a trace. "What!" Lizzie sat up, releasing Frodo. She scrubbed her eyes and glared around. "Come back here! Where did you go?" She shrieked at the forest. The only response was a twittering of birds. "I'll get you, you bastard!" Lizzie screamed. "Get back here!"
Amy woke with a start as Legolas shook her awake. Her green eyes jumped open, and Legolas hauled her roughly to her feet. "Stay behind me," he growled, voice suddenly raspy and low. "Do not, under any circumstances, get in front of me. Stay with Samantha." He notched an arrow to his bow and whirled around, every muscle tense. Sam unsheathed her dagger, wielding in clumsily in one hand. Gimli shook his axe, stepping forward. Amy realized belatedly that she was the only one without a weapon. Legolas, having realized this at the same time, unsheathed his White Knives and pressed one into Amy's palm. "Let them come to you," he said urgently. "Do not go to them."
What in the world is he talking about, Amy wondered. Then they rounded the bend and she knew.
Uruks were much larger than Orcs or Goblins. They were as tall as a man, broader even, with stringy black hair and jagged yellow fangs. They stood straight and tall, unlike the half-bent crawling gait like the Orcs. Thick black legs bled into a wide waist, barrel chest, and brawny arms. They gripped long scimitars in their fists, and some of them had bows. Legolas reacted before even these scant details were fixed in Amy's mind - all she saw was a solid stripe of black armor and black skin - and Legolas was firing arrows. Gimli was using his throwing axes with deadly accuracy, flinging them and embedding them with a sickly crunch in the Uruk's skulls. Although Amy did see one or two who got up after being impaled, most of them stayed down. Aragorn's blade could barely be seen in the whirling rush of steel against steel. He was a whirlwind, a maelstrom of flashing armor and sparks as he battled furiously. Legolas, his bow now useless in this hand-to-hand situation, used his other White Knife and began slashing at the Uruks. Sam had wasted no time; she was grappling with one already, teeth bared in an ugly grimace as she struck again and again, sawing viciously at the Uruk's throat. Blood was drenching her from neck to knees, but Sam didn't seem to care.
Out of nowhere, a Uruk spotted Amy. He loped over with swaggering grace, and Amy screamed aloud. She backpedaled, swinging the knife in front of her wildly, and the Uruk batted it aside easily. Amy shrieked, and this time she flailed with the knife, driving it upwards. The blow glanced harmlessly off the Uruk's thick armor, and she saw his scimitar coming down at her exposed chest. She dodged to the side, heard it come whistling down and clatter on the rocks behind her. The Uruk howled with rage and this time swung again, the edge of his blade slicing at her neck. Amy dropped to a crouch and stabbed at the Uruk's exposed calves, and the monster brayed his discomfort by butting Amy in the head with the butt of his shield. A white-hot sheet of pain exploded behind Amy's eyes, and she was driven backwards, spread-eagled on the ground, stars bursting inside her vision. Colors and textures swam lazily together, and she distantly heard the dull thud of the Uruk falling to the ground. Amy blinked, but even that simple motion sent more fireworks sizzling through her skull. Pain radiated through her head, which was still ringing, and she couldn't move. She decided now would be an excellent time to pass out, which she readily did. Black roses bloomed in her vision, the curves and edges melting together until they formed one solid abyss which beckoned with hidden delights.
Lizzie stood by the river, swearing madly. Her blonde hair was frizzy with running and sweat was beading on her brow. She had ranted and raved, cajoled and pleaded, but no Frodo - and more importantly, no Ring - appeared. She stood there, leg jittering with anger and pent-up frustration. Merry and Pippin came dashing into the clearing, eyes wide. "Elizabeth!" Merry cried frantically. "Frodo's leavin'! You've got to stop him!" Lizzie calmly combed her fingers through her hair, patting down her banner of tangles which would take hours with a comb to get out. She wiped the sweat from her brow, and licked her lips patiently.
"Don't worry," she said sweetly, "He'll come back." She could still feel the Ring calling to her, so it couldn't be far off. Something moved behind a tree, and Lizzie's eyes narrowed. She could just make out Frodo half hidden in the darkness, cloaked with shadow, large eyes wet with tears and panic. Merry and Pippin looked completely befuddled, and she laughed. It was not her burbling laugh that usually echoed from her throat, but something sharper and higher, cold as the north winds and sharp as the edge of a knife.
The Uruks pounded down the slope, raging war cries ripping from their throats as they stormed down the hill. The largest of them had white war paint smeared on his cheeks, stringy, greasy hair pulled into a plait. Dripping fangs were bared as they hurtled straight for the Hobbits. For the first time, Lizzie felt fear. These creatures wouldn't obey her if she told them to stop; she didn't have the Ring yet. She threw up her hands and was about to crumple theatrically to the floor with a cry of dismay when something lunged through the trees, sword swinging. A sound filled the air, full, rich, and sweet. It was deeper that the oceans depths and louder than the angel's chorus; it shook the ground and the very stones cried out their agreement as the sound blasted yet again. The shape slashed through the Uruks, felling them left and right.
It was Boromir!
She saw the look on his face and wanted to stamp her feet. He was going to protect the Hobbits, damn him! Boromir, the defender. Boromir, the brave. Boromir, the protector. Why did he have to be so damned noble and mess everything up? His sword carved grooves in the air as he hewed limbs from torsos, drove edges into bodies, wrenching the sword out with sure, deft strokes. His blonde hair swung in his face as he dueled, and she saw perspiration beading his forehead. Then, out of nowhere, an arrow sank into his chest. She saw his face go white, his body cave inwards. She almost let out a whoop, then caught herself as Boromir pulled himself together and blocked the scimitar of another Uruk. He drove his sword through the Uruk-Hai and slaughtered another one, the arrow broken off but still dripping blood. Another arrow slammed into him, and this time a strangled cry tore from his lips. His eyes were gauzy and dim, and this time he dropped to one knee. Lizzie remained motionless on the ground, feeling a vicious smile spread over her mouth.
He got up.
His face contorted in a snarl of rage, his sword clove a Uruk in two as he growled. Uruks piled in on him, and there was nothing but Boromir's sword clashing against metal, and the sound of Uruks grunting. Another arrow sped through the thicket of Uruks, and this time Boromir slumped to his knees. The Uruks backed off, howling their triumph at the skies as the warrior swayed on his knees. The Uruk who had been wielding the bow took aim, a maniacal grin on his face. Lizzie was frozen, undecided. The Ring was crying out to her, but so was Boromir. She saw the hurt in his eyes. The pain. The anguish.
But the Ring still called.
Merry and Pippin were borne aloft, struggling and kicking, and thrown upon the broad backs of Uruk-Hai. Lizzie stood up abruptly. "Hey!" she shouted, and attracted the attention of a good many Uruks. Too many Uruks. "I need to go with you," she said coldly. "Take me along." The beasts wavered, undecided. Then there was a tiny nod from among the ranks. It clearly said, Well, we can always eat her. Lizzie was hauled by her hair a good three steps, and she shrieked aloud to the heavens. She was thrown bodily across the back of a Uruk, and half of the Uruks began to make their way back home. The bow-wielding Uruk-Hai, however, was still eyeing Boromir. His powerful arm drew back as he took aim at Boromir's chest.
The Uruk was decapitated by Aragorn's sword as the ranger hurtled down the hillside. He bounded the last few steps, managing to bruise his ankles in the process, but the pain went wholly unnoticed as he dropped to his knees by Boromir's side. He pressed a hand firmly to Boromir's chest, seeing the blood drench his tunic and hand, and closed his eyes. "Boromir," he said hoarsely. Boromir's eyes opened halfway, and Aragorn saw the hazy film that only dead men have.
"Aragorn...my brother," Boromir rasped. "They took...the little ones...and Elizabeth." He swallowed hard, scraping every ounce of strength as he fumbled around his last words. Aragorn tore a strip of his tunic with his teeth and moved for one of the arrows buried in Boromir's left pectoral. "Frodo...Where is he?" Boromir gasped.
"I let Frodo leave," Aragorn said. Boromir closed his eyes.
"Truly, you deserve kingship...You have done what I could not." He passed his tongue over dry lips. "Forgive me...my brother, my captain, my king. I would have...followed you."
"Boromir!" Aragorn cried, and once again moved for the arrow. Boromir gripped his wrist with surprising strength.
"Give Elizabeth...my love." Boromir, son of Gondor, defender of Hobbits, died. He had lived a full life, won much and lost little.
And he had loved only one woman.
Sam limped through the clearing, sticky black Uruk blood coating her tunic. Amy was leaning on her heavily, her eyes half closed. The two of them supported each other through the woods and gingerly down the slope, moving in towards Legolas, Gimli and Aragorn. Sam was still battling the exhilaration that only battle can give, and Amy was still halfway unconscious. Legolas was tying two chaps to his wrists, securing Boromir's wrist guards to remember him. Sam inhaled sharply when she saw Boromir's body, and she covered her mouth. "Oh my god," she whispered. "He's...?"
"They will look for his coming," Aragorn said grimly, still looking at Boromir's prone form. "But they will not see him. He is with the Valar; and rightly so. He died a brave, honest death."
Legolas's dark blue eyes turned across the river, sharp elvish senses catching the sight of two small figures crossing the river. He shifted his weight almost imperceptibly, but Aragorn shook his head. Legolas felt a dizzying wave of shock pass over him. "You mean not to follow them?" Legolas asked numbly.
"Frodo's fate is his own. His courage will prevail." Aragorn said. Gimli rocked back on his heels, just as shocked as Legolas. They exchanged glances, and then Gimli said what they were all thinking.
"We have failed them. All of us, we have failed." Gimli hung his head. Shame colored his cheeks. Aragorn gripped his shoulder hard, forcing the dwarf to look up at him. Aragorn's steel eyes shone with new resolve.
"No. We shall hunt down the beasts who captured Merry and Pippin. We will stay true to one another, and we shall be at each other's sides. Come, friends. Let us give Boromir a decent burial. And then, we shall hunt some Orc."
They began saying silent prayers over Boromir's body. Had any of them chanced to look up, they would have seen a majestic silver stag with dark eyes that captured eternity.
Coming Soon!
Well Behaved Women Seldom Kick Butt
As Amy and Sam embark on their quest to save Merry and Pippin, Lizzie launches an evil plan of her own. While the Fellowship struggles to save Middle Earth, Amy and Legolas battle with their own emotions. And Sam just wants to kick some major ass.