Small chapter, but an early update. Thank you for your time, reviews, and favorites for this story. It really means a lot to me. :)
I don't own Lord of the Rings.
(Sophie)
I can't quite remember how I got into my bed, nor could I remember exactly when I found myself there. It didn't matter, really, for I was more comfortable than I'd been in ages. With all of the stress over Sauron and his armies, I'd hardly gotten any sleep since I left Rohan. All that I really remembered was being awake long into the night with Boromir. He must have carried me home.
I love that man. So much.
It was like a dream, when he came into my room before dawn. I couldn't have been asleep for more than a few hours, if that. He crept in quietly, doing his best to not wake me. I was in that awkward state between awake and asleep, so my mind did not comprehend what was going on. To me, it was just pleasant.
"Boromir?" My voice was hoarse, my mouth dry. Through slitted eyes I could see him standing by my night stand.
He smiled down at me and stroked the hair out of my face. "You are so beautiful, Sophie..." He sighed, playing with my hair.
Even in my sleepy haze my heart tingled. "I love you."
"And I love you. So very much." He bent down and kissed me gently on the lips. "Go to sleep, my love."
Well, as a happy and partially concious individual, I had absolutely no problem going back to dream land. Boromir lingered for a moment, giving me one last kiss on the temple before removing his hand from my hair and backing away. It was still some time before he left, shutting the door quietly behind him before I finally fell asleep. Though the path to sleep may have been pleasant, I woke up to less than ideal circumstances.
"Sophie!" Pippin's panicked voice brought me back to life as he roughly shook me awake. "Sophie, wake up!"
My eyes opened to sunlight pouring through the windows, Pippin's frightened face inches from my own.
"Pippin..?" I stretched my tired muscles as the hobbit rolled to the floor. "Pippin, what's wrong?" My first thought was that Sauron's armies had finally arrived, but the hobbit quickly filled those fears with another heartache.
"It's Boromir!" He cried. "He's gone to Osgiliath, and Collin's gone after him!"
"What?" My heart stopped.
"It was Denethor, he demanded the city be recaptured. Boromir had no other choice!"
No other choice? There's always a choice. Boromir wouldn't really leave, right? Osgiliath was a lost cause, and he knew that. How could this happen?
My mind seemed to stop working, but it felt like time had sped up. My pulse was ringing in my ears, and I had somehow forgotten how to breathe.
"Come on!" Pippin dragged me out of bed, causing me to trip on the dress that I'd yet to take off from the day before.
I ran straight out the door, letting Pippin guide me down the streets, and down the seemingly endless levels of Minas Tirith towards the main gate. It felt like years. Soon enough, I ran ahead of Pippin, needing to go faster than his little legs could carry. I'd never run so hard in my life. My heart sank as I crushed fresh flowers under my feet. I knew why they were there. The people of Rohan often laid flowers before their departing soldiers.
Fifth level, fourth level, third level. With each level, there were more and more people to push through. Not only that, but my hope had all but run out by the time I reached the first level. No sight of Boromir and men, and no sight of Collin pursuing them. No chance to stop them before it was too late. Upon my arrival at the main gates, I could hardly think. In a panicked haze, I ran up the stairs to the top of the wall, desperate to see what was going on.
From the top of the mighty wall, I could barely see the dust as Boromir and his men rode away, a single dust trail left behind by a pursuing Collin.
My knees went weak as reality hit me. They were gone. Both of them. Sacrificing themselves for a hopeless cause. It felt like I'd crashed into a brick wall. Tears filled my eyes, and my lungs seemed to fill with ash. I couldn't breathe. Sobs were caught in my throat. My body couldn't decide whether or not it wanted to throw up or cry.
Finally, my legs went out on me, and I went crashing to the rough stone ground. My body wracked with sobs as I wept shamelessly. Nothing mattered at that point. The two most important people were being ripped out of my life. It'd lost its meaning.
Warm arms wrapped around my shaking shoulders. Gandalf was kneeled down beside me, rocking me in a soothing manner as he pushed my wild hair away from my face. The soldiers watched dumbfounded as the fiance to their beloved captain wept uncontrollably for everyone to see. It was then that another set of arms lifted me to my feet.
"We must get her off of the walls." The gentle voice said to Gandalf as I was led down the stairs. Pippin was there, panting and sweating. His eyes widened at the sight of me in such a weak state, but he followed as the owner of the gentle voice led me through many side streets, all the way back to the sixth level. Soon enough, Gandalf's house came into view, the door wide open.
"Pippin, get a fire started." The man commanded politely to the small hobbit, who had loyally stayed by my side all the way back through the city. My tears had not subsided. In fact, they only got worse when my eyes cleared enough to see the man who'd taken me home. So much like his brother...
Faramir.
I'd hardly spoken to him since we were introduced. He and Boromir had always been so busy, speaking to their father. Now, his brother was out in Osgiliath facing his death. I would have felt ashamed for throwing such a fit while he remained so strong, but let's face it. I'd reached my limit. To lose your best friend and your fiance all in one morning. I'd already lost Collin once...
"Why... Why did they leave?" I choked out, having difficulties breathing. They knew that Osgiliath was a lost cause. A suicide mission.
Faramir took a deep breath, resting his head on the mantle of the kitchen fireplace. There was such a pain in his eyes, such a weary posture for the noble man.
"It is my fault." He sighed, closing his eyes. "He went to protect me."
"W-what?" It made no sense to me.
"Father demanded I go." Faramir turned to me now, making my heart ache even more. "There was no compromising with him. He said that this was my mess, and that it was my duty to fight for what is ours. Boromir knew that it would be suicide, so he demanded to go instead."
I wanted to ask him why he allowed such a thing, but restrained myself. How selfish of a question was that? Did I really wish Faramir was dead, just to save Boromir and Collin? No. I would have kept them all in Minas Tirith. I would have died in their stead, had that been an option.
"Collin?" I questioned, still unsure as to how he got dragged into this mess.
"He tried to persuade Boromir to stay. He practically begged my father... It was no use. By the time Boromir had left the gates, Collin could bear it no longer. He went after Boromir and our men, hoping to stop them. I fear that he was too late..."
Oh, no... How was this fair? Two amazing men, dying for nothing. A whole band of soldiers with families and homes being lost at the whim of a mad man.
I buried my face in my arms, trying to fight of the endless tears. I just couldn't do it.
"Forgive me..." Faramir sighed, staring at the small fire Pippin had started. "This is my fault."
"No, no!" I assured him. "Please, do not take the blame." It wasn't his fault that Boromir and Collin chose to do this. It wasn't his fault that his father had gone mad with age. It was unbearably quiet in the kitchen. I had a horrible desire to get up and do something, but what was there to do?
No one had any hope for our dear friends. No one. They were gone.
(Kristy)
Ow...
My eyes slowly opened, the throbbing in my head getting worse and worse the more my body woke up. My hand reached up and lightly stroked the scabbing lump underneath my hair. Eowyn's tent was empty, save for the blanket and bed roll that she must have tucked me into after knocking me out. The sunlight shined through the thin tent, assuring me one thing: they were gone. Eowyn had left with the men for Minas Tirith.
Carefully, I sat up. My head pounded, feeling like it'd been run over by a stampede. Eowyn was one strong woman, and if getting knocked out hurt that bad, I didn't envy her for going into battle. Getting stabbed would hurt far more.
Despite the pain and possible concussion, there was an odd sense of accomplishment. It was something I hardly expected from myself, yet there it was. I was actually happy for Eowyn. She was following her heart, no matter how dangerous of an impulse it might have been. Had she lived in my world, she'd be the leader of the feminist movement. I could already see it.
There was a rustling outside the tent, and it suddenly collapsed.
"Hey!" I cried, scrambling to get out of it. The end of it was raised up, allowing me to easily get free.
"Forgive me, milady!" Hilde, the main cook at Meduseld, gave me an apologetic smile. "I tripped over the stake keeping it up. Are you alright..? I believe you are bleeding!"
My hand shot up to my head. It was trickling a little blood, but nothing bad. "Oh! I uh..." Should I tell her about Eowyn? Bad idea. "I don't know how this happened..."
Hilde frowned. "Well, we'd best get it looked at! Come, come! Can't be too careful with head wounds."
Did she know that Eowyn was gone?
"Do you know where Eowyn is?"
Hilde thought for a moment. "No, I can't say I do. Last I saw her was when we arrived at camp."
Oh... "Well, what do we do, now?"
She shrugged. "You are asking the wrong person, milady. Come, now! Let's get you fixed up!"
I rubbed my aching skull, regretting last night's decision. Not only was I wounded, but I was alone. There was nothing to do but wait.
(Collin)
It was madness. It took all I had not to hack Denethor's head off when he gave the order, and that's a lot coming from me. Better to lose a nutty old man than the lives of many valuable soldiers. There's really no excuse for it.
Of course, things always seem to get worse. While Denethor sat on his high horse in the Citadel, feasting like the king he wasn't, his favorite son rode out to his death in place of his brother. What could I do? To Denethor, I was a mere noble from Rohan. Sure, I saved Boromir's life, but that counted for nothing when it all came down to it. No matter what I said, he only became more and more determined to recapture Osgiliath.
What for, anyways? Why not preserve your men for the siege that we knew were coming? Only more of a reason to knock the old man out until we either defeated Sauron or died.
My respect grew for Boromir. It did. He was giving himself up so Faramir would have a chance at life. Still, I couldn't help but feel conflicted as my friend rode down the street, followed by those who were also planning on dying.
Part of me was furious. He proposes to Sophie, giving her the promise of this wonderful life. Then, he just goes off to sacrifice himself and leave her alone and heartbroken. You don't hurt Sophie without making me want to hurt you. Then, another part of me was relieved. Yes, that was the selfish part of me that I'm ashamed of. With Boromir gone, I could finally have the chance to be with Sophie. That part of me was quickly killed off by the stubborn part of me. There was no way that I was going to let him die. No way that I'd just let those men ride off to a fruitless battle. So, I took matters into my own hands.
Some would say that I am foolish. If I did not make it to them in time, then I would die, too. Once you ride into an archer's range, you are as good as dead. Still, I found this as good of an idea as any. Lord knows that I'm not one to wait around for my friends to die.
Had I only left sooner, perhaps I would have made it. Unfortunately, with only a handful of yards left until I reached the horsemen, that's when they started to fall.
My horse reared as a dead Gondorian flew off of his horse and threatened to hit us. I fell to the ground, right next to another poor soul who had been hit by an arrow through the neck. I looked up to see the men falling one by one, never stopping on their ride to the fallen city. I caught sight of Boromir, just barely able to identify him from the others. He had already been struck by one arrow in his left shoulder, and he was only a short distance ahead of me.
Things had turned into hell sooner than I expected, though. Many of the men were already dead, but I could see that some of them were still struggling about on the ground, trying to get back on their feet. I got to them as fast as I could, helping them up and onto horses. Some of the men I was helping got struck more as I tried to get them out of there, but I did manage to get four of them out of there without any damage to myself.
I had lost sight of Boromir, though. The arrows were still coming, only slower. The enemy must have been using us for target practice at that point, for practically everyone was dead. I froze for a moment, my mind struggling to decide what to do next. Get out of there alive, or try to find Boromir?
Fortunately, he found me.
"Collin!" I heard him shout from a few dead bodies away. "Get out of here!"
Had he simply remained silent, maybe I would have left. Once I knew where he was, though, I was determined to get him out of there. I ran straight for him, grabbed his arms, and began to drag him.
"Let me go!" He cried, now struck with two arrows.
I didn't even bother answering him. There were two horses left, and neither of them were very close. I needed to reach them before we were both killed.
That's when the first arrow hit me. Not deep, but painful nonetheless. A non-lethal hit in the back that only slowed me down a little. Boromir got to his feet as best as he could and tried to run with me, making my job slightly easier. That's when he got shot again, right in the side.
"Just hold on!" I shouted as his body fell down again. The horse was coming to us, now. When I stopped to push Boromir into its saddle, another arrow grazed his helmet, leaving him with a large cut over his eye, and knocking him out.
Great.
He was heavy, with all of the armor, and one of my arms was wounded. That's when the adrenaline must have kicked in, because I couldn't remember how I managed to get that man on top of the horse. Just as I climbed up behind him, another arrow hit me, just below the other. I didn't pay it any attention, though, for we were finally on our way to Minas Tirith. More importantly, out of arrow range.
(Sophie)
Hardly an hour had passed, yet I was already back outside. With red, sore eyes, I sat outside of the main gates. They would not let me back on the wall, which was understandable. I created a scene that must have been horrible for morale. Not like it would happen again, since I quickly exhausted all of my tears. Faramir was waiting patiently on the walls, with Gandalf, being far more composed than I could ever be. Pippin, the loyal friend he was, never left my side.
It seemed as though the entire city was quiet, anxiously awaiting news of their brave soldiers. Such a battle could not last long. Not with the odds so heavily against us. Pippin began to sing a lovely song, a sort of tribute to the men who likely laid dead by the hand of an orc by now. A sort of ruckus was going on at the top of the wall, but I could not make out what was being said.
I let out a sigh and leaned back against the wall. I would have had a better view from my balcony on the sixth level.
At the very least, I hoped that Collin would have turned around before getting drawn into the fight. Unfortunately, I knew him better than that. He would not run away from a fight to save his own skin while others were falling. No. He would be fighting, too.
How could I not have suspected something? Why else would Boromir come into my room before sunrise? To say goodbye. He knew that I wouldn't let him go, had I been wide awake.
I didn't know whether I should be mad or proud. Mad that he left me on for a fool's errand without properly saying goodbye, or proud because he had done something so brave in order to protect his brother. To be honest, I was too sad to notice any other feelings.
Collin would be dead, too. Why was he always getting himself killed for the sake of Boromir? For the sake of anyone, for that matter? He saved me at Isengard, Boromir at Amon Hen, and now the poor men out at Osgiliath. Collin was the greatest man I ever knew. If anyone deserved to live, it was him.
"Open the gates!" A guard called suddenly, the men on the wall in a near frenzy. Pippin squeezed my hand and pulled me up to investigate, equally as eager to find out the fate of the soldiers and our friends.
The gates opened ever so slightly, just wide enough to allow two horses passage. On their backs were two wounded men each, all bloody and limp. They could hardly support themselves, numerous arrows having been lodged in their bodies. Their fellow guardsmen helped them down, though they quickly toppled over the moment their feet thouched the ground. None of them were Boromir, and they lacked the fuzzy faux-hawke that would be Collin.
Desperately, I looked out through the still-open gate. In the distance I saw siege equipment being led by a horde of orcs, just a think dark line at the moment. In front of this was one more horse, charging full-speed towards the gate. Pippin pulled me back just as in ran in, carrying two more men. One was lying limp against the other, who had the remnants of a funky hairdo falling around his face.
Collin.
"Give them room!" Gandalf cried, running towards the gate with Faramir. Collin handed them the man he'd been holding and slid off the horse, landing right on his knees. In his back were two arrows.
"Collin!" I ran forward, wanting to help. Of course, I was no healer, and I would only do more harm by fussing than good. Gandalf knew this, and he quickly held me back.
"Get them to the healers!" He cried. "Quickly, now!"
Men with stretchers ran forward, not anticipating any survivors, yet prepared all the same. It was difficult for them to carry some of the men, for at least two of them were nearly pincushions. It was a wonder to me how they survived all the way back to Minas Tirith, let alone at all. If they could survive the night, it would truly be a miracle.
"Sophie, look!" Pippin pulled on my sleeve. "It's Boromir!"
There he was. The man who Collin had carried in was Boromir. It was clear, once his helmet was removed. He was unconscious, with three arrows protruding from his body, and a bloody gash on his head. Not the worst off, but hardly better off in terms of hope. Regardless, this was enough for me. For the moment, he was alive. Collin was alive. Both horribly wounded, but alive. It would have to do for present.
"Pippin, take Sophie home." Gandalf commanded.
"What?" Home? Now? The two most important men in my life are practically knocking on death's door, and I was supposed to just go sit at home? I did not argue, though. Deep down, I knew that he was right. The worst thing we needed was another scene, and I was about to cry at the sight of the bloody men. There was nothing that I could do to help. All there was to do was wait.
I got myself into a lot of trouble with this life. The best friend of numerous soldiers, and the future wife of Gondor's mighty captain. One can only handle so much stress, and I was surprise at how well I'd handled it so far. The fit on top of the walls was even impressive, to me. Compared to how I would be when night came around and I had time to think, it was nothing.
Bless Pippin's soul. I'd had that poor hobbit running all about the city for me. The walk back home was the worst of all. Suddenly, I felt very tired. The run from earlier in the morning was finally taking its toll on my legs. Pippin held my hand all the way back, too. Such a strong young hobbit... Collin and Boromir were his friends, too. I wasn't the only one who had to deal with it. Perhaps I was being a bit self-centered. I don't know. There was just one thing that made me feel better. It was something so small, something that I'd nearly forgotten.
There's no greater love than that of a man who lays down his life for his friends. It was from the Bible. Something Collin read more than I did, regrettably, but that's not the point. The point is, those words made me realize how blessed that I truly was. To be surrounded by people who constantly sacrificed themselves for one another. I couldn't think of a single friend of mine that wouldn't sacrifice themselves for someone else. Although that leaves plenty of room for panic and worry, such as my current position, I was fortunate.
What amazing people surrounded me.
By the time any word of my friends came, hours had passed, and the sun was already beginning to set. Gandalf arrived, looking even more stressed than usual.
"Come, Collin is awake. We are going to check on our friends." He said plainly, leaving the house as quickly as he came. Pippin and I didn't hesitate to follow the wizard down the street to the Houses of Healing, which seemed to take up most of the sixth level.
I stole a glance out at Pelennor fields, where the massive army of Mordor stood waiting. Minas Tirith was nearly in an uproar, it seemed. People were running here and there, their eyes always shifting out to the horde waiting to slaughter them. I would have been more afraid, had I not heard Denethor's yelling all the way down the street.