Faramir Fiction Archive

Warriors of Gondor (NC-17)

Written by Hel

14 May 2012 | 182144 words | Work in Progress

Part 26: THROUGH THE WOODS

It had been approved for older boys to stay behind in Minas Tirith if they had an adult relative to look after them. The boys knew that they were to spend a portion of each day helping to garrison the city, mostly by working as messengers and food and water bearers. Still, time was made for them to spend time in play after their work and lessons were completed for the day.

As Calin watched one of the large supply drays come through the main gates, he noticed two young boys riding on one of the oxen that pulled it. Dirty and dusty from the road, he almost didn’t recognize them. Barely a year apart in age at eight and nine they were even harder to tell apart than he and his cousin Calinir.

“What are you two doing here?” he asked them as he took one in his arms and turned so the other could climb on his back as he walked beside the oxen. Carrying them to the side of the road he placed them both on the ground in front of him, careful to keep a hand on each.

“We’ve come to help protect the city, brother,” Sayil, who was youngest but most daring, told him.

“Our mother doesn’t need our help anymore, cousin,” Faril added. “She has returned to her life in the brothel and left us with Belgar, who has no need for us either.”

“So he sent you both here, little ones?” Calin asked, knowing that he would never do such a thing, especially since they seemed to be without escort.

“We didn’t see the need to bother him with such petty details as ourselves,” Sayil told him with an impish grin.

“We do not belong in Lamedon,” Faril continued. “The city is our home.”

“Just as I thought,” Calin informed them. “We will see what Borril has to say about your mischief. He is in charge of the family here while our sires are gone.”

The two boys looked at each other with wide grins. Borril was a favorite of theirs and they knew that he would wait until Faramir returned before sending them back into exile. That would give them a chance to convince everyone that their place was here in the city they had always called home.

They were woken before dawn by a messenger Prince Ororin had sent to escort Boromir to him. Dressing quickly, Boromir was more than happy to have a personal guide into Mirkwood. Hopefully, it would shorten his journey so that he could return home to his brother. The night spent with the twins had added to the homesickness that was beginning to beleaguer him.

To Boromir’s surprise, they didn’t follow the river but headed directly west toward the forest. Chail, his guide and obviously half-elven, started out at a ground-eating canter, which barely diminished when they entered the dark wood. The trail was narrow, but Boromir’s mount was well able to keep pace with the half-elf’s horse. He couldn’t help but notice that his guide was not quite as good a horseman as his brother, and no where near Éomer. The thought of the two of them caused another flash of loneliness as he watched Chail, who had long brown hair and wasn’t anything at all like them.

There was no chance to speak with each other until almost midday, when they reached a wider bit of trail and dismounted, leading their horses to rest them. “Prince Ororin was most favorably impressed with your ability to fight and your bravery, your grace,” Chail let him know. “It is also known that, despite the lack of aid from Lórien, you evaded a large force of orcs while traveling the borders of that land. There is a long-time feud between our king and the White Lady, so it pleased him to allow you special passage through his realm.”

“I will be glad to give him my thanks, Chail,” Boromir replied courteously.

“I doubt you will get the chance, your grace,” the half-elf answered. “The fighting has increased in the south and King Thranduil leads most of his fighters against the minions of the dark. The only princes not at his side are Ororin, who guards the home caverns, and Legolas, his youngest son, who is now on his way to Rivendell from the south as emissary.”

Nodding at Chail’s words, Boromir continued at the quick pace his guide had set. They talked companionably as they went, although each kept a wary eye to the surrounding woods. The Steward’s son learned that Chail’s mother had given him his name from her people who had originated further north and east than Esgaroth. The half-elf told him of his people, both Silvan elf and human. He was much older than he looked, over three hundred years, and had participated in many wars and battles. He’d seen the dragon Smaug drive the dwarves from Erebor and nearly destroy Esgaroth, only in turn to be driven out and destroyed himself. At Dol Guldur, he’d nearly been killed as he rode with the elvish forces to drive Sauron out of Mirkwood. Again, Boromir felt pangs for Faramir. How his brother would love to hear these tales from one who had been there.

It was nearing dusk when Chail slowed and called out to a guard that was hidden in the trees before them. Boromir was gratified that he’d spotted the guard before his guide, in fact had been noticing others among the foliage for a while now. Some had smiled in acknowledgement when he looked at them, while others ignored him. But he felt no doubt that they all knew he’d seen them, while his companion had barely noted one or two. Despite his age and experience, Chail spent too much time indoors to be a real woodsman.

To Boromir’s surprise, they were led to a well hidden cave entrance, which was barely wide enough for their horses to enter. The interior was well lit; it could almost have been one of the passages through the walls of Minas Tirith. Tired from the long day, he followed his guide into the caverns of Mirkwood.

It had been amazingly easy for Mordel to join the ranks of servants in the White Tower. Many had been evacuated to safer posts, leaving a large number of vacancies. It had helped that his references were impeccable, even if they were unable to be checked thoroughly with all the confusion in Anorien. Hopefully, by the time any faults were found it would be too late for anything to be done about it.

Stefle, who kept an ever-vigilant eye on those who served the Steward and his sons, assigned him to mostly minor and unimportant tasks. But, with the months of comparative calm after Boromir had departed Gondor on his quest, it hadn’t been difficult for him to slowly bring himself to the Steward’s notice. Mordel had been trained to gain the Steward’s trust, and was firmly ensconced as his chief servant by the first day of fall. Now, as the day for the reinstated harvest festival approached, he was nearly ready to begin acting on some of the plans that his master had been forced to abandon when Galmar had been killed.

Saruman was well aware that his minion had been executed by the Steward’s sons, even if Denethor didn’t know it himself. That left Mordel with only the smallest and most unreliable of networks to help in his efforts, as well as the knowledge that certain death awaited if he was discovered. So he felt little joy as he made his way to the Steward’s private chamber, advancing one more plot to bring down the ‘House of Hurin’. But he was a more cautious creature than his predecessor and had taken every precaution. The one constant for the agents of Saruman was that failure meant death.

The horses were long gone, led away by elves who’d assured Boromir that his mount would be well cared for. He had little choice but to trust them since he would be lost in the labyrinthine tunnels if he tried to set out on his own. After about an hour, they came to a large, well-lit hall where Ororin was waiting with food laden tables.

“I’m glad you could join me, my Lord Boromir,” the prince told him, taking his hand in a firm clasp. “I was worried that Chail might have missed you.”

“I’m glad he found me so quickly and that you were able to help me with my journey, your Highness,” Boromir said.

“My father was most pleased with your aid with the orcs and decided that it would be only proper to aid you in your quest,” Ororin said with a broad smile as he ushered Boromir to a chair at the high table. “I hope you will accept an evening’s hospitality from me before beginning your quest in the morning?”

Looking about the beautiful hall, Boromir was impressed with its opulence. It was far beyond anything he had ever seen. “Your father’s hall is most glorious and I would be more than happy to spend this eve with you. If my journey didn’t beckon, I’d gladly stay longer.”

Ororin looked surprised at his words, then laughed good-naturedly at his guest’s mistake. “This is my hall, Lord Boromir,” he told him, pressing a warm hand to his shoulder to make sure he didn’t take offense. “Compared to my father’s hall, this is but a side-room. It has been nearly six thousand years that we have been building and expanding our home. The depredations of the dark one keep us from building in the trees as some elves do, but I think our halls are comfortable enough to suit our needs.”

Joining his host in laughter, Boromir looked around the hall again. “I don’t think you need envy any, elf, dwarf or man, my Prince,” he said with a smile. “After all, your own beauty outshines the brightest jewels and is worth more than the best mithril.”

Ororin laughed again at his words. “You flatter me, Boromir,” he said huskily. “Of course you haven’t met my father yet, who is of the oldest and most glorious of the Sindarin, even if others call him wild. Or my youngest brother, Legolas, who is the most beauteous combination of Sindarin and Silvan elf. He is the only son of my father and his treaty-wife from the marriage that gave him control of the whole north of Greenwood the Great. I am indeed fortunate that he has already departed for Imladris, or you would not be able to pull your eyes away from him.”

“No, it is I who am fortunate, my Lord Prince,” Boromir assured his host. “If my brother had accompanied me, none would have noticed my presence. He outshines me like the sun does the moon. But I think you and I shall fare well enough in each other’s company.”

With that, they turned to their meal and shared it with great amusement and familiarity. Each was confident in his own appeal, while sure that their younger brothers would have cast them into shadow.

Rarely were there fires in Henneth Annûn. It was never cold enough to need heating and a hot spring in one of the lower caves allowed them to warm their food and bathe without betraying smoke. The inner caves were lit by smokeless candles, though they mostly counted on filtered daylight to see the maps and dispatches they needed. Faramir missed the great fireplace that added a comforting crackle nearly year round in his bedroom in the White Tower. It always calmed him and helped him to clear his thoughts. Without that aid, he stood in the shadows behind the great waterfall and gazed at the surrounding forest.

He could almost hear the whispering of elves. In the months since his brother had left, he seemed to hear the voices of the past more often and with more clarity. He didn’t mind the elves; their voices were usually raised in song and laughter, fair noises from a fair people. Tonight’s murmurs blended with thoughts of Boromir and he knew without a doubt that his beloved brother ate in elvish halls. It seemed to echo through his mind and he hoped that it was a sign that he had reached his goal, but the underlying tension wouldn’t let him believe. It had taken him so long already that he despaired of seeing Boromir again before the end of the year.

With a sigh, he turned away from the forest and back to his room for the night. The Steward expected him to return soon and he needed to make sure all his reports were complete before he retired. Even with his and Boromir’s children so close to Denethor, there were still many things that could go wrong. He tried not to let his sadness show in his gait as he made his way to the room.

It always surprised Denethor that this new servant, Mordel, could make his favorite tea as well as Galmar had been able to. Or at least it was close enough to fool his memory. He felt as if he must have done something right somewhere to be rewarded with one who fit so well in the shoes of his lost serving man. When the servant had quietly followed him to the room at the top of the tower and stripped before placing his hands against the wall in the place that had been worn smooth by decades of similar usage, the Steward knew he had at last found someone who could again fulfill his needs. The echo of the whip in the nearly bare room was soothing to his nerves, calming him.

Mordel was much younger than Galmar had been and Denethor felt he might have many years of service from him. He was beginning to feel like he could cope with Boromir’s absence and having to rely on Faramir in his place. His grandsons were a comfort to him, but they would never provide him with this. And this is what he had always needed, since the years when he was just a teenager when Galmar first came and showed him.

It was late and Boromir was just getting ready to follow Ororin to his lodging for the night when a messenger rushed into the hall. Orcs had broken through in one of the southern caverns and the whole stronghold would be endangered if they managed to establish a stronghold. Boromir was quick to offer his aid.

“I am grateful for your offer, Lord Boromir,” Ororin told him. “But it would delay you far too long. There are many gathering at Imladris and I feel that it is important that you share your news of the far south and the black land with them. Chail knows the way, I will have him lead you. You can travel much of it through the western caverns, but you will have to cross the Misty Mountains on one of the northern passes. It will still be nearly two weeks before you reach your destination.” He paused at Boromir’s look of protest. “This is not the first time we have faced our foe, and there are many things which give us advantage in this effort,” he assured Boromir. “Trust me and the knowledge of our people, we will drive them back before you reach the edge of the forest. I’m not sure that you will be able to reach Imladris before it is too late.”

Boromir was used to his brother’s premonitions and easily accepted the elf prince’s. He would miss a chance to fight at his side, but his quest drew him on. He also felt the need for haste in his journey. Therefore, he spent a few hours in rest before starting out on the final leg of his quest.

It was cold in the pass. Though they had been able to swing further south than they originally hoped, it had taken over a week of travel, topped by this seemingly endless climb. Thankfully, it hadn’t snowed and their only obstacle was the never ending cold which froze everything. Even Chail suffered greatly from the cold.

To their surprise, an outpost was set up at the top of the pass. A small building, obviously built to be defensible, held a small group of elves. Their leader greeted Boromir warmly and offered him shelter for the coming night. “I can have someone lead you the rest of the way tomorrow. It is a four day ride and my Lord Elrond asks that you make haste, for there is much evil afoot and he would have the son of the Steward of Gondor give his counsel.”

“It is I who would be grateful for his advice,” grinned Boromir. “But I will do my best to aid where I can. If my mount is fed and rested well this night, the journey may be quicker. He was loaned to me by Éomer of Rohan from his personal stock and I doubt there are many who could beat him on the trail.”

“I will send my best to guide you then, my Lord,” the elf smiled in challenge. “I think urgency warrants that we put your horse to the test.”

It was only a few hours before sunrise, not quite forty-eight hours later, when Boromir and his guide reached the top of a ridge that marked the northern boundary of Rivendell. A new escort waited to lead him the rest of the way to the ‘Last Homely House’, which is what Lord Elrond called his home. His gelding was showing signs of fatigue, but was clearly in much better condition than his guide’s mount. It made Boromir proud to receive praise for the breeding and training skills of Éomer.

As he followed at a steady lope down the trail, he could see the lights in the near distance marking their goal. In less than an hour, he would be in Imladris. It had taken him one hundred ten days to reach the fabled land. He prayed to all Valar that it would hold the key to defeating the dark lord.

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