Faramir Fiction Archive

Warriors of Gondor (NC-17)

Written by Hel

14 May 2012 | 182144 words | Work in Progress

Part 34: ON THE ROAD

It was the same courtyard that he had arrived in, where they assembled in the gray of predawn. Boromir noted Sam looking a bit mournfully towards the stables, not quite appeased by the man’s arguments for leaving the pony he’d grown attached to behind. The hobbit’s journey had already been quite far and he instinctively clung to the familiar, but Boromir’s questioning of what would happen to ‘Bill’, as the hobbit called him, if they should have to take to the river or some of the other terrain that was less than hospitable to his kind had convinced the kind-hearted servant that it was in the pony’s best interest to leave him behind. There was also the even greater victory of successfully challenging Elrond’s advice to travel by night. Boromir’s long years of battle against the dark lord had given credence to his opinion, but the parting comments of Thranduil had given his voice merit beyond his short human lifespan.

“I am well pleased that my betrothed has one so stalwart and loyal to guard him on his journey, my Lord Boromir,” Arwen addressed him from where she stood in the center of the courtyard. “I look forward to us meeting again, next time as I take my place as your queen.”

A thrill of pleasure ran through him at her words, knowing that she saw their future just as he did. “I shall mourn the days my Liege is parted from your presence and I am denied your beauteous inspiration, Liege Lady,” he replied, bowing and kissing her hand.

“I find it hard to doubt my heritage or destiny with such a shieldman at my side,” Estel said running the fingers of his right hand through the younger man’s hair while his left rested on the hilt of the newly reforged sword he now wore. It had almost overwhelmed him when he’d been presented with the Sword of Elendil. The broad grins shared by his foster father and Boromir let him know who was behind the elves remaking of Narsil.

On its blade was engraved a device of seven stars set between the crescent moon and the rayed sun. All of it, blade and hilt were covered with many elvish runes and not a few dwarvish as well. It was one of the few works in over a millennia that had been jointly completed by elves and dwarves. He renamed it Andúril, Flame of the West.

“Your words honor me, my Liege,” Boromir said half bowing while he turned his attention to the last minute preparations of their party. “If you would both excuse me, I’ll make sure that everything is in readiness.”

He double checked all of their packs while everyone made their last goodbyes. Soon he found himself near the gate where he leaned against the wall with some of his attention to the partings taking place within but most of it turned to the road that lay before them. Their chosen path was west of the mountains until they were much further south. It wasn’t long before all was ready and the entire party gathered at the gate. Urged by an inner calling, Boromir stepped through the gateway and to the side. Bringing the Great Horn of Gondor to his lips, he sounded it in three long calls. This was the signal that would alert those of Gondor that their arms should be close, but not yet the call to battle.

Elrond laid a hand on his shoulder, not quite in admonishment. “Perhaps you should be a bit more wary in announcing your departure from Imladris.”

“Only those of Gondor know the true meaning of the Horn,” Boromir assured him. “Long have I been parted from my people. It is time I return home.”

So began the journey southward on a misty winter morning.

It was only shear force of will that kept the smile on Mordel’s face as he followed the Steward into the great hall for what appeared to be a celebratory breakfast. Only he had no idea what was being celebrated and by the gleeful countenances of all they encountered, he was the only person in the tower and possibly the whole of Minas Tirith, even Gondor, who didn’t.

“It appears that your optimism was accurate, my son,” Denethor said ecstatically as he embraced his youngest son. “Hopefully Boromir’s return journey will be much shorter.”

“So we all wish, father,” Faramir exclaimed joyfully as he returned his father’s embrace. “We are well prepared to make sure Gondor retains its strength until his return.”

Mordel felt just a little faint at the exchange. Something had signaled the Steward, his son and most of Gondor that Boromir was on the return leg of his trek. He was also, presumably, in possession of a secret weapon to defeat Sauron. His mind shifted into high gear as he detailed who should receive this news and how quickly he could get it to them. If Boromir should return to Minas Tirith, there was no doubt that Mordel wouldn’t survive the experience. There were ways his master could watch for the Steward’s son, some of which hadn’t been used to this purpose before. Maybe such as the crebain could be loosed to watch for the Steward’s eldest son and whatever he brought with him.

Saphron stood near Gríma’s elbow as they watched Éowyn. “She is truly the brightest treasure of Rohan, don’t you agree, my lord?” she said as the young woman danced a country dance amongst others her age.

“Oh yes, my lady,” the advisor returned somewhat breathlessly.

“It would be a shame to see the glow fade from her cheeks, much as it has been wont to do these past months,” she added, drawing Gríma’s full attention to herself. “Think of how her countenance will grow harsh with pain and hatred if the plans of the dark lords are successful.”

Gríma’s mouth opened as if he would speak, while fear, shock and then realization chased across his face. He turned back to watch the princess with repressed tears hot in his eyes. He had little doubt that at least one of the dark lords would succeed.

“Not that she would fade with age,” Saphron continued with cold determination. “At the earliest opportunity she would seek her own death, taking as many of her foes as possible with her. And Éomer,” she paused for a moment. “There just might be enough magic in the potions available to bend him to the will of others, but such a victory would be only temporary and empty. He would undo everything in the end.”

His head hung wearily at the vision of his beautiful prince and princess broken and cold with death. The pain in his heart from the thought stole his breath away.

Now was the time Saphron knew she must take a gamble, for Gríma was far more than any, possibly even the wizard who made him, knew. What she had observed and what had been told to her about Lord Boromir’s last visit to Rohan had convinced her that she could turn this most useful weapon of the dark wizard to their purpose. “It need not come to that, my lord,” she said sotto voice. “There are things that may be accomplished by those who love our princess and the golden princes who would have her to wife. Even now, the elder brother speeds southward bearing the wherewithal to claim a decisive and final victory over their enemies.” She paused again to let her words sink in. “I know that you have had warning that Boromir has set forth to return home and that word has been sent to those who wish our princess less than well.”

He cast her a wary glance, neither confirming nor rebutting her statement. Her words were everything he longed and dreaded to hear.

“This knowledge must be passed on, as others will have it as well. We cannot have any doubt or suspicion turned to you in your post,” Saphron continued. “But it may be possible to pass it along in such a way that would be advantageous to our beloved ones.” She reached toward the advisor, her hand pausing before actual contact and continuing the length of his arm just close enough to make each hair stand on end. The yearning in his eyes was unmistakable. “You have met our beloved lord, who guides us with his example and commands our very breaths. He is the gold of the summer corn and his eyes the green of the first growth of spring. You’ve yet to meet our beloved Faramir, who can heal with a touch. He is the ruddy gold of the setting sun and his eyes hold the grey of a storm laden sky. I know you have read the reports and speculations. Never doubt that Lord Boromir makes all the decisions, tempered by the advice of his brother who could coddle a child on his knee whilst carving the heart out of the living breast of the enemy.”

Gríma’s breath caught in his throat at her words and actions. He knew all she said was true, and from the depths of the soul he’d always been told he did not have, he wanted her to be right. “Anything, my lady,” he whispered.

“We must proceed carefully,” she responded. “There must be no warning of the change of tide in Rohan, even if the death toll rises.”

The soft trill of bird song floated in the morning air. Boromir glanced without really looking at the copse of trees that held the four hobbits. Squinting into the midday gloom he moved his hand as if to wipe the nonexistent sweat from his brow, signaling the stealthy little folk that they should move a bit further south in their concealment. Estel and Legolas were on the opposite side of the road.

In the still, damp morning air, not even so much as a blade of grass was disturbed by the hobbit’s movement. The ranger and the elf, older and more experienced, were far less accomplished in this skill. They were large, even hulking in comparison to the hobbits, and stood no chance at all of outdoing them in the morning’s challenge.

Boromir knew that the evening camp would be blessed with the eggs and food plants gathered by the hobbits, while his future king and the elven prince would stare with confused shock at the bounty that awaited them for dinner. He smiled smugly to himself. As a long time leader of men, it had been his purvey to utilize the skills of each of his men to their best advantage. Here, he was given an unequaled opportunity to pass a small part of this skill on to his Liege as well as bolster the confidence of their small companions.

An amused grunt from Gimli proved that the dwarf was far more observant than his people were given credit for. Mithrandir turned his head briefly to see what they were about. He turned his attention back to breaking their trail, muttering to himself about frivolous youth. Boromir smirked at the wink Gimli gave him at the wizard’s words. It appeared that Estel and Legolas would not be the only ones surprised at the end of their day’s journey.

The soft trill of bird song floated in the morning air. Faramir glanced without really looking at the copse of trees that held the two rangers who shadowed the road running the length of the mountain range that bordered Mordor. Squinting into the midday glare he moved his hand as if to wipe the nonexistent sweat from his brow, signaling his men to move further south. At times like this he felt closer to his brother. They had worked out the signaling system along with the Ithilien Rangers who had long established their own system. It had been a week since all true Gondorians had heard the call of the Great Horn. He knew that Boromir was on his return journey and that this was the most dangerous time in his absence. But he also knew who returned with his brother. Soon all would change and nothing would ever be the same again.

He also sensed that great danger traveled with his brother. Something at the edge of their nightly dreams spoke of great evil. It made them more brief and cautious in the communication. Still, there was no doubt in his mind that he would recognize each of Boromir’s eight companions should he encounter them. This was part of the reason they were scouting Ithilien. Part of what he felt told him that it was important to know what passed here.

“Come,” Boromir whispered as Sam moved to clean up from their evening meal. They’d all learned not to interfere with this and the other self appointed tasks the hobbit had set for himself.

Estel watched Boromir communicate his intention to speak privately with him by the swift hand signals he’d been teaching them all. This was in fact one more of many days which had been spent without a word spoken aloud (other than the disgruntled mutterings of Gandalf who only grudgingly used or acknowledged the signals).

They stopped only a short way out of camp. Estel found his back gently pressed into a tall oak while Boromir leaned close, his lips brushing against his ear as he spoke in the merest breath of voice. “I would serve you, my Liege,” he said while his hands traveled down to the fastenings of Estel’s pants. “You have grown tense with the burden of our quest and the pressures of leadership. Let me ease you.” The words came softer than the morning breeze and warm lips moved to seduce him.

He knew he should refuse. but could make no protest as his already hard cock was released from its confines and Boromir sank gracefully to his knees. Green eyes captivated him as the unshaven cheek nuzzled against him while tongue and lips moved first to his filling testicles before running from base to tip of his fully exposed penis. Clever hands brushed across his perineum and belly, spreading warmth with their contact as he was taken wholly within Boromir’s seeking mouth.

He hadn’t been sleeping well, worry for the ring and the hobbits pressing upon him despite Boromir’s best efforts to show him just how capable the little people are. He’d already known they were more than they seemed, but the fears implanted his whole life about the dark lord fought with his knowledge of his own allies. The huge scope of their trek all the way to Mount Doom in the very midst of Mordor across over a thousand miles of mostly hostile territory was more than daunting. As a skilled finger massaged and then entered him, he remembered Boromir’s words to him the previous evening.

“We can only take this journey one step at a time, one day at a time. If we were to try and gather it all together as if we could do it all at once, we would fail. We would fail not just because the size of it would exceed our grasp but because we can’t even begin to anticipate all the twists, turns and detours we will encounter along the way.” He had paused with the gentle smile that he usually saved for Estel alone. “I have had visions, my Liege, of the completion of our quest. Visions shared by my brother that tell of our victory over the dark lord. So, do not let the length or breadth of our quest or the difficulty bring doubts to your mind and heart. We only need get through today.”

He leaned against against the tall oak only a few feet outside of the evening’s camp, his index finger caught in his teeth to help stifle his gasps of pleasure. Looking down at the blond head, watching his own cock slide in and out of the talented mouth, was too much and Estel lost all control.

Boromir gently tucked him away before rising to his feet, one battle-roughened hand carefully picking up the amulet that Estel always wore. “I believe you will find it easier to rest before we have to rise my Liege,” he whispered before placing a kiss on the object in his hand. “I pray that your lady presides over your dreams.”

They all reached the top of the next rise together. Boromir was unimpressed in many respects, but the tallest peak before them was beyond any of his previous accomplishments. Caradhras stood tall in the afternoon sun.

“It is the mountain we must seek passage with,” Mithrandir said as they looked on one of the possible ways they must seek next. “No magic can make changes here. We must ask for and abide by the decision of the mountain itself. “

“And how shall we ask the mountain for safe passage?” Boromir enquired shading his eyes from the bright reflections from the snowy peak.

“We must make for the pass and watch for signs,” the wizard answered. “It may be too long into winter or the mountain may simply not want us along its highest points.” He continued, “We won’t know until we get there.”

He’d never been this cold before. Despite the precautions he had taken in wrapping his hands and face, he still felt as if his flesh were on fire. It weighed on him that the hobbits were most likely suffering more then he. It was only the encouraging words of Boromir in front of him, using his greater size to break a path through the snow with Merry and Pip close in his wake, which kept him from despair. When they attempted the pass for the fifth time, only to bring on another onslaught of snow, he had to admit that their persistence was useless. The loud crack of breaking ice accompanied by the dark voice of the mountain itself brought a final halt to their doomed attempt at the high pass.

“Let us make for lower ground as quickly as we can,” Aragorn counseled as they gathered as best they could on the barren mountainside.

“It may cost us delays we can ill afford if we take the wrong route now,” Gandalf rebutted. “There are only two paths we can take from this point. The first and most obvious is southward towards the Gap of Rohan. The second is the trail under the mountains through Moria.”

“My cousin Balin would be more than happy to assist us,” Gimli hastened to add. “If he is still alive beneath the mountain. We have not heard from him for over fifty years. I have studied the maps my people have saved and should be able to find our way through the passages even if we do not find any welcoming hosts within, but I must counsel discretion in taking this path. There may be goblins or even orcs within.”

“Théodred watches the Gap of Rohan and the greater lands of the West Fold,” Boromir contributed. “However, our enemies will have just as tight a watch on that pass. We know that Saruman has been breeding orcs and goblins. We suspect he has created a new type of Uruk, one that can travel in the full daylight without distress.” He shook his head sadly as he continued. “Even if we were to bypass the gap and go further south crossing the Isen into Langstrand and Lebennin, we would be facing heavy orc patrols.”

“This is most alarming news,” Mithrandir said with a frown. “Why did you not speak of it earlier?”

“It was only speculation when I left,” Boromir replied. “Lately I’ve seen them in my dreams, but only in the West Fold and Ered Nimrais.”

“I traveled the way through Moria long ago,” the Wizard spoke, though he did not seem too happy with the idea. “Even then it was dangerous to outsiders and the unwary. However, it may cut as much as a week off of our journey. It is less than one day’s journey to the borders of Lothlorien from the eastern gate. We have received promises of aid from Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel.”

“As long as they are more helpful to our fellowship than they were to a lone traveler beleaguered by orcs,” Boromir couldn’t resist adding.

“I’m sure they will be most apologetic when you meet them. They had no idea that you were an ally,” Mithrandir spoke swiftly trying to diffuse Boromir’s anger.

“I would not deny shelter to any person, whether they be man, elf, hobbit, dwarf or something I have yet to encounter,” Boromir replied somewhat heatedly. “I will cause no trouble if we should end up taking that path, but I fear that I will not be at ease in their company.” He looked round at his companions, slowly, as if weighing the merits of each of them. “Our journey is long, no matter which route we take. I have been away from my home longer than ever before in my life and parted from my dearest family. If my voice counts for anything, I would have us take the shortest route.”

His words made each of his companions except the wizard, who was a different sort of creature from all of the rest, think about their family and homes. They thought about the many miles they’d yet to travel and how they might eventually reach their goal and return home to those they’d left behind.

“I could endure the questionable hospitality of strange elves,” Gimli said thoughtfully. “As long as they don’t bind me like a prisoner.”

“Yes,” said Frodo, who usually spoke for all of the hobbits. “I would prefer that this quest take as little time as possible. Especially if we can receive aid and supplies for the next leg of our journey from those at Lothlorien.”

“I passed through the Dimrill Gate once, long ago. The journey was hard and dangerous but I have some memory of its passages. Also the Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel are the grandparents of my betrothed, Arwen,” Estel said quietly. “I will do what I can to aid us in our quest.”

“Hopefully, we won’t need that much help,” Boromir said.

“So,” Mithrandir questioned, “is it decided that that we should venture under the mountain through Moria?”

They all agreed to chance the underground passage. With grim determination, they turned their backs on the Redhorn Gate and headed towards Moria.

Their trek back down the mountain was much easier as the snow had stopped and the way was even clear once they’d left the vicinity of the pass. At sunset, Boromir and Sam, who had become honorary camp masters, chose a sheltered spot to set a smokeless fire to warm them all as well as a bit of food to aid their sleep. They’d barely settled for their supper when howls were heard to the south and west. They were sheltered on two sides by unscalable walls of rock. The open side of their camp was lower ground, easily defendable with an alert watch.

Though they were all close to exhaustion, a staggered watch was established for the night. Legolas insisted on the first half of the night as he needed less sleep than the others and had not been hindered by the snow as they had. Pip, who was too restless to sleep yet joined him for the first two hours, followed by Merry.

It was near midnight when Sam rose to take his turn. Aragorn had also stirred to relieve himself and check the close environs of their camp. He had barely refastened his breeches when more howls sounded from the darkness, much closer than they’d been all night. All of the Fellowship tumbled forth from their bedrolls, even the ancient wizard who was whispering curses and other imprecations at being disturbed.

In moments their assailants were upon them. Giant Wargs and wild night birds fell upon the company. Not in great force but with enough presence to cause alarm. Boromir wielded his great sword whilst Gimli pulled forth the huge double bitted axe he carried, ever ready upon his back. Legolas and Estel both held themselves low beneath the striking range of Boromir’s sword and the dwarf’s axe to take their own blows at the enemy. The hobbits were able to establish an even lower position with their smaller stature. It wasn’t long before the enemy was routed and sent off into the dark reaches of the night.

Yet here they stood revealed on the mountainside to all who cared to look.

Despite their fatigue and the darkness of the night around them, they decided to press on to their next destination.

Moria.

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