OF SNOW AND STONE AND WOLVES
by Soledad Cartwright
Disclaimer: still not mine, except of the Lady Aquiel, who shall *not* appear in this chapter.
The song 'May It Be' is, of course, from the movie and belongs to Enya, Roma Ryan and all those movie people.
Rating: PG - 13, for heavy angst stuff (in later chapters) and implied m/m interaction.
Author's notes:
Thousand thanks to Deborah, whose excellent suggestion helped me out of my writer's block considering this story. Be warned, though, this is the first time I tried to go inside Aragorn's head, and I can't do him very well. He just isn't as close to my heart as Boromir is. Everyone is entitled to their own preferences, I guess.
Chapter Two: The Wheel of Fire
When the cold, grey morning of departure came, my beloved took his leave from me to return to the guest house, for he had preparations to make. We agreed to make our farewell a private one, so I was to follow him to his chambers later on that day. There was naught I could have done for him - for any one of the Company - at that moment, so I climbed up to the second level of my father's house, to one of its many balconies that faced eastwards.
It was almost in the middle of hrívë, or as Men would call it, near the end of December already, the days short and grey, and even the weak sunlight pale. The East Wind was streaming through the bare branches of the trees, and seething in the dark pines on the hills. Ragged clouds were hurrying overhead, dark and low, their bellies heavy with snow. I shall never understand what Legolas and his people could like in this season. I could never bear it, not even in Lórien, where the leaves of the mallorn-trees do not fall, just turn into pure gold.
Already the stars of Varda, the silent witnesses of my sacred oath, had faded away from the early morning sky. Only the far-away flame of Orodruin glowed darkly just above the brink of the valley, like an evil, ever-watchful eye. I know, that was the fire that haunted Boromir's dreams. And I prayed to the Lady of the Stars that my love shall be strong enough to protect him from falling into darkness.
An old blessing came to my mind, older than the House of Númenorean Kings - one that had been sung to my father's brother upon his departure, when he had made the same choice as I - and ere I fully realized what I was doing, I began to sing, not in Quenya as it was sung back then, but in the old tongue of Númenor, as it had been taught me in my childhood.
May it be an evening star
Shines down upon you
May it be when darkness falls
Your heart will be true
You walk a lonely road
Oh! How are you far from home.
Mornië utúlië (darkness has come)
Believe and you will find your way.
Mornië alantië (darkness has fallen)
A promise lives within you now.
May it be shadow's call
Will fly away
May it be you journey on
The light the day
When the night is overcome
You may rise to find the sun.
Mornië utúlië (darkness has come)
Believe and you will find your way.
Mornië alantië (darkness has fallen)
A promise lives within you now.
A promise lives within you now.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
As the cheerless shadows of the early morning began to fall, the Company made ready to set out. They were to start at dusk, for Elrond counselled them to journey under cover of night as often as they could, until they were far from Imladris.
''You should fear the many eyes of the servants of Sauron'', he said. ''I do not doubt that news of the discomfiture of the Riders has already reached him, and he shall be filled with wrath. Soon now his spies on foot and wing shall be abroad in the northern lands. Even of the sky above you must beware as you go on your way.''
And in the privacy of Boromir's bedchamber, which they had chosen to be the place of their farewell, Elladan added earnestly:
''Never cease to wear my gift, for as now 'tis the only thing that stands between you and the darkness. Its enchanted lock cannot be broken by any other than you or me. Do not hesitate to summon up the memories of my songs - of what we shared - when the Shadow begins to haunt your heart again. The Stone shall reach my soul, no matter how far eastwards you might have gone. And I shall pray to the Lady of the Stars to watch over your way.''
He leaned over, took Boroir's face in his hands and kissed the Man, first lightly on the lips, then more firmly upon his brow, as it had been custom in Gondor in old times when those of close kin departed. And who, indeed, save Arwen and Aragorn, could have been closer than the two of them?
''Be in peace, Boromir'', Elladan said; then he added the ancient, ritual greeting in Quenya, the Ancient Tongue of the Eldar: ''Elen síla lúmenn omentielvo.(1) You brought a light into my life that shall never fade.''
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
The Company took little gear of war, for their hope was in secrecy, not in battle. Aragorn had Andúril but no other weapon, and he went forth clad only in rusty green and brown, as a Ranger of the wilderness.
Boromir, too, had a long sword, in fashion like Andúril but of less heritage (though he needed not to be ashamed of it, for it had been in the possession of the firstborn sons of Stewards ever since the time of the first Ruling Steward), and he bore also a shield and his great war-horn.
He was cloaked and booted as if for a journey on horseback again, for his travel-stained, rich garments and fur-lined cloak were replaced due to the hospitality of Elrond; and his locks were shorn about his shoulders again. He wore the silver collar proudly and openly, to the wide-eyed astonishment of the Elves of the valley, but his tunic was held together by the time-blackened silver clasp with the White Tree upon it – the one he received from the Lady Éowyn – just below his throat.
Ere they had gathered fully, he took the silver-tipped white horn from his shoulder, where it was worn on a baldric, and looked at it fondly, for it was a very precious family heirloom, indeed, the horn of the wild ox of the East, adorened with silver and ancient letters written all upon it.
''Loud and clear it sounds in the valleys of the hills'', he said proudly, ''and then let all the foes of Gondor flee.''
Putting it to his lips he blew a blast, and the echoes lepat from rock to rock, and all that heard that voice in Imladris sprang to their feet. And Elladan, standing on the balcony of the guest house, shook his head in mild disapproval. As much as he loved the Man, Boromir's stubborn antics got to him at times.
''Slow should you be to wind that horn again, Boromir'', Elrond warned, ''until you stand once more on the borders of your land, and dire need is on you.''
''Maybe'', said Boromir. ''But always I let my horn cry at setting forth, and though thereafter we may walk in the shadows, I shall no go forth as a thief in the night.''
For though I am the one who shall be robbed of my land and my high chair, I still keep my pride, and I shall let no-one, not even the Shadow take that from me!
Elrond seemed as if he had read his thoughts, for he did not answer but turned away to speak to Legolas, who stood a few steps away, flanked by his own people who had escorted him from Mirkwood two months ago. The Wood-Elf wore his usual green and brown garment of soft leather and rough linen and the silver-adorned wrist guards of strong, hard leather that were customary among archers. For he had a bow, not very large, but expertly crafted, and a quiver full of long, green-feathered arrows, and at his belt a long white knife. His hair was tightly braided again, back from his face, like always when he was on the way, and his deep emerald eyes were haunted. He spoke with Elrond shortly, then turned back to his own people, and they stood together in one of the arched entrances, silently starring towards the East.
Gimly the Dwarf alone wore openly a short shirt of steel-rings, for Dwarves make light of burdens; and in his belt was a broad-bladed axe. He, too, stood alone, for his Father had returned to Erebor shortly after the Council, and there was no-one of his Kind left in the valley.
The younger hobbits wore daggers, long, leaf-shaped and keen, of marvellous workmanship, damasked with serpent-forms in red and gold. They gleamed as Pippin dew his from its black sheat, wrought of some strange metal, light and strong, and set with many fiery stones, to proudly show it the Dwarf.
Boromir looked at the weapons in awe, for he, well-versed in the lore of his own people, recognized the design of the blades, of course, and knew that they were forged many long years ago for the nobles of the North-kingdom, ere those were overcome by the evil King of Carn Dúm in the land of Angbad. He wondered how the little ones came to these daggers they wore as small swords, deciding to ask them later, at a time more proper.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Their farewells had been said in the great hall by the fire, and they were only waiting now for Mithrandir who had not yet come out of the house. A gleam of firelight came from the open doors and soft lights were glowing in many windows - the valley prepared for their departure, too.
The old hobbit, Bilbo, huddled in a cloak, stood silent on the doorsteps beside Frodo. Aragorn sat with his head to his knees; only Elrond knew fully what this hour meant to him. The Elves of Mirkwood took their leave from their Prince and returned to the guest house. Boromir stood aside, as usual, shifting impatiently, trying to get used to wear his mail shirt under his tunic again - the two months in the valley when he could lay it down were a blessing. But safety came before comfort, and they were about to set out on a very dark way, indeed.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Finally Elrond came out with Mithrandir, and he called the Company to him.
''This is my last word'', he said in a low voice. ''The Ring-bearer is setting out on the Quest of Mount Doom. On him alone is any charge laid: neither to cast away the Ring, nor to deliver it to any servant of the enemy nor indeed to let any handle it, save members of the Company and the Council, and only then in gravest need'', he glanced warningly at Boromir, who glared back at him in defiance, then added:
''The others go with him as free companions, to help him on his way. You may tarry, or come back, or turn aside into other paths as chance allows or'', he looked at Aragorn and Boromir, ''as duty demands. The further you go, the less easy will it be to withdraw; yet no oath or bond is laid upon you to go further than you will. For you do not yet know the strength of your hearts'', he turned pointedly to the younger hobbits, ''and you cannot foresee what each may meet upon the road.''
The Halflings made a stubborn face, yet it was Gimli who answered.
''Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens'', the Dwarf rumbled, deep in his broad chest.
''Maybe'', said Elronds, ''but let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.''
And just what is that suppose to mean, Master Half-elven?, Boromir asked himself troubled, for if any mortal Man had seen the nightfall, he most certainly did. His hand involuntarily crept up his own chest to the silver collar and his rough fingertips touched the Stone, with the same gentleness as they had touched Elladan's face only a few moments ago.
The small gesture caught Aragorn's eyes who had been in thoughts too deeply to recognize this special piece of jewelry earlier. The eyes of the Ranger grew wide, guessing the ramifications of the Shielding Stone having been given to Boromir, and he shot a questioning glance at Elrond, but the Lord of Imladris was looking away in defeat.
''Yet sworn word may strengthen quaking heart'', said Gimli, who, in customary Dwarvish ignorance, noticed naught from the unspoken question, nor from the denied answer.
''Or break it'', said Elrond with a sight, clear for at least Mithrandir and Aragorn – and, of course, for Boromir himself –, which vow he had in his mind. ''Look not too far ahead! But go now with good hearts! Farewell, and may the blessing of Elves and Men and all Free Folk go with you.''
He paused for a heartbeat, then added in a slow, grave voice:
''May the stars of the Lady Elbereth shine upon your faces and Manwë, Lord of the Winds watch over your paths.''
Hearing that last addition Aragorn stiffened, for Elrond's eyes lay clearly on Boromir's face alone, and the name of Manwë Súlimo, High King of the Valar, usually was not spoken by a simple farewell. That last phrase was, in fact, part of the fatherly blessing in the Elven wedding ceremony, invoked by the father calling Manwë as his withness that his blessing was truly given.
Many others of Elrond's household stood in the shadows and watched them go, bidding them farewell with soft voices, among others Glorfindel himself, the Lady Aquiel and even Elrohir, who tempered his own upset heart long enoug to part in peace from the two Men who had taken brother and sister from him – but neither Arwen, nor Elladan were to see.
There was no laughter, no song or music. At least they turned away and faded silently into the dusk, only their eyes following the steps of those who were to leave.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The Company crossed the bridge and wound slowly up the long steep paths that led out of the cloven vale of Imladris. They passed along the guest house, and Boromir stole a glance at the long balcony where the tall, slender figure of Elladan still stood among the lengthening shadows. Their eyes met for a last time: and Boromir saw in awe that Elladan's face was calm and peaceful, as if he had reached a depth of inner retreat where no pain could reach him any more.
Then the moment passed, as they set their way forth, coming at length to the high moor where the wind hissed through the heather. Then with one final glance at the Last Homely House twinking below them they strode away far into the night.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
At the Ford of Bruinen we left the Road and turning southwards went on by narrow paths among the folded lands. Our purpose was to hold this course west of the Mountains for many miles and days.
The country was much rougher and more barren than in the green vale of Anduin in Wilderland on the other side of the range, where Boromir had come northwards two months ago, and we knew that our going would be slow. But Gandalf hoped in this way to escape the notice of unfriendly eyes, and I agreed with him fully. The spies of the Enemy had hitherto seldom been seen in this empty country, and the paths were little known except to the Elves of Rivendell.
Gandalf walked in front, and I accompanied him, for I knew this land even in the dark. The hobbits were in file behind, led by Gimly son of Glóin, and with the good Master Samwise at the end, leading our only beast of burden: the same pony that we had brought from Bree and that Sam, for a reason known only to him, had named Bill. Legolas, whose eyes are keen, was the rearguard, which relieved me greatly, for that way I could at least be sure that no-one would approach us from behind unnoticed.
I have travelled with the Prince of Mirkwood before, sometimes together with Elladan and Elrohir, so I knew very well what he is capable of – much more, indeed, than even other Elves would expect from him. There is somehing in him, some wildness that cannot be tamed, in spite of his elegant features and soft-speaking manner. 'Tis a trait common to all Wood-Elves and easily forgotten – our short but harsh fight at the Council had shown me how easily; and that a Man does well to keep this in his mind.
I know Elrond wished not for him to come with us, but there is no power in Middle-earth that could withhold the son of Thranduil once he had set his mind on a certain task – not even his own father. I saw him speak with Boromir briefly, who was walking directly before him, then retreating into that eerie silence only Elves are capable of – one of the few things I could never get used to, in all those years spent among them –, and wondered if there was some unspoken understanding between him and Elrond (or, more likely, between him and Elladan), to keep an eye on the Heir of Gondor.
That little scene by our farewell, in the great hall of Elrond's house, had shaken me to the bone. I recognized the Stone Boromir was wearing at once - how could I not? It was a precious family heirloom, one of the few things that came back with Glorfindel from the Blessed Realm, and what is more, it had a unique meaning. It only could be given once during the entire life of a keeper.
I knew, of course, that Elladan had fallen for Boromir with an almost frightening passion – I do belong to the family after all –, yet I have never thought that his devotion would be rooted this deep. All of Elrond's children had inherited something very precious, something that had survived the Fall of Gondolin and kept safe, to give it to their spouses when the moment of eternal bonding has come – the moment when Elves give themselves to the one they live, utterly and without restrictions, body and heart and soul.
One day, I, too, shall receive the token of Arwen's restless devotion, as I had given her my heart at the first sight.
If fate will and the Valar allow it, this moment shall come, soon now. She had spoken of it many times to me, telling me about her love and that naught should ever separate us, not the depths of the Sea or the shadows of Death itself. We have waited through long, unfulfilled years, yet in our hearts always have we known that the day of our merging shall come. If her father wants me to become King before, so be it – I shall do every thing he demands in exchange. And he is right in one thing: the Lady Undómiel deserves to be Queen over both Arnor and Gondor.
Yet Elladan did not wait. He only had known Boromir for two moons, or even less, and already pledged himself to him, without hesitation, without even asking for his father's blessing – and, since neither of them was wearing a ring by our departure, I have to assume that this bond of his was one-sided. Knowing the customs of Gondor, it could hardly be anything else.
And still, Elrond did give his blessing. Afterwards, for sure, and Boromir probably did not even realize it, but Elrond had invoked the name of Manwë, Lord of Winds and Highest of the Valar, asking for his protection in the most ceremonial manner – that is used only during a wedding ritual – for the one his son loved.
Had Arwen and I bound ourselves without his knowledge, would he have given his blessing, too, I wonder? Would Arwen have been willing to take such a final, desperate step, risking the wrath of her father?
I wish I could answer that.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
The first part of our jurney was hard and dreary, and I remembered little of it, save the wind. For many sunless days an icy blast came from the Mountains in the east, and no garment seemed able to keep out its searching fingers. Though we had been well furnished by Elrond with thick warm clothes, and we had jackets and cloaks lined with fur, we seldom felt warm, either moving or at rest.
We slept uneasily during the middle of the day, in some hollow of the land, or hidden under the tangled thorn-bushes that grew in thickets in many places. In the late afternoon we were roused by the watch and took our main meal: cold and cheerless as a rule, for we could seldom risk the lightning of a fire. In the evening we went on again, always as nearly southward as we could find a way.
The days and nights were so much alike that I had lost count on them. There was naught but the wind, half-buried paths among the stones, tasteless food and troubled sleep under a steel-grey sky, covered with dirty, snow-heavy clouds.
And the dark whispers from the shadowy depths of my own heart.
They awoke in daytimes and nighttimes, in the never-land between dream and awakeness, where neither the strength of my own will, nor the memories of my lover's songs could protect me from their assaults.
Wordless and far away they were, yet ever present, even at times of rest, and I understood their meaning all too well.
Sometimes they spoke with the harsh voice of my father, calling me a coward and a traitor for bending my knee before an ursurper and throwing away the only means to keep our land and its people safe.
And I saw my beautiful city in flames; the great Gate with its iron posts and steel bars break under the mighty spell of words of powers and terror, cried aloud in a dreadful voice in the same ancient, evil tongue Mithrandir had used at the Council, to rend both heart and stone. And a great dark shape against the fires beyond loomed up, and in rode the Nameless Fear, under the archway that no enemy yet had passed, and all fled before his face.
And all before the wall on either side of the Gate the ground was choked with wreck and with bodies of the slain; yet still driven as by madness, more and more of the dark forces came up, floating the broken walls like the black wave that once swallowed Númenor.
I could have lain a protective wall of fire around the most beautiful and valiant city the hands of Men had ever built – if ever I could lay hand upon the source of such power. If only he who wanted to become her King would love her half as much as I and the mine did. But he loved the White City not truly, not as a King should have, and I had bent my knee before him at the Council, and never would my father forgive me for that.
Sometimes the whispers spoke with the voice of the Lady Éowyn, a voice bitter and cold, accusing me of betrayal upon my closest friends and allies.
And I saw the fair green fields of Calenardon soaked with the spilt blood of the brave Riders of Rohan, my brother-in-arms, Théodred son of Théoden slain, his strong body broken, his helm dinted, his shield cloven, and the light of life gone from his eyes.
And I saw the Golden Hall of Meduseld burnt to the ground, the old King of the Mark murdered, brave young Éomer in chains, the people of Edoras slain or enslaved in the deep mines of Isengard, and the White Lady of Rohan laying high upon the dark tower of Curunír, her throath cut by her own hand, having chosen death before dishonour by the dirty hands of the treacherous Wormtongue.
And sometimes the whispers spoke to me with the sad and gentle voice of my own brother, complaining over my unfaithfulness, for I have taken from another one what he could never give me. And though I know that Faramir would never accuse me thus, that, in truth, he would be glad I had finally found some happiness, hearing his sad and hurt voice was almost more than I could bear.
I knew that accursed Ring was whispering to me. Elladan had warned me upon our departure of its powers that would grow the more the nearer it came to its Maker. I understood now that it was evil, yet I could not wear off its spell in that half-dream state the numbing twilights of our path kept trapping me in. It was burning in the inside of my lids like a wheel of fire – like the Great Eye itself that had been haunting my nightmares ever since the Shadow fell upon my heart in Osgiliath.
We came to a rest again and I fell heavily on the ground, my fingers tasting after the Stone on their own. This was the only relief I had found on this journey... to curl my hand around the Stone and feel the soft, ethereal touch of my lover's gentle soul upon mine. His presence covered my heart like a warm blanket – I felt my whole body go limp with relief. It almost felt as if he would lay somewhere near, just outside my reach, and laughing silently, just out of my hearing.
I could feel the watching eyes of the others on me.
The deep, blue eyes of Mithrandir, watching from below his bushy brows, full of doubt and dismay towards me, partly because of his frequent disagreements with my father, no doubt of that.
The bright, green eyes of Legolas, searching my face with troubled glances (mayhap Elladan, or even Elrond himself, had asked him to watch over me).
The small, coal-black eyes of the Dwarf, suspicious and mistrusting, just as he watched all the others, too, for Dwarves do not easily trust other races, ’tis said.
And the clear, grey eyes of Arathorn son of Aragorn, the future King of Gondor, also bare of trust, and even a little jealous, which I could not truly undertsand. What in Middle-earth could he feel jealous for? Was not he the one who prepared himself to take my inheritance away?
* * * * * * * * * *
Someone tugged on my sleeve and I let go of the Stone, looking up straight into the round, warm brown eyes of one of the hobbits. It was the youngest one, Peregrin Took – the one the others called Pippin. Standing before me, he was about as tall as I was sitting – and he was reaching me a piece of bread and some dried meat.
''Your supper, Lord Boromir, sir'', he said on that merry little voice of his.
Thought he had been the reason why Elladan finally was not sent with the Company, I came to like the little fellow as our journey went on. He was funny and curious and easy-going and certainly well-mannered for someone who had never left his small land before – he always called me 'Lord Boromir' or 'sir', which is not a big thing, yet it felt good.
Mithrandir, and even my King-to-be, never handled me with respect. In their eyes I was naught but a nuisance – someone who is to count with. Someone who the Ring and its bearer has to be protected from. I believe Aragorn has already regretted bringing me along on this quest, though having decided to come to Minas Tirith, he could not easily avoid my company.
Also, the young hobbit was very, very protective towards the Ring-bearer, who, I learnt, was his elder cousin, and that was something I understood very well. Yet he also seemed to avoid me – he was even reluctant to come near me, save the occasions like this one, when he was sent with something to give me. Which I could not understand, for I never hurt him, nor have I been aught but polite to all Halflings.
So I decided to make the first step, for I did not want him to fear me.
''Thank you, Master Peregrin'', I said as friendly as I could manage in my weary state. ''Would you care to join me?''
His eyes became a little frantic, like those of a small, trapped animal, but then his curiosity became stronger than his fear, and he nodded mutely and sat down next to me.
''So'', I said easily, ''finally I get the pleasure of your company. For as til now, you have taken great pains in order to keep away from me. Have I done anything to frighten you?''
He glared at me, startled, clearly wondering if he had somehow offended me, and if yes, how could he make things between us better.
''Oh no, my good sir, surely you have not!'', he cried. ''Yet every time I came in your sight, you looked me in dismay, so I guessed you either dislike hobbits – or you just dislike me.''
Now I felt ashamed, for it was true that I had been angry at him first, for if not for him, surely Elrond would have allowed Elladan to join us, to my great relief and pleasure. Yet I knew it was not my right to harrass this brave little fellow for being faithful and protective towards someone he loved.
''Not so, Master Peregrin'', I said, deciding to be honest with him. '''Tis true, I would have preferred someone very... close to me to come with us in your stead, but I keep no grudge against you.''
He looked up into my face with clear fondness, which I found amusing, since I was twice his size and almost twice his age.
''I regret your loss'', he said in a small, sad voice. ''And I regret even more that it had to happen because of me.''
I shook my head.
''Nay, you have as much right to be here as any one of the Company; and you have proved your worthiness during the perilous journey from the Shire to Imladris already.''
My words seemed to delight him, and he stayed with me during our rest, to the slight surprise of the others. And we talked a lot – more, indeed, than I had talked to any one during my whole stay in Imladris, for Halflings are a very talkative folk, curious like cats, and mostly of high spirits, and they love stories, short ones and long ones, both to tell them or to listen to them.
So I befriended Peregrin son of Paladin, and during our long and mind-numbing journey I have learnt a lot about the strange land and even stranger customs of the Halflings, and my own spirit lightened a little, for it would have been hard to remain gloomy in the delightful company of these small and funny young people. For often his other cousin and closest friend, Meriadoc (who even was called Merry, a name fitting him very well), and we laughed and jested and at times even sang together, to the awe of the rest of the Company.
And the wheel of fire lay less heavily upon my heart for awhile.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
End notes:
I really, really planned to send them up the Caradhras in this chapter, but Boromir was broody and Pippin wanted a friend, so I had to let them bond a little first.
1 A star shines on the hour of our meeting.