Dedicated to Namarie, who wanted
to see some Captain of Gondor stories, and who inspired me with the
idea for this particular tale.
Boromir did not like waiting.
This was a pleasant enough place in which to do it, but the
agreeableness of the spot did little to ease the frustration of the
enforced delay. It was natural for Boromir to feel some impatience, for
he was eager to proceed with his mission -- but even more than that, he
was worried about the reason for the delay. The scouts were late in
returning, and that was cause for concern.
Boromir stood concealed at the top of a wooded ridge overlooking the
Southward Road, as it wound its way past the outlying hills of Emyn
Arnen into Southern Ithilien and beyond. His men waited with him,
hidden here and there among the trees. They would not move on until
they had received the signal that all was clear on the Road. This
wooded area was the last place of concealment for some miles; once they
descended the ridge, they would be exposed, for the terrain on either
side of the Road was open and barren of cover, and anyone moving
through the area could easily be spotted by a watchful enemy. If they
could cross the Road safely and secretly, they could once again find
some refuge in the woodlands that ascended the foothills of the Ephel
Dúath, east of the road.
Ithilien on the very borders of Mordor was a land claimed by the Enemy,
but it was not yet overrun. Although Orcs and other enemies roamed the
forests between mountain and River, and the presence of evil and danger
was felt throughout the land, passage was still possible if one went
with great care. And such care was needed; Boromir's company was small
-- twenty men only -- and they could not afford a skirmish with a
larger enemy troop.
Boromir wondered if twenty men would be sufficient for the mission at
hand. Their task seemed straightforward enough: find the hidden
fastness of Fennas Haradren, one of the bases established years before
by the long-sighted Steward Túrin II. Fennas Haradren served as
an outpost for forayers who harried the enemy in Ithilien and kept a
foothold for Gondor in this occupied land. It had fallen into disuse
over the years, because of its location on the very borders of Mordor
and its distance from Minas Tirith; but several years before, the Lord
Denethor had sent a small contingent of Rangers to occupy the outpost
at Fennas Haradren. The group had been too small to do much more than
provide information on the movement of Orcs and Haradrim in the area,
but that information had often proved valuable.
But now there was the possibility of trouble. Faramir, as Captain of
the Rangers of Ithilien at Henneth Annun, had dealt often with the
Rangers at Fennas Haradren; he had sent word that an unusual amount of
time had passed since he last had any report or contact from the
outpost. He feared the worst. Rather than pull any men away from their
assignment in Northern Ithilien, Denethor had chosen to send Boromir
and a company of twenty men to investigate.
Boromir saw the wisdom in taking such a small group, for they could
move with ease and remain unobserved, in a land patrolled by Orcs and
other enemies. But he was concerned about the possibility of meeting a
large troop of the enemy on the way, and about what they might find
when they arrived at the outpost; it could go ill for his small company
if they came under attack. It was Boromir's task as Captain to see that
this did not happen, if he could prevent it.
So they waited for news, and Boromir worried.
He heard a light step behind him. Turning quickly, he saw a man approaching; it was Grithnir, his lieutenant.
"Is there any news, Grithnir?"
"No, my Captain. The scouts have not yet returned."
"Very well," Boromir replied heavily.
"Should we proceed without their report? The Road is clear as far as we
can see from here on the ridge. The scouts will be able to pick up our
trail and follow after, if they come late."
"I hesitate to risk the crossing without their report," replied
Boromir, after a moment of thought. "It is true, the Road seems clear
from this vantage point, but it will not do to be caught suddenly in
the open. The scouting party may be delayed because of an enemy we
cannot see from here, and that means we would be putting ourselves in
danger by crossing now. The day is yet young; we can wait a while
Grithnir nodded, and went to inform the waiting men of their captain's decision.
Boromir waited until Grithnir was out of earshot before he heaved a
long sigh; it helped a little to curb his impatience. He was irritated
at the delay, but he could not show it; it was pointless to be angry.
But why were they taking so long? Fear that the scouts had run into
trouble assailed him. Always it was this way! He sent out his scouts,
and then waited in fear and impatience until they returned. Such was
the duty of a captain: to order his men into danger, and then to bear
with reasonably good grace the waiting time that followed.
To ease the wait, Boromir turned back to his lookout.
Northward he cast his eye, where the ridge sloped down into a shallow
valley until it rose again in another ridge like the one upon which he
stood. Off in the distance he could see the darker green of the forests
of Northern Ithilien
Turning his glance southward, he saw the ribbon of the Road winding its
way under the shadow of the mountains to the east, until it was lost
behind the bend of the ridge. Far beyond, on the horizon, he thought he
could descry a spur of mountain jutting out into the plain; somewhere
in those distant peaks was the outpost of the Southern Door, Fennas
Eastward, then, Boromir's eyes were drawn -- though reluctantly. There
the Mountains of Shadow reared up sharply in front of him, backlit by
the ever-present red glow of the fiery mountain behind. The Mount of
Doom was hardly more than 30 leagues from where he stood, as the crow
might fly -- far enough away, perhaps, yet still too close to be
A small rill ran through their hiding place, tumbling over rocks and
tree roots to the valley below. Boromir knelt to drink from the shallow
brook; he remained alert, scooping up the water and drinking from his
hand, all the while keeping his eyes trained on the Road below, as he
listened for the sound of returning feet.
The early morning breeze quickened and there was a soughing and sighing
in the trees. The leaves fluttered overhead, their undersides flashing
silver in the light of the sun as it rose above the clouds that hung
over the land of Mordor. The day was advancing, and still no word came
of the scouting party.
The call of a bird echoed along the ridge, and Boromir stood suddenly
still and alert at the sound. The call was answered by another, then by
Boromir smiled. At last!
Even as he turned away from the edge of the bluff, he saw Grithnir approaching.
"Have they come? Is all well?"
"Yes, my Captain. The scouts have returned safely, and are ready to make their report."
"Excellent!" Boromir spoke calmly, but inwardly he was greatly relieved
at the news. "Bring them to me. And tell the others to join us here. We
will hear the report together and decide our next course of action."
"Yes, my lord Boromir."
The men gathered quickly, for all were eager to hear the report of the
scout detail. The chief scout, a man named Henderch, stood before
Boromir, awaiting his nod to begin speaking.
"Forgive the delay, my lord Captain," said Henderch, when all were
present. "We were forced to wait in hiding to avoid being seen by Orc
scouts that were passing northwards. They did not see us; we followed
them at a distance for a time to be certain they would not trouble us.
Do not fear; the Orcs are no longer of any concern to us, for they have
moved on. There is no sign of any other movement, on the Road or on
either side of it, for ten leagues in either direction. The way is
"Very good," replied Boromir, pleased. "We will proceed, then."
Boromir drew out a rolled map and laid it out on the ground, and Grithnir weighted the edges with a few stones.
"Faramir drew this map for me," Boromir explained. "It is sketchy, for
he has not personally visited Fennas Haradren, but he is familiar with
its general location. Henderch has looked at the map and confirms it to
be sufficiently accurate. As you know, Henderch is the only one of us
to have ever visited the outpost, so we will be relying upon his
knowledge once we draw nigh to the secret path. The purpose of this map
is to show you roughly where we are headed."
Boromir tapped the parchment with his finger.
"Our way of approach will be directly from the north, through Southern
Itilien as far as the foothills here, where a spur of the mountain
range extends out into the plain. I would estimate it to be roughly a
quarter of the way between here and the crossing at the River Poros."
The men nodded in understanding.
"We might be there by dusk, if we hurry," continued Boromir. "We will
cross the Road, in groups of five. Grithnir, you and Henderch will go
with the first group; I shall follow with the last. When all are safely
across, we will proceed through the woods until we reach the edge of
the Mountains of Shadow."
One of the men stirred, and Boromir glanced his way and nodded.
"Yes, it is rare for men of Gondor to pass east of the Road in these
dangerous times, and to walk in the very shadow of the Ephel
Dúath is almost unheard of. But that is our path, if we are to
find the Southern Door, and discover what is amiss. See that your
flasks are filled with water before we leave this ridge. We shall have
to move quickly once we cross to the other side of the Road, and we
cannot stop, then, even for water. If I have my bearings and this map
is accurate, we will reach no good stream until nightfall. Are there
None were forthcoming, and Boromir was pleased; the men were as ready
as he to move on. He pushed aside the stones on the edges of the map;
it rolled up again with a sharp crackle of parchment.
"Let us be on our way."
A thorny branch of scrub dragged at Boromir's cloak as he led the way
across a rocky outcropping; he clicked his tongue in irritation, as he
yanked the edge free. Here on the slopes of the Mountains of Shadow,
the land was drier and more barren. The scattered woodlands had failed
upon reaching the Ephel Dúath; there was now only scrub and
stunted trees to give them shelter.
He saw Henderch approaching through the underbrush. Since he had been
stationed for a time at the outpost of Fennas Haradren and knew the
secret approach to the door, he had gone on ahead to scout out the
passage through the mountains. Boromir stopped and waited for him to
draw near, as the rest of the men gathered round.
"We are close now," said Henderch. He took a quick swig of water from
his flask before going on. "You will have noticed how the mountains
seem to turn and cut across our path ahead; the way is there. It climbs
steeply up to a cleft that cannot be seen from below, a few leagues
west of where the spur joins the main mass of the mountains."
"The door is on the north side of the hills?" asked Grithnir.
"Yes," nodded Henderch. "The name means Southern Door, but the door
does not truly face south." He shrugged. "Perhaps it is named thus
because Fennas Haradren was the southernmost of the secret places."
"Did you go as far as the Secret Door?" queried Boromir.
Henderch shook his head. "I went as far as I dared go alone. There is
no sign that anyone has passed that way for some time; it has a
A hiss of dread passed Boromir's lips before he could stop it.
"That does not bode well," he said darkly. "We must tarry no longer; it
is imperative that we discover what has happened to our people there."
He looked westwards towards the setting sun, where the long shadows of
scattered woodlands stretched out towards them across the undulating
plains of Southern Ithilien. They were high enough on the mountain
slope that Boromir thought he could see off in the distance the glint
of the Anduin as it curved away towards Pelargir and the Great Bay.
"It will be safe to approach now, I think," he said after a moment. "Darkness will be upon us by the time we reach the cleft."
Boromir turned and faced his men, looking each of them in the eye as he spoke.
"We do not know what to expect here, so we must be on our guard at all
times. Only Henderch is familiar with the path, so he will go first,
and I with him. Grithnir?"
Boromir's lieutenant stepped forward and gave his orders. "The archers
will follow my lord Boromir; have your bows to hand and keep an arrow
to the string. You others, draw your swords, and follow as you will; I
will serve as rearguard."
He turned to Boromir.
"The men are ready."
Boromir drew his own sword, and nodded his own readiness.
"Lead on, Henderch."
The path up the mountainside was difficult, especially in the darkness,
but they dared not light a torch for fear of being seen by unfriendly
eyes. They climbed slowly and carefully and at last came to the cleft
that would take them to the door. The wind off the mountainside
whistled coldly through the roofless passage and sounded strangely like
voices shrieking and wailing. Boromir strove not to think of it as a
"It is safe enough to light a torch now," announced Henderch, "if
tinder will catch in this wind. We are protected from being seen from
above and below."
Several torches were lit, in spite of the stiff breeze, and the company
proceeded through the narrow passage formed by sheer rock on either
side, until they came to broad area that opened up like an antechamber
before the door of a great hall of men. The wind whistled behind them
in the cleft, but could no longer reach them here, for the area was
protected from the wind by an overhanging slab of rock, and by the
walls on either side. The doors of Fennas Haradren stood before them,
tall and dark in the flickering torchlight.
But those doors stood ajar -- they had been ripped from their hinges
and hung mangled and awry. The men stared in dismay at the sight.
Henderch gave a strangled cry as he motioned for a torch to be held up
for better light.
"My lord!" he cried, pointing to a figure that lay in the shadows, half in and half out of the open doorway.
Boromir stepped forward, and cursed angrily.
There lay a man -- or what was left of a man, dressed in the garb of a
Ranger of Gondor. He was dead, and had been so for some time.
He had been torn limb from limb.
Boromir and his men stared down at the dismembered body with shocked
dismay. When he could at last speak, Boromir's voice was thick with
sorrow and apprehension.
"I feared this," he sighed, as he knelt beside the dead man. "There was no challenge as we came, no sentry on duty..."
Boromir's voice trailed off as he reached out and gently touched the
body before him. Suddenly, he clenched his fist angrily and abruptly
"Grithnir!" he cried sharply. "Get this door open! Archers! To me! We go in to secure the hall!"
The men were galvanized into action. Grithnir gestured and several men
rushed forward to wrestle the mangled doors aside. Two archers appeared
at Boromir's side, their bows drawn. Snatching a torch from the hand of
the man who carried it, Henderch stepped forward.
"I will go first," he said firmly. "I still remember the layout of this place, and I know where to look for a hidden enemy."
"Go, then; these marksmen will cover you. I will come directly behind."
Boromir turned to the rest of the men. "You others with bows come
behind me and the rest follow as you are able. We may find the enemy
has fled, but we cannot be certain, so be on your guard."
The doors fell aside with a crash and a clatter, and the odor of death
flowed out in a wave. Henderch darted inside and men with drawn bows
leapt after him. Boromir waited for a brief moment, then followed
quickly, Grithnir close at his elbow.
There was a wide, high passage just inside the doorway that ran for
twenty paces, then opened out suddenly into a large and lofty cavern,
dim and full of shadows cast by the torchlight.
There was no sound in the hall but the shuddering flutter of the
torches, the shuffle of men's feet as they moved quickly through the
chamber in their search for signs of the enemy, and the faint trickle
of water dripping into a pool, somewhere in the darkness at the back of
the cavern. The pungent smell of dried blood was strong in the room.
In the flickering light, Boromir could see that many men lay dead. The
room was littered with the smashed remains of tables, stools, and
broken bodies. Boromir knelt and inspected the wounds of one of the
"What enemy has done this?" asked Grithnir, kneeling at his side. "Orcs?"
"Nay!" replied Boromir with a shake of his head. "This is not Orc work.
There are no sword wounds, no black arrows, no Orc bodies..."
Boromir reached out and pulled a sword from the iron grip of the dead
man; the torchbearer who attended him held the torch closer so that he
could inspect the weapon.
"See?" said Boromir. "This man had a sword in his hand, so they were
not so taken by surprise that there was no defense attempted. There
would surely have been a few dead Orcs lying about if those foul
creatures had been the enemy here."
He fingered the weapon, and then brought it up close to his nose.
"The smell is wrong," Boromir said, shaking his head. "It is not Orc blood that stains this blade."
"There are men yonder who look as though they have been trampled," said
the torchbearer, a man named Arthad. "It is as if some large animal did
"I wonder..." Boromir said thoughtfully. "That might explain why all
the dead are within; there are no bodies outside. The door wardens and
the sentries must have been called in to aid in the fight and been
killed as well. But how did such a creature gain access, if creature it
Henderch approached from the far side of the room, stepping carefully over the dead.
"The upper level is clear," he announced. "We have searched the main
hall, as well as the side chambers. There are none left alive and no
sign of an enemy, other than the destruction and the dead who remain..."
There was an odd note in his voice, and Boromir noticed it immediately.
"What is it, Henderch?" he said sharply. "What have you found?"
Henderch swallowed hard before replying.
"Some of the bodies, my lord... they show signs of having been eaten."
"Eaten..." Boromir's voice was flat. "Yes, that would fit with what we have discovered here."
He stood and gripped Henderch's shoulder briefly.
"There is a lower level, then?" Boromir continued after a moment. "How far does that cave extend?"
"It is not large; a wide passage down, then a main chamber, several
side chambers, and a few small rooms which serve for storage."
Boromir turned to Grithnir.
"Grithnir, go with Henderch; take ten men with you. Proceed cautiously
to the next level and search there, in groups of two or three; no man
should go anywhere alone. The creature that has done this thing may
still be here somewhere on the lower level."
"Yes, my Captain."
While he awaited the report of the search party, Boromir busied himself
with trying to identify as many of the dead as he could, gazing into
each face, or gently touching a body in a moment of silence for each
fallen comrade. It was a gruesome task, but a necessary one for
Boromir; it was his habit to pay his respects in this way after every
battle, if at all possible. It made the weight of the burden of death
and loss somewhat easier to bear.
At last the search party returned; they stood at attention until Boromir had turned away from the dead with a sigh.
"There are only a few more dead on the lower level," answered Grithnir.
"It would seem the main battle took place here. The lower level is
clear, but for one thing. There is evidence that a creature of some
sort entered the main cavern through a passage at the back of one of
the storerooms. There has been a fall of rock, and a passage is open
now that was not there before."
Boromir looked inquiringly at Henderch.
"Yes, my lord. There was no such passage when I was last here. This
cavern outpost was self-contained; there were no outlets to other
Boromir stepped over a pile of rubble at the opening of the passageway,
and peered into the darkness. He could see nothing except a litter of
gnawed bones on the floor of the cavernous corridor. He beckoned to
Arthad and took the torch from him; holding it aloft, he inspected the
rock above and to the side of the opening.
"Yes, it is obvious there was some kind of cave-in here, and a new
passage was opened." He knelt in the dust and traced with a gloved
finger a shape in the dust. "There is a track here. I have not seen
anything like this before; a toeless foot, very large. The creature
must be immense."
He looked up at Grithnir and Henderch.
"Did you search this passage?"
"No," replied Grithnir. "We did not wish to disturb anything until we had reported back to you."
"You have done well. I fear such a creature is best left undisturbed as
long as possible. I do not wish to join the ranks of the dead here."
"What shall we do now, my Captain?" Grithnir asked. "It is many hours
before dawn; do we leave now while we can? Or do we set a watch and
take our rest as best we can, before departing?"
Boromir thought for a moment before answering.
"I am loath to depart before knowing the final answer to the riddle of
what transpired here, but it would be the wisest course. We are twenty
men only. We dare not attempt..."
Boromir's words were drowned out suddenly by a deafening roar from the depths of the dark corridor.
"Get back!" Boromir shouted. "To the upper level, quickly! It is coming! Grithnir, lead them out!"
The men turned and ran for the upper hall. They could hear the sounds
of pursuit behind them; the roaring of the creature echoed in the
cavern above them until it seemed as though they were surrounded, and
their ears rang painfully from the sound. They reached the upper level
and ran for the exit. Boromir came last, and though the creature seemed
close on his heels, he could not resist the urge to look back for a
glimpse of what followed them. Turning back, he held up his torch,
straining to see through the gloom.
Arthad tugged at his sleeve.
"Do not tarry, my lord! I beg you!"
"I am coming, Arthad; do not fear."
But it was too late. With a roar, the creature burst into the main
hall, its massive arms swinging as it searched to crush those who had
"A cave troll!" breathed Boromir in horror. It all made sense, now.
It was indeed a cave troll, of that Boromir was certain. He had never
before seen one, but he had heard of them, and knew enough to recognize
one when he saw it. Solitary creatures, shunning the light and the
surface, they lived and hunted in deep caverns. They were reputed to be
under the sway of the Dark Lord, but they were dangerous enough on
their own, if disturbed or encountered by chance.
This troll was huge -- at least sixteen feet in height. Its body was
covered with a hard, rock-like hide that seemed to be of a greenish
hue, though it was hard to tell in the light of the flickering torch.
The head of the creature was absurdly small in relation to the rest of
its body, but when it roared in its fury, the maw opened wide enough to
engulf a child or even a small man.
Boromir stood staring at the troll and could not turn away. He had
never before seen a creature of such great size. Even as death
approached, he found himself thinking furiously of what must have
happened. This cave troll must have found its way to the surface after
the cave-in opened the passage on the lower level; its attack had taken
the outpost by surprise. In its anger and hunger, the troll had even
dared to enter the main hall and attack the doors to the outside. Its
nearness to the surface would not have been a hindrance to the creature
if it had been night when it attacked. Nor would it be hindered now.
"My lord Boromir!" cried Arthad, and at his shout, the others turned
back. Boromir awoke from his preoccupation and leapt aside, as the
troll aimed a massive fist at him.
"To me!" Boromir cried to his men as he fell.
They were there before he hit the floor; the archers loosed their
arrows and the troll was turned aside. Grithnir dragged Boromir back
and helped him to his feet.
"I am a fool!" growled Boromir, angry with himself for hanging back and
endangering himself and his men. He threw down the torch which
unaccountably he still held in his grasp, and drew his sword. "Now we
are committed to a fight!"
The troll's terrific roaring filled the hall as it was struck by arrows
and cut by thrusts of the sword. Men darted in and out, stabbing at the
legs of the troll, or jumping in close to aim an arrow at a vulnerable
spot. It was like a strange sort of dance, grueling and endless.
The troll began to tire, but so did the men. Grithnir was swept off his
feet as he ducked under the troll's long arm to aim a blow at the back
of its leg; flying across the room, he landed heavily against the far
wall and slumped to the floor. Boromir gave a wordless shout of dismay,
but he could not reach his lieutenant, for the troll stood between them.
At last, the troll stumbled, groping at its eye where it had been penetrated by an arrow.
"Henderch! Arthad!" Boromir cried, leaping forward.
Together they attacked the troll from behind, aiming their blows at the
back of its leg, as Grithnir had attempted to do; the sword thrusts
finally penetrated the thick hide of the troll, and the ligament at the
back of the leg was cut. The troll staggered and fell; its leg could no
longer hold its weight. As soon as the troll was down, men leaped upon
it with their swords, and the battle was over.
Boromir ran to Grithnir; the man sat up with a groan as he approached.
Boromir put a hand under his elbow and helped his lieutenant to his
"Are you badly hurt?"
"No," replied Grithnir shakily. "I shall keep well enough. Is it over?"
Boromir turned and gazed at the body of the cave troll which lay in the
center of the room like a great mound of earth; dust still swirled in
the air, dimming the light of the burning torches. Looking beyond, he
saw his men gathering their arrows and cleaning their swords, and he
realized they were all accounted for -- no one had been lost in the
battle with the troll.
Boromir pushed back the hair from his eyes and blew out a loud sigh of relief.
"Yes, Grithnir. It is indeed over."
Grithnir straightened slowly and brushed himself off. Looking at Boromir, he smiled suddenly and gripped his shoulder.
"Well, my captain!" he said with a short laugh. "Perhaps when next you
meet a cave troll, you'll not linger so long to look at it."
"When next I meet a cave troll!" exclaimed Boromir. "There will be no
such time! I trust I shall never have to face another such creature
again; once is surely is enough for me!"
He smiled ruefully and shook his head.
"Yet you are right to chide me for lingering," he said to Grithnir. "In
future, I shall strive to be less curious and more mindful of my duty
to my men. But now, if you are once more steady on your feet, we have a
last duty to perform for our fallen comrades. We ought not linger here,
though the troll be dead; yet we cannot depart until we have laid them
to rest in proper fashion."
In reverent silence the men worked to lay out the fallen Rangers in
seemly fashion, with gear and weapons to hand; at Boromir's order the
men set aside one token from each body to be returned to family members
who waited for news of their loved ones. By the time they had finished,
day had dawned, though only a dim grey light penetrated the entrance,
and did little to push aside the darkness and gloom of the cavern.
When all had been done that could be done, Boromir spoke solemn words
of tribute over the bodies; his voice was rough with suppressed emotion
as he named each man and recalled some brave deed for which he had been
renowned. Some of Boromir's men asked leave to say a word as well for
those they had known, while others wept openly, lamenting the loss of a
friend, an uncle, a brother.
Then they gathered their own gear, and took up their torches, and left the dead to their long sleep.
As they approached the broken doors at the entrance to the cavern,
Boromir hesitated, glancing back for one last look upon the dead.
Grithnir and Arthad were immediately at his side.
"My lord, they have been avenged," said Arthad. "And they have been
laid to rest by their comrades in arms; you can do no more for them now
that you have not already done."
"You speak truly, Arthad," replied Boromir heavily. "Yet still I feel the weight of their loss."
Boromir now faced the dark doorway and spoke softly into the silent room beyond.
"Farewell, my brothers! Your loved ones will know of your honorable
sacrifice on their behalf, in defense of this outpost against a
formidable enemy. You shall be held long in our memory and our love,
and your deeds shall be renowned in song. Farewell."
He turned away with a heavy sigh, and nodded sharply to the two men who waited with him.
"I am ready now," he said. "Let us be gone from here. Seal the entrance."
"Will Lord Denethor station men here again?" asked Grithnir quietly, as
Boromir and his men made their way carefully along the mountainous path.
"No," replied Boromir. "It would not be fitting, nor would it be wise.
Even if it were not now the tomb of good men of Gondor, it would be
better, rather, to concentrate our defenses at Henneth Annûn,
Cair Andros, and at Osgiliath and the Causeway forts. That is where the
hard push will come. Fennas Haradren is too far away to be of use any
longer, and where one troll entered, another may follow. We have sealed
the entrance as best we could, with what tools we had; but I shall send
more men to seal it properly and set a watch on this place, to be
certain no minions of Mordor find their way through the tunnels to
dishonor our dead. Fennas Haradren can no longer serve as an outpost of
He resisted the temptation to look back in regret.
"At least we have avenged them," Boromir murmured; the words brought
him some comfort and gave him strength to put his regret aside.
It was time to move on.