"How much further, Henderch?" asked Boromir, eyeing the undulating
grasslands stretching out before them in all directions. It was like
looking out over a tossing sea of brown and green, where the waves were
tall stands of last year's wind-blown grasses touched with new spring
growth. Here and there the landscape was broken by small copses of
trees crowning the grassy heights and gentle swells of the land, or
dotting green slopes with isolated shade -- openings of hardy oak and
slender birch, or solitary willows growing beside a watercourse hidden
amidst the tall grass.
"We have managed almost two leagues so far today," replied Henderch
respectfully. "If we continue at this pace we ought to cover at least
one more before setting camp. Another fifteen leagues over the course
of three days should see us reaching the Road."
Boromir gazed at Henderch for a long moment, then threw back his head
"In other words," he grinned, "we are a league further along than
we were the last time I asked you that question! Forgive me, Henderch!
I am like the hound that has caught the scent, or a stallion knowing
the stable is near after a long journey -- home is before me, and I am
eager to arrive! But I shall try to curb my impatience, for I know it
is my own weakness which keeps us from making better time."
"You speak ever of your weakness, yet three leagues in a day is no
mean feat for a man who still recovers from grave wounds," declared
Grithnir stoutly. "And you are recovering well, remarkably so!"
"Indeed, Grithnir! I could manage more than three leagues, perhaps,
if Arthad would allow it," commented Boromir, giving Arthad an amused
sidelong glance. His implied query was met with a sudden stern look
from Arthad in response.
"But no!" Boromir continued smoothly, his face now lit with a
smile. "He watches me as carefully as Linhir ever did, and gives me as
little room to test myself -- or admittedly, to overextend myself."
"There is little use in overtaxing yourself, my lord," Arthad
replied calmly. "You are setting yourself a good even pace, in spite of
your impatience, and your healing is not impaired in spite of the need
for such continued exertion. Though you are loath to admit it, I know
this journey wearies you. And I know well that your questions on our
progress are mere ploys to stop and recover your breath without having
to admit you require rest!"
Boromir laughed again as he lowered himself gingerly to the ground.
"Well then, Arthad, since I am found out, let us sit and rest a bit
longer. I would manage this next league without falling from
After resting, they continued on their way, treading carefully
through grass that in places reached as high as Boromir's shoulder.
Though they had left the meads and wetlands of the Entwash behind, the
going was still difficult. The ground, while firmer, now gradually rose
in ever-increasing slopes and inclines towards the distant foothills,
dusky blue against the indigo of the snow-capped mountains rising up
Boromir walked with care, for his legs were weak and wont to betray
him. When he least expected it, his legs would tremble, a knee would
buckle, and he would stumble. He had actually fallen only once, but it
was a fall he did not wish to repeat -- not only for the pain the
jolting tumble would cause him, but also for the blow his pride would
suffer at being helped to his feet by solicitous and conciliatory
The going was slow, but for all his sense of urgency and need to
reach home, Boromir could not help but be grateful for the opportunity
being presented him. Never before had he traveled this part of his
country on foot, and the experience was worth every slow, plodding
It was as if he was seeing the land through new eyes -- eyes that
had almost closed in death, but were now open again, unexpectedly awake
and capable of seeing all things differently and afresh.
It gave him a strange feeling, as he found himself noticing the
world around him as if for the first time. Budding flowers like stars
grew in the bright new grass, sprouting up green and fresh through the
old grass of winter lying dry, brown, and flattened by the wind. Lark,
thrush and finch called to one another in the open spaces, while other
small birds rose up twittering from the trees as the men passed
beneath, then circled and resettled after they had passed by. The wind
sighed in the long grass, bringing with it scents from afar, of water
and earth and flowering shrub. The buzzing sound of insects filled the
air, and butterflies fluttered up out of the grass as the small company
approached to alight upon Boromir's sleeve.
The feeling of wonderment remained with him throughout the day and
lent him sufficient energy and easing of his spirit that he was able to
travel further and with less pain than he had since his wounding.
But he grew weary at last, and Grithnir -- ever watchful of his
captain's mood -- recognized by the droop of his shoulders that it was
time to call a halt for the day.
They set their camp upon the crest of a gentle hill, in a copse of
trees which opened out southwards with a view of the mountains, now
dark in the approaching dusk of evening.
Arthad checked Boromir over to make certain that the day's exertion
had not been too much for him, while Grithnir and Henderch meted out
the evening meal from the supplies they carried in wallets strapped to
their belts. The food was getting low, but there was sufficient for a
few more days, at least, without having to resort to hunting. Boromir
supplemented his portion with a few bites of lembas
which Legolas had left with him. He would have shared with his
comrades, but they would not hear of it; convinced that Boromir's rapid
recovery was due in part to the benefits of the Elven bread, they made
it clear that he was to keep it for himself and make it last as long as
Boromir sat at ease at the edge of the hill and looked out upon the
stars in the night sky. The fire behind him was turfed down but still
glowing, and he could feel the warmth of it on his back.
A pale gleam of yellow at the edge of his boot caught his eye.
Stretching out his hand, he plucked a softly golden flower shaped like
a small bell that had been caught in the laces.
"Alfirin," he murmured to
himself, twirling the wee blossom in his fingers. "Alfirin,
that blooms early, before all other flowers in Gondor and carpets the
lawns of Lebennin as well as the fields of Anórien. If Faramir
here, he would remind me that the name means 'immortal' -- would that
it were so! At least then one fair thing of Gondor might survive the
He held the flower to his nose; a faint scent of the fields from which
it came still clung to it.
Boromir smiled suddenly.
Listen to me! he thought, amazed at himself. Where are such musings
coming from? Such thoughts are what might come from the lips of
Faramir, worthy Captain of Ithilien, more than from Boromir, proud
Sword Arm of the White Tower! What would Faramir think to see me
speaking and behaving in such a way? Surely he would wonder what has
happened to that duty-bound brother of his, who of old had no time for
frivolous pursuits such as smelling flowers and gazing at stars -- only
time for the business of war!
Boromir sighed and touched lightly the sword of Dirhavel strapped at
That stern warrior is still here, he mused. Yet the more thoughtful
man is also here, now -- a man I do not yet know well, who begins to
see more worth than before in the fair, quiet things of the world. It
would seem that even a foolish, proud man can learn to open his eyes
and see things anew, when he has stared his own folly in the face and
survived it. Yes, Faramir would marvel at such a change -- but he will
be glad of it!
"War is still my business!" Boromir said aloud, but softly, so that
the others did not hear him speak. "And I would be about that business,
yet I know I can do little more for the coming battle than I am already
doing. I may as well take what comfort I can in smelling a flower or
gazing at the stars, for it does indeed do something for the spirit
which is hard to discount. May it aid me in being ready in both body
and mind for that time when I must fight at last!"
He lifted his eyes to the skies once more. His thoughts turned
again to Faramir, and his eye was unconsciously drawn eastward, towards
But there were no stars in the eastern sky; only darkness, as if a
bank of cloud had risen to cover them. Even as he watched, more stars
were eaten up by the darkness, as it moved inexorably westwards. The
birds in the nearby trees rustled uneasily and fell silent, and the
humming of night insects died away. There was no sound in the land but
the mournful voice of wind in dry grass, as if the approaching shadow
was quelling the sound of life even as it blotted out the lights in the
Henderch, alert to any change in the wind or the sky, came and knelt
"What is that cloud, which shadows the night so swiftly?" he asked,
concerned. "Are we in for a storm, perhaps? Yet it is like no storm
cloud I have ever seen before. The birds are silent now -- I do believe
they fear whatever this is that comes."
Boromir's face was grave as he struggled to his feet, the wilted
blossom of alfirin falling to
the ground, unnoticed.
"They are right to fear it," he growled. "I fear it also! It is a
storm of Sauron's making, I deem -- some darkness he has prepared that
will aid him in the coming battle. His assault on Gondor is indeed