The Ring will come to Gondor by Varda

The Ring will come to Gondor

by Varda

Chapter 72; Kings from Beyond the Sea

With a heavy heart Faramir climbed up the steep streets of Minas Tirith to the Citadel. Beside him Airdeall walked in silence, not wishing to disturb his thoughts. It was a long walk, for on each level of the city the gate was set in the wall at a different place, to foil invaders. When at last they reached the last gate, with the White Tower soaring above them, Faramir turned for a moment and looked back over the tumble of roofs and inner walls that made up this city, the heart of Gondor and all that survived of the people that had come out of Westernesse.

The new sun just breaking through the clouds caught fire on the window panes and gilded weathercocks and made the city glitter as if fashioned from gold. On the White Tower, the brass dome shone like a magic island in a sea of shadow. At whatever cost to himself, Faramir thought grimly, this was worth fighting to save.

As he turned to enter the gate he caught Airdeall's eye and wondered;
could he make others fight for it too? No, not without some hope of victory, however faint....
'Things always look better in the day, Airdeall...' Faramir said with a smile. 'Now take me to where the halfling is....'

Faramir knew the way quite well, but allowed Airdeall to lead him through the gate, the sentries standing to attention and saluting the Steward....

The girl led the way through the still-silent street to the great door of the Houses of Healing. As they approached, it swung open, the doorwarden peering out with the tired look of one who takes the last watch of the night.

Faramir and Airdeall passed through and the great oaken door was slammed after them. The echoes died away down the high, airy hallway. Airdeall hurried now, leading Faramir along the collonade that lined the sunken garden, and into the quarters where the very sick and dying were cared for. A young girl in a blue apron was sitting outside one door, dozing on a low wooden settle, a burnt-out rush lamp at her side. She jumped up in alarm when she saw the Steward and Airdeall approach.

'My Lord...' she stammered and curtsied awkwardly. Airdeall put a hand on her arm.
'Hush, Suiochan! Do not be afraid....tell me, is the halfling any better?'
'Why no, mistress Airdeall..' replied the girl, looking in awe at the White Tree on Faramir's black velvet tunic.
'But the leeches are in with him now. They are set to....'
Suiochan stopped, looking at Faramir's frowning face.
'Set to what?' he asked sharply. The girl shook her head.
'I don't know, my lord!' she replied hastily, then pushed open the door.
'It were best they tell you themselves....'

Faramir entered the low, dimly lit room, stooping under the narrow lintel, the light from a brazier set to drive away the March chill glinting on his chain mail. Airdeall followed him in.

To his relief, Faramir found Meriadoc still lying where he had left him hours before, but in the firelight the Steward could see he was now even paler and his eyes had sunk in his head in the way of those just dead, or about to die. In the centre of the room was a huddle of leeches, clad in long black robes with black skullcaps on their shaven heads. They conferred in low voices, gesturing or rubbing their chins in thought. Their skin was yellow from lack of sunlight and to Faramir they seemed like vultures. At the side of the bed, glaring as he stood protectively between them and Merry, was the halfling Peregrin.

Faramir thought Pippin looked agitated, but before he could speak to him the hobbit had flung himself at Faramir crying;
'Lord Faramir! don't let them do it, stop them....!'

The leeches turned around in surprise, noticing the Steward for the first time. They bowed, shooting annoyed glances at Peregrine. Faramir returned the bow.
'Gentlemen, good morrow...'
Then he put a hand on Pippin's curly head and said gently;
'What is wrong, Peregrine?'

But Pippin would not speak, or even meet Faramir's gaze. The Steward looked at the leeches in exasperation. He said sternly;
'I do not have time to waste, good doctors. What is amiss here, and why all the whispering? Why is the halfling in tears?'

At this, fearing to annoy the Steward, one of the leeches stepped forward and bowed, wringing his thin yellow hands and speaking quickly.
'My lord Steward, I salute you...'
and he swept a low bow. Faramir eyed him with distaste.
'Well, what is it?' he asked again.
'Lord Faramir...' the leech went on, indicating Merry with a bony finger 'this halfperson or whatever the term for it is, has been mortally wounded and is now close to death...'
Pippin gulped back a sob. Faramir's face grew dark. Airdeall folded her arms and lowered her head, like a lioness ready to defend her cubs. But Faramir spoke mildly;
'It needs no leech to tell me that, I knew it last night. So what do you propose to do to help him?'
'Well, my lord..' went on the leech '...his wounds are all to his hands, which are poisoning the rest of his anatomy. We propose to cut off the hands, cauterise the wounds and he might live, all infection being then removed...'

Airdeall snorted.
'Leeches!' she exclaimed. 'Butchers!'
Faramir raised a hand for silence. Airdeall bit back her words. Faramir asked quietly.
'My good leech...what is your name?'
'Pianmuchan' replied the leech, pleased to be asked. Faramir smiled; the name meant killer of sickness.
'My good Pianmuchan...' went on Faramir '..you have served your city well, aiding the Sisters in healing the sick and wounded. But do you think one so small could live after such severe treatment? I deem he has little strength left as it is...'
The leech looked at Merry as if for the first time. Then he shrugged and laughed.
'Perhaps!' he said 'Certainly he did not get any better after we bled him. But he seems much hardier than his size would suggest. And anyway, even if he dies, he is not one of us, he is not of the City...'

He did not finish the sentence; Faramir's face had turned as black as thunder. In two strides he crossed the room to the door and opened it. He gestured to the leeches.
'Out, all of ye, now!' he barked.

Seeing a good whipping in the Steward's expression the black-clad group scuttled out of the room, reminding Airdeall of a nest of death-watch beetles. When they were gone Faramir shut the door with a bang. Airdeall smiled wryly.
'You can banish every leech in Gondor but Pippin is still close to death; perhaps what they suggest might be all we can do....'
'No!' said Faramir desperately. 'Or even if it is, would it not be better for him to fall asleep peacefully in death and know no more pain, than to be tortured in his last hours...?'
A whimper made Faramir look down; Pippin was still clinging to his cloak, looking from him to Airdeall. Faramir went down on one knee to speak to the hobbit.
'Peregrine! I am sorry! You have waited here in attendance on your cousin and comrade like a true son of Gondor. Whatever happens, Peregrine, you are a stout and loyal soldier. And a better nurse than those leeches...' and he shot a dark look at the door.

Airdeall brushed quietly past the two and sat by the bed. She took the dressings from Merry's hands and laid fresh ones in their place. She dripped cool water in which healing herbs had been steeped onto the bandages. Merry sighed in his sleep, but did not wake. Airdeall turned to Faramir and said.
'Why do you not run some water on the dressings and speak to the halfling, my lord?'

Faramir, looking bemused, moved to the bed and took his place on the other side from Airdeall. Clumsily at first, then with more skill, he dampened the linen and wiped the beads of sweat from Merry's face.

Looking at him, Airdeall spoke softly, half to herself;
'It is said, among the Sisters of the Houses of Healing, that those of the royal house of Gondor have gifts of healing...'
Faramir raised his eyebrows. Airdeall smiled.
'It is no witchcraft, just some quality in their noble nature, from when they were kin to the Elves....;
'But I am not a King, just Steward...' said Faramir. Airdeall nodded.
'I know, my lord, and I did not mean to say you should become a usurper. But your line is also royal, even equal to that of a king, except in claim to the throne. Why should you not also have in you that power to heal that your cousins of the royal house of Gondor had?'

Faramir was silent, thinking this over. What, he wondered, did Meriadoc have to lose?

Putting aside the damp cloth he had been pressing to the hobbit's brow, Faramir laid his fingers lightly on Merry's bandaged hand. The other hand he put on his forehead. Then he bowed his head, and tried to concentrate his thoughts...

Aragorn wheeled his horse and galloped back to where Boromir stood speaking soothing words to his lamed charger. A great cloud of dust now hid the chariots on the far side of the dry river bed, but the shouts of the Easterlings and the thunder of their horses' hooves could be clearly heard, growing ever louder....

Legolas and Gimli rode up beside Aragorn and they both dismounted quickly and examined the wounded horse. Seabhac tossed his head, unwilling to be handled by anyone except his master. Boromir however looked at Aragorn and Legolas in astonishment.
'What are you doing?' he demanded.
'Get on your horses and flee this place! Don't wait for me, the enemy are almost at the bridge. Leave me and hurry on, or you will not escape...'
'We are not leaving anyone behind' said Aragorn in a stern voice.

Despite their need for haste, no-one moved and a dead silence fell on the Company. Cathach and Ciall sat on their horses, looking uneasily across at the Easterling host massed on the far side of the ravine...

Then Eowyn galloped up and reined in her horse, looking from one to other of the Company. She had not seen Seabhac go lame, but as she approached the group she saw the great black horse standing with its head down and one hoof held up off the ground and a rush of fear closed in on her heart. The colour drained from her face and she slid from the saddle and hurried over to where Boromir stood...

'I know, Aragorn...' Boromir said '..that you would not lose even one of those under your command. In that, you prove yourself a leader, worthy of a kingdom and much more. But I too am of a race of chieftains, the Stewards of Gondor; I know when it is time to give something up to the enemy, in order that the rest of the company may survive....'

Aragorn was silent, his face pale. Boromir went on;
'Once, I broke the Fellowship by my foolish actions. I almost cost Frodo his life, and could have brought his quest to failure. Here, now, I will make good that error....'
'No!' said Aragorn, shaking his head. 'You have nothing to make good, Boromir. Frodo has gone on with his errand, and you are forgiven...'

'Aragorn...' interrupted Boromir, 'I believe I do have something to make good....'

Just then Eowyn broke in;
'No!' she cried in dismay. 'You cannot do this, Boromir! What good would it be if we reached Edoras and you were left behind?'
She looked round the company then at Boromir and added in a low voice. 'Why would I want to reach home if the one I love was left behind to die?'

Before anyone could reply, Boromir stepped forward and taking Eowyn's arm he gently drew her aside, out of the hearing of the Company. He took both her hands in his.

'Eowyn!' he said gently. '...you must leave here now, with the others, and not think of me, or look back...'
'No!' said Eowyn, her voice trembling. Boromir shook his head and said urgently;
'My lady, there is no time for this! Either I stay and you go, or we will all die here.'
Eowyn said nothing, but a tear trickled down her pale face. Boromir said in a more gentle voice;
'My lady, I love you, and only because of that do I ask this of you; take horse again now and hasten away from this peril. You do not abandon me, I choose to stay....'

While Boromir and Eowyn held their desperate consultation, Gimli and Legolas walked to the craggy edge of the river bed and looked across at the enemy crowding the other side....

The Easterlings had dismounted from their chariots and horses and were approaching the far end of the bridge on foot. They were close enough for the Company to see their gilded leaf-mail and black cloaks and the red turbans wound about their domed helmets. They moved quickly, unslinging the round bronze shields from their chariots and arming themselves with javelins and their short, powerful black bows....

Not taking his eyes from them, Legolas reached behind him and drew an arrow of Lorien from his quiver, its shaft silver-grey and its fletches of snow-white swan's feathers. He sighted along it for a brief moment then loosed the arrow with a soft, musical twang.

So swift did the dart fly that even Legolas could not follow it, but almost at once a tall warrior of the Easterlings, clad in a gilded helm and wearing the red cloak of a prince of their tribe, gave a sharp cry and fell backwards to the ground and lay without moving. The Easterlings briefly fell into confusion, milling round and looking across at the Company. Then, they rallied, took up their curved bows of horn and returned fire.

The arrows, not loosed from a bow of Lorien, fell short, drifting down to the rocky floor of the ravine. But the Easterlings were not deterred; they took up their round bronze shields and linked them to form a long, shining wall of metal with their banners flying above. Then they began to move onto the bridge.

Gimli cursed, then turned to Legolas.
'Why do we have to leave anyone behind?' he demanded. 'Can Boromir not ride behind someone else, as we do?'
'It would slow the horse down too much' said Legolas. 'We Elves ride light, and it is no burden for a horse to bear one of us and another as well. But men....they are too heavy for a horse to carry two and make such speed as we must to escape their swift horses....'
'Can we not fight it out, then?' asked the Dwarf in exasperation.
'For a while, yes...' replied Aragorn. 'But in the end we would be overwhelmed. And they have archers, many of them. We would be picked off....'

Gimli turned to Gandalf.
'Can you not do something, Mithrandir....?'

Gandalf looked long and hard at the bridge, and the approaching enemy. He did not see the scene as the others saw it. In his mind, the bridge was undamaged and flags fluttered from masts set at both ends; Gandalf could see the bridge as it had been in Gondor's heyday, before even the ancestors of all the company now beside him had been born. Then it was called Reimeas Geal, the White Arch, and it carried the road that ran from Edoras to Minas Tirith, built by kings who had come from beyond the sea. Far below the bridge a wide rushing river coursed past its massive stone piers.

With a great effort, Gandalf sought for some echo of the power of that time to defeat the enemy now threatening to assail them.

But he soon found himself struggling to achieve his aim; his own ability to raise such powers had as yet not returned in full, and now he wondered would it ever come back to him. He saw everything as if veiled by a thin grey mist. He dwelt half in the world he had come from, the element of the Istari, and half in the world of mortal men. But still, he had a duty to aid and protect his comrades. He looked down; the swirling waters were gone, and only the bare rocky ravine and dry river bed met his gaze.
'If I had one tenth of the power I once wielded...' he thought to himself 'I would make of that dry river a lake of fire, to defeat even the chariots of Rhun....' then closing his eyes, he raised his staff and brought it down with all his might on the centre of the stone walkway.

At once a tremor ran through the solid stone. A cracking noise was heard, and the horses started and whinnied in fear. A rumbling began, and grew louder, and dust and stones flew up from the surface of the bridge. Then with a deafening noise, a great rift appeared in the centre span. Huge blocks tumbled from the arch into the ravine below. The rumbling continued for some seconds, then receded like a distant earthquake. Gandalf stood grasping his staff, the sweat glistening on his face. Then he opened his eyes.

'Hmm' he said with a sigh. 'I wanted to cast the whole thing down, but I have only damaged it. We are still in danger, but not in such haste; they can still cross the bridge, but not in their chariots, and only with difficulty on foot.....'

The Company stared at the shattered bridge as the dust clouds dispersed. Great rifts scored the surface; a horse could only cross if it were led. On the other side the Easterlings had retreated hastily, for a moment dumbfounded by this display of wizard's trickery. But then, shaking off their fear, they again threw their round bronze shields in front of them and began to inch out onto the bridge.

The morning sun glinted on the shining bronze bucklers, and Aragorn turned to the Company.

'Gandalf has given us a breathing space, but still we cannot stay here! Let us to horse and get away while the enemy are still delayed....'

Eowyn stared wildly at the damaged bridge; why could it not have fallen into the ravine, she thought bitterly, and taken their enemies with it? She started as Boromir put his hands on her shoulders.
'Eowyn, ...' he said gently. She turned and looked up at him. Her face was drawn, her eyes bright with tears. Boromir said;
'Eowyn, I love you and will always love you, however long I may live. I loved you when first I saw you. But even then, I knew you would never be mine....'
Eowyn shook her head and went to speak, but Boromir laid a finger on her lips. He was aware that the Company, having mounted their horses, had drawn away a short distance, to let them speak in private. Only the archer, Cathach, lingered near.
'No not grieve, Eowyn.' he said. 'I know, as I know many things once hidden from me, that fate never meant me to have you, nor you to have me..'

Eowyn roughly dragged her sleeve across her eyes to dry her tears . She said in a broken voice;
'This is not courage, this is folly.' Boromir sighed. Eowyn went on;
'Frodo forgave you, why can you not forgive yourself?'

Boromir smiled sadly.
'Eowyn...' he said. 'I can't...'

The girl gazed long at him then said in a steady voice;
'You think this is the end. This is not the end, Boromir. You will not die here, and wherever you go, wherever you are borne in bondage or in war, I will find you. Beloved, I will find you....'

Then she bent her head and wept.

Boromir looked at Cathach.
'Get on your horse, archer...' he said 'and follow the Company...'
Cathach shook his head.
'Nay my lord' he replied. 'That is the only order of yours I will ever disobey. You are my lord, the true Steward of Gondor, and I will not leave your side.' Seeing Boromir's face darken he added. 'You saved me once, remember. Now I will pay you back. A life for a life....'

Boromir did not answer, but merely nodded. Eowyn looked from one to the other and said angrily;
'You will keep him here, and send me away? Am I worth less than one of your vassals?'
'No!' said Boromir sharply. 'You are a princess of Rohan, of the royal house of Eorl. It is impossible that you should be left here to die; you must return to your uncle's court, and bring Aragorn and the fellowship to Edoras, to rekindle your people's valour and their ancient fealty to Gondor. Remember your duty, Eowyn!'

At these words Eowyn stepped back. Her face, streaked with tears, was cold.
'Duty, always duty!' she cried bitterly. 'When can I seek what I want for myself? When can I find love....?'

Boromir looked at her with pity in his face then took her and held her to him for a long moment. When he let her go he looked into her eyes for an instant, then bent and took her face between his battle-hardened hands as one would take a flower and kissed her....

Above the dry bed of the river a great cloud of dust rose from the fallen blocks of grey-white stone. It blew across the Easterling host, fanning the black and red and gold banners, and the chariot horses, nervous as wildcats, reared and whinnied. The warriors running towards the bridge clashed their spears and chanted war cries. But Eowyn could not hear any of it, for all the time she was lost in that last, long, bitter-sweet kiss....

Sitting behind Legolas, Gimli looked back and saw the two figures so closely entwined as to seem like one. He growled to the Elf;
'I care not for this wretched flight away from our enemies, abandoning one of our own to the foe; even if it costs our lives, let us stay and fight alongside Boromir...'
'Nothing would gladden my heart more...' said Aragorn, and Gimli swung round, unaware he had been overheard.
'But we have a quest to fulfil in Edoras; the life of the princess is in our care and the course of the war depends on us. We must awaken this bewitched king Theoden and prevail on him to come to the aid of Gondor. Her people depend on us....Frodo depends on us...'

And his shoulders bent with grief, Aragorn urged his tall bay Salin forward along the overgrown road that led away from the bridge. Ciall helped the Lady Eowyn to mount her horse, but she swayed as if from sudden weakness, and Gandalf took the reins from the boy.
'I will tend the lady a while, my lad...' he said gently.

As the others moved off, Legolas dismounted lightly, handing the reins to Gimli.
'What do you want me to do with these?' the Dwarf asked in astonishment.
'Legolas, come back!'

But the Elf did not turn back; he strode over to where Boromir and Cathach stood. He nodded to the archer and said;
'Your bow is of yew, and you are skilled in its use, like all your people...'
Cathach listened, his pride sensitive to any slight on his archery. Legolas said with a smile;
'But I doubt you could reach the far side of the river-bed with it...'

Cathach turned and gazed at the far cliff with narrowed eyes. He sighed. His Pride notwithstanding, the Elf was right. But before Cathach could admit it, Legolas placed his bow in the man's hand.

Cathach looked down at the bow of Lorien in astonishment; it was a mighty bow, made of heartwood of Lothlorien, delicately carved in a pattern of mallorn leaves. And yet in his hand it seemed to weigh less than a stalk of wheat. Instinctively he raised it, and drew it. Although the bow was a weapon of the Galadhrim, Elves much taller and stronger than the slightly built archer, Cathach drew it easily to his cheek, then his ear. He released it with a smile.
'My Lord Elf....' he began, but Legolas silenced him with a gesture.
'Do not thank me, archer of Gondor. Never before has a mortal man wielded a bow of Lorien, but the time has come for you to draw it. Give me no thanks, just use it with honour....'
And Legolas unslung his quiver and handed it to the archer as well. His fingers lingered on the smooth silver-grey wood of the arrows, then he shook his head and whispered in a language Cathach did not understand.

Boromir, standing apart watching, was about to speak when Legolas bowed to him and said;
'Farewell, Boromir Lord of Gondor. If this is our last parting, it is with no rancour on my part, and I hope none on yours. You might not have forgiven yourself, but I have.....'
Boromir nodded with a smile. Then Legolas raised a hand in farewell and said;
'May your ancestors, the race of Kings of Westernesse. strengthen your arm today, and bring you victory....'
Boromir bowed in return.
'My thanks. Farewell, Legolas Greenleaf....'

Then, without further speech, Legolas ran to his mount Athas and leaped nimbly on its back. Gimli gladly handed him the reins and muttered;
'One bow won't do much good; a thousand archers is what we need....or a thousand axes...'
Legolas smiled grimly and nodded agreement, then they rode on after the others and did not look back.

When the Company were gone, Boromir gave a long sigh, then drew his sword and turned towards the bridge. Cathach was watching him. The archer pointed to Seabhac with his bow.
'What about your horse, my lord?' he touched the handle of the scian, the long knife that soldiers of Gondor wore in their sword belts.
'Will I dispatch him?'

Boromir shook his head.
'No! he can be healed....' he swept a hand round the plains that stretched away to the North.
'This is the land of the Rohirrim; they are skilled horse leeches. They will prize so great a warhorse, and will tend him well....'

Then Boromir picked up a pebble and threw it at Seabhac. He did not mean to hit the horse; the stone flew past the animal's ear and startled it. Seabhac, as swiftly as he could on his wounded hoof, hobbled away from the bridge, out across the plain. Boromir smiled to himself.
'At least, old friend...' he thought 'I will not take you with me to death...'

Cathach watched in silence. This was the Boromir of old, that he had known from many battles; concerned even in the face of death about the fate of his favourite horse.....suddenly Boromir smiled at him and said;
'It is not too late, archer. You can still follow the Company....'
Cathach shook his head. Boromir's smile faded.
'There will be no escape for the men of Gondor this time, Cathach.' he said grimly. '....this time we fight to the death....'
Boromir was surprised when Cathach smiled.
'To the death, Lord Steward..' he replied. '....me and thee together....'