Lords of Gondor -- Chapter 60

[linaewen]

It's been even longer between posting new chapters this time around, and for that I am truly sorry. Perhaps no one is even still reading this story that keeps stalling, but I hope I am right in saying that the stalling is finished -- it is my goal to complet this tale this year! To that end, I finally have a new chapter to share.

Thanks in advance for reading!


Chapter 60

Time passed slowly for Denethor and Dûrlin as they waited for news.

"Will the Halfling even be able to find Mithrandir in the midst of the battle that must surely be taking place at the gate?" Denethor wondered aloud.

"Do not doubt his bravery and his willingness to attempt it, my Lord Denethor," Dûrlin replied. "I trust him to find a way if there is one. And do not fear that Mithrandir will choose not to come if he is found and told of our need to seek Boromir. As I have said, Mithrandir is not your enemy, he honors you and your sons, and he will do all within his power to make sure you are given the news that you desire most to hear."

"Very well," Denethor replied. "If that is the case, I will do all within my power to remain steadfast against doubt. If a small Halfling with no armor and little training can run without hesitation towards a battle to bring me news that will renew my hope, the least I can do is honor his willingness to serve me by being patient a while longer."

Dûrlin nodded in agreement. "May the Valar grant him success and a quick return with good news!"

Even as he spoke, they heard a soft knock at the door.

"Come!" called Denethor.

A servant entered cautiously and bowed before Denethor.

"Mithrandir is here with the Halfling. They say they have news that cannot wait. Shall I let them come, my Lord?"

"Of course, why do you delay?" growled Denethor. "I have been expecting them. Be swift to bring them to me!"

The servant opened the door wide so that Gandalf and Pippin could enter. As they did so, Dûrlin held his breath in anticipation, as the weight of all his belief and hope descended upon him in this moment of revelation.

But he need not have feared -- he knew instantly that all was well, and that his hope was not in vain. Denethor saw it, as well.

"I do not know what weighty words you had planned to use to tell me the news you bear, Mithrandir," Denethor said wryly, "but I fear you have been outdone by the look on the Halfling's face. I can read it easily; you have the greatest good news to share with me, do you not?"

Gandalf laughed.  "I do, my lord!"

But before Gandalf could continue, Pippin pushed forward.

"Yes!" he shouted in excitement. "It's true! I found Gandalf in time even though I had to run as fast as I could when everyone else was going the other way, and the fire was fierce on the first level and the enemy was there -- but Gandalf heard me call to him and he listened and knew right away how important it was to look for Boromir. And he saw him, he truly did! Boromir is alive, and he is coming here!"

Pippin burst into tears as he could no longer contain his joy and his relief.

Denethor reached forward and place a hand on Pippin's shoulder.

"You have served me well, Master Peregrin, Halfling guard of the Citadel. Your allegiance to me and to my sons is exemplary. I shall not forget it." Turning to Gandalf, he continued. "Though the young Halfling has stolen a step on you in his great joy, I do wish to hear from you, as well, Mithrandir. My despair runs very deep and there must be no doubt if I am to turn back from that dark chasm."

"Be comforted, then, my Lord Denethor, and step back from the chasm of despair and doubt no more!" Gandalf replied. "I have seen Boromir. He lives, and he is even now not so many furlongs from the main gate of the City. As is to be expected with a great warrior such as Boromir, he is in the midst of the battle, fighting alongside his men and the Riders of Rohan."

Denethor bowed his head and covered his face with his hands, sitting still as a statue.  But all who were there near him could hear him softly weeping.

"The fighting is intense on the field of battle," Gandalf continued gently, "and there is always a chance that Boromir could yet fall to the enemy. But I do not believe that will happen. He has overcome so much opposition on his journey to Rivendell and back, fighting and winning his own battles with despair -- he will not allow himself to fail now, when he is within site of the walls of the City he loves!"

Denethor nodded as he wiped tears from his eyes.

"Yes, if he has come this far, he will not be stopped. Shall we send aid? Is there anyone to spare who can go to him?"

"I have informed Imrahil of the situation, my lord. He goes to lend aid to King Théoden after clearing the enemy from the Gate; he will seek Boromir on the battlefield, as well."

"Very well, I will leave him to Imrahil and await his coming."

"What will you do now, Lord Denethor?" Gandalf queried. "Do you wish me to return command of the City to you? You are Lord of Minas Tirith, and I am at your service."

"Nay, Mithrandir, you must continue to take command," Denethor declared. "In my despair and anger, I turned over command to you, yet I cannot take it back now. I fear I am not fully myself. Dûrlin has shown me how close to disaster my despair has brought us all, and I fear my own ability to make sound decisions at this time. I will go with Faramir to the Houses of Healing, where I will await his recovery and Boromir's coming -- and perhaps find some healing for myself."

"As you wish, my lord," Gandalf agreed. "I will accompany you and see what can be done for Faramir's healing. Will you also accompany us, Dûrlin?"

"If my lord Denethor wishes it, I would gladly accompany you. My duty and service are to him and his family."

Denethor stood and faced Dûrlin, inclining his head to him. "I do wish it, Dûrlin. I need you by my side at this time so that you can continue to speak to me of hope in the face of all temptation to despair. I will not forget what you have done for me. Though you are in service to me and my house, you have fearlessly spoken truth and correction to me as no servant has ever spoken, and I am thankful for it. It is hard for a proud man to admit he is wrong, but I see that I have been wrong to call you foolish and you have been right to have faith in Boromir's ability to survive. Perhaps it is not too late for me to learn to see more clearly going forward."

"It is never too late to be open to hope, my Lord. I will gladly come with you to attend you, as I promised Boromir I would do! I will call your other attendants to come help us bear Faramir to the Houses of Healing and we will see him settled there together. Then I will gather what is needed for the healing of bodies and hearts that have gone too long without sustenance. I believe I am not wrong in thinking that a certain heroic Halfling is in need of something sustaining?"

Pippin whooped with joy, suddenly realizing how hungry he was.

"I don't know how heroic I am," he laughed. "I think Dûrlin is the hero here, he always comes to the rescue with food whenever it is needed!"

"Yes, indeed," smiled Denethor. "That is one of his strengths of service that I have long been aware of, though I have not always accepted such service with grace. It is yet another thing I must unlearn, perhaps. Come now, let us get Faramir to the healers. I have delayed his good care long enough."

***

A lull came in the fighting and Boromir took advantage of it to gather his small band of men together in the shadow of a ruined siege tower, piles of slain Orcs all around them. He wanted to make certain none of his men were injured, and to make some decisions about where to take the fight next. He had tried to stay with King Théoden as they rode to the attack, but he and his men had quickly been outpaced.  Boromir had hoped to stay close to the King and thus also to Merry and the stern Rider who carried him into battle, but they had been swept apart and now Boromir and his men were separated from the Rohirrim by a sea of enemies. He would have to trust the young warrior to care for the Halfling in his stead, at least for the time being.

"No one is sorely injured, my Lord Boromir," Grithnir reported in answer to Boromir's query. "We have all suffered to some extent, but nothing to hold any of us back. The horses lent to us by Rohan are still fresh enough and keen to return to the battle. Of greater import, what of you? How fare you with your still healing wounds?"

"I can fight," Boromir replied with a grimace. "My wounds are well bound, and I have received no new injury of note. I am weary, I will confess! It is hard to fight on half strength, but I must do it if we are to prevail and reach the City Gate from here. How far is it yet, do you think? Henderch, your eyes are the keenest, what say you?"

Henderch peered through the smoke and haze that clung to the part of the battlefield where they sat upon their horses, looking southward towards the City.

"Ten furlongs, I would say, though it may be more. It is not an easy path, there are many Orcs between us and the gate, and it would seem they are being joined by other forces coming from the south and east towards the Gate."

"What of King Théoden's éored, can you see his banner out on the field?"

Henderch shifted his gaze eastward, looking long and hard.

"Yes, it is there, perhaps ten or so furlongs to the east, about the same distance as to the Gate, I think. The King presses forward to attack a force of Southron cavalry. Though it is far enough that I cannot be wholly certain, I can see a banner in their midst, perhaps adorned with a black serpent. The battle looks to be intense, what I can see of it from here."

Boromir frowned in concern.

"I had thought to reach the Gate of the City to defend it, since we became separated from the King, but I fear for him lest he overreach and become surrounded by the Haradrim warriors. I know from experience how fierce they are, and they give no quarter!"

"The little one, the one you named Merry, is with the King!" exclaimed Grithnir.

"Yes," growled Boromir. "I am very afraid for him! Alas, that we could not stay close together!"

Boromir craned his neck to see for himself the battle that raged far away, but then he looked away, frustrated.

"We must go to their aid, I think," he announced. "We will leave the Gate for others to defend, for my heart urges me to rejoin Merry and the King if we can. I fear they will need our help, though we are but a few men and weary. We must do what we can!"

"Let us go, then," Grithnir replied. "We are rested enough."

Forward they rode, and before long they were engaged in fierce battle with the forces of Mordor. As they battled, they made what progress they could towards their goal of reaching King Théoden, but they soon lost track of time and their place on the battlefield in defense of their lives. It seemed they had been fighting for hours, yet it had only been a little while.

Suddenly time stood still as a great cry went up from somewhere far ahead of them -- the shrieking cry of an evil creature that made their blood run cold to hear it.

"That is the voice of a Black Rider of Mordor!" cried Boromir in dismay. "I know that cry well, for I have faced such creatures before! Woe to Gondor and Rohan if the Nazgûl have joined the battle!"

Yet even as his heart failed at that thought, the cry changed, and faded, until it was nothing but a shrill wailing that was soon blown away by the wind. Their hearts were unexpectedly lightened, and their fear dissipated as the sound died away.

"That was a cry of defeat, my lord Boromir!" shouted Grithnir. "See, the hordes around us are afraid now! Some are even fleeing, and those who remain are uncertain and lost. Some great evil has been destroyed, I deem!"

"Indeed, that is what must have happened," Boromir answered. "Let us move on swiftly in that direction, then, while the enemy is unmanned and afraid. We have the advantage, at least for a time. It is surely good news that a great evil has seemingly departed, but it is just one skirmish in this long war. If indeed one of the Nazgûl has met its match, there are still others of that ilk to contend with! Ride on and spare no Orc or Southron!"

***

Gandalf and those who accompanied him with the bier of the wounded Faramir had just reached the main door of the Houses of Healing, when they heard a great cry out upon the field of battle before the City Gate. It rose long and shrill, then died away until the sound was lost upon the wind. They stood still, unmoving in fear at the terrible evil of the cry, and yet as soon as it had passed, they felt a sudden ease, and renewed hope. The morning sun shone brightly as the clouds parted.

"Surely that was the voice of one of the black servants of the Dark Lord whom we do not name," Denethor's face was stern as he spoke. "It would seem he was not invincible!"

"That was a Black Rider, for sure and certain!" breathed Pippin, his voice catching with the remains of the fear that had assaulted him at the sound of the wordless cry. "I thought it was coming for us for a moment, but I guess not. Was... was it defeated, do you think?"

Gandalf laid a comforting hand on Pippin's head, but he said nothing in reply. His face was grave and sad. He stepped away from the group and went up to the nearby wall to look out over the City and onto the battlefield. He stood still as stone, even as he had looked out on the field of battle when he gazed with the sight that was given him for a glimpse of Boromir. He stood there still and silent for a time, then turned away with a sigh and returned to the group who awaited him.

"My friends," he said, "I have seen things of great sorrow and also of great renown. It is hard to say whether we should weep -- or be glad! Beyond hope the Captain of our foes has been destroyed! What we heard just now was the echo of his last despair. But he has not gone without woe and bitter loss. It is hard, for perhaps I could have averted it had I been there." [1]

Gandalf looked at Denethor standing beside Faramir's bed, one hand resting gently on his son's still figure.

"Yet I made a good choice, even so," he went on. "Perhaps even the best choice, the one that was meant to be! There is great loss on the field of battle because I was not there, but because I was here instead, woe and bitter loss have been averted and a grieving father has gained fresh hope! Such is the long tale of war, where great loss and great gain go hand in hand."

He smiled at them then, though the sorrow in his eyes remained.

"Come, let us take Faramir inside, he has waited for healing long enough. Others from the battle will join him soon in the Houses of Healing; we must also prepare for their coming."

-----

Notes:

1. This section is paraphrased and partially quoted from Chapter 7 "The Pyre of Denethor" in Return of the King.