Remember Today... Today, Life is good
We were roused after too little time had elapsed, formed into our groups, and led towards the river.
We reached Osgiliath and the companies of soldiers were distributed across the city, each with a particular target. Boromir accompanied the First Company, my Company; across the northern part of the city and after little time we reached the rear of the orc force.
‘First Company, Charge!’ came the command and we surged forward, a wave of deadly steel that fell upon the unsuspecting foe. At the head of the charge Boromir was unopposed, his foes stumbled back upon collision, and then he finished them off. Those who survived examined him thoughtfully, searching for a weakness but then his heavy blade swung up and they attempted wild parries, only to be knocked aside or felled by a strong slash across their chests. He brought up his blade, catching a creature beneath its jaw and hurling it into the air it hovered for a moment then spun down into the dust and its companions trampled over it.
We managed to push them backwards, the pavement slick with the awful red. Each beast felled was replaced, the endless hordes were terrifying, blood ran in rivers, it was their endless fury, their merciless nature; you look into their eyes and see only a black pit in a sea of ochre, nothing stares back save for cold heartless hunger.
Deeper into the ruins we went and I, now suffering from fatigue, shrank back in the midst of our company. Ahead my companions spread out to fill a wide street and I stood behind the first row, breathless, my blade shaking in my sweaty palms. The creatures opposing us squirmed and squealed like pigs as they eagerly waited for the command to advance. I stared into their faces, the sense of fear overwhelming when they were not blurred by the motion of a mêlée. My hand began to shudder and I pressed it to my chest to stem the vibrations. Finally the orcs received their signal and I braced against the inevitable meeting of orc and Gondorian. It came and the first row shook, the soldier in front of me staggering back from the impact and I caught him from falling with my shield. Too late though for a moment later the orc that had pushed him back thrust its polearm into the man’s chest and, coughing and spluttering, he slid down my shield, the emblem of the White Tree now stained with a crimson trunk. I stepped forwards, taking the fallen man’s place and immediately felled his slayer’s head from its misshapen shoulders.
The next creature sported features that in comparison would make a dwarf look as fair as an elf, but it bore the strength and technique that a dwarf would have to appreciate. The meeting of its warhammer and my shield felt as if it had shattered every bone in my left forearm, the pain stabbed up my nerves and I cried out in shock, my face twisting in agony. However it was so satisfied at the result of its attack that it raised its weapon overhead and brought it down such that it was vulnerable to attack, I swiftly took advantage, thrusting my blade forwards into its abdomen. Despite being a weak attack, the succeeding twist of the blade then the dragging of the weapon sideways through its gut managed to do the work. I staggered back, evading the descending weapon which was now dropping from its bearer’s grip, the beast fell forwards into a pool of its intestines, the smell ascended, and I retched.
Ahead Boromir battled with numerous foes, and none of them gained the upper hand in the mêlée, I stepped back, almost tripping over the string of a longbow that a fallen ranger had dropped. I retrieved it and the quiver, for my skill with a bow was far greater than with a sword. I retreated from the front rank and examined the weapon, it seemed to be in satisfactory condition, and so I placed an arrow to the string and drew back the cord. It was harder than I remembered, and I had not drawn a longbow since I last rested in Minas Tirith. I had trained to be a ranger but became a soldier after failing the entrance test (Of a few things, I only struck the target eight times out of ten), the failure only led me to practice more whenever I could, and my bones still ached from the years of drawing back the string of a longbow. After longer than was expected the cord reached my ear and I strained to keep hold of the taut string, I picked out a target, just behind Boromir, and released. a loud
twang! sounded in my ear followed by a clean
whoosh! as the shaft sliced gracefully through the air, then the ultimate cry of agony as it stabs through flesh, and not even armour can oppose it.
I readied another arrow and drew it back uneasily, I was focusing into the street ahead, at a group of orcs that were hanging back from the mêlée,
cowards, I stared down the shaft and raised the bow slightly, then lowered it – at this close range the arrow would not drop at all. I let go and my body relaxed, it was the best moment of wielding a bow – in my opinion – your body, tense as it stretches the cord, is washed over with relief and your limbs feel loose and refreshed and (should your aim be true) you are rewarded with the satisfaction of another orc lying dead like some repulsive pincushion.
My third arrow flew straight into the skull of an orc, pinning it to the wall it was standing by. The orcs were now exchanging fearful glances, not only were they outnumbered but they were being shot down by an unseen, skilled
* foe.
When we reached the river those still opposing us became food for the fishes and we crossed the bridge unopposed, most of the creatures guarding the crossing point chose to dive into the water, fearful of death. On the other side we faced more warriors, the too few soldiers that accompanied Faramir had successfully driven out the enemy when the orcs realised it was flee or be killed. The battle was over, but today would be the last of our true victories.
*
He was our hero, the mightiest man to have lived, ‘
Boromir, Boromir, Boromir, Boromir!’ we cheered.
Our cries were deafening in our ears, we could hear nothing but as he drew his blade and raised it to the glorious heavens we fell silent. His voice now rang out,
‘This city was once the jewel of our kingdom. A place of light, and beauty, and music,
and so it shall be once more!’
And we cheered his mighty name once more, he continued: ‘Let the armies of Mordor know this: Never again will the land of my people fall into enemy hands! The city of Osgiliath has been reclaimed... For Gondor!’
‘For Gondor!’
‘For Gondor!’
‘For Gondor!’
‘For Gondor!’
‘For Gondor!’
*
‘Break out the ale! These men are thirsty!’ Hearing this we cheered again and so with a heavy pint we celebrated.
‘Remember today, little brother,’ Boromir said to Faramir, ‘Today, life is good.’ I would drink to that – but then I saw how it all changed. As Faramir’s face darkened, Boromir asked, ‘What?’ and I turned my eyes with theirs to see to Denethor.
The relationship between the father and the two sons was not the best, certainly Denethor loved his sons, but never did he trust Faramir who was always in his brother’s shadow and so if something went wrong, it was blamed on Faramir, and sometimes I wondered if Denethor wanted this.
I turned away, burying my attention in my pint; I did not need to hear another one of
these conversations again. ‘Callion!’ I cried, sighting one of the Rangers of Ithilien and a friend from my youth.
‘Istion, what have you been doing with yourself?’
‘Nothing pleasant, my friend,’ I replied, ‘I can’t survive another battle like this, I picked up a longbow today, and I could barely fire it!’
‘Ask for another trial, we lost five more men today, and there are very few to replace the ranks. Parents aren’t breeding their children for archery – don’t blame them but still...’
I nodded, ‘The recruitment officer hates me though, ever since his father caught me his sister’s bedroom!’
Callion laughed, ‘You still-’ he made several unprintable gestures, ‘-her?’
‘Hey it’s not like that, but yes, me and Lithiel are still... together.’ I searched around for something to change the subject to and I spied Boromir and Denethor talking in secret, beckoning to Callion I moved as silently as possible towards them.
‘-they are few.’ Denethor’s voice grew hushed now and he continued: ‘We have more urgent things to speak of. Elrond of Rivendell has called a meeting. He will not say why, but I have guessed its purpose. It is rumoured that the weapon of the enemy has been found.’
I exchanged a curious glance with Callion and he looked back with something that looked like fear.
‘The One Ring, ‘Isildur's Bane,’ Boromir said, clearly surprised, and then I realised something, for the first time ever, I was seeing Boromir afraid.
‘And it has fallen into the hands of the Elves! Everyone will try to claim it: Men, Dwarves, wizards. We cannot let that happen. This thing must come to Gondor.’
‘Gondor?’ Boromir echoed.
‘It's dangerous, I know,’ Denethor continued, ‘Ever the Ring will seek to corrupt the hearts of lesser men. But you,
you are strong and our need is great. It is our blood which is being spilled, our people who are dying. Sauron is biding his time. He's massing fresh armies. He will return. And when he does, we will be powerless to stop him. You must go. Bring me back this mighty gift.’
‘No. My place is here with my people. Not in Rivendell!’ Boromir said, and he was pleading! He was afraid not only of this “Gift” but also of his father’s desperation to get hold of it.
‘Would you deny your own father?’
‘If there is need to go to Rivendell, send me in his stead,’ Faramir said, now stepping forwards and I hoped that Denethor would approve though I knew he would not.
‘You?’ the Steward said mockingly, ‘Oh, I see. A chance for Faramir, Captain of Gondor, to show his quality. I think not. I trust this mission only to your brother. The one who will not fail me.’
And for once I hoped he would fail his father, but I never hoped for what did actually happen, never thought it possible. That was the day it all changed, the fate of the armies of Gondor, everything. Boromir was gone.
_______________________________________________________________
* Pardon what may appear to be a boast; I merely want to voice what I believe the orcs to be thinking – if such a process of the brain is possible for those beasts.