Hehe, thanks, Neri
Here is Part 17... battle is coming to Gondor!
~~~
It was one day since Goldleaf had made the decision to go with Aravir to Minas Tirith. It was a cold morning, and the sky was bleak and grey. The cold bit into Goldleaf’s skin, but she steeled herself against shivering. She had endured two winters in Ithilien, and she was as weathered against such things as a ranger. Curled up at the roots of a tree, she gazed towards the vague white outlines against the sky that was Osgiliath. They were not far off now; having set off early yesterday afternoon, they were making good time. They should arrive in the city this day, and then they would go onwards to Minas Tirith.
It felt strange and unreal. Goldleaf would not let her companion see it, but the thought of seeing Osgiliath again after so long made her nervous. So much had changed. She knew that her old home was no longer populated by Gondorian citizens, that they had all had to flee for the war. It was a garrison for the soldiers, an essential garrison, for if Osgiliath fell then the unleashed power of Sauron would fall next upon Minas Tirith.
Goldleaf wrapped her cloak further about her shoulders, gazing up at the sky. It seemed to hold no light, and the clouds had utterly obscured any hint of blue. A storm was coming. She could see Aravir a little way down the hill; he was looking towards their destination too. Goldleaf was glad that she had a small chance for solitude, if for a little while; she did not dislike Aravir, but he asked a lot of questions, questions that she did not always feel like answering.
She knew that he was simply friendly, and wanted to talk with the person he was traveling with. But his warm smile could not break through the storm clouds in Goldleaf’s heart; despite her renewed determination to fight, she still felt empty and cold, as if the sun would never shine again. Boromir was gone, and he was never coming back. She did not know how to accept it. She supposed that when they arrived in Minas Tirith, the awful realisation of his passing would hit her even harder.
Aravir was walking back up the hill now. “What a bleak day!” he called up to her as he made his way up the slope. Within a few moments he was standing before her, with his usual open, honest smile. She wondered if he ever tired of being so cheerful.
She did not know that his smile was especially reserved for her; he could often be quite a grim man, but her presence, however downhearted and grieved she was, seemed to enable in him an ability to have better cheer. Aravir could see through the frown, the smudged face and the un-brushed hair, and recognise that there was more to Goldleaf than met the eye. But Goldleaf did not know what an impression she had made upon him.
Nodding, Goldleaf warmed her hands against the chill. “This is more than just the weather,” she observed quietly. Her brow creased in a slight frown, she rose from her feet and picked up her cotton bag from the ground, slinging it around her shoulders.
“What do you mean?” Aravir said.
“This is a sign, surely. Battle is drawing closer,” Goldleaf replied. “You know that orcs cannot abide the daylight.”
Realisation dawned in Aravir’s eyes. He nodded. “Yes. It’s clear now,” he said. For a moment his expression was solemn, and he glanced away. Goldleaf walked a little way past him to look out over the hill. But he turned, and when she glanced over her shoulder a small smile brightened his features.
“Don’t worry, Goldleaf. We’ll get to Osgiliath in time,” he said. “You’ll see, it’ll be alright.”
Goldleaf looked at him, wondering why he was trying to reassure her. “I know,” she replied. Her tone of voice gave away nothing. “And it would be best if we set out again with all speed. I am sure that Osgiliath has not enough men to fight off an attack. Two more swords to aid the captain in battle would be welcome.”
~~~
"I heard a maiden sing sadly, sing sadly
Her fair voice carried across the plain
I heard her then sing gladly, gladly
When her love did return to her again.
A young heart’s love is true and pure
And for heartbreak there is but one cure
To see that true love will not fade
And pain must not throw it in shade.
Who can explain the innermost depths of the heart
When devotion is shaken, life’s meaning threatens to fall broken apart
But while the tie remains true and strong
Absence of he who is loved will not prevent it thriving strong."
Goldleaf cleared her throat. It was an old song sang on celebration days in Gondor; usually it was the second to last song, for the night always had to be finished off with a cheerful tune. She remembered so well the bright lights, the vibrant gleam of the dancers’ attires; and her own smile. She had smiled so much then, and laughed. It seemed so utterly unfamiliar now; summoning any appearance of cheer was almost impossible.
They were nearly there; within an hour or so they would be in Osgiliath. It was growing darker still. The gloom enveloped the forest, and Goldleaf found herself wishing to see the sun shine through the dark clouds.
They had stopped for a few moments to rest, and Goldleaf had told Aravir that she felt like being alone. So he had kept his distance, leaving her to sit by herself. Osgiliath looked closer now; it was frightening, how close she was to her old home. She wondered how it would feel stepping onto the streets of the city again. It would feel familiar, but strange.
Wearily getting to her feet, she walked across the slightly dry grass to look for Aravir.
“Aravir?”
Her voice echoed in the empty valley. Moments passed, and he did not seem to respond to her call.
“Aravir?” she repeated. Time seemed to stretch on before he came walking through the trees, his step quick. His expression was slightly worried as he approached her.
“Goldleaf? Are you alright?” he said. Relieved, Goldleaf realised then that she had been worried that Aravir would not return.
“I thought you’d gone,” she answered. He shook his head.
“You thought I’d just disappear without a word?” he said. “I was just walking around, checking the area. I wanted to make sure that there was no threat of attack.” His tone was gentle as he smiled down at her in reassurance.
“Yes. Yes, of course.” Goldleaf took a step back from him, suddenly brisk. “Well, I think we’ve lingered here long enough. We can’t afford to waste any more time.”
Aravir did not express his disappointment in his face, but only nodded. He had thought, just then, that perhaps Goldleaf did appreciate his presence after all.
Turning, Goldleaf walked on, and heard Aravir’s footsteps alongside hers. When they reached Osgiliath, she would prove to herself that even in the midst of grief and pain, she could fight. Even when hope seemed pointless, she could keep faith and carry on believing in everything she and Boromir had shared. Who she made the journey with did not mean anything. With love as her source of strength, nothing mattered but accomplishing her aim: to fight for Gondor. To fight for Boromir.
~~~
Osgiliath was a grim ghost town, filled with memories, many of the once grand and beautiful buildings reduced to rubble. It was eerily quiet, and dark; incredibly dark. Aravir stepped in front of Goldleaf, as if to protect her from any sudden danger. Irritated that he still somehow thought that she needed his protection, Goldleaf went to his side, their footsteps strangely loud on the empty cobbled streets.
It was beyond doubt still daytime, but that was far from obvious due to the darkness. They had left Ithilien behind, after what seemed like an age of walking. Goldleaf’s feet ached. She felt tired, but she would never admit it. Aravir’s instinct to try and protect her only made her realise that she could not give him cause to think her weak.
“Halt!”
At the clear voice that echoed down the street Aravir’s hand went instinctively to his sword-hilt, but Goldleaf stopped him, thinking that she recognised the voice. “Don’t,” she said. Aravir frowned, turning his head. A man in green and brown was walking towards them, clad in the garb of the Ithilien rangers.
This was a man who Goldleaf had not seen for two long years. In the aftermath of the loss of her family, he had tried to persuade her from embarking on a life in the wilderness. He was a stern man, a kind man, and Goldleaf had a strong cause to think well of him.
“What business do you have in Osgiliath?” the man had closed the gap between him and Goldleaf and Aravir, and saw that they were most definitely not orcs; but he was still suspicious of them. “Speak quickly.”
He was Captain Faramir, Boromir’s brother.
Goldleaf smiled tentatively and stepped forward, inclining her head. “Captain Faramir,” she said, noting that the captain’s face was marked with worry and concern. The duty lay with him, it appeared, to stay here with his men to hold back the armies that would surely try and break through the garrison. It was a heavy burden, Goldleaf knew. She had seen how Boromir had had to carry his duty to his country, and now it lay with Faramir alone.
Aravir glanced at Goldleaf, surprised that she seemed to know the captain. He regarded Faramir, as if trying to work out what manner of man he was.
Faramir’s expression remained the same, until at last recognition broke through the gravity, and he gave a tiny, perplexed smile. “I know you,” he said to Goldleaf. She nodded.
“Yes, captain,” she replied. “Two years ago your rangers looked after me, when I was wounded in the attack on Osgiliath.”
“I remember!” he shook his head, looking at the same time amiable but still wearied. Clearly a lot was weighing on his mind. “Ah yes, I remember you well now. Lady Goldleaf, that is your name, is it not? So much time has passed.” He paused, a slight frown creasing his brow. “But why do you come to Osgiliath? It is not safe here.” He took a step forward, looking at Aravir, the question of his identity hanging in the air. Noticing this, Goldleaf gestured to her companion.
“This is Aravir, of the Dunedain rangers,” she said. “We have come here to fight.”
Aravir nodded, and spoke up. “We have come here to aid Gondor in it’s hour of need,” he said. “I have not seen the city of Minas Tirith since I was a small child, but I would never have forgiven myself if I did not offer my own sword for it’s service.”
Faramir weighed up their words. When he was about to reply, he heard one of his soldiers call his name. He turned his head; it was obvious that he wanted to get back to his men, to make sure that everything was alright. But he was a courteous man, and he looked back at Goldleaf and Aravir.
“These are dangerous times,” he said finally. “Dangerous times for us all. If you had any cares for your lives then you would turn right around and get as far away from Osgiliath as possible.”
“Do you not remember how you tried to persuade me from living in the wild?” Goldleaf asked him. “That was two years ago and I stand here before you alive and well. That proves I am well able to defend myself.” She paused slightly. “And neither of us would turn around and abandon Gondor. We both will gladly fight and die for it.”
Aravir smiled slightly at Goldleaf’s words as she spoke for both of them. She spoke nothing but the truth; both of them were committed to their decision to fight for their country of origin.
Faramir sighed. He looked tired, but not defeated. He knew what was to soon come, and sweep over Gondor; an evil so great that no one could be sure if it could be defeated. His country was weak, and his people without hope. Yet here stood before him two people who knew where their loyalties lay. Two swords would not add much to a battle against the Dark Lord; but they would be wielded by warriors with true hearts.
“Very well,” he said, and his smile was warm. “Come with me.”
~~~
The soldiers of Gondor were grim, waiting to know when the next attack would come, and where from. The dark mood was almost tangible; sitting on a lump of rubble, Goldleaf knew that the wait before the battle must be nearly as bad as the battle itself. It was a time to wonder whether you would survive, whether you would live or die; to think about those who you loved, and who loved you. Goldleaf, as she sat sharpening her sword, had her thoughts fixed on her family, and Boromir.
What would Boromir think, she wondered, of the idea of her fighting in a battle with his brother? He had known that she was able to wield a blade, and he had not scoffed at her; rather, he had been impressed by her ability. He had known that she loved Gondor as much as he did, and when the time came, she would gladly lay down her life for it, if that was what was needed. Never once had he laughed at her, or thought that her intentions were foolish.
It was surreal, being back here in Osgiliath. So many memories came flooding back just to be here; she remembered the day of the battle two years ago, when her parents had died, and when she had been unable to save her sister. She would never forget that day as long as she lived. The old guilt came rushing back, reminding her that she had not saved them. She should have been able to protect them. Tears threatening to spill from her eyes, she fiercely blinked and refused to cry. She would not shed tears, not here, not now; not when she so badly needed to keep her courage and strength.
None of the soldiers had spoken a word to her; they were too wrapped up in their own thoughts, which were concentrated on the fight to come. In any case, Goldleaf was a woman, and they regarded her presence as strange, an odd decision on the captain’s part. There were many who would have said that she should be turned away. However, the rangers of Ithilien here knew that Goldleaf was a vagrant of the forest, and was fierce in battle. One day when a little band of orcs had strayed into the forest, she had felled three of them dead at her feet before the rangers had arrived. Any orc in battle would fear the flash of her eyes, the severity of her appearance, for she was weather-worn, smudged with dust and mud; certainly no feeble maiden. She did not tremble with fear at the thought of bloodshed. She had known so much pain and suffering in her life, and she had the will and outlook of a soldier.
But she could not keep herself from thinking of those she had lost. And she could not help thinking of her old life, who she had once been. The house she had lived in with her family was far from this area of Osgiliath, but she could picture it vividly in her mind; she wondered if that, too, had been reduced to a crumbling wreck.
Aravir had been sitting with one of the rangers in quiet discussion, but now he rose up and approached Goldleaf carefully, noting her grave expression.
“No regrets in coming to Osgiliath?” he queried.
She shook her head resolutely. “None whatsoever.” She did not regret her decision to come here. But she despaired of the pain that had accompanied her on her journey.
“The atmosphere here is so odd,” Aravir said, sitting beside her. She looked away from him, wanting to be alone with her thoughts. “The men here clearly despair of any chance of overcoming the forces of Mordor. But they are valiant; strong, amidst their broken hope.”
Goldleaf raised her head slightly. “That is because they can do nothing else,” she said. “All they can do is fight; there is no question of fleeing. They must be strong for their country. They are men of valour, men of honour.”
Aravir nodded. “I know it. I admire them.”
Goldleaf gave a tiny smile, though she felt far from cheerful, and was about to reply when she heard a commotion, calls and pounding feet. She stood up and followed the noise, Aravir at her side. When they arrived at the staircase a group of soldiers were surrounding, they saw a soldier lying dead on the ground, an arrow in his chest.
Goldleaf’s heart sank, looking at the dead young man. Before she could speak, Captain Faramir came rushing past, and looked at the body. Determination and realisation dawned in his eyes.
“They’re not coming from the north,” he said.
The attack was upon them. It was all too clear now that there was an army approaching by the river; one of the orcs had clearly seen this soldier looking through the fog, spotting them, and had fired an arrow at him, striking him dead.
Before anyone had time to fully take in the gravity of what was happening, there was a rush to get ready for the attack. Men handed each other weapons and hurried each other along, rushing to be able to meet the orc army and come upon them unawares, when they had hoped to catch the men of Gondor in a surprise attack.
Goldleaf unsheathed her sword and went with them, her footsteps swift.
The soldiers pressed against a wall, listening to the sound of the boats, the pounding orc feet. They waited for the captain to commence the attack.
Goldleaf closed her eyes.
I am doing this for you, Boromir.
Opening her eyes, the sound of a felled orc alerted her, and she darted forward, wielding the Gondorian broadsword which she had trained with since she was a little girl, bringing it singing through the air with deadly precision to cut the throat of an orc and then behead the creature, it’s body toppling to the ground.
The horrible cries of battle were now surrounding her, filling her ears with pain and struggle; the orcs surrounded them, lethal in their intention to wreck havoc and evil upon Gondor. The dark hung thick around them; it seemed that hope for their country was all but gone.
As Goldleaf fought with all the strength she could summon, she had to believe that there was still hope. Even amidst this raging battle, and the utter desolation in her heart, she found that there had to be something more to life than death and darkness; or else she could not carry on.