Of Dwarves and Men {Boromir/LOTR}

Chapter 14: Gandalf the White's secret? Oxiclean Stain Remover®

Chapter 14:

Gandalf the White's secret? Oxiclean Stain Remover®

    The truth that we so seek is oftentimes unavailable to our eyes, hiding in the shadows and darkness of Sauron.  Then there is the truth we hide from, quaking with the every reference to its name.  It is this form of truth, ironically, that often finds its way into our perception, namely in this moment.  We wish the hobbits to live another day, and yet, the scene before my eyes is evidence of a great and deadly truth.  There is little hope that Pippin and Merry survived.

    Upon circling the camp and shifting back at the border's of a campfire, I take to surveying the area in which we prowl.  The orcs sit in smoldering ruins, their possessions strewn every-which-way upon the muddy ground.  Blood coats the soles of my boots as I surpass the piles of carcasses and begin my search for any signs of the hobbit's existence.  Part of me wants the closure of their ruins, and yet, I doubt my heart can handle such pain.  The strong walls I've lived behind for the past fifty-five years wish to crumble upon a small gust, and the hobbits' death would be a earthquake.

    But at that moment, Gimli pulls out the very evidence of my fear, a small belt and dagger sheath only fitting of a hobbits' size.  Tears spring upon my eyes at that sight, as I've yet to overcome the death of Gandalf and I surely never will.  The past few days have hosted more death than I've ever experienced, in part of my immortality and the supreme training of my warriors.  I'm tempted to burst into nonexistence at the words of Gimli's recognition, "It's one of their wee belts."

"Hiro îth ab 'wanath {May they find peace in death}," Legolas responds, head bowed and eyes closed.  I feel the elf's pain in this moment, seeing as we both have inexperience in the face of death.  We are immortal beings, typically surrounded by our own kind, and lacking experience in the face of mortality.  We weren't supposed to know these feelings.

    Aragorn screams out in pain as he kicks an orc helmet away from the pile, collapsing on his knees in repercussions of his pain.  I choke up a sob as I survey the others: Ruelin looks to exist in the same state as me, Frerin just stares off into the distance, lost in a trance, Gimli is huffing in pain, Legolas is frozen on the spot, and Boromir looks to have ruptured his heart.  If his playful wrestling with the two hobbits wasn't illuminating enough, his crumbling form shows the true breadth of their relationship.  They were like his younger brothers, maybe his own children.

"We failed them," Gimli remarks, making the lot of us fall into further misery.  I scowl at the small dwarfling, moving closer to the man of Gondor who has fallen to his knees in a form like Aragorn's.  As I approach from behind, I place my hand on his shoulder, expecting a response but receiving nothing of the sort.  Indeed, the only effect I have on him is that he leans into my hand, and then falls into my body as he collapses into small tears.  His face nuzzles into my neck as I wrap my arms around his frail form, my own tears falling into his hair.

"Indeed," Frerin responds to Gimli, a strange stoic expression painting his voice.  My cheek moves to rest upon Boromir's head as I look at my brother in compassion.  His eyes turn to meet mine in a look of pain, my look of sympathy meeting his own.  We are connected in more ways than one, and in that way, we often express the same emotions.  This time is no different.

"A hobbit lay here, and the other...they crawled," Aragorn mumbles from feet away, causing Boromir to whip his head up in a hurry, hitting my jaw in the process.  I send him a pained and shocked look, only countered by his own apologetic expression as he moves towards the Gondorian king, pulling me up by my waist and setting me down on the ground.  We follow after Aragorn as he tracks the actions of the could-be-hobbits.