Of Dwarves and Men {Boromir/LOTR}

Chapter 36: Ghosts aren't a girl's best friend

Chapter 36:

Ghosts aren't a girl's best friend

    There are those settings in which one loses all sense of time and space.  Mirkwood just happens to be one of these places, where spiders lurk and trees cover the sky.  And then there is the Path of the Dead, where I cannot see one foot in front of me and the darkness clings to my every motion.  Boromir's hand in my own is only so much help as I feel my gracefulness slip away with each footfall.  I hate this place already.

    At last, and what could be days later, we step into a rich cavern that bounces shadows off the light of Aragorn's torch.  Our feet fall to a stop at one of the most horrendous sounds, cracks climbing up the walls at the force of the sublime.  But it is simply a ghost appearing from the slate caverns, moving towards us without even a step in our direction.  With his mummified facial features, eyes missing, and rotting flesh, I cringe away in pure horror over this spirit.  His whitish glow holds no power over the warm glow of my skin, though my shine stutters at the crown upon the dead man's head.  And I thought kings were meant to be polished.

"Who enters my domain?" this ghost snarls, the fog of the exterior world now wrapping around his feet.  I see no fear in the eyes of the Gondorian king as he moves towards the sight, breath even and eyes unwavering.
    "One who will have your allegiance," Aragorn easily replies.  The King of the Dead snarls at this, an ugly expression for an even scarier being.  My hand clasped in Boromir's tightens dramatically, though his thumb brushing over my hand calms my nerves.

"The dead do not suffer the living to pass," this ghost responds.  I hold a great faith that this king has dealt with many intruders in his time.  How is he to know that we are any different than normal daredevils?  But at the same time, he should hold no bitterness over this fate, as he directly caused it many centuries ago.

"As if they can kill us!" Frerin scoffs, prompting me to widen my eyes in criticism at him.  Of course, our Phoenix forces cannot die under any force, but that does not save Aragorn, Gimli, or Legolas from a cruel fate.  Frerin has best to keep his mouth shut.

"You will suffer me!" Aragorn exclaims at the ghost king, prompting me to cringe.  If I have any say, we are not going about these "negotiations" in the wisest of fashions.  If anything, we've just made the ghost angry.

"Is threatening really the way to go?" Ruelin rightfully questions, eyebrow raised to the Gondorian heir.  To her side, and interlocked in her own fingers, Legolas nods along, though he is obviously wary of any words at this point.  From the way he looks at Ruelin, he is more worried about her safety than his own.  It's a cute ideal, but an incorrect one at that.

My mind is shut from the actions of my family as a malicious laugh echoes through the chamber.  I cringe towards Boromir at the sound, yet steel myself up against the threat of the unknown.  This man of Gondor wraps his hand tighter around my own, lowering his other palm to rest upon the hilt of his sword.

But the unknown does not exist in this state for long since the fog of earlier creeps away, revealing an even creepier sight.  From the fog comes row upon row of spectral warriors with old and worn weapons raised high into the cavern air.  Banners fly in the invisible winds of the caves, crawling outward with each move of a ghoul.

"The way is shut," The King of the Dead repeats from Legolas earlier, a ghoul-like smile capturing our nerves.  Aragorn holds firm in his resilience, not cringing even as this ghost shifts closer to our clumped forms.  "It was made by those who are Dead and the Dead keep it."

And suddenly, in an even brighter twist of events, we are surrounded completely by thousands of ghouls.  My head turns slowly around in a search for an escape, yet my hope for survival dwindles with the lack of an exit within the visible eye.  The moment is more dreadful with each passing second.