Chapter 38:
"He came in like a fireball"
You would think with the Army of the Dead on our side that the Battle of Pelennor Fields would have been over hours ago. And yet, here we are, still fighting for our continued breath of life and lung. Indeed, I've found that the ghosts are very inefficient in their slaughter, never breaking apart in order to take on the enemy. And thus, they are left as a sweeping pack of ghouls, only as efficient as the first lines.
With the passing of minutes, I feel a slow ache creep upon my wings in their long and strenuous use. With the swooping, flapping, and diving, I've had far too much battle for one day, and I do not see it ending anytime soon. I can only expect that when I change back, I'll be covered in soot and orcish blood in the remnants of this battle. I can only hope these reminders will avoid any personal injuries.
Boromir has stayed at my side for this entire battle, under the presumption that he needs to "protect" me. I swear that he forgets that I've been a Phoenician my entire life while he has yet to be one for a month. Additionally, I am the commander of our Ereborian troops, with more experience in battle than anyone but my mother and father. If there is anyone needing help, it will be Boromir himself. It is for this reason that I do not complain about his continued and pesky presence at my side.
Speaking of the daft man I call my own, I feel his head nudge mine as he flies past me in a mighty stroke to an orcish warrior. Catching his eyes, the flicking of his pupils points me towards the ground in a tell-tale sign of conversation. Rather than fighting the command, seeing as it is not possible in Phoenix form, I dive after his falling from in a deep plummet towards the ground. Before hitting rock-bottom, I shift back, sending a kick to an awaiting orc before landing on my two feet.
Looking over, I send a dagger flying into an orc approaching the back of a fighting Boromir, with his sword raised. He simply nods at me, ignoring my own fight as he takes on his own orcs. But knowing that it is dangerous to fight in this mortal form, I send a large fire wave outward from my body, roasting the nearest fifty orcs and buying myself some time.
"I must go to my father and Faramir!" Boromir exclaims as I turn to face him in the small interval of rest. Instead of arguing with the notion, I nod in agreement, seeing as I've been feeling their pain for the past hours of battle. I might never have met these men, but they mean something to Boromir. Therefore, I can feel their pain in the form of his own.
"I'll come with you!" I shout, throwing a single flame at a charging orc who is far braver than any others. Indeed, I do believe that the orcs are avoiding us now.
"No, it is much too dangerous," Boromir remarks, raising on his toes as he looks over the heads of the men battling. And though I wish (ironically) that Faramir and Denethor were fighting with us, I sincerely doubt it. My instincts hint that Faramir is far too injured for that activity, and Denethor is far too self-concerned. Neither of them will be out here, but I will not exclaim that to Boromir until I know it is true.
"If anything, it's less dangerous in the throne room than on the battlefield. I'm coming with you whether you want me to or not," I demand, looking my One directly in his eyes. He sighs disapprovingly, though gets no farther in his condemnation of my words, sending his sword through the chest of another orc. Our moment of peace is quickly coming to an end.
"Fine! But we must find them first," he says, huffing as he plunges his swords into three more orcs at one time. I don't have time to gape at this accomplishment, seeing as an orc rises up behind me, attempting to grab me as Boromir sends a knife into its forehead. Shaking the beast off, I look into my heart in search of the two targeted men. And though I do not know them well, the Valar guides me into the shadows of Gondor's throne room.
YOU ARE READING
Of Dwarves and Men {Boromir/LOTR}
Fanfiction"Now I lay me down to sleep I pray the lords my soul to keep See me safely through the night And wake me with the morning light" ...and though that morning light is but a ghost on the Eastern horizon, it is one onto which we cling. In this dark age...
