Riders and Stewards

Chapter Five: Stiff necks

“You’re over working yourself, Boromir,” Éomer said watching as the man spared. Boromir cleared his brow with the back of his hand and turned looking at the younger man. The Rohirrim’s face was knitted into a frown as he leaned against the side of the door. Boromir frowned and sheathed his sword walking over to him.

“There is war brewing, Éomer, I must be ready.”

“But you are ready! Boromir don’t do this to yourself, or to me. Stressing about what could happen will make you sick. I don’t want to see you get hurt again,” Éomer said, his voice fading in worry. Boromir blinked and smiled sadly at him, pulling the younger man into a warm embrace.

“You’re really that worried about me? Éomer, you don’t need to worry. I’m going to be fine. You’re just being overprotective.” Boromir smiled and gently patted his back letting the man go. Éomer twitched and gave him a look.

“I’m not being overprotective! Boromir, you are not in good health, and I am prepared to show you!” Without a seconds hesitation the new prince drew his sword and attacked the steward to be. Boromir had little time to react and quickly went on the defensive. Boromir tried hard to turn the tides to his favor but Éomer was not simply playing, he was truly giving it his all. Boromir glared and tried hard to move as quickly as his opponent; to counter the attacks. Suddenly pain ripped through his chest and back. He stumbled back and began to cough up blood.

“Boromir!” Éomer dropped his sword and ran to the man’s side ashamed at what he had done. “See? You’re not fully recovered. I am sorry, Boromir. I was being stupid. I should have never pushed you so hard...I was just so angry and afraid that-.” A strong finger was placed on Éomer’s lips. Boromir smiled, a bit of blood staining his lips and teeth red.

“That I would do something stupid. I would have, if you hadn’t pushed me to my fullest. I understand you’re worry, Éomer. I will rest, and regain strength,” Boromir said softly from pain and exhaustion. Éomer swallowed and gently gave the man a kiss upon his cheek, uncaring that the men who watched saw.

“Oh Bori...come on; let’s get you inside.” Éomer helped the older man to stand and escorted him back into the Golden hall.

***************

Pippin walked around in the white halls of the Steward’s tower in a rather large outfit of Gondor. He looked up as Faramir came up behind him, smiling.

“They look good on you, Master Took,” Faramir said with a smile. Pippin smiled and shrugged a bit.

“They’re a bit big on me though. Height-wise, that is. I’m as tall as I’ll ever be, but I’ll get much wider.” Faramir laughed and smiled warmly.

“Well then I’m glad that my clothes fit you now. They were too big on me when I was your height as well. I’m not as large as Boromir.” Faramir said with a rather sad looking smile.

“He’ll come back, Lord Faramir.”

“Please, just Faramir is fine.” Faramir smiled with a wave of his hand. Pippin nodded.

“All right, and you can just call me Pip or Pippin,” he said brightly. “But I know that Boromir is alive. He promised Merry and I that he would teach us more sword work.”

“Well, now that I know he promised you something, then he will be back. He is never one to break a promise. Besides, I think I see why Boromir wouldn’t want to leave you hobbits alone. There is something endearing about you.” Pippin smiled and shrugged with a slight blush.

“Well, he spoke a lot about you, when Merry and I were being carried about, whenever we would stop, he would always talk to us about how much we reminded him of you.” Faramir smiled and chuckled nodding.

“I have to agree on that. I was never much of a fighter myself. I preferred my studies; unlike my dear brother. He had the worst time with simple things. But I suppose that is why we worked so well together in training. I was the brains, he was the brawn.” They both laughed warmly until a horn was sounded calling that warriors had returned to the stables. Faramir frowned and looked at the small Hobbit before him. “Take care of yourself, Pippin. I hope to learn more about you and your people,” Faramir said while rubbing the young Hobbit on the head. Pippin smiled and nodded watching as the tall man of Gondor walked away.

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Faramir walked into the stables as a scout came in, ragged and having a slashing wound on his shoulder. Faramir rushed over, wondering what had happened.

“The Steward sent me out to scout Osgiliath. I was attacked by several orcs keeping the city. There were trolls coming into the city as well as wargs. They’re brewing war, Lord Faramir. What should we do?” the scout was helped off his horse and supported. Faramir frowned and chewed on his lip a bit.

“Get him to the healers. I don’t know what to do. It’s up to my father. I will inform him of this.” Faramir watched as the young scout was lead away, and the horsemen took care of the weary steed. Without a second thought, he rushed towards the citadel. He ran up to the tower of Ecthelion where his father was standing over a pedestal.

“What news do you bring, Faramir?” Denethor looked up, his eyes almost lost, as if he were still grieving for Boromir.

“The scout you sent was attacked by Orcs in Osgiliath. That city is lost, father. There are trolls and other creatures bringing war across the bridges.” Denethor frowned and covered an object before turning towards his youngest.

“I know. Gondor is lost, there is no hope left. Rohan, even if they answer the beacon that Gandalf lit, they will not make it in time. We will burn in the fires of our sins.” Faramir blinked and looked as his father spoke in a voice full of dispar.

“Rohan will answer! They have long been our allies! And Gandalf said that Boromir-”

“Boromir is dead! Just as our hope of keeping our city alive is dead! Dead like the line of Kings! There is no hope, Faramir.”

“No...” Faramir backed away and shook his head. “I refuse to give up. I will fight for this city until I am slain. The fountain guards will continue to guard the tree for hope. There is hope that the white tree will flower again! There is hope we will ride this through. Boromir is alive, and so am I.” Faramir fled the high tower leaving his father to his desperate musings.

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Aragon sipped rather uninterestedly at some stew that had been made. His mind wondered to Gondor and how Mithrandir and Pippin were fairing. He glanced up as he finished the meager stew to see a flame atop the mountains. He stood and ran towards the Golden Hall as the bells began to ring at the sighting of the flame. He flew up the stairs and came into the main chamber.

“The beacons are lit! Gondor calls for aid!” he looked up at Boromir, Theoden and Éomer who were frozen at the man’s entrance. Boromir stood, his broad shoulders squaring suddenly, and his eyes flashing with pride. Éomer too stood straight and looked at his uncle and King. Theoden straightened, looking at his nephew and heir and then back to Aragorn and nodded shortly.

“And Rohan will answer.”

*****************

The echos down the halls of Edoras continued to rise with the people packing and calling for preparations for the trek to the meeting place of the Riders from all of the folds of Rohan. Boromir dressed in the reds and golds of the country he was staying in. He glanced at the shield that Gandalf had recovered for him and picked it up looking over the dents that had been on there from the time he had gotten the shield made for him in Gondor. Once again, he would face battle with the shield.

“Boromir, let’s go.” Boromir turned and saw the face of his lover. Where it was not two days before soft and emotional, was now dark and stone cold. The face of a warrior, the face of a shield brother.

“We will face the shadow’s of the Dark Lord together, Éomer. I pray that the Valar keep you safe. That they keep us safe.” Éomer’s face softened slightly and he nodded.

“We will make it through this together. Come, though, the riders are ready and we ride to war.” Without another word, the blond left the room they had shared, placing the helmet upon his head, the long mane of horse hair flowing down from it’s peak. It was now that their relationship would be tested beyond all measures.

“We ride to war...and to death.” Boromir looked at the refection in the dull metal and swung it onto his back, heading out the door, leaving the helmet he had been given behind.