The Long Way Home   von Glasschmetterling
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                           Kapitel 8: Chapter Eight
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Chapter Eight
March  the 13th,  Year 3019 of the Third Age.

She woke up to the low crackle of a well going fire, but after the  first
moments of relief when she realized that she was not dead,  panic took hold of
her. Had the Orcs found her and Boromir in the  river? Had they taken them and
were now nursing them only to deliver  them as prisoners to Sauron?
Training and experience allowed her to battle her growing fear with  her eyes
closed and her breath steady so her capturers would not  notice that she had
awakened, and then, when her heart had slowed  down again and she could think,
she slowly took stock of her numb  limbs. To her surprise, neither her wrists
nor her legs were bound –  had they thought her too weak to resist them? Then
they would be in  for a surprise.
She listened and heard light feet shuffling over the ground, and then  words
spoken in a language she knew – Sindarin! Relief washed  through her – no
servant of the enemy would dare speak in that  tongue – and she allowed
herself to relax her tight control over  her reactions and sighed. She was safe.
Elves had found her, and she  was safe. Safe and alive... Whoever was watching
over her had noticed  her reaction, because she could feel movement nearby, and
she opened  her eyes and looked up into the face of Haldir, Marchwarden of 
Lórien. “You are awake. Good.”
She bit back the tears that welled up in her eyes as she too vividly  imagined
the darkness that had surrounded her, the way the murky  water of the Anduin had
filled her mouth and her lungs, her  desperation as her grip on Boromir's tunic
had weakened... “Boromir!”
She coughed violently after she had spat out his name, and Haldir's  face
instantly darkened, making her stomach clench nearly painfully.  She had lost
him in the dark, swift water, had let go of him because  she needed all of her
strength for herself, and what if they had  not...?
“We  have pulled him from the river as well, and he is being taken care 
of.”
She fell back onto the Elven blankets as her fear vanished and left  behind only
bone-deep exhaustion after her long flight to the North.  “Thank Elbereth! He
is alive... that is more than I have dared hope  for.”
Haldir handed her a bottle of water and she took it, swallowing a few  sips
carefully as not to irritate her sore throat, and watching the  Elf in front of
her with the distinct feeling that something was...  wrong. It made her stomach
knot tightly, and she pushed herself up  again, trying to ignore the blackness
approaching from the corners of  her vision. “Are his injuries so severe?”
Haldir frowned at her. “They are not. He will recover in time.”
She wanted to ask him what troubled him, because she needed to know,  had the
right to know after she'd borne the weight of their survival  on her shoulders
for so long, but she quelled the urge and the words  did not reach her lips. She
had dealt with enough Elves in her life  to know the look on Haldir's face, that
firm resolve, and even though  he was more warrior than sage, she doubted that
she could persuade  him to tell her, at least not now and not in her current,
weakened  state.
“You  need to rest.” For a moment, she tried to resist the firm hand on  her
shoulder, but then she allowed him to push her down onto the  blankets again,
acknowledging that today was not the time to get the  answers she needed to push
away that terrible feeling of dread in her  stomach. Instead, she forced herself
to smile up at him with only the  slightest trace of sarcasm – she now knew
how Boromir must have  felt when she had taken care of him, and she could
sympathize.  “I  have not expected to meet you here, Marchwarden. You are a
long way  from Lórien's boarders.”
Haldir nodded, accepting that for now, she had given up on her  previous line of
questioning. “That we are. But our Lady has sent  us to the South by horse,
telling us there would be those in need of  our help, and now we have found
them.”
She breathed a sigh of relief that both fate and Lady Galadriel hat  deemed her
and Boromir important enough to be saved, albeit she had  Seen Lórien under
attack even before they had departed from their  camp at the Falls. “Then we
have to thank you, and the high Lady,  Haldir, Marchwarden of Lórien.”
He acknowledged her words with a graceful half-bow and smiled at her.  “It was
both my duty and my honour.”
She sighed softly and leaned back into her makeshift pillow. “What  day is
it?”
“The  thirteenth.”
The answer relieved her, because she now knew that she had not been  unconscious
very long, and she looked up at the slightly swooning,  but bare branches of the
trees above, while thoughts of another tree  intruded into her mind and she
tightly shut her eyes, as if she could  get rid of them this way. She truly had
nearly died, and the thought  still made her shiver.
“What  about the Orcs?”
Despite his Elven intransigence, Haldir was enough of a warrior to  understand
what she was asking for. “There were only thirty of them  left. We apprehended
them as they were following you down the River,  and slew them all.”
She took a deep breath and tried to find solace in the knowledge that  all of
their pursuers were dead, but it was proving harder than she  had thought. Too
deeply ingrained were the memories of their hunt, of  the constant fear and
terror she had to battle, fear not only for  herself, but also for the man she
had saved, and she could not shake  them off at will as she had hoped. “Where
did they come from?”
“They  all bore the mark of Sauron, and most likely came from Mordor. Our 
scouts have found tracks of many more of them, and they are roaming  freely West
of the Anduin, until they reach our Southern boarders and  unite with their
brothers from Mordor.”
“So  this is not the end of a dangerous journey, but the beginning.”
“Indeed.  We will depart for the North on the morrow, and even though my
forces  are strong enough to dispatch any group of stray Orcs, you know the 
vagaries of war as well as I.” She nodded jerkily, not fancying the  thought
of another forced march up the Anduin, and Haldir smiled  again. “Do not
concern yourself for now, and rest. You will feel  better in the morning.”
Her exhaustion silenced every protest she might have been inclined to  make, and
even her restless thoughts and her worries did not keep her  from falling into
deep, dreamless sleep only minutes later.

March  the 14th,  Year 3019 of the Third Age.

She was woken by a slender Elven hand on her shoulder and looked up  at Haldir,
who was sitting on his heels next to her, staring down at  her with a deep
frown. “It is time to wake up. We have to go.”
Even though she could only see the first tendrils of pink on the  Eastern sky,
she felt more rested than she had in weeks, maybe since  she had departed
Lórien so long ago, so she nodded and pushed  herself up with only the tiniest
hesitation and much less pain in her  overstrained muscles than she had
expected. Now that she sat and  could survey her surroundings, she understood
that the evening  before, she had greatly underestimated how many of his men
Haldir had  led South. At least two dozen Elves were busying themselves around 
her, breaking up the camp they had set up two days ago, and they had  brought
many of the white and grey horses of the Galadhrim with them.
Arnuilas smiled, but not her companion, who looked as grave and  concerned as he
had the evening before. “We do not know what to  know with the Man,” he said
in Sindarin, and she startled, frowning  at him.
“What  is the meaning of this, Haldir?” replied she in kind, her words a 
mere whisper as he clearly wished not to be overheard, and especially  not by
the object of their conversation. “Why do you speak so of  Boromir? He is to
come with us, without a doubt.”
“We  fear his treachery, and are concerned for his mind.”
For a moment, she asked herself what he had done while she had slept,  and her
fear caught in her features, plain to see for Haldir until  she composed
herself, summoning the incredulous mask her growing  loyalty for Boromir
demanded. “His treachery?” asked she,  electing not to tell him about her
own concerns for his sanity during  the last, long weeks.
Haldir sighed, aware that she was carefully guarding her reactions.  “He will
not have told you.”
Her annoyance grew, fear and flight clearly taking their toll on her  patience
as she contemplated what the Elf was obviously proposing.  “And you have not,
either, Haldir. But nevertheless, no matter what  he has done or not done, I
have not nursed him back to life and then  hauled him through the wilds for two
weeks just to leave him behind  now. It is either both of us, or none.”
She had spoken more fiercely than both she and Haldir had expected,  she could
see it clearly on his surprised face, but after glancing  around quickly, at his
people readying their horses just out of  earshot, he nodded jerkily. “If that
is your wish, Ranger, then we  will take him with us, but keep your eyes on him.
He is a dangerous  man even wounded, and I would not want mine to be injured
because of  your carelessness.”
She  doubted that Haldir would appreciate her sarcasm, and so she turned  to
gather what little of her belongings were left after their long  flight up the
Anduin with angry, jerky motions. The Elven dagger she  had carried for so long
was still attached to her belt, and her bow  was lying besides her bed, but even
though she feared that the water  had damaged it, the Elves had filled her
quiver again. Besides that,  and her sword she hoped Boromir had held onto as
the river swallowed  them, she had nothing left but her well-worn Ranger's
clothes. If  Haldir changed his mind and actually decided to leave them behind, 
she would be in a terrible position. Well,  maybe I will get used to it after
all. 
His pale eyes were following her every movement intently, and when  she had
finished packing, the exertion to her still sore body had  also served to cool
her growing anger and allowed her to answer him  as she knew she should. “I
will, Haldir.”
He nodded again, the slight crease on his brow slowly matting out,  and even
managed to smile at her. “As you wish.” For a moment, he  turned, observing
his men's preparation and ordering them to ready a  horse for her, before
focusing his attention back to her. “Though  we have defeated the Orcs
pursuing you, the wilds are still a  dangerous place, and I do not want to
linger now that you have  recovered. Will you ride with Boromir? None of my
people will, and we  are short on horses.”
“Of  course.”
When Haldir had given his orders, she had searched for Boromir among  the tall,
flaxen-haired Elves, but not found him, and only now, when  the Marchwarden
gestured towards the river's shore, she saw him. He  was standing away from
their rescuers, staring out at the dark,  slowly gurgling river with a posture
that spoke of deep thought, but  if he had distanced himself or had been driven
away because of the  Elves' disdain, she did not know. Slowly, she walked over
to him,  observing that he had shed his makeshift clothing, only keeping his 
grey hood from Lórien, his boots, and her sword at his side, and was  now clad
in a lent Elven attire that seemed to tight in places, but  nevertheless was an
improvement. “Good morning.”
He turned towards her, away from his intense study of the Anduin  whose
proximity still rendered her uncomfortable, and directed the  ghost of a smile
at her. “You are awake.”
She nodded softly, but did not answer, sensing that there was  something that
bothered him still after weeks of learning to read  him, but nevertheless
surprised when she actually continued. “I was  worried for you. The Elves told
me you would be fine, but you  swallowed so much water, and when I lost you in
the river...”
He did not speak further, but then again, he had not to. She  remembered only
too well how she had felt at that moment, even though  she had been barely
conscious, and she reached out and softly pressed  his forearm. “I know.”
She waited for him to turn and acknowledge  her gesture, and then smiled up at
him. “But we are here, and we  are not dead. Against all odds, we have
survived, and we soon will be  in the safety of Lórien.”
He nodded, though the thought obviously did not hold as much appeal  for him as
it did for her, and reached for her hand that was,  contrary to all the other
times he had seen her, rather clean, and  pressed it softly with his own, before
he let go of her and turned to  rejoin the others who had nearly finished
breaking up camp.
“The  Elves told me that we will have to ride together.”
“We  will.” She followed him up the muddy shore. “Or would you walk?”
He shook his head. “I have walked enough to last for a lifetime.”
The Elves had already saddled a horse for them, as even Arnuilas  could not ride
as was their custom, and when they approached them,  one of the soldiers handed
her the reins.
“What  is his name?” asked she in Sindarin, as she knew most of Haldir's 
men did not speak the common language, and the Elf affectionately  smiled.
“Cilian.”
“Then  I hope you will carry us well, Cilian, and that we will not be too 
much of a burden to you.” Cilian did not answer, but only snorted,  then
turned to face Boromir curiously as its keeper disappeared to  attend to his
other duties.
Arnuilas grinned. “At least good for him that we were on tight  rations for
the last week.”
Boromir only shook his head in mild annoyance as he stretched out his  hand to
let Cilian smell it, then patted its nose and took the reins  from Arnuilas's
hand. “You should rest for a while.”
For a moment, she was tempted to point out to him that he still  sported a
rather pronounced limb and was not doing very well  pretending he was not in
pain, but in the end, she just stepped back  so he could mount, and then
followed him up into the saddle behind  him. Carefully, she entwined her arms
around his chest to find  purchase without touching his wounds or hurting him
further, and  adjusting her position after she'd accidentally touched the
sensitive  area on his abdomen where one of the arrows had hit him and he'd 
flinched rather violently. “Forgive me.”
He just shook his head and tightened his grip on the reins, watching  as the
last of their Elven companions mounted their horses with an  effortless grace
that made Arnuilas envious, then allowing Cilian to  fall into step near them as
they proceeded on the path near the  river's shore they had been following since
they had left the Emyn  Muil.
Arnuilas could dimly remember some of the landmarks they passed from  their
hurried flight two days before and hoped that they would not  pass their last
battlefield as they travelled North, but her shudder  went unnoticed by all but
Boromir. The path was too small to admit  more than one horse at a time, and so
none of the Elves were close  enough to witness her reaction, but even Boromir
chose not to comment  on it, and his silence felt natural to her as darkness was
intruding  into her thoughts. The relief she had felt when she had understood 
that she was safe, at least for the moment, had worn off, been  replaced by a
heavy sense of foreboding that stemmed from her  knowledge of the ongoing war in
the South, the dire situation of  Lórien, and, more recently and even more
relevant to her current  situation, Haldir's mysterious words about Boromir's
treachery that  haunted her still.
She could not very well ask him about what he had done, but yet, what  the
Marchwarden had told her acquired an eerie credibility by her own  conversations
with him. Boromir had seemed so disheartened at times  when she had talked to
him, and hinted more than once that she should  not have saved him, because he
felt that he was not worth saving. It  fit to him having done something terrible
to the Fellowship,  something that had caused it to break, thereby not only
destroying  their bond of friendship, but also his self-esteem. She longed to 
find out, but she had nursed him long enough to understand his fierce  sense of
pride, knowledge that now made her sure he would not talk to  her, and not here
of all places, where sharp Elven ears could listen  in to their conversation.
“You  should sleep,” said he after about an hour or so, as the constant 
rocking of the horse's movement began to lull her and she had to  focus her
attention on keeping her posture straight. “For once, I  should take care of
you instead you of me.”
She nodded softly and placed her head on his strong, broad back,  clasping her
hands together in front of his chest firmly, and, very  soon, fell asleep to the
horse's motions and the sound of his breath.

The weight of the woman sitting in the saddle behind him had not been 
uncomfortable, though he had been forced to steady her various times  lest she
slide to the ground, and he smiled as she lay besides him on  the blankets that
the Elves had put out for her. He, he of all  people, was the one who knew best
how tired and exhausted she was,  and how lightly she had slept during all the
time she had guarded  him, waking up at the slightest sound even though she knew
that he  watched out for enemies. That she now felt so secure, when resting at 
his back, that she would not even stir in the evening, when they set  up camp
again, was a compliment he could not value highly enough.
“Boromir.”  Unnoticed by him, Haldir had approached their bedside and now
towered  behind him, glowering down at him with the look of disdain he had 
sported constantly since he had woken up, sputtering and nearly  choking on the
water he had swallowed. Undoubtedly, the man knew what  he had done to Frodo,
had possibly been informed by his witch of a  mistress, and now acted
accordingly, giving him just a taste of what  he had to expect when he met those
of the Fellowship again who had  survived. He could not blame him – he himself
thought every  possible punishment acceptably, but there where those moments
when  his old pride still advanced and insisted on hating Haldir for his 
disdain.
“You  seem intent on staying at her side.” Barely concealed distrust  seeped
from the few words, and he stood as he heard them, tall enough  to look the Elf
in the eye.
“She  has saved my life at least twice. You may think me a man without 
honour, but I know I am indebted to her, and I intend to repay that  debt in
full.”
Their gazes crossed, but here and now, against this elf, Boromir held  his own,
knowing with absolute certainty that this woman would always  be able to call on
him, his sword ready at her command, no matter  what it was she needed him for.
He would even go to the fires of  Mount Doom for her if she asked, as it was his
duty now... just as it  had been his duty to Frodo, whom he had failed. But he
would not make  the same mistake again.
Haldir finally nodded and, to his surprise, was the first to look  away, but
still Boromir had the feeling that he had gained favour in  his eyes, and his
suspicion was confirmed when one of the Elves, a  woman just as tall as her
fellows, approached and handed him two  bowls of soup. “Wake her. She will
need it.”
He nodded and turned to her even before he smelled at his own  portion,
carefully shaking her shoulder while she tried to turn away,  obviously intent
on ignoring the disturbance. He smiled, he just had  to, but finally she opened
her eyes to face him and then rose to sit.  As she looked at him, he noticed
with satisfaction that some of the  healthy colour had returned to her cheeks
and that she was not as  pale as before.
“They  have cooked.”
She nodded and he handed her the warm, steaming bowl, her still  shaking fingers
holding his own for a moment before he pulled away,  finally sure that she would
not let the vessel fall. He watched her  take the first sip and close her eyes
in delight, before he  remembered his own soup, and took it up, the first warm
meal in what  felt like months, but probably were only weeks. It not only
smelled,  but also tasted delicious and he instantly felt revived in a way that 
reminded him both of a warm fire and a smile on a cold winter evening  and the
refreshing coolness of a bath in the pond in the midst of  summer heat.
She seemed to felt it too, for the corners of her lips tugged upwards  slowly in
the first hints of a sincere smile, not the hopeless grin  that she had
presented him so often with during their days of  travelling, which she probably
had only donned to reassure him. The  dark shadows under her eyes and the
puffiness of her skin where gone  either, and though she was far from clean,
just as he, she looked  better than she had even back when he had woken up from
incoherent,  feverish dreams of demons of the Dark Tower torturing him, which
had  probably only been her tending to his wounds.
“We  are making good time,” he observed while she drank and when he 
remembered that she probably had no idea of how far they had come  during their
day's travels.
“I  have expected nothing else.” She tilted her head, then put the bowl 
aside. “But how are you?”
“I?”  With all the Elven disdain, he had, much to his shame, forgotten that 
there was one person here who truly cared  about him and how he felt, though why
was beyond his understanding.
“Yes,  you.” She smiled a little.
“I  am better with every day. The limp is still there, and all of it  hurts,
but riding instead of walking, and the care of our rescuers,  have made things
much better.”
She nodded. “I hope that you will keep nothing back... and that you  can
forgive me for driving you through the wilds so relentlessly. It  was hell for
you, and I am sorry that I had to force it on you.”
“Do  not be; even if you had not succeeded, I would have forgiven you. As  it
is, there is nothing for me to do but thank you for saving my life  a second
time.”
“You  have saved yourself, Boromir. I was only there to lead you.”
She sounded and looked sincere, which, in his present state of mind,  surprised
him immensely, and simultaneously made him feel guilty. She  still believed in
him because she did not know what he had done, and  his sense of honour demanded
that he tell her with fierce  determination. Nevertheless, he held his tongue
and just smiled at  her – he needed this, needed at least one person on the
wide planes  of Middle Earth who still believed in him, still respected him, 
because he himself could not. “Thank you.”
She smiled and continue to sip at her soup in silence, looking out  thoughtfully
over the Anduin through the darkening evening. “You do  know that I fully
expected us to die when I lead us into the river?”
He nodded. “I did.”
“And  you still followed me?”
“Dying  alone at the hand of the Orcs is a horrible fate, one that I wished 
neither on you nor on me.”
The tears that suddenly shone in her eyes surprised him, and he did  not know
what to make of it as she swallowed heavily and turned away.  “It is.” Her
voice sounded thick and heavy with with pain, and  now it was he who reached out
to touch her cold, shaking fingers.
“I  am sorry.”
She sighed and roughly wiped away the few tears that had escaped to  her cheeks
with her sleeves. “Do not be; you are right, and I was  glad that you were
with me.”
He laughed harshly, the emotion in his voice raw in the hope that he  did not
sound like the old woman he felt at the moment. “I was also  glad not to be
alone.”
She seemed to understand and looked away thoughtfully before she  turned back to
him, staring at him in a matter that told him she was  determined to speak of
better tidings. “How long until we reach the  borders of Lórien?”
Well, that was not the merry matter he had hoped to hear of, because  he feared
that he would see Galadriel again, be forced to face her  piercing gaze again...
if her people's behaviour was any indication,  she already knew, but he thought
there was still this tiny chance of  hiding his disgrace, and part of him very
much wanted to seize it. It  would mean that Arnuilas would not find out for
what kind of man she  had risked her life multiple times and even braved a band
of Orcs  for, and part of him wanted to tell his conscience that he did not 
want to do that to her... only that he knew that he had already, and  that he
was only making it worse by every day of silence. He shook  his head slightly
and pulled himself together, remembering her  question. “Haldir spoke of about
seven days until we reach the  Nimrodel, maybe even less.”
She nodded softly. “So you think there will be a chance for us to  do good in
this war?”
His eyebrows rose at their own volition. “You are going to fight?”
“If  there is any chance to do so, yes.” She looked surprised at his 
reaction. “Why?”
“Have  you not done your part?”
She laughed harshly. “I have done my part many times over in the  last fifteen
years out in the Northern wilds, but I fear that knowing  this is only a small
consolation when those I love die because I do  not fight at their side.”
He knew not why he asked, but ask he did. “And is there one up  North you
love?”
The pain returned to her eyes immediately, and he then knew that it  had been
wrong of him to try prying such personal things from her.  “My mother and my
brother are still alive.”
There was more to this than she told him, because there was the  sadness of a
previous loss in her eyes that he knew all too well from  experience, since the
time he had lost both his loving mother and his  father on the same day, even
though Denethor was still alive.
“I  am sorry.” He was not sorry for what she had told him, but for what  she
had omitted, and she seemed to understand, for she nodded softly.
“You  could not stand by and let the world burn if you still drew breath,  and
I cannot either.”
He was on the verge of telling her that he was a man and she a woman,  and that
this difference gave them different occupations and duties,  but then he
remembered the last weeks and what she had done for him,  how she had kept him
safe. He had known men back in Gondor, good men,  capable men, in whose hands he
would surely have died, and who would  have shown less strength and bravery in
the face of battle and  certain death than she had. No, he had no right to
belittle her, and  tell her that there was no place for her in this war, for
there was,  and she had already claimed it.
“You  are right... I could not.” But  what else is it that you are doing
now? asked  the nagging voice in the back of his head, the one he usually tried 
to either ignore or drone out, because it told him the truths he did  not want
to hear. You  have not even tried to fight for Gondor, but return to the
relative  safety of Lórien now, and even if you arrive there, healers will 
want to keep you, to tend to your injuries again. You will not fight,  while she
returns to the front. She even has new arrows already.
The  thought of her returning to the heat of the battle without him gnawed  at
him and took his peace of mind, though why, he could not  understand. She had
proven to be very capable of taking care of  herself, so he should not be
worried about her – but yet, he was,  and very much so. If  she dies, you will
carry this debt to the end of your life, no matter  how long it will be. You do
not want that, do you?
She sighed softly and put her bowl aside. “Nevertheless, I have to  admit that
I am tired – the months in Lórien after I had explored  the Misty Mountains
and the pass of Caradhras were the first rest I  had in years, and I have been
from home for far too long. I want to  breath the cold Northern air again before
I die, I want to see the  sun set over the Nenuial, and maybe I will even see
the time when  ships sail from Belfalas to the Grey Havens, and I will be on one
of  them.”
“You  will.” He smiled.
“Either  I will, or there will be more rest than I care for – the eternal 
kind.”
The thought was none of those he cared to ponder longer, bringing  their
conversation to an end, and soon, both of them had fallen  asleep on their
blankets to rest, making up for the times they had  lacked it.

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