Thalion Faer, Doltha Hún

It was difficult, in Moria, to gauge time correctly. Above ground one had things like shadows and the sun by which to guess the time; how much had passed, how much was left. But there was only darkness here. We had entered into the lower halls, where all hopes of sunlight were smothered out of existence by the thick walls. In the higher halls there were indeed windows; but I guessed that even wondrous places like those could be turned to ruin at the hands of orcs.

Nobody spoke. For our own different reasons, I suppose, but we were generally put off by our environment. If the goblins had managed to massacre all of Moria it meant they were here with a large number. I knew better than to have the slightest hope they had relocated. The orcs had more than likely been driven from their previous home, and upon killing this magnificent places’ inhabitants they had a perfect place to live. They were here. But they were unaware they had visitors.

Orcs were erratic, impulsive and illogical creatures. They simply acted on their first instinct, the only thoughts in their brains spawning solely for themselves. If they had seen us, heard the odd cough or the rocks that were sometimes dislodged by our footfalls, we would have arrows flying our way immediately. That was just their nature. But there was something other than orcs bothering Gandalf and I. I had only ever heard stories about the beast of shadow and flame that was released in Moria; but Gandalf seemed certain of the beast’s existence.

The wizard was careful in the amount of light he allowed to be shed; it just barely reached my feet at the back of the line. Gandalf led the way, followed by Legolas and Gimli who would look over their shoulders now and again to see if the hobbits were fairing well. The helpless hobbits, brave half-lings of the Shire; they were minuscule beings in the grand halls of Moria. Behind the hobbits walked Aragorn, leaving Boromir to walk at my side.

It was so dark here, and I grew uncomfortable—nervous even. There was nothing here to keep one sane any more. All happiness and hope had been slaughtered along with the dwarves. Blackness engulfed us; and it the minimal space that in fact was lit (however dim) there was only grey stone to behold. No colours, no pleasant scents or breezes; only silence and dark shades.

As we came to the top of a staircase Gandalf paused, extending the light enough to show an archway to our left. I guessed we would be stopping here, for the hobbits looked weary and their eyelids heavy. I felt they were my responsibility to tend to, for they were so much smaller than us. They were not brave soldiers from distant lands or skilled fighters—they probably barely understood the reason for all of this. They were just four little Shire-folk with brave hearts and admirable loyalty to their friend.

Perhaps if others were similar to hobbits, in some ways, then the world would not be so full of peril. Perhaps.

“I expect that you are all as weary as I am, if not wearier.” Gandalf’s voice was strong, but I suspected his mind was strained; for in guiding us through Moria he had to delve deep into his memory. “We had better halt here for what is left of the night. “

Merry and Pippin hastened their walk towards the archway, but Gandalf halted them. He warned that they did not know what lay inside, and that it was much safer for him to enter first. I, however, objected to this. Gandalf was much more valuable to this journey than any of us. I guessed right upon assuming he would claim we were all equally important to the quest, and he disappeared into the room. My heart was tuned to any uneasy feelings—well, more uneasy than at present—until Gandalf emerged from the room unscathed. Beckoning us all inside, he partially closed the great stone door. I volunteered to take the first watch, for it would be folly for us all to be asleep at the same time.

“If it would be to your liking I shall take the first watch with you.” Boromir joined me at the doorway and laid his shield against the wall. The rest of the Fellowship began to settle down on the cold stone with nothing but packs under their heads for pillows. The hobbits’ feet were peeping out of their cloaks, and I imagined that they were not warm in the least bit. Before Gandalf extinguished the light from his staff, I took a cloak I had packed from Rivendell and walked to the hobbits, draping it over all four of them. It was better than simple shire-cloaks.

“Sleep well, for we still have two days ahead of us, if my memory is correct.” Gandalf tapped his staff on the ground twice and then the light was out. It was completely black; an intimidating darkness that I was determined not to let scare me. Although it was a terrifying prospect; that the enemy should be able to see us but we could not see them. I was temporarily blinded while my eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness. There was a tiny hole in the stone on the far side, and through it came a ray of moonlight. I hadn’t thought we were so far up, but I did not complain; the light was a welcome comfort.

I reached out through the darkness and found Boromir’s hand. We used to hold hands all the time, in our childhood. We held hands as we pulled each other places, when we were happy, when we were scared, when we were sad and any other time we could. Holding hands happened to be a very comforting action for me; it was almost as if I felt stronger. I had not ever truly understood what it meant until I left Minas Tirith. My mother had not been around to demonstrate with my father, and Boromir’s parents were not ever seen together. I vividly remembered the day his mother passed out of this world—we were only ten.

He had been so sad, but he was trying to be strong for his father and his brother, and for me. His mother had loved me as if I were one of her own, but only behind Lord Denethor’s back. The whole city mourned for days, but all of their grief combined could not amount to how hard it hit Boromir and Faramir—he cried for days. Boromir and I stayed with him in his bed as he just cried and cried; children caring for children. It was after her death that Denethor began to favour Boromir.

“What do you think of?” His voice was quiet, an attempt not to disturb the other members of the Fellowship. The moonlight lit only one side of his face; his clean skin that did not mimic his forty-one years. The Númenórean blood in his veins aided him in becoming strong and known across the realms as one of the best warriors of the age. My Boromir.

“The White City.” I replied. “And of Faramir, and of our days as children.” I adjusted our hands so I was more comfortable. This was not a new thing to either of us; it was quite the innocent gesture, much like brothers and sisters. But Boromir and I were never like siblings. Legolas, Faramir, they were like brothers to me; but it was never the same with Boromir.

“Those days are far behind us.” There was sadness in his voice that infected me. Our childhood had been cut short so many times; and finally put out of its misery by my decision to leave. I grazed my fingers against the necklace laying cold against my collarbone, sighing quietly.

“Not entirely.” I breathed. A light flooded my eyes and I was no longer in Moria.

There are trees, a vast forest and in the distance water sounds. There is the sound of battle all around, of heavy breathing and footsteps. An arrow flies through the air and pierces the familiar armor of Gondor’s Captain. There are two more arrows already within his skin; and he falters. The hobbits Meriadoc and Peregrin look on in horror as their defender falls to his knees. The world goes black.

I sharply took in breath, aware now of the wetness upon my cheeks. My hands were slightly trembling and I recognized the strength with which I was clutching Boromir’s hand. He whispered to me urgently, asking aloud what the matter was. He questioned in a quieter voice what I had seen, but I could not bring myself to speak of it. I could only shake my head, sliding my hand from his. I could not believe it, I would not. I could change the future. I had to…

“Perhaps you should rest, Vanya.” I began to protest, but he had made up his mind. I had learned long ago that Boromir was not one easily swayed. However, I refused to join the Fellowship. Using my pack as a makeshift pillow, I curled up against the wall. I could not stand to leave him, but I could not stand being too close. It was as though if I stayed too close then I would make things true. It unnerved me, and I tried desperately to push the thought from my mind. It did not seem real at all; as if it were only a dream…



Firstly I was conscious of a hand clasped over my mouth; secondly of the fact my breathing was much more elevated than usual. I lay blind in the dark while I reached up to remove the hand. I felt a ring upon one of the fingers, and came to realize it was Aragorn. I whispered his name for confirmation, pushing myself up and off of the cold ground. A cloak, which I assumed to belong to him, fell around my legs as I sat up.

“You had been calling out in your sleep; I did not wish to disrupt the others.” He announced quickly.

“I apologize.” I said after a moment. I was recollecting what I had been dreaming—Boromir’s death.

“I do not mean to be intrusive, but you seemed quite distressed…” He wished to know what I dreamt of. Did I have the heart to tell him? I thought not.

“The matter should not worry you—it was simply something I had foreseen. But I believe the future should be possible to change…It must be possible to change.” The last sentence was more so said to myself, however with no other noises and such to distort the sense of hearing I was sure that Aragorn had caught it. “How many hours until the next watch?”

“It has been only moments since Boromir retired. You may return to sleep if you wish.”

“No, I should stay.” I could make out the outline of his figure, and so I was able to see him nod. I settled into the silence and took out my swords. One at a time I cleaned, sharpened, and polished them. It happened to be a somewhat nervous habit- or at least one I did when I was anxious to be doing something. Sitting here made me incredibly apprehensive. If it weren’t for the fact that I knew rest was needed, I would have pushed on. I wished to be out of the mines as quickly as possible; for the unfamiliar territory was indeed nerve wracking.

“Would…” I began to ask, but struggled with how to properly phrase my thoughts. “Would you mind aiding me with…Oh, never mind.”

“I do not mind, Vanya.” He assured, knowing exactly that I spoke of my foresight gift. It was something I could do in order to take my mind off of Moria. I crawled forward until I was situated directly before him, and hesitated a moment before taking both of his hands in mine.

“Gandalf mentioned a few things I might do to try and control this…gift.” I announced, trying to relax as best as I could. The wizard had told me to collect all thoughts of the person, in this case Aragorn. However, I had no idea what else to do. Those were the only instructions Gandalf had passed to me. Regardless, I did as I was told. I brought to my mind every memory I had of Aragorn, my King. I realized how often the truth slipped my mind—he was a ranger first to me, not a King.

The background is the colour of sand, the canvas of a tent. There is someone else in the room that I cannot see. And there is Aragorn. His clothing is minimal, clothes for sleeping. He stands tall and apprehensive, eyes glued to the weapon in his grasp. It is the sword that was broken, Narsil. A familiar voice, belonging to Lord Elrond, speaks. He says “Put aside the ranger, become who you were born to be.” Aragorn looks wearily at the unseen elf, and sighs as he sheaths the legendary sword.

“What did you see?” I took a moment to recuperate, keeping the smile on my face that was already there. I was smiling because of the vision, but also because it worked. I managed to look into the future of a specific person. It seemed that physical contact seemed to help, but I figured it wasn’t necessary. I kept reliving the vision in my head, seeing it vividly as if it had happened before me in real life. As I pulled my hands away, something caught my eye. Looking down, there was a translucent silver fiber connecting our palms. The more I pulled away, the more it retracted into my own skin. I looked at it quizzically as Aragorn mimicked my confusion.

“The sword of Elendil…You had the blade that was broken. Reforged. Lord Elrond, he brought it for you…But I cannot decipher where or when.” We were close enough and there was enough moonlight to make out the weariness in his eyes. They were downcast and pensive. He did not wish to be King. I suddenly wished I had not asked for him to go through with this. I apologized and retreated to the opposing wall.

“You need not apologize, my lady.” He said after a moment. I thought back to what I had forseen of Boromir; the impossible future. I offered words of assurance.

“If it is any comfort at all, I do not believe that all of what I see shall come true. Some things…Some things I have seen are impossible. Perhaps you shall not return to the White City.”

He was silent for a long while, alone with his thoughts, before replying. “I should like to get through Moria before we speak of where paths take us, and of certainties and uncertainties.”

That was a good way for me to look at things. Nothing was absolutely certain, so I need only pay attention to my surroundings in order to change the future. I recollected the vision in my mind as if it was my own memory, and I surveyed the atmosphere. There was a sparse forest with thin trees, and there were leaves on the ground. Water was nearby. I committed these notes to the front of my mind; and made the decision to no longer share my visions with others. Save perhaps Gandalf.