Thalion Faer, Doltha Hún

The waters of the Anduin were both cold and calm. Like glass the trees and land surrounding us were reflected onto its serene surface. The solitary sound filling our ears was that of the wooden oars cutting through the mirror. The weather had been perfect since we had departed, the sun unbothered by any clouds and the sky beating a vibrant blue. There was a gentle breeze that met our faces as we floated along the Great River.

Day crept on as we did; the sun slowly drifting through the sky just as our boats. It was difficult almost, being in such prolonged silence after having the backdrop of Elven singing in Lothlórien. It was dangerous too, for when conversation was omitted the mind floated back to things it was otherwise too preoccupied to consider. And so I tried to focus on things.

I scanned the trees as we traveled, noticing every moving leaf and distant sound that my human senses could pick up on. The hills piled high above us on either side, encasing us in the strip of water. They had, however, been taller earlier in the day. This meant we were getting closer to our destination. We stopped where the river did, just before it tipped off of the earth, plummeting towards the ground.

The hobbits, I noticed, were all together uneasy during our time on the river. They were constantly gripping some part of the wooden boat in an attempt to convince themselves they were safe. I doubted any of them could swim, but these boats were crafted by the Galadhrim and would not easily deliver their cargo to the waters. I was sympathetic for Frodo; he had said that both his parents had fallen victim to the river.

To my mind came a song of Bilbo’s that he had recited during our time together. It made me smile, thinking of the brave hobbit that had battles Smaug and Mirkwood; and now his nephew who was battling things much more terrifying. The song, it seemed, could apply to all. And that was a comforting notion.

“The Road goes ever on and on
Out from the door where it began,
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
Let others follow it who can!
Let them a journey new begin,
But I at last with weary feet
Will turn towards the lighted inn,
My evening-rest and sleep to meet”

My yearning for Gondor hit me like a stone wall. I had taken refuge in so many places, inhabited different cities and forests, slept on different grounds and beds; so perfectly accustomed to being uncomfortable. All I wanted now was to be home, in the only place that would remotely feel like it. Home was where one felt comfortable, the place where no matter what happened in the wide world, one could always return. Was that not Gondor, for me? After this journey Boromir and I would return to Gondor, and I would see Faramir again. It would be as home as I could ever hope for; with familiar walls and floors and beds and faces. These things would not change.

But some small part of me knew it was a lie. A fable I had told myself so much that I believed it. Nothing stayed the same; all things were temporary. No matter how much one held onto something, it either slipped away, broke, or ceased to exist. Fate seeped in through the cracks of all; breaking things down from the inside out.

The trees around us would wither and die, the river would run dry, the boats would rot and our lives would all one day end. But often times we all obsess so much of the prospect of dying that we forgot living came first. But it was so easy to say that death is just another journey or stage of life; so easy to claim there is not much to worry over. It was a different thing completely to believe such notions.

The afterlife was a grand mystery; one I did not wish to solve.

On and on we paddled in silence; this Fellowship of the ring. A single piece of gold containing the most concentrated evil in all the world. It was a frightening enough notion, knowing that behind me it lay, in the grasp of a hobbit and that we would march into Mordor to destroy it. We would risk going so close to Sauron to destroy this terror. What was more frightening was falling victim, firsthand, to its whispers. Sometimes they were no more than my name, other times they were promises that would be fulfilled if only I took the ring.

I had only heard the whispers a few times, but it was enough to keep up my guard. I knew that even considering to dream of entertaining its desires would result in the end of the world as we knew it. There would be no Gondor, no Rivendell or Lothlórien or Shire. The fires of Mordor would spread and blanket the world in an inescapable darkness; one that might even reach Valinor.

Shivering at the thought, I squinted in the darkness of the night at the river before us. A heavy mist had set, making it difficult to see anything ahead. We were blind, and it made me nervous. Although there would be no creatures of the deep in these waters, the river had narrowed and the banks had fallen. If something out there could see us, we would have no chance at escape.

I had a brief premonition, almost an afterthought in my mind at first. I could still see my surroundings during its entirety, watching as the waters before me merged with the waters within my mind. It was the Anduin I was seeing, only much more active. The water was collapsing into itself in a fit, and I was rushing towards it. The closer I got, the more vivid the sight. I realized they were rapids, and began to panic.

My eyes were focused on the hobbit that lay before me, arms supporting his head as they rested on the bow of the boat. He was tucked neatly in with all of our supplies, as comfortable as possible. I halted my paddling, bringing it to sit on the edge of the boat as I quietly turned around.

“Aragorn, how long of a journey to the rapids of Sarn Gebir?” I kept my voice as quiet as possible.

“These parts of the river I do not know so well, but they should still be many miles ahead. Still, we would be wise not to paddle swiftly and keep a sharp eye.” He replied calmly.

I turned back around and began to paddle apprehensively, trying to bury the anxiety bubbling within me. I trusted Aragorn, but there was something within me urging us the other way. I took comfort in the knowledge that the banks on either side would be easier to get onto, if needed.

We pushed on, a light snoring coming from one of the other hobbits. It was almost calming, hearing some kind of noise. Especially one so peaceful as the sound of an innocent’s sleep. The more we pushed forward, the more relaxed I became, content with the idea that furious water turbulence could not simply appear; we would hear it coming.

And then I heard it. The faintest whisper of rushing waters that differed greatly from the calm surrounding us now. Wide-eyed and worried, I turned my attention to Legolas. I called out to him, not bothering to be quiet now, and asked if he could hear that.

“Yes…it sounds like…” He began, but he needn’t finish for Aragorn to realize what it was.

“Back! Back!” He cried, delving the oar into the waters furiously. “Turn if you can!”

It was such a difficult task, though. The Anduin’s current was much stronger than it looked, and made paddling upstream nearly impossible. Each stroke only seemed to bring us closer to the growing din, the sound of the boats scraping against the early rocks filling our ears. It was an alarm, one that succeeded in propelling us forward with enough haste to escape. All of us steered towards the Easter shores, releasing sighs as the boats brushed up onto the beach.

Everyone took a few moments to catch their breath—either from paddling or from fear—before Aragorn spoke.

“We will rest here tonight. Pull the boats up farther so the river does not take them.” His boots splashed as he jumped into the shallow water, beginning to heave the boat forward.

Everyone got out, the hobbits wandering up the bank a little further before settling down on solid ground. I helped to move all the boats, taking out the supplies we would need for the night. I hurried to set up makeshift beds for the four hobbits, finding the safest and most comfortable spot for them to be.

Legolas and Gimli got a fire started, cooking up some food for us all. Everyone was happy to have a meal, but it was clear that our exposed location was worrying us all. There were noises heard occasionally throughout the day that sounded very similar to orc calls. Aragorn walked over to where Boromir was hiding behind a rock, looking out at something on the water.

I could not make out what they were saying, but Boromir’s voice had a clear tone of irritation in it. My stomach began to turn in knots. Frodo and Sam were also arguing, much quieter and over a different matter, but they were quarreling nonetheless. I ushered them into bed, making sure they were as content as possible before retreating.

“Minas Tirith is the safer road, you know it.” Boromir said as I wandered closer. “From there we can regroup, strike out for Mordor from a place of strength!”

“There is no strength in Gondor that can avail us.” Aragorn replied after a moment.

“You were quick enough to trust the Elves!” Boromir snapped. “Have you so little faith in your own people? Yes, there is weakness. There is frailty. But there is courage also, and honor to be found in Men. But you will not see that."

Again I was torn in two. I, like Aragorn, did not want to risk bringing the ring anywhere save Mount Doom; least of all into the city of Lord Denethor. But Boromir was right—Aragorn did show little faith for his own city. His own kingdom. He began to walk away from Boromir as I came up to them, but Boromir roughly grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

"You are afraid! All your life, you have hidden in the shadows!" I was forced a step back by the multitude of anger he was exhibiting, the pure fury pent up inside of him. Boromir continued to shake Aragorn as he spoke. "Scared of who you are, of what you are!"

“Boromir,” I began, placing a hand on his arm to make him realize what he truly was doing. He apprehensively released Aragorn, heaving out angry breaths as the other began to retreat. I exhaled, thinking it was over, but Aragorn swiftly turned back with stifled anger as he said one line in retort.

“I will not lead the ring within a hundred leagues of your city.”

The two of us watched as he retreated, Boromir still fuming where he stood. I gave him a moment to compose himself before attempting any conversation with him.

“I too desire to return to Gondor, Boromir, but now is not the time.”

“Gondor is the only option we have! Are we to walk blindly through Mordor; ten strangers against the ten thousand orcs that reside there! It is folly!” He cried out in anger, his features warping into such an unfamiliar state. I took a step back from him, confusion painted on my face.

“What has happened to you?” I breathed, turning and walking away from him. There was hesitation before he called after me, eventually following as I retreated further into the forest. He grabbed my arm, turning me around and apologizing. “Why are you so angry, all of the time?” I questioned. “What has come of the Boromir I knew?”

“Vanya this journey will not be successful if we do not seek aid. We are too few!” He said desperately, trying to keep his voice down. “If we do this alone we will fail. And Gandalf will have fallen for nothing.”

“If you have so little faith in this then why did you come?” My voice was quiet and my eyes downcast as I wrapped myself in my cloak. He was silent for a moment before tilting my head up. Only after he had my eyes did he speak.

“Do you not know?” He whispered. My heart began to race as he leaned closer, inching our lips together. This was the Boromir I knew. This was the Boromir I remembered. But as his hand rose to my cheek my mind’s eye was taken over. The vision I had of his body lying on the leafy ground pierced by arrows and bloody, hit me like a hammer. It forced me away from him, and I rapidly opened my eyes to be rid of the sight. But it was Aragorn before me, holding me, not Boromir. I jumped back, closing my eyes tightly and opening them again to the sight of Boromir.

“I…I’m sorry…” I whispered, forcing my feet forward in a desperate escape. Thankfully, I walked alone back to the camp where most of the Fellowship was asleep. Save, of course, Aragorn. I avoided his eye and quickly settled into bed.

I cursed myself for my own stupidity. How was it possible to love two people at once? It wasn’t right, and it wasn’t fair. I knew that I would have to make a choice, and soon. For I could not bear the tugging and pulling in different directions forever.

Boromir returned to the camp as well, and I could feel his eyes burning on me as he passed me. I kept my eyes shut, trying desperately to force the thoughts and emotions out of me. I occupied my mind instead with thoughts of Frodo and the ring; of our course for the days to come and the dangers possibly at hand. I would make an effort sometime soon for Legolas to aid me with my vision-sight fighting abilities; for they could be useful during battle.

Sleep did not take me swiftly, obliging me to endure more of my self-destructive thought patterns. I wished only for peace, riddance of these emotions so I could focus on things more important. But my mind was full.