Deliver Us From Evil

Boromir lost consciousness after I bit him. Legolas and Gimli arrived on scene to see me clamp my mouth around his throat. His blood filled my mouth and I made sure not to cause permanent damage to him. My tears streamed freely and mingled with the blood pooling on his skin. After a few moments I released him. A sob slipped through my wet lips.

Thick fabric fell onto my shoulders and I looked up to see Legolas covering my naked flesh with his cloak. I softly thanked him and pulled the robe closer around me. Aragorn and Legolas carried a limp Boromir back to camp, as if he were a ragdoll.

I grabbed my pack and redressed behind a tree. The Steward’s heir had been laid out on a bedroll and was covered in white bandages. I kneeled by his side and said to the rest of them, “Leave.”

“We cannot leave you two, Eirien,” Aragorn protested.

“His transformation will take time and I am the only one who can help him through it,” I explained. I placed Boromir’s head in my lap. “Leave and we will follow. We can track your scents. Besides, dogs are faster and have more endurance.”

“Are you certain?” the prince of Mirkwood asked me.

“Yes, Rubio.” Suddenly, Boromir stirred and let out a cry of pain. The canines of his teeth were unusually sharp. “He’s already started changing. This is a long process and we will only slow you down.”

“Lass,” Gimli started, but Legolas added his input first.

“Sam and Frodo have reached the eastern shore; we can still catch up.” Aragorn sighed at his words. “You mean not to follow them,” the elf deduced.

“Frodo’s fate is no longer in our hands.”

“Then it has all been in vain,” Gimli sadly said. “The Fellowship has failed.”

The two walked over to him and Aragorn clasped them on the shoulders. “Not if we hold true to each other. We will not abandon Merry and Pippin to torment and death. Not while we have strength left.” He backed away to the supplies. “Leave all that can be spared behind. We travel light. Let’s hunt some orc.”

***

I watched the sun lower from the western shore. I had stripped Boromir of his clothes as they would only restrict him. I laid a blanket over him to at least give him some dignity. For the last few hours, I had watched him struggle in his sleep and his wounds heal. His muscles would spasm uncontrollably and he would moan from the pain of his slowly changing body. There were times when his fingers curled, making fistfuls of pebbles, and fur would sprout in new hair follicles, only to recede seconds later.

Finally, he awoke with a violent start. His gray irises had expanded to most of his eyes. They were not steel in color like they normally were, but instead a shiny silver. A dog-like whine escaped him.

“Boromir,” I said to him, touching his face, “listen to me. You’re transforming, okay?”

“The halflings,” he gasped out. Fur began to grow and recede along his body.

“Don’t worry,” I reassured him. “Aragorn and the others went to save them. After you’re finished here, we’ll join them.” I kissed his forehead. “Just focus on this.”

He nodded and whimpered, “It hurts.”

“I know it does, but don’t fight it. You need to concentrate on changing.”

His face suddenly became deformed as a muzzle attempted to grow. He snarled with new fangs. His legs failed as they changed shape. He howled in pain, but it turned to one of a beast. He turned to his side as if to move away from the pain and I could see his spine moving underneath the skin. One of the worst parts was the reformation of the backbone, including tail growing.

He completely rolled over onto his stomach and tried to lift himself with his arms as they shortened into front legs. His ears traveled to the top of his head and changed shape. A long, pink tongue lolled from his mouth as he panted in from exhaustion.

At this midpoint, he was grotesque and terrifying like something from Hollywood. His half formed muzzle had a black dog nose at the end. His back was bent and a tail grew from the bottom of his spine. His hands were twisted and stunted; his nails were thick and black like claws. Tan and black fur grew all over him and I wondered, for just a moment, what breed of dog he would turn out to be.
He let out a scream of pain, but it turned into a howl. I sat there, unable to help him. He shuddered violently before completely changing and then collapsing. A handsome German shepherd laid on its side before me. His coat was a golden tan, but black marked his muzzle, back, and around his silver eyes. He whimpered and stared at me.

“There we are,” I said as I stroked his head. He leaned into my touch. “Sleep for bit, then we will go after the others.” While he slept, I readied our things in a single rucksack. I packed his clothes, the Horn of Gondor, my dagger, and Boromir’s throwing knives. Aragorn had taken Adonnenniel and Boromir’s sword with him, which I was thankful for as we wouldn’t have been able to carry them.

As the sun began to set, I removed my clothing and added them to the bag. I changed and nudged Boromir awake. He looked surprised at first, but seemed quite happy to see me.

“We need to get going,” I told him.

“We can speak?!” he barked in a bewildered tone.

“To each other and other animals, yes. Humans, elves, etc., they don’t understand.”* I grasped the handle of the rucksack between my jaws. We followed the tracks that were mostly left by Gimli. I encouraged Boromir to practice using his sharp senses. Instinct took over and he found their scent.

We ran late into the night. Boromir admitted his surprise to me that everything was gray when we stopped for a quick break, just as the sun was rising. “Why do we see in gray?”

“We see the same as dogs: in black and white.”

This surprised him as well. Had we had time, I’m sure he would’ve continued his questions that I had no answers for.

It was in the afternoon that we found the others. Their scents had gotten stronger as we got closer. We spotted them in the distance, running ahead. We picked up the pace despite our exhaustion. I came to a halt a minute later and Boromir copied my actions. I threw back my head and let out a strong howl. My canine companion joined me and I briefly wondered if it was voluntary or not; the urge to howl along was always strong.

Their heads whipped around and they ceased their running. Boromir and I dashed forward to greet them. The sight of them unharmed made me so happy and warmed my heart. I collapsed a few feet away, dropping the bag to the ground. Boromir joined me by my side, our tongues falling out of our mouths as we panted. Saliva dripped from our jaws and we made no move to try to stop it. Our legs shook from exhaustion.

Aragorn crouched in front of us and patted our heads. “I am glad to see you, my friends.”

I licked his hand, resorting back to a pet dog. He scratched behind my ear for a moment and I groaned in pleasure at the feeling. I could see him stroking the side of Boromir’s face, whom looked quite pleased with the attention.

Legolas brought forth leather water skins. He pulled off the top and poured the liquid into my mouth. I did my best to lap up the stream. He switched to Boromir after a few moments, but he had more trouble since he wasn’t accostomed to drinking this way.

Once refreshed, Aragorn urged us to our feet. We whined our protests, but he gestured for us to stand. “I am sorry, but we must continue on. We will stop at nightfall. They’re taking the hobbits to Isengard.”

Ever the loyal follower, I stood. Seeing Boromir still on the ground, I nudged him with my nose. “Come on, we need to go.”

“I do not think I can go much farther,” he confessed.

I huffed and nudged him again. “Of course you can; you have to. Merry and Pippin are depending on us.” I nipped his shoulder, causing him to yelp and jump up.

His growl was instinctive, but uncalled for. It pissed me off, but I held down my anger. I had to be patient with him; he was not used to these natural instincts to show whom was dominant to whom. He couldn’t control them and fighting and growling were part of it. The others stared at us.

“Stop it,” I snapped at him. “You’re acting like a pup.”

That knocked some sense into him and he realized he was no longer being the human he was. “I am sorry, Daisy.” He dipped his head down shamefully.

I huffed at him again. “Come on, we need to go,” I repeated.

We stopped at nightfall, just as promised. We lapped up more water and were given chunks of jerky to chew on. The February night was freezing and we laid side by side for heat. Aragorn was dozing on his bedroll with each us dogs on either side of him. It seems the loyalty to “Master” was shared.

“I am truly sorry about earlier, Daisy,” he said.

I brushed it off. “Don’t worry, Boromir. It’s natural; you’ll just have to get used to it.”

He seemed a bit troubled by my words. “I feel different, Daisy. I am torn between following Aragorn and leaving to find Frodo. I want so desperately to protect them both. I feel my heart breaking having one but not the other.”

“It’s tough having more than one master.”

He tilted his head in confusion. “Master?”

“We’re dogs,” I explained. “We have a sense of loyalty and devotion. We pledged ourselves to Frodo, but follow Aragorn as our leader. We practically imprint on humans like a duckling does to its mother. A dog forms a bond with its master or mistress and we are no different. Having two is difficult, especially when they’re worlds apart.”

“You had owners,” he said, his silver eyes shining with understanding and sympathy. “You must miss them very much.”

“I do. My heart aches for them. I miss Master reading to me, Mistress rubbing my head. I mostly miss their child. We would play together and he would slip food underneath the table to me at dinner.”

Boromir rose and walked to my side. He laid next to me, our bodies pressing together with only fur between us. He licked my muzzle and mouth affectionately. “I would turn over Middle-Earth to see you home and happy again.”

“No,” I said, “I am at home and happy right here.”

***

The landscape of Rohan was equally pretty and grueling. The grass was wheat colored and soft with sharp gray rocks and boulders littered about. I couldn’t understand how these Horse Lords easily made it over the rocks. The openness was perfect for horseback riding, but there was always a stone to trip on.

In the middle of our run, with Gimli trailing behind and Boromir matching my speed, Legolas stopped and turned around. “The red sun rises, blood has been spilt this night.” Damn elvish riddles.

I uselessly threw my head over my shoulder to gaze at the sun rise to our backs. Nope, just grays.

Not too much later, as it was still morning, Aragorn stopped to inspect the ground. With our noses to the earth, we smelled orc and uruk-hai, but made out no hobbit scent. A loud whistle from the distance caused my ears to shoot forward. The neighing of horses and dull sounds of hooves followed. Aragorn must have heard it as well as he faced the noise and rose to stand.

We were ushered behind a large boulder just as a herd of horses and their riders charged over the hill. They wore armor and carried spears, swords, and several flags. Aragorn gave us a glance at seeing these riders. He stood and came out of our hiding spot, shouting, “Riders of Rohan! What news from the Mark?”

The leader of the Horse Lords threw up his arm, staff in hand, and led his men around to circle back to us. Boromir and I cautiously stood at Aragorn’s feet like a pair of guard dogs. They rushed around us, hooves stomping too close for comfort. I felt fear of being trampled and crushed from being so close to the ground. They formed a thick circle around us, horse chests side by side. They pointed their spears at us. Aragorn put his hands up in the universal sign of surrendered.

A man surged forward and broke through the others. His hair was long and golden, trapped underneath a helm with pale horse hair from the top. The nose guard was in the shape of a horse, which was kind of ridiculous.

“What business does an elf, a man, and a dwarf have in the Riddermark?” he practically snarled. “Speak quickly!”

“Your real name, horse master,” Gimli said confidently, “and I shall give you mine.”

This did not make Horse Master happy. He handed his spear to someone on the side and dismounted his horse. He strode forward, his brown eyes menacing and his face sneering. “I would cut off your head, dwarf,” he threatened, “if it stood but a little higher from the ground.” His every word was spat at Gimli.

Fluidly, Legolas drew an arrow and aimed at Horse Master. I couldn’t hold back the snarl that bubbled in my throat. “You would die before your stroke fell,” the prince promised.

Instantly, spears drew closer the the elf. Aragorn pushed the arrow down and away from the Horse Master. The spears withdrew and Gimli sighed with relief. I snapped at the riders’ leader, but stopped my growling. His eyes cut to me with confusion and what might have been a smidge of fear.

“I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn,” he introduced himself, making the brown gaze turn on him. “This is Gimli, son of Gloin, and Legolas of the Woodland Realm.” He purposely didn’t include Boromir and I as it would be strange to formally add the name of your dogs. “We are friends of Rohan, and of Théoden your King.”

The Horse Master hesitated and didn’t look Aragorn in the eyes. “Théoden no longer recognizes friend from foe.” He removed his helmet, revealing his baby face. “Not even his own kin,” he said glumly. The riders raised their spears.

“That’s Éomer, nephew of King Théoden,” Boromir explained to me.

“Saruman has poisoned the mind of the King and claimed lordship over his lands,” Éomer continued. “My company are those loyal to Rohan, and for that we are banished. The white wizard is cunning. He walks here and there they say, as an old man, hooded and cloaked, and everywhere his spies slip past our nets.” His eyes fell to each of us, suspicion filling the brown depths.

“We are no spies,” Aragorn said. “We track a party of uruk-hai westward across the plain. They have taken two of our friends captive.”

“The uruks are destroyed,” said the Horse Master, “we slaughtered them during the night.”

“But there were two hobbits,” Gimli said desperately. “Did you see two hobbits with them?”

“They would be small, only children to your eyes,” Aragorn explained.

Éomer looked down and shook his head lightly. “We left none alive.” He pointed into the distance. “We piled the carcasses and burned them.” I whined, my heart aching in my chest. White smoke wafted through the air not too far away. Éomer gave me a funny look.

“Dead?” Gimli asked softly.

Éomer paused and nodded gently. “I am sorry.”

I whimpered and bumped my head against Aragorn’s leg. Even though it was impossible, my eyes begged him to do something to fix this. His pale eyes glanced down to meet my own. His hand stroked the top of my head gently. “I am sorry, Daisy,” he murmured.

Éomer suddenly whistled sharply, causing Boromir and I start, ready to be commanded like dumb beasts. “Hasufel, Arod, Wyn!” he called. Three horses, one reddish brown, one white, and the other dark brown, came at his call. I shared a look of embarrassment with the German shepherd. We really were tamed pets.

“May these horses bear you better fortune than their former masters. Farewell,” Éomer said, turning and placing his helmet back on his head. He mounted his horse and said, “Look for your friends, but do not trust to hope. It is forsaken in these lands.” He called to his men, “We ride north!”

They charged away from us, only leaving the three gifts behind. “I want to go with them,” the white one said.

“I as well,” the reddish brown one added. “I miss Master Cniht,” he cried.

“Do not fret,” Boromir told them.

“Your master may be gone,” I told the reddish brown steed, “but Aragorn is a kind master and he will care for you.”