8

It was good to have a room again, to be out of the rain and mists of the river. But I also found it difficult to return to the way I lived before: commanding men no longer came second nature. I always had to be careful not to sound to authoritarian, too quick to judge-- Aragorn was their true King, whether they knew it or not. So I sat in my room, checking my baggage, feeling like extraneous baggage myself.

As I went through my things, I found my mind wandering unbidden into dark hollows, typical death thoughts: Mother dying, when we were young; from there to our own inescapable deaths. I continued into contemplation of the deaths of kingdoms: none of those founded back in the Elder Days persisted, and I knew Gondor could not but share the same fate. Aragorn might breathe life into it for a time, Frodo might even succeed and Sauron be overthrown, and yet... I quit even the pretense of preparation and collapsed onto the bed. Why do anything? I was going to die anyway, and whether I died here or tomorrow or 50 years from now Gondor would fall. A mighty war, a centuries-long wasting away; one or the other, my country would disappear and its place would remember it no more.

No more- no more- no more. Those words ran around and around my head, jeering and pitying by turns. But... something mundane niggled at the back of my mind, asked, demanded, insisted upon attention. I pulled my thoughts away from death and turned to this little thought.

Doesn't this seem familiar to you, Boromir? it asked. I pondered. Yes, it did, somewhat. Then I remembered and smote my forehead. What was I doing?

Focusing my attention on the here and now, I left the room, heading for the battlements. After only a minute finding my way back to the walls, I came just in time to hear it: a faint cry. A cry only in the mind, just as the momentary darkness under an unobscured sun was only in the mind. I looked up, my heart quailing despite myself, and felt an unreasonable terror.

"Nazgûl." Well I remembered that horror, the terrible horseman there at the bridge. My mind threatened to run back there, to start reliving that night again, but I shook my head decisively. He was not here, and I would not be cowed by the mere memory. I longed to meet him again, to face my unreasonable fear, but I knew whatever cried above me was not he-- one of the others, the lower ones.

But still enough to unman me, and enough to set the next guard down the wall cowering; I looked over to see him crouched back in the shadows of the crenelation, shaking in fear, and smiled wryly.

He took control of his emotions and heaved himself to his feet, an expression of shame now displacing the terror; he turned quickly back to watching the distant lands. If he hoped I would not notice him, however, he was mistook.

I walked up slowly beside him and halted. Now that I could pay attention to the countryside, I found it was a fine spring day, with a strong breeze blowing over the castle. I turned and put my elbows, one after the other, on the wall, and looked out with the guard. He shifted nervously, but said nothing; I just stared into the wind and waited. Finally, he made an attempt.

"M'lord?" I twitched slightly-- 'm'lord' was Aragorn, now.

"Soldier?" I turned somewhat, and was annoyed to find the wind getting my hair across my face; I gave my head a twist and flick, and the hair went back to where it was supposed to be.

The guard was looking away now, as if overcome by the foolhardiness of addressing the son of the Steward. I smiled wryly again.

"I am not the King. I am not even the Steward," I reminded him calmly. "Anyone can see your fear. Since you cannot hide it, do you not desire an explanation?"

"I am not afraid," he replied in a shaky voice. Before I could call him down for such a blatant falsehood, he continued, "Something plants the fear in me."

I closed my mouth and nodded. "So it is. One of the Nine flies above. It imparts this fear, as you say."

"How do... how do you fight it?" he asked, looking at me sideways as if I would throw him in chains for daring to address me. I grinned.

"I just remember who I am and why I am here. And that I am a man of Gondor and not some sorcerer's plaything. When you give in to the fear, when you hide from it or flee it, it only becomes more potent." The soldier looked away again and nodded briskly.

"Thank you, sir. I won't disgrace you again, sir." I snorted slightly, but said nothing; if he was so uncomfortable with me talking to him, I'd do better to leave. I decided to go and see if I could do a better job reassuring with some other guard.

Mablung appeared just then, standing down in the courtyard. The wind caught at his words, but I caught "...Aragorn!..." I frowned and ran down the stairs to where he stood, shading his eyes with one hand.

"What is this?"

Mablung bit his lip, then replied, "Your Aragorn has disappeared. One of the lower officers came to me and told me Aragorn had gone missing, after saying he was under no man's authority here save yours." Mablung caught my twitch and lowered his voice. "Yet he is not under your authority either, is he, sir?"

I sighed. "Aragorn is not over me, but neither is he under me as far as I know. He... there are many things about him, many important-- he is best left alone. Do not delve too deeply, there is much he wishes to keep secret," I finished, somewhat lamely I thought. Mablung nodded, however.

"If you wish us to leave him to his own devices, and not delve into his secrets, consider it done. And I doubt the other soldiers suspect him of harboring secrets. That I only inferred from your manner."

"Good," I replied, somewhat relieved. But this question had reminded me of another problem we would face, and possibly were facing right now: who would Aragorn serve when he did come to Minas Tirith? Would he offer his sword to Father, planning to keep his right hid until a more meet time? Would he go straight to him and tell him who he was, and it was time to surrender the throne to the hope unlooked-for? And if so-- what would Father do?

"...could again. Sir?" I blinked and looked at Mablung, who was staring at me in mingled concern and annoyance. "Did you hear me, sir?"

"Sorry, Mablung, I didn't," I confessed. "I was pondering Aragorn, and how well he would fit in in Minas Tirith."

Mablung nodded and recapped what he'd just informed me of. An Orc attack, just two nights ago. Nothing serious, just a lone scout or two lobbing arrows at the guards on the walls; one guard had taken an arrow in his shoulder, but he was in the infirmary and expected to live-- the arrow was not poisoned. The Orcs had not been sighted, as it was a cloudy night under a young moon, and at dawn they had left no obvious trace.

"But for such a small force to attack makes no logical sense," I mused aloud. "All it can possibly do is alert you to a possible attack later on. They had no need to fire arrows at you to see how many men you might have on the battlements. Unless-- unless they were testing your strength solely to see if you might contest a crossing farther south." Mablung nodded, and I shook my head again. "But there is no crossing farther south that is not already well-protected; Osgiliath will put up all the fight it can and needs not Cair Andros to help it. It makes no sense."

"Perhaps they do plan an attack later, and wish us to be prepared." I stared at him.

"What?"

"I mean, prepared as one prepares meat. Jittery and anxious, so as to be an easier target."

"Easier than caught unawares? No, it is senseless." Then I recalled something and stiffened. "Which side did they attack from, Mablung?"

He frowned at that. "Now that you mention it, they attacked from the west side. But they were Orcs-- Orcish arrows and cries, at any rate. And Orcs do sometimes raid across the river, in just such small parties; we ascribed it to an attempt to surprise us on the wrong side."

"Could I see the arrow?" Mablung shrugged.

"The healer may have kept it, I know not. But we can go and look if you wish."

"Lead the way," I answered. I was becoming worried about the Orcs we had met at Amon Hen; Aragorn had determined they owed allegiance to Saruman, and if so, and these were of the same... what of Rohan? I strode off after Mablung towards the infirmary.