DEFINING MOMENT

Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

TA 3018

Ithilien

How could something so beautiful grow so near Minas Morgul? The day's fight had worn heavily on Faramir, and he drooped in weariness. But he couldn't stop now. He had to keep going. Faramir groaned and winced as his breath hitched. He had no time to remove his jerkin; it was to be worn at all times. No one knew what would happen in Ithilien or what dangers lurked there.

He slipped through the slopes and bushes. His father would disapprove, and even Boromir would frown a little disapprovingly on him, but viewing the pearly pureness of the flowers in the valley gave him a sense of peace and restfulness. The valley bloomed with white flowers, fresh and beautiful. They raised their petals to drink in the last rays of the sun. He stood staring at them. Somehow, this beauty reminded him that there was always good to be found in times of evil.

He needed that reminder more than ever. As Captain as the Rangers, Faramir's task was to harass any Haradrim that passed through, and shoot at any Orcs. He and his men were the best archers in Gondor, with skill to match the Elves. They moved silently and swiftly through the deserted forests, valleys, and mountains, missing nothing. And his host of men proved to be a match for the armies that marched through Ithilien.

How was Boromir faring? Faramir rubbed his shoulder, trying not to wince as the mail chinks dug into his skin. His brother had long ago proved himself a worthy warrior, and was now leading the armies of Gondor. There were rumors of coming attacks, and Boromir had been ordered to leave Ered Lithui and march to Osgiliath to regroup and get some rest.

If he were wise, Faramir would think about getting some rest at the moment. His eyes drooped in weariness, and he felt hollow inside, physically, from not enough food. Tomorrow he and some of his men would leave for Osgiliath, as Denethor had commanded him to do. The hidden headquarters of Ithilien were low on supplies, and he needed information as well. Judging from the more frequent attacks he and his men had been making, Mordor was planning something. And it was no small plan.

Faramir took one last look at the valley, drinking in the beauty of it all. He turned to leave.

۞۞۞

The winds howl and cover the East with terrible evil. The clouds darken to black and touch beautiful Arda, burning and charring it. Everything living and glorious fades to lifeless and black. Lighting flashes in the sky, electrifying it like claws. Thunder rumbles, growing continuously louder and frightening all the winged creatures in the air. They fall to the ground, dead. All that remains in the East is blackened earth and bleak, lightening-filled sky.

The darkness soon spreads to the four corners of Arda—lo, in the West. Hope still clings to life, faint though it is. There is a pale light, tinged with blue on the edges, but remaining warm and inviting in the center.

A voice with the strength of a thousand swords comes from the light.

Seek for the Sword that was broken:

In Imladris it dwells;

There shall be counsels taken

Stronger than Morgul-spells.

There shall be shown a token

That Doom is near at hand,

For Isildur's Bane shall waken,

And the Halfling forth shall stand.

۞۞۞

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