Immortalitui // Faramir 🥀

Chapter Twenty-Seven - Pierced

Word Count: 2,214 words. 

Warnings: Sadness. 

Arathiel sat on the shore as Aragorn dragged the boats onto the sand. Another fire had been lit, one that was still reaching for a spark. Merry walked away to gather more wood as Pippin stoked the pile with a long branch.

"We cross the lake at nightfall," he told them. "Hide the boats and continue on foot. We approach Mordor from the North."

The she-elf simply observed the conversation. Gimli replied.

"Oh yes?" he posed. "Just a simple matter of finding our way through Emyn Muil... an impassable labyrinth of razor-sharp rocks. And after that, it get's even better. Festering, stinking marshland as far as the eye can see."

Aragorn paused, turning his gaze to Arathiel for a moment. She only titled her head. She would not answer for him.

"That is our road," Strider told him. "I suggest you take some rest and recover your strength, Master Dwarf."

"Recover my –"

"Gimli," Arathiel warned gently, casting her gaze to him. He mumbled to himself.

"Is it truly impassable?" Pippin asked the woman beside him.

She smiled. "I have done it once before, and so no Pippin, it is not."

Gimli scoffed beside her. "I beg your pardon my lady, but you, an undefeated warrior is not the only one journeying through. These Hobbits are no warriors."

Arathiel noticed Pippin's downcast look then. Merry's too. Gimli had meant no offense by his words, but she doubted that the young ones had taken it as that. Dwarves were direct and practical, Gimli son of Gloin more so than most.

"Where is Frodo?" Merry spoke up.

Within seconds, Arathiel was searching for the one that bore the Ring. When she did not see the young Hobbit, she grew worried. Eyes casting over the others, she then noticed that the son of Gondor was missing, his shield resting against a nearby tree. There was a single look shared between Arathiel and Aragorn before then were running past the treeline of the lake and into the forest.

ᵜᵜᵜᵜᵜ

She searched for their footsteps in the leave-covered ground, running faster than those who followed could. She worried for Frodo, aware of the darkness that lay within Boromir. He would not wish to harm the Hobbit, but when the Ring took hold of a man's mind, there was no such thing as control.

"Arathiel!" Boromir called and her head turned quickly.

"Where is Frodo?" she asked, rushing for the Gondorian.

He was shaking his head, hand running through his hair. "I could not resist."

"Boromir," she tried again, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Where is he?" The fear was eating its way inside of her now.

"Gone," he breathed. "He vanished. Oh Arathiel, that thing is evil."

She nodded, turning in her spot. "This world is evil," she corrected.

"Hey! Over here!" a baiting call echoed through the forest. Then, Arathiel heard the marching of Orcs.

"That was one of the Hobbit's," Boromir told her.

Without another thought, her sword was unsheathed and she ran for the hill, diving over it as the Orc's rushed for Merry and Pippin. Turing in the air, her blade sliced the face of the creature and it collapsed at her feet landed on the ground.