Of Dwarves and Men {Boromir/LOTR}

Chapter 32: The Road Less Taken...since it's haunted

Chapter 32:

The Road Less Taken...since it's haunted

    The Road to Dunharrow is not nearly as long as the Rohirrim claim, arriving just hours before sunset and eight hours since we left Edoras.  It's a remarkable scene, with switch-backs climbing up the mountainside, enough to scar those with the fear of heights.  It is a good thing I am used to the extreme elevation, my heart belonging to the sky just like my aviary form.

    After many complaints on the part of Gimli, we arrive at the crest of the mountainous camp, gazing over the vast numbers of soldiers and warriors.  Trees climb above the many tents, giving us idle cover for the war preparations in full swing.  Men and animals alike move through the shy passageways between tents, conversing and eating as if it is a normal day.  But tomorrow, we must go to war, no matter how many men arrive.

"Grimbold, how many?" Theoden asks from slightly ahead, looking to a human as we pass by on our horses.  The Fellowship has arranged itself near the front with Theoden, wishing to give him key advice and stay in the loop on preparations.  And thus, Aragorn rides closest to Theoden with Frerin, Ruelin, Boromir and me close behind.  We are the most invested in this war, after all.

"I bring five hundred men from the Westfold, my Lord," he replies, looking hesitant at this number.  Another man adds in with "three hundred more from Fenmarch, Theoden, King."

I can only sigh at these numbers, seeing as they are just enough to break through the lines of the orcish marauders, nonetheless defeat the enemy.  However, I doubt this coming battle will decide our eternal fate upon this earth, seeing as Frodo has yet to destroy the Ring.  There will be more battles to come, and I can only hope we can find further help.

"Where are the riders from Snowbourne?" Theoden asks, looking to his leading advisor, Gamling, who looks hardened at this notion.

"None have come, My Lord," the man replies, prompting a chorus of sighs from our mass of company.  I shake my head in the slightest, letting voices float around me with little acknowledgement.  I blindly follow the others deeper into the camoflage and closer to the mountain.  We dismount near the mountainous base, following after Theoden, as he makes camp in the grandest of tents.  Our tents are delegated to us, one per four people, and nearest the side of Theoden's own fort.  Gimli, Legolas, Boromir and Aragorn are assigned the first one, as Ruelin, Frerin and myself take the second.  But as Frerin remarks, this is likely to change, despite the Rohirrim protests on propriety, as Ruelin and Legolas commonly sleep near each other and Boromir and I sleep like a couple.  This is war after all, and we need all the comfort we can get.

After paying heed to staking my claim on a bed, I move from the tent and out into the darkening sun.  From the corner of my eye, I notice Aragorn's ascent to a bluff overlooking our camp, heading in the direction of Theoden.  Taking this as my signal to interfere, only naturally, I launch myself into the air, flying towards the two who look less than shocked.  Switching back to my dwarven form, I listen in to the conversation, tension arising in waves from both Theoden and Aragorn.

"Six thousand spears . . . less than half of what I had hoped for," Theoden remarks grimly, prompting Aragorn to turn towards the man of Rohan.  I take my time in crouching near the two, upon a rock a small distance away, giving them the space that they need.

"Six thousand will not be enough to break the lines of Mordor," Aragorn honestly responds, though I do not necessarily agree with him.  This time, we will not be fighting the Uruk Hai of Saruman, but the plebeian orcs of Sauron.  We have enough soldiers to break the line, though how much farther we will get, I am not quite sure.