Fulca and the Resting of Boromir

Part 2

Not an hour later, Fulca had readied his bag on the back of his large horse.  Its saddles displayed the green crest of Rohan, an image of a proud stallion to represent his kingdom.  Fulca noticed that the leather was becoming worn and tattered, its colours fading, not unlike the kingdom of Rohan itself. 

A dark power had settled itself back into Middle Earth, and Fulca could feel the cold slender fingers of Mordor twist around his heart.  His king had become cruel and cold, hardly an echo of who he once was.  Theoden was no longer concerned with the well-being of his kingdom, his mind instead focusing on more ill deeds.  Fulca glanced around at the other riders.  Less than two hundred.  Far less than would be needed if Sauron’s armies found their way to Edoras. 

“Ride now!”, called Eomer, somewhere in the crowd of riders, jolting Fulca from his thoughts.  Fulca mounted his large fair horse and waited for the other men to ride ahead, following behind.  The men rode for a little more than an hour.  They passed on the left of the East wall, and Fulca looked up at the fair sky.  He then turned his head to the West towards Isengard.  He could see a red glow settling over the mountain, resembling a sunset, but much fouler, and with a cruel likeness.  Fulca set his eyes straight ahead, deciding instead to focus on their destination, the Norrofts.  Fulca guessed it to be only two leagues away now, and grew grateful that they had rode so far that day without encountering any orcs.  The Rohirrim, receiving no command from their king, took it upon themselves to hunt any orcs passing into their borders

Eomer circled the fields of Norroft twice, his eyes darting across the grassland as he scanned for enemies.  When he was satisfied with the area's safety, he led his horse onto the field. 

The riders stopped not far from the Falls of Rauros, and a sweet stream trickled through the land near where the riders began to ignite their fires.  While the other men concerned themselves with their herbs and taters, preparing their second meal of the day, Fulca found himself uninterested in eating with the others.  His head was filled with worries and anxieties.  He busied himself by wandering up the stream, his heavy leather boots sinking slightly in the soft muddy land surrounding the small river.  He remembered learning from his mother that this river ran through Lothlorien, home of elves, so its water was clearer and sweeter than that of any other.  The further Fulca waded, the wider the river became, opening its mouth as if to swallow him whole, and Fulca continued to walk.  Eventually, he wandered down to the very edge of the river, bending his knees to crouch down, his chain armour ringing in response to the movement.  Fulca let his hand fall into the water while the other found its way to his scruffy beard as he thought. Fulca spread his fingers in the water, allowing the pure liquid to flow through them, and took a calming breath.

Suddenly, his eyes widened and he pulled his hand back as he saw something long and shimmering in the water.  The light bounced off the object clearly and patterns of sunlight danced on the surface of the stream.  It appeared to be lodged in a decaying log just below the surface.  Fulca leaned out over the river, attempting to dislodge the object, and he may have fallen in had he not held onto the branch of a small tree on the shore.  As Fulca grasped the end of the object, he immediately knew what he was holding.  His hand settled on the hilt familiarly and with a practiced motion.  From the cold stream, Fulca pulled a long and shimmering sword.  He held it up to the light to examine the weapon.  The steel was well crafted, with an intricate base.  The metal twisted to resemble tree branches as it crawled up the side of the blade.  Fulca concluded that it was crafted by a man, but the characters written up the middle of the sword were not that of Rohan.

“Gondor”, Fulca whispered to himself in disbelief.  This fine blade had come from Gondor, but if this was the case, how would it have made it into the Falls of Rauros.  Nonetheless, Fulca sheathed the sword and walked back to camp, his recent discovery waiting to be presented to the captain of the mark.