Chapter 21:
Chainmail, the newest fashion trend
You would think it typical that the horrors of Sauron would be hidden away from the eyes of children, not shoved in their faces. You would also think that a king would listen to the most trusted and wisest of advisors, but Theoden does the exact opposite of that. Maybe it is his choices that forces these children into war, young boys with not a heart to kill another creature.
And thus, with each tear of a mother, shout of a father, and hug of a sibling, I feel the pain of the Rohirrim people as half departs into the caves, leaving the men to die upon this muddy ground. These men are the ones who now surround me, deep in the fortified armory, and yet, penetrable given the size of Saruman's force. Everything will fall in the end, after all. It is just a matter of time.
"Farmer, farriers, stable boys. These are no soldiers," Aragorn grumbles, feeling the same aching pain as do the Phoenicians. Whereas ours derives from our superior instincts and emotions, Aragorn has a hereditary care for the common and good race of man. And thus, it is no wonder why he feels for these broken families.
"We don't need soldiers, we need men of virtue. The greatest warriors aren't those who fight for vocation, but those who fight for the innocent people of Middle Earth.," Boromir remarks from a corner of the armory, heaving a chest plate into place while prompting the large portion of our Fellowship to gape. Where is this man who just a few weeks prior took such pride in his occupation as a general and soldier? Where is the man so willing to jump into violence? This is surely not him.
"Most have seen too many winters," Gimli cuts in after the man and in response to Aragorn. And whereas the others turn to his new words, my eyes are still stuck on Boromir as his slate orbs finally come to meet my own. It is strange how the Phoenician rebirth and blood can so change a man. And yet, I do believe that Boromir always had this wisdom in him, just scattered under his loyalty to Gondor and his father.
"Or too few. Look at them. They're frightened. I can see it in their eyes," Legolas remarks, effectively snapping both Boromir and me out of our trance. If the elf prince is trying to reassure them of their strength, he is surely failing. Maybe this is why he's always so silent...maybe he's theologically insensitive.
"You treat fear like a weakness, when it is, perhaps, the greatest will to survive," Ruelin responds with a hint of irritation. Whatever was visibly occuring between the pair of them is obviously absent in this moment, as Legolas looks far from apologetic and Ruelin seems to get angrier by the second. And to make matters worse, the Rohan men and soldiers fall to silence around us.
"Boe a hûn: neled herain dan caer menig! {And they should be... Three hundred against ten thousand!}" Legolas grumbles in an infuriated tone that is so unlike his character. I understand where his anger derives, but that does not mean it is fitting to take it out on the men of Rohan rather than Theoden. He's lucky I don't have his head on a stick.
"Si beriathar hýn. Amar nâ ned Edoras {They have more hope of defending themselves here than at Edoras}," Aragorn responds in the elvish language. Honestly, their continual relapse into secrecy is driving me up a wall.
"I really need to learn Sindarin," Frerin remarks, seeing as he didn't attempt to learn when I was taking lessons. Of course, he thought about joining me, but that was all thrown out the window along with the Book of Sindarin and Regional Dialects. If I couldn't learn it, Frerin definitely does not have the attention span for it.
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Of Dwarves and Men {Boromir/LOTR}
Fanfiction"Now I lay me down to sleep I pray the lords my soul to keep See me safely through the night And wake me with the morning light" ...and though that morning light is but a ghost on the Eastern horizon, it is one onto which we cling. In this dark age...