Chapter 6. A Sad Truth

Anxious to be on their way as soon as possible, the two men had risen well before the black of the night sky was banished by the pastel hues on the horizon that heralded the dawn. Elwyn and Dareth were still sleeping and, having no wish to disturb their rest, Aragorn and Boromir had dressed in silence, offering each other a nod and a friendly smile in place of mutual ‘good mornings’. The Ranger and the Steward’s son had not lost sight of the importance and the urgency of their quest, but in the brief time they had been away, a rapport that would be of great value in the days ahead was slowly developing. Neither man needed to voice the concern for their friends that was easily read in the other’s eyes.

“I expect our companions are camped some distance ahead. Gandalf knows we will have no trouble catching up to them,” Aragorn said as he buckled his sword and then   watched in silent amusement as the pastries were carefully wrapped in several cloths before being stowed in a small box Elwyn had provided along with a simple morning meal of bread and cheese.

“I dare not offer treats that are damaged,” Boromir explained defensively in answer to the raised eyebrow, but with the flicker of a smile on his lips. Aragorn made no reply, instead he walked over to the makeshift bed near the hearth and checked the sleeping child’s ankle, nodding with satisfaction when he saw the swelling had gone down, and the bruising already beginning to discolour. He moved towards the door, and seeing they were now ready to leave, Boromir placed two silver coins on the table. With a wave of his hand, he ushered Aragorn out into the early morning mist, the twinkle of mischief in the would-be king’s eyes not passing unnoticed.

“You have taken great care with your gift for the hobbits, yet I can not help but think that even if the pies crumble into tiny pieces our friends will still appreciate them. In fact, I believe that we will have no trouble finding our hungry companions should the scent of the pastries reach them,” Aragorn chuckled, clapping his friend on the shoulder in a display of comradeship that came far more easily the longer they spent time together.

“Aye, ‘tis indeed the truth you speak,” Boromir laughed, returning the gesture in kind. Despite the gravity of their quest and the dark path that lay ahead, both men were finding the light hearted banter to be a most enjoyable and welcome change. Neither man was naïve, and both knew that their differences would resurface later and lead to conflict, harsh words and ill feelings, just as they knew their volatile relationship would survive much damage because they were fast becoming good friends.

The early morning mist still hung low over the water when they reached the riverbank where Berim was already waiting, but it was not thick enough to delay their crossing. Handing his pack to Aragorn with a look that suggested the ranger had best take good care of the contents, Boromir helped push the boat into the water then offered to take an oar. Berim readily agreed when he saw how skilfully the obviously experienced boatman handled it.

 “Can you show me where your sister’s husband would most likely have gone to hunt?” Aragorn asked when they had reached the opposite shore, beached the craft and secured it to a fallen log that lay conveniently at the water’s edge.

“Many men have spent days searching for him already,” Berim replied, looking a little dubiously at Aragorn with a scowl that suggested affront. He did not see the amused smirk directed at the ranger, nor the answering exasperated roll of eyes.

“Despite his weather worn appearance, rest assured that my ranger friend is a skilled tracker. If your brother is to found, he will do so.” Boromir’s tone of voice echoed his confidence in his words and Berim nodded agreement.

“Weather worn? Have you looked at yourself lately? Who is wearing naught but his underclothes?” Aragorn hissed as he drew Boromir aside. He was not really angry, but was also not prepared to let the slight on his appearance pass without comment.

“But made of the finest linen in Gondor, I will have you know,” Boromir retorted haughtily, smoothing the crumpled tunic as best he could.  Both men dissolved into laughter ant their own foolishness, catching Berim’s attention.

“This is the path that leads to a wooded area where deer are often seen,” he called from up ahead, wondering what amused his companions but wisely deciding not to ask.

Not so much a path, but a trail of sorts where the undergrowth was slightly more flattened, Aragorn thought as he took the lead. After some time, he left the others and veered off to move among the trees, stopping occasionally to look some minute trace of the hunter, or to listen to nameless voices in the air. Boromir knew that Legolas often spoke with the trees and he wondered if Aragorn had also learned the elvish skill.

“What is he doing?” Berim asked, his doubts resurfacing after they had stopped for a third time. They were well within the murky depths of thickly wooded forest now, the trees so close together that neither hunter nor prey would be able to move freely in a chase.

This forest reminded Boromir somewhat of Ithilien, and he found his thoughts drifted briefly to another ranger that he knew, one he saw not often enough. Faramir had similar skills as a tracker and he smiled fondly as he imagined the meeting of the two Rangers who undoubtedly had much in common.

“I honestly can not say,” Boromir replied returning his attention to the present, silently berating himself for allowing his mind to wander when he should be keeping alert for danger. He truly had no answer, but trusted Aragorn’s ability nevertheless, as he had done since they left Rivendell.  As they watched, the ranger bent to pick up a small object and after searching amongst the long undergrowth for a few more minutes, finally made his way back to where Berim and Boromir were standing.

“What do you make of this?” he asked, carefully handing the black arrowhead to his companion. Boromir recognised it instantly, and despite the fact that he wore gloves, he took the undoubtedly poisoned weapon by the end that was still attached to an inch or two of wooden shaft.

“Orcs!” He hissed with obvious hatred for his enemy, catching Aragorn’s eye. They exchanged a very worried glance, filled with concern for the rest of the Fellowship. They had as yet not encountered any of the evil creatures, and whilst Legolas and Gimli were skilled warriors, yet even with the aid  Gandalf’s wizardry, they would find the task of defending the small group difficult at best if they were attacked. Orcs normally travelled in large numbers, and to the best of the men’s knowledge, had never been seen this far north.

“Aye, and they passed through here not more than a week ago,” Aragorn stated with a hint of trepidation, his meaning plain to Boromir. They needed to rejoin Gandalf and the others as soon as possible and warn them of the danger.

“What are these… orcs? Are they the evil creatures the farmers spoke about, the ones you warned them to be wary of?” Berim asked. Never having been further than the hunting ground, and living in such an isolated village, his ignorance was understandable.

“Aye, they are dangerous, savage and cruel creatures, well known to carry what remains of their victims away,” Boromir said, hoping to ease the shock  by hinting at the fate of the man rather than speaking it plainly. He spoke in the soft and compassionate voice he always used when returning to a family news of death rather than a living son, brother or husband. No matter how many times this sad duty had fallen to him, it always caused an ache in his heart for those left behind. The pain he felt was well concealed, but Aragorn sensed it and place his hand on Boromir’s arm, offering what little comfort he could.

“Then he is lost and my sister is a widow?” Berim stated sadly, clearly understanding the words not spoken and not really surprised to learn the awful truth. Aragorn nodded and with a growl of outrage, cast the arrowhead angrily aside.

“We will see you safely to your boat and then my friend and I must be on our way,” Boromir told the now grieving man.

“Please tell Elwyn and Dareth we are grateful for all they have done for us, and how deeply we grieve with them for their loss,” Aragorn said as he handed Berim the oars.

“I will, and I thank you both… I know not what to call you for you have never told us your names,” the villager suddenly realised.

“Nor will we, for the safety of all,” Aragorn replied enigmatically.

“Aye, ‘tis best you forget two nameless rangers ever crossed your path,” Boromir added.

“As you wish, safe journey,” Berim said as he stepped into his boat and began rowing.

“Farewell,” Boromir whispered, his voice husky with unshed tears as he thought of the delightful child waiting for a father who would never return.

The two men, their playful mood drowned in the sorrow of their gruesome and dangerous discovery, watched in silence until Berim was safely across.

“Come, Boromir, we must find the others before night falls,” Aragorn said, gently rousing his friend from his melancholy, knowing both had to turn their minds from thinking of the sad scene yet to be played out across the river to following their footsteps inland.