What secrets are you hiding from me, Sauron?
The black globe of the palantir did not react. It sat deceptively still and innocent on its special stand, looking nothing more than a decorative ornament. Tentatively, Denethor moved his hands towards the palantir ... but just as quickly he withdrew them, clenching his hands into fists as he did so. If he was to use it now, at the eve of Boromir’s surprise attack against the Corsairs, Sauron would be warned and Boromir’s plans would be ashes.
Yet … Denethor frowned, remembering Faramir’s words. Could the attacks by the Easterlings and the Corsairs be a diversion? Were Faramir’s words true, then? That Endh Aes was in danger and we are truly blind to the enemy’s true plans? And how is it that Faramir possessed the foresight of our ancestors and had unthinkingly kept that gift hidden from me?
And if it is so, he had hidden it to Gondor’s peril. Denethor scowled at that. If he had this gift, he would tell me! He knew better than that! But then, Faramir’s actions were often foolish and driven by his heart instead of his mind. It would not surprise me that he had hidden it from me. It only proved that Boromir was indeed the better man of the two.
He sighed with irritation. He knew too much about the foresight of their ancestors to ignore Faramir’s warnings, but his son’s last-minute information about Endh Aes left him with little time to prepare. His foolishness may have cost them precious time!
Denethor called one of his servants forth while he quickly penned his instructions on a piece of parchment. He ignored the servant’s questions for a while as he studied what he had written. Once satisfied, he rolled the parchment and gave it to the man.
“I want this message delivered to the Tower Guards. Be quick!” he barked.
* * *
“Captain? What is it?”
Faramir roused from the dark memories of his confrontation with Boromir and cursed himself for his carelessness. He could not afford to lose concentration, not now!
It took him half a day to ride from Minas Tirith to Ithillien, and another few more hours to reach Endh Aes with his men. His body ached with weariness, but he felt compelled to hurry thanks to some invisible sense in him.
They were now on a hill overlooking Endh Aes. The ripe harvest had given the vast fields of the farmlands a golden hue and in the light of the setting sun, it was an awesome sight – miles and miles of gold that never seemed to end. Food for Gondor. Gondor’s sustenance.
His grip on his bow tightened and he bit his lip. He could sense that his men were confused and restless. They were worried, most of all, that he had withdrawn them from Ithillien, leaving it unprotected. His actions were irrational, and Faramir wondered at the loyalty of his men that they would follow him on such a foolhardy quest.
The village at the bottom of the hill was still, a seemingly deserted village – yet Faramir knew that it was a thriving community of forty families. Elenh, it was called, and it is one of the many villages which surrounded Endh Aes – again, a problem as Faramir could not recall which village was under attack. Yet instinct had led him here, one of ten villages on Endh Aes. By some providence of the Valar, Faramir knew from the moment he arrived at this spot that this village will be in danger.
It was too quiet. It was dusk, but it should be bustling with activity already. Women should be walking around the village square, getting ready for dinner. Children should be playing on the streets. The men would’ve been hauling in the oxen from the fields or heading back to their homes. Instead, the village square was curiously deserted.
Suddenly, they saw it – a wisp of smoke from the far-east corner of the village, barely discernable to the eye.
He felt his men moving around him stealthily.
“Captain, I see movement!” whispered Leflin. And just as he said it, they saw dark, misshapen shapes move from the darkness at the end of the village. They dragged with them numerous captives – men, women, children. Screams and weeping filled the air, and they mingled with raucous voices of the orcs. How they had remained silent before puzzled them all, but Faramir was too troubled by the number of orcs he spied to care – about fifty to sixty orcs. His heart wilted at the number.
“But word would have been sent if orcs were seen leagues from here! It is impossible that they have breached the outer defences! Why are they here?” asked another ranger.
“They plan to burn the harvest,” Faramir replied softly.
Soft gasps from his men.
“That would be–” Leflin started.
“Devastating,” Faramir finished for him. He turned to his men, who stared, horrified, at him. “Now you know why I’ve brought you here. Under no circumstances must you allow the orcs to reach the fields! Not a single torch must touch the wheat, or it would be over.”
He felt a terrible stillness in his men. They need not voice their fear for him to understand it. There were only fifteen of them. Could their numbers be enough to prevent this disaster? All it took was an orc to get past their arrows to set light to the harvest and the dry wheat would be the kindle to a great bonfire that would bring disaster to them all.
“Alrahir,” he murmured, gesturing towards the youngest ranger in the group. Cautiously the youth crept towards him, his body tight with anticipation. So young, yet he is already one of his best trackers. “I want you to go down to the village with me.”
“Captain! It is dangerous! You will be outnumbered!” hissed Leflin.
He merely gripped Leflin’s shoulder in response. “I will be careful. We must do what we must. You have your orders,” he said sternly.
His men stared at him in shock and denial, but they were trained soldiers and he knew that they would obey.
With one last look at his men, Faramir turned and ran with Alrahir into the village, hoping to rescue a little boy and his mother, and countless other villagers, from a ghastly death.
* * *
“Agh! Better to roast them here than to drag them back to Mordor!” shouted an orc gleefully.
The other orcs laughed at that. They laughed even louder when the villagers began to cry out in fear.
“Those scum!” Alrahir hissed under his breath. Faramir could only nod grimly.
The orcs had gathered the villagers in the village square. Some were assigned to guard the villagers, others were stacking wood and kindle in various places around the square. Faramir felt bile rise in his throat as he realised what they were for. Fire to burn the harvest. But most of all, fire to roast their captives!
Faramir and Alrahir were hidden in the dense brush around the square. Both had their daggers drawn. Faramir scanned the faces of the villagers for the face of the woman and the boy. His heart dropped when he could not find them. Was he too late then?
He searched his memories for details from his dream. And he then remembered that he could not see the sky where the woman and child was held captive. They were somewhere where there was a roof. A house?
Alrahir saw that he had become unsettlingly quiet, but he patiently studied the face of his Captain for signs of sudden enlightenment. Over the months that he had come to be stationed here, he had grown in awe of his Captain’s wisdom and uncanny foresight into their enemy’s plans. And often before telling them of the enemy’s plan, this strange look would pass on his face.
Alrahir was taken aback when Faramir suddenly clutched his shoulder.
“We must move. Come, Alrahir,” Faramir touched his arm lightly and they crept around the village.
It was the raucous laughter that attracted them to the cottage next to the hill. Stealthily, they crept up to the house and discreetly peered through the window.
A woman was huddled in a corner, holding a young boy in her arms. Faramir held his breath and then released it in relief. It was the woman and the child in his dreams! They were not yet dead.
The woman was unbound, and she was weeping and trembling violently from fear. But the three orcs, who were busy piling wood at the centre of the cottage, ignored their prey as they laughed among themselves.
It only took a brief look between Faramir and Alrahir to communicate what they needed to do. A quick look around the vicinity revealed that the area was deserted. Perhaps these orcs lacked the discipline to follow orders; hence they had decided to foolishly stray away and enjoy themselves first. It didn’t matter why they were here, speed was needed if Faramir and Alrahir were to remain unnoticed. They crept to the door of the cottage and then cast a quick look into the cottage. Faramir nodded at Alrahir, and with the deadly quiet speed of a ranger trained in the ways of ambush, they hurled their daggers into the throats of two of the orcs. The third orc, surprised by the sounds of the bodies hitting the ground, reached for his rusty blade, but too late – by the time he got the blade out, his head had been severed from its neck by Faramir’s sword.
The women lay paralysed in her corner, staring at them with fearful blue eyes. Faramir approached her cautiously and placed a finger to his lips, communicating to her that they needed to be quiet. She nodded and clutched her son to her bosom, silent tears running down her face. Faramir studied the boy, expecting to find the haunted look of the young child in his dreams. Instead, inquisitive blue eyes peered at him from beneath his mother’s arms. Then a tentative smile appeared and Faramir had to smile in return.
“We must go,” he whispered to the woman. She was only too glad to comply. Alrahir helped her up and they made their way to the door. But before they could leave, the woman suddenly gripped Faramir’s arm.
“My lady?”
“I remember … no, you must come and see this! It’s important!” she whispered harshly. She pulled them out of the door and then to the back of the house. There, she crept low and pointed to something on the ground behind the cottage.
The darkness made it difficult to make out, but the more he strained his eyes, the more he realised what he was seeing.
“A sewage hole?” he asked in disbelief. The sewage hole was big enough for two or three men to creep through. Its intricate designs went against the simpler ones of Gondor’s current architecture. Something about it sparked a memory in Faramir, and he realised that he had seen the style of architecture before. A brief memory returned, of a time spent in the library in Minas Tirith browsing through the archives of the King of Gondor during the terrible plague in Osgiliath.
“They came through there, my Lord. A few days ago, the ground caved in and the hole suddenly appeared. We thought nothing of it, to our folly!” the woman whispered. Her voice trembled with fear. Suddenly, she gasped. “I hear them coming!”
She was right. He could hear faint noises from the hole of an approaching horde. He finally understood how they made it pass the tower guard at Rammas Echor and the border towers – they came through this hole, possibly part of an ancient sewer which connected Endh Aes to a distant city – perhaps near Mordor. This could mean that Mordor could easily have access to this supposedly well-protected area of Gondor. The ramifications of it chilled his blood.
The woman cried out when she saw a hand appear at the edge of the hole, and Faramir pulled them away. They ran towards the hill where the rangers were, but as they ran, the sounds of running feet became louder and louder.
“They’re escaping!” a guttural voice cried out.
Faramir glanced back briefly to see an orc hissing angrily at him. Behind him, orcs were pouring out of the hole in packs, pushing at each other impatiently to get to them. When they saw their fleeing prey, they began scramble and run towards them.
“Quickly! Hurry!” he called out to the woman. Faramir took the boy in his arms and ran, but he knew that they would not be able to make it – not with the woman and the child in his arms slowing them down. They needed time.
Faramir knew then what he had to do.
He stopped them and then handed the boy to Alrahir. The young ranger’s eyes widened when he realised what Faramir meant to do. “No, Captain!” he hissed.
“Leave! Now!” Faramir barked, pushing the man towards the hill. “Do not let them take the harvest, Alrahir!”
Alrahir stared at his commander in denial, but he knew that every second was precious and that Faramir could buy them the precious time to escape and hopefully distract them long enough so that they would not follow Alrahir to the rangers’ perch.
“May the Valar be with you, Captain!” he cried. The woman cast Faramir a disbelieving look, but Alrahir urged her forward before she could say anything. Together, they ran up the hill into the safety of the forest where he knew the rangers would do their best to protect them.
Once they were gone, Faramir felt fear assail him once more. Lifting his sword, which had suddenly become so heavy, he faced the thunderous sounds of the approaching orc army.
His eyes widened when he saw them approach – there must be at least a hundred or more orcs coming his way.
The orcs saw him, and they rushed towards him, their eyes burning with hatred, their weapons raised for the kill.
And Faramir could only lift his sword in challenge, and tried to calm his racing heart.
For Father. For Boromir!
With a cry, he ran towards his death.
* * *
The rangers had begun their attack. It did not take the orcs long to start the fire, and when they began to advance towards the fields, Ancar, a grizzled veteran who had seen many years of service with the rangers, had barked out orders for them to fire. Arrows rained down on the orcs, and many died, but it did not seem to deter them as more kept firing up their torches and start running to the fields.
When Alrahir returned with a woman and child by his side, the rangers noted Faramir’s absence almost immediately.
“Where is the Captain?!” barked Ancar.
Alrahir shook his head violently. “He is in the village. He wanted us to escape!” he cried in dismay. “I need to return to him! He cannot be there alone fighting the orcs!” He made to turn but Ancar grabbed his arm.
“Not so fast, pup! What were his commands?”
Alrahir could not see past the film of tears in his eyes. “To not let the orcs take the harvest.”
“Then you know what to do, ranger! Dare you defy the Captain’s orders?” Ancar growled.
“But the Captain! There are too many of them! He cannot hope to win against them! We cannot let him perish like this!”
Ancar’s lips thinned into a grim line. “I know,” and for a moment, tears also clouded the man’s eyes, but then he snapped: “We have our orders. Now do yours!” he pushed the younger man brusquely towards the rest of the rangers.”
The young woman exchanged a sorrowful look with Alrahir, but then the battle for Endh Aes truly began in earnest and they had no more time for sorrow.