Stories of Arda Home Page
About Us News Resources Login Become a member Help Search
swiss replica watches replica watches uk Replica Rolex DateJust Watches

The Rider: Pestilence  by Branwyn

For many long minutes, Boromir of Gondor stood, hands clenched on the black stone, eyes blank and unseeing. He felt a heat begin to emanate from the stone, traveling up his fingers, warming his arms, filling all his body with warmth. He was no longer aware of his surroundings, though dimly, he felt another presence near him...and power. All was dark, except for the slightest red glow. It was almost like a dream, when one feels disoriented and drifting on an unknown tide, not quite sure of where one is, or what he was doing before. And just like a dream that changes suddenly with no warning, he was thrust into a new setting!

Where before had only been darkness and heat, now rolling plains extended for leagues; the green grass waving in a soft breeze like the waves on the sea in the Bay of Belfalas that he had seen in his visits to Dol Amroth. Rohan! There could be no doubt where the stone had taken him, yet Boromir had never traveled to this place. He held no memory of the rolling plains, only broken by a silver stream near a single tree. There were piles of rocks in the distance...and then a dark tree line that could be Fangorn forest. He had seen it briefly on the horizon on his journey to Isengard, though this vista was new and unknown.

Almost he could hear the wind, smell the fresh grass, and yet, it was not tangible. He was not really there, only seeing it as if actually was.

Then, a disembodied voice began to speak in dulcet tones. "What do you see?"

In this place, with his mind so engaged by what he saw, the voice was soothing, compelling. And so, he answered, "A grassy plain...a tree beside a stream, rocks...and a distant wood..."

:-:-:-:-:-:

Led to his guest quarters by a servant, Eomund entered, shut the door and paced, irritated, but unable to remember why. It was for the best, was it not, letting Lord Boromir find a way to cure the herds? Yet...an uneasiness had settled upon him since the wizard mentioned those seeing stones. But with no explanation for it, there was little he could do...except pace.

An hour passed, or he supposed. It was hard to tell how much time passed in this place. It was eerie, the lack of windows. He was a man of the Mark, unused to being enclosed in such spaces with polished stone walls but no wind, sun or smell of horse to soothe him. He was overreacting, he knew. Had he not just last night joked about the 'charm' of this place? It was not so much the surroundings, as the lack of information that had him on edge. He needed answers, needed them now to save his people.

He halted in his pacing and turned towards the door. He could seek out his cousin, see how he fared. It would help him pass the time. Eomund strode quickly across the room, but his steps paused again. What if the wizard and Lord Boromir found a cure? Would it not be best to stay where he was?

Eomund shook his head slightly. The uneasiness was back. And it seemed he now acted in indecision, contrary to his nature. Unable to point to the cause, he slumped into a chair and leaned his head into his hands. He would have to wait.

It seemed another hour passed, though he knew it could not be. Surely, it did not take this long to look into that stone and find the answers! He stood once more and resumed his pacing, wishing instead to be in the stable, grooming one of the horses. At least then, he would have someone to speak with about his concerns. At least then, he would know how much time had gone by. At least then, he would be doing something!

He marched to the door with purpose, reached, pulled...and nothing. The door was locked.





<< Back

Next >>

Leave Review
Home     Search     Chapter List