Untitled - BoG-Archive

An Ill-Conceived Notion
by Illwynd
Author’s Note: This story was inspired by an incident from the life of Gen. Roy S.
Geiger, USMC.
Boromir rarely became ill, but he had certainly managed it this time. It had
come on suddenly; this past morn he had felt fine, perhaps a little weary. Now,
his head swam with fever, his skin oozed chill sweat, his stomach roiled and his
limbs felt weak. He slept fitfully on the camp bed as the waxing moon rose.
The company was too far afield to safely send him – even horsed and with
escort—to the City, or even to any of the villages nearer by where there might be
a healer, at least until daylight. Orcs had been testing the borders sporadically,
some worming their way into Gondor in small groups that hid during the sun’s
brightness, but crept out at night to terrorize the villagers. All the companies in
the area had to keep a sharp eye at night to spot them, if indeed they were not
spotted first themselves. And just hours ago, a messenger had come from Ithilien.
The man was one of Faramir’s Rangers, and he warned that a larger group of
Orcs had been spotted, heading for the river, at nightfall. There would be a major
attack tonight.
Boromir had been reluctantly convinced by Hallas, his second-incommand,
to remain at the camp with a small number of men, so that the rest
could fight this battle without worrying for the safety of their nearly deliriously
ill Captain. Truly, he was too ill to fight, Hallas had said; he could sit this one out.
At the time, he had grudgingly agreed, and had fallen back heavily onto the piled
blankets. He was asleep before the large part of the company had left the camp.
Now he woke just as suddenly. He still felt as if he were burning and
freezing at once, as if trolls were tapping out a tattoo on his skull, as if many
small lizards were panicking in his belly. He made a face; his mouth tasted as if
something had crawled into it and died. Worst of all, he grumbled to himself,
what was he doing here while there was a battle occurring in his vicinity? His
men were fighting, he should be with them, ill or no!
With some effort he tossed aside the blankets that covered him, and sat up.
The world spun, but only briefly. Not far from him a handful of men were
gathered around a small, well-shielded fire, munching something saved from the
evening’s ration, and talking quietly. He cleared his throat of the mucus that had
gathered there.
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