Untitled - BoG-Archive

this was true. He had found himself sweating, unable to find words even to
introduce himself. Boromir had not seemed to notice, but had only complimented
his abilities, saying that his trainer had recommended him highly, and welcomed
him to the company. Some of the older men had grinned, though, and he had
learned later that his was not an uncommon reaction for new troops, but that it
always passed quickly. Boromir’s straightforward and amiable manner made it
difficult to be nervous in his presence, no matter how much one tried to be. He
revered his Captain all the more for it.
A sudden noise behind him broke him out of his thoughts; careless footfalls
crunched twigs and leaves, branches rustled as they were pushed aside hastily.
None of the men would be so reckless! He turned swiftly towards the movement,
sword at the ready, and tried to pierce the darkness with his eyes. He could not
have been more surprised at what he saw.
It was Lord Boromir.
He let his sword drop along with his jaw. “Captain,” he breathed in a
whisper, “what in Arda are you doing here?”
“There are Orcs nearby. There will be a battle. Therefore I am here,”
Boromir said with a shrug, and not nearly as quietly as he should have, then
squinted at him in the darkness. “Ciryandil? Tell me, which strategy did Hallas
choose? How near is the enemy now?”
“They should be just over the ridge by now,” he said with a gesture, “and
we are using tinco formation… but, my lord, you are not well enough to fight!
You should return to the camp!”
“No, I feel fine now… truly, Ciryandil, do not worry!” He swayed as he
said it. Ciryandil took a quick step closer, to steady him if necessary, and caught a
whiff of the liquor on his Captain’s breath. Gailon’s liquor, he supposed.
Everyone in the company knew of it, but only spoke of it in quiet jests.
“Even if you, as Captain of this company, bid me not to worry about you, I
still would do. Please, let me take you back to the camp…”
“No,” Boromir cut him off. “We will continue on towards the enemy. We
will be needed in this battle.” He looked towards the ridge, with blurred fire in
his eyes, and Ciryandil knew that there was no argument he could give that
would change his Captain’s mind. The best he could do, he supposed, was to try
to delay their progress, and watch over him as best he could.
With Ciryandil beside him, Boromir had steadied and quickly gone into the
familiar role of careful, skilled soldier, though it cost him more effort than usual.
They had crept slowly and quietly towards the ridge, and even more slowly and
silently up it. Though he did not one bit like leading his Captain towards a battle
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