Ever Northward Gaze by StarSpray

Ever Northward Gaze

Read Ever Northward Gaze

‘Beneath Amon Hen I heard his cry. There many foes he fought,
His cloven shield, his broken sword, they to the water brought.
His head so proud, his face so fair, his limbs they laid to rest,
And Rauros, golden Rauros-falls, bore him upon its breast.
‘O Boromir! The Tower of Guard shall ever northward gaze,
To Rauros, golden Rauros-falls, until the end of days.

- “Lament for Boromir,” The Two Towers

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Since the end of the War of the Ring, more traffic had moved up and down the Anduin between Wilderland and Gondor than had in many many years. Dwarves went back and forth as rebuilding efforts began in earnest in both Erebor and Minas Tirith, and Elves too flitted up and down the river singing merry songs, from both Mirkwood—newly renamed Greenwood the Great, now—and also, very occasionally, from Lothl órien.

Trade was beginning again, too, and Elessar had ordered the rebuilding of the garrisons on Amon Hen and Amon Lhaw, and the repair and maintenance of the portage paths around the rapids and around Rauros, at the base of which a new harbor was built where larger boats from Gondor could come and dock, bringing goods from Minas Tirith and Lossarnach and Lebennin, and also from Meduseld, and taking back away goods from Wilderland and Dale.

And to celebrate the rebuilding of friendships between the realms of Wilderland and the kingdoms of Gondor and Rohan a gathering was to take place upon the lawn of Parth Galen, a meeting of kings such as had not taken place in many hundreds of years. It would also, Gimli soon realized, be the first time the Fellowship reunited after their quest—what was left of the Fellowship. Gandalf and Frodo had sailed away West, but Merry and Pippin and and Sam and their wives, and Sam ’s growing brood, would be there as well, traveling down the Road through Rohan to Gondor, and then joining those parties to sail up the river. Easier for the children than crossing the Misty Mountains in the north, and, Merry had written, Sam trusted the wider and sturdier ships of Gondor better than the lighter boats of the Elves, “meaning no offense of course. Them boats from the Lady served us right well, but they felt tipsier, if you take my meaning. ”

Thinking of the last time they were all together at Parth Galen, Gimli ’s thoughts turned to stone, and his fingers itched with the need to create something. He had been too busy to think of his own projects, between what needed doing in Erebor and the promises he had made to Aragorn for Minas Tirith.

He spoke with one of his cousins from the Iron Hills, who brought him an assortment of limestone blocks. Choosing one was easy, and Gimli happily retreated with it to his workshop. It was near the forges where his mother worked, and the smells of fire and hot metal mingled with the scent of stone dust, and of the paints that Gimli used for other works. It felt good to hold a chisel in his hands again. He sang while he worked, working songs that his mother had taught him, and songs that he had learned on his journeys. The work was slow but he went steadily, carefully chipping away at the stone to reveal the image awaiting him beneath its surface.

Sometimes his mother came to keep him company, sitting on his workbench with her legs swinging, telling him all the day ’s gossip. Other times his father came down to quietly tidy up around him, and tell him the latest news from Dale or Laketown, or chatted about the best ways to go about carving a particular part of the sculpture that was giving trouble, or how it was to be transported down the river when it was completed. “Does Elessar know you’re bringing this?” Glóin asked, as he picked up a broom one afternoon to sweep away the dust and stone pieces accumulating around Gimli’s feet.

“I told Legolas,” said Gimli, “and he may have told Aragorn.” He stepped back and regarded the statue with a critical eye.

“It looks very true to life, as I recall,” Glóin said after a moment. Gimli nodded. “Is it finished?”

“I believe so.” It only needed a good polishing, and then it could be wrapped and packed into the box prepared for it, lined with copious amounts of straw. Thence to a cart to take it through the Greenwood to the Anduin, thence to one of the barges that the dwarves had been using to ferry tools and goods, and thence down the river to Parth Galen on the shores of Nen Hithoel.

Gimli accompanied it when it finally departed from the Lonely Mountain, and his mother went with him. She had not traveled down the Anduin as yet; she was not a builder, but a coppersmith, and her work was little needed in road-building or city repair. Gl óin bid them farewell, and promised to see them when he followed with Thorin Stonehelm and Bard II of Dale. The journey was uneventful; they were alone on the river but for the dwarves manning their barge, and a small company of Elves out of Mirkwood that were going down to begin preparing for the celebrations. They were merry companions.

They drifted with the currents, neither hurrying nor tarrying. Spring was moving toward summer, and as they passed the Brown Lands Gimli saw that even they were beginning to show signs of life, as though someone had draped a very thin sheer veil of green over the blasted hills.

At last, the Argonath rose up before them in the distance. “Oh my,” Idun said, shading her eyes and tilting her head back to look up at them. “That is a marvel. Who are those kings, Gimli?”

“Isildur and Anárion, the sons of Elendil,” said Gimli, also gazing up at them. One never got used to the sight, though they seemed a little less threatening now, knowing there was no danger that lay beyond them.

Parth Galen was very different from the first time Gimli had come there. There were stone-lined paths now, and proper docks for boats and barges, and flowers bloomed along the edges of the trees. They were greeted by the men stationed at Amon Hen, and warmly welcomed. “King Elessar told us you were bringing a statue to be erected here,” said their captain, a tall man with broad shoulders called Anordil. “We have prepared a place for it; is this suitable?”

The place was a pedestal of stone, surrounded by new-planted elanor, like a scattering of tiny golden suns in the soil. They were sparse, yet, but would cover the ground around it and spread out into the grass in time. Anordil and some of his men helped Gimli and Idun take the statue from its crate to the pedestal, keeping the cloth wrapped around it for the time being.

The days passed merrily; Gimli was called upon to tell tales of Rivendell and of the Fellowship ’s travels, and was in the middle of describing their approach to Khazad-dûm when a call went up, and from the path down past Rauros appeared the first of the great company from Gondor. Aragorn and Arwen were at its head, with Faramir and Éowyn just behind them. Legolas too came with them, and of course the hobbits, and it was a very merry meeting.

Merrier still was the coming of the Elvenking and his company, and Lord Celeborn of Lothl órien with a great company of the Galadhrim, and King Bard of Dale, and Thorin Stonehelm of the Lonely Mountain. The Master of Laketown had come as well, with his brood of children who were most delighted to meet Sam’s own children. Grimbeorn and many Beornings came, too, with great barrels of mead and more than enough honey cakes to satisfy even the most ravenous of hobbits.

As evening began to fall, and the light of the sunset reflected upon the waters of Nen Hithoel, and the mists of Rauros glowed golden, Aragorn called all gathered there to the waterside, where Gimli ’s statue still stood wrapped in canvas. “As we look to the future with joy and hope,” Aragorn said, as they all stood assembled there, “let us not forget the sacrifices that led us here.” His gaze lifted to the trees beyond the green and flowered lawn, shadows deepening with the evening. “It was here that the Fellowship of the Ring was broken; it was a day of grief and of difficult choices—and here upon these waters did we, Legolas and Gimli and I, lay Boromir son of Denethor to rest.” At his nod Gimli stepped forward and quickly untied the cords holding the wrappings over the statue. They fell away to reveal the fruits of Gimli’s long months of labor.

The statue depicted Boromir in his traveling attire, legs spread and braced, his sword in his hand and his horn raised to his lips. Around his waist was the belt that the Lord and Lady of L órien had given him, and on his back was his great round shield. His cloak swept around his legs as though lifted by an invisible breeze.

A hush fell over the gathered crowd, and after a moment Aragorn began to sing. It was the song he had sung before, as they watched the elven boat bearing Boromir ’s body drift toward the falls. After a line he was joined by Pippin’s clear voice. Legolas took up the second verse accompanied by Merry. Aragorn and Pippin joined them for the third and last, as did Gimli and Sam, the Fellowship together singing their final farewell to Boromir, as Rauros gleamed golden with the evening light, and Nen Hithoel glittered before them.

Silence descended after the last note faded away across the water, and after a few moments, Aragorn gestured, and the crowd began to disperse, drifting back toward the tents and the feast that awaited them there. Across the lawn somewhere, a harpist took up a cheerier song. Only Faramir lingered, gazing up at the statue. “It is a remarkable likeness,” he said finally, glancing back at Gimli. “Is it as you last saw him?”

“No,” said Gimli. “I did not see his final stand here until it was too late—though I saw the bodies of all the orcs he slew. But I remember well how he looked in Khazad-dûm when he blew that great horn, and even Durin’s Bane hesitated for a moment. He acted when the rest of us were frozen in fear. Boromir was a mighty man, and I am glad to have known him.”

Faramir smiled. “I am glad, also,” he said. “Thank you for making this. You have done my brother a great honor.”

“He was a good companion, and a good friend.”

Faramir nodded, and for a moment rested his hand upon the knee of the statue. “And he shall not be forgotten.”