Recalled to Life
2. The Missing Companion
In the emerald land of Gondor, five friends rode together on horseback. It was a beautiful spring day, full of happiness and vivacity, and the sun shone brightly on the five riders.
"It is certainly pleasant to see the sun after so much rain!" Arwen Evenstar, daughter of Elrond Half-Elven, and wife of King Elessar of Gondor, commented to her husband. Elessar, known to his close friends as Aragorn, smiled back and nodded. Riding next to him was the fair golden-haired Eowyn, Princess of Rohan, who glanced at her future husband, Prince Faramir of Ithilien. Faramir returned the warm glance half-heartedly, inciting a frown from his future wife.
"What is wrong?" Eowyn asked, her gray eyes filled with concern.
"Nothing, my love. I am merely fatigued."
"Or perhaps you are in need of a challenge!" The fifth rider shouted. He had separated himself from the foursome, for both he and his horse disliked the leisurely pace. He was a few lengths ahead, his grey mare’s nose in the air.
"And just who would challenge him, Urya?" Arwen asked teasingly. Urya pretended to wipe a tear from his eye, as if offended.
"My dear aunt, you have deeply wounded me. I offer to race him!" Urya Half-Elven, youngest grandson of Lord Elrond, was an energetic young Elf, far too energetic for an Elf of his age. He was nothing like his parents, always stirring up trouble and then finding someone else to blame for it. Elladan, his father, feared that the youth would never completely mature, as he was nearly a century old.
"If you wish to lose," Faramir said mirthfully, though sadness still pierced his eyes.
"Go!" Eowyn shouted, and the two began the race. The threesome laughed as Faramir and Urya raced over the hills. It was obvious that Faramir would win, for his horse was of Rohan breed and he had years of experience.
"We had better go after them, the feast for my brother is less than three hours hence," Arwen reminded Aragorn. "Elladan entrusted him to me to keep him out of trouble."
"It was both wise and foolish of him, I think," Eowyn said. "You were a wise choice, but he should have known a ride with my dear betrothed would end with mischief."
"And how is Faramir?" Eowyn frowned.
"I cannot tell. He seems happy, but sometimes, when he does not know that I am present, I see him lash out at objects. His servants tell me he cries out in the night." Eowyn’s fair face creased with worry.
“His father’s death, perhaps?” Arwen asked, for she knew very little of the man.
“No,” Aragorn, “His brother’s. Faramir has come to me many times in the past, seeking counsel. His dreams are filled with Boromir, and with every dream, Faramir finds it hard to retain his composure.”
"Surrexi!" The body lay cold and still, unresponsive to Alatar's call.
"Cuivo!" his voice echoed through the tiny cave in Gondor that the old man had lived for the past four years. Still nothing. Alatar paced back and forth, his dark blue robe rustling as it gently struck his fine quarterstaff.
"What do I lack? I have given thee many a chance to revive, and yet thou still breathes not. What is missing?" The old man paced back and forth, recalling all his spells. For three months, Alatar had spent the majority of his days chanting spells, trying to bring his fallen companion back to the living.
"Of course!" He cried suddenly. "How could I have forgotten? Thy spirit hath fled into shadow, for thy body has lost the beating of thy heart. But fear not, Lord Boromir, I shall recall thee to life yet!" Boromir's body had not changed since Alatar had first discovered his body on the Anduin. There were no signs of decay, as Alatar had cast a preservation spell on the warrior's corpse.
"I shall require a heart. It must be Elvish. But what Elf would be found in Gondor? Queen Arwen, but she is a woman. I need a male." Just as the old man murmured these words, the faint echoes of laughter reached his ears. It was youthful laughter, filled with excitement and naïve hope. Alatar suddenly wished to know from whom the laughter emanated. Perhaps it was because he had seen a living being in ten years. Or perhaps it was the youth and joy he heard in that laugh, for he had experienced neither youth nor happiness for the past three hundred years.
He quietly left the cave with his dead companion, and looked out on the grassy hills of Gondor. Two men on horseback were but three hundred yards from his abode. The closest was a man of Gondor, clearly one of power, for his attire and steed had a costly appearance. Alatar was quite shocked as his sharp eyes detected a shocking resemblance between the man and Lord Boromir. Boromir was taller, burlier, and slightly older, but the two could have been twins.
The second rider truly delighted Alatar. He was young and lacked the experience in riding that his companion had. His long black hair hung loosely, shining in the wind as he desperately attempted to draw alongside the other man, possibly his guardian. As his glossy hair blew back, revealing his ears, Alatar saw a solution to his problem.
The youth was Elvish.
Smiling, Alatar quickly began to chant, beckoning with his staff toward the Elf. The Gondorian rider failed to notice the old man as he passed by him swiftly.
"Venire, puer, ad silvam de tu chroì. Venire, filius," Alatar whispered to the boy. The horse came to halt, as the Elf saw him. The youth shook his head in denial, fighting with all his being.
"Why do you fight against me?" Alatar murmured. "You know not who I am. You know not my interest in you. Venire." Still he did not move. Alatar sighed, and turned his power to the horse. "Venire equus!"
Urya forgot about Faramir, his father, Elrond, everything. All he could do was stare at the man clad in dark blue only a few yards away from him. He sensed great power, and great evil in the man. Yet he felt himself desiring to come closer to the man. Urya resisted, calling on his barely harnessed Elvish power.
Then his horse began to hear the man's call.
Urya tried to dismount from the horse, but he was too weak. He was too young to truly utilize his power. The man before him was as skilled as he was ancient.
When Urya reached the man, he felt himself dismount. But he did not run.
"Do not fear, young one. You are about to do a great service to Gondor. What is your name?" The man's midnight blue eyes were icy, though his voice was full of friendship and warmth.
"Urya Half-Elven," Urya said slowly, knowing that resistance was useless.
"Come, Urya. Enter my humble abode, and meet the man who you will die for."
"Who are you?" Urya whispered, tears beginning to fall down his cheeks, knowing the man’s purpose was ill.
"You may call me Alatar, the Blue Wizard."
"Where is he, Faramir?" Arwen asked. Faramir shook his head, confused.
"I do not understand. He could not have been more than fifty yards behind me. When I looked back a few minutes ago, he was there," Faramir said, pointing to the beginning of a hill. It was strewn with boulders, but Urya could not be seen.
"Then, about a minute ago, I looked back- and he was gone."
"Perhaps he is hiding amongst the rocks, jesting with us," Eowyn suggested weakly.
"I have looked everywhere," Aragorn said, returning from his search. "There was a cave, but its entrance was too small for Urya to pass through." Arwen turned her horse scanning the horizon.
"Urya!" She cried, calling on her Elvish power. Surely, Urya could sense her dismay. Yet, his voice was nowhere to be heard, and his youthful face was nowhere to be seen.
"He must be in grave danger," she murmured. She turned to her husband, her eyes misting with tears.
"We must go to Elladan. If anyone can find him, it is he."
Urya lay face up, shivering on a flat gray stone, just wide and long enough for him to fit. His shirt had been taken, and his hands were bound by leather. The cave was dark and silent.
What is to become of me? He wondered. He knew that he would eventually die, but for what purpose?
"You are exceptionally brave, even for an Elf," came the deep voice Urya had learned to dread. "It is hard to face oblivion as you are about to." Suddenly, the smiling but cruel face of Alatar appeared before him. For a moment, Urya stared into the wizard's eyes. The eyes were a dark shade of blue and glittered like those of a predator about to slay his victim.
Urya broke eye contact and turned away. In doing this, he caught a glimpse of a pale and apparently unconscious creature beside him. It was a man, and looked frighteningly similar to Faramir, save for a broader chest. His eyes were closed, and his hands lay folded on his naked chest. Urya suddenly realized the man was dead.
"Who is he?" Urya whispered, his inquiry directed to no one. Alatar, however, overheard him and answered.
"He is Lord Boromir, son of Denethor and Finduilas, and brother of Faramir. He is also to be your undoing, as well as his kingdom’s. Now, bid farewell to your world, Urya Half-Elven, for you are about to depart from it."
A moment after speaking, Alatar drew a knife. It was beautifully made, the blade curving, almost forming a scythe. The handle was gilded, and figures of a strange language had been engraved in both the handle and the blade. It was a ceremonial knife.
Before Urya could utter one word, the blade came flashing down, cutting through skin, muscle, bone, lodging itself in the elf's left lung. Blood blossomed from his chest as he let out a sigh of pain; he could not scream for the pain was too great.
Ruby blood began to spurt, spray, splashing Alatar as he carefully carved a perfect circle in Urya's chest. He grunted in effort as the sharp blade slowly carved through the elf’s sternum and ribs.
Eyes dimming, heart failing, Urya knew his end was near. He grabbed Alatar's robe with one shaky hand.
"Curse you by fire, water, and adamantine," he gasped. Alatar laughed cruelly.
"My name has been buried on stone; your curses mean nothing." Urya's eyes the closed as his spirit fled from his bloodied body.
"Haha, there it is!" Alatar cried triumphantly as he ripped from the dead boy what he had been searching for. In his hand he clutched the heart still dripping with blood.
Alatar then turned to Lord Boromir, whose own chest lay broken. Plunging the heart into the dead warrior's chest, Alatar cried out a string of words.
“The heart of an immortal now lies in thy chest
Put breath in thy lungs, put life in thy breast
The forfeited life is one of Elf kind
Make finger to move, put spark in thy mind
Make sinew to twist, make bones now to turn
Give the eyes sight, give brain will to learn
Give these to thy body, O dead one accursed
Put life in thy corpse, and dead heart now burst!”
And suddenly, two emerald eyes gazed upon a world they had not seen for a long time.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.