13. Chorus IV (Golradir)
I remember now,
my name is not First One,
not really, not as I have been called for these millennia.
I remember now,
as the first arrows fly
soar through the air
initiate the battle
(the Easterlings bark)
I remember now.
My name is Golradir,
son of Oropher, a royal elf,
and royal myself all the same.
This is good news, indeed, noble!
I did not think to remember it ere the end.
(the Easterlings roar)
And perhaps this is it?
So it begins,
let my fingers be quick
and the arrow true
for this, I should have done long-long-long-ages ago.
The fight is on!
Bow singing, stringing the arrows, aligning,
and… (crescendo) gone! A perfect hit!
The fight is on,
and I am winning
(honor respect title name identity).
Eye the targets:
the crook of that one’s neck,
the space behind that one’s ear
the second rib up on the tall one.
Snap, snap, snap!
All fall away and I see beside me, in front of me, up ahead, behind, the others:
Second One to Third One to Boromir to Radagast,
blows over blows under blows under slashes by cuts.
There, look there! See that! See?
A whirlwind, a hurricane, but not air, not wind,
they are birds
(Does Radagast know what he is doing?)
coming to peck out Easterling eyes! What a sight!
…No pun intended.
Up ahead, on my right, there:
Third One with daggers (my daggers, I let him borrow them)
slicing through the Enemy of bramble-bush beards
he slides through the seething mass, and there is no hesitation.
Good, my brother, good! Well done!
Checking left: Second One whips around with his sword
Catches the sunlight, fla-ashes silver in my eyes, beautiful, yes!
Stumbling in the mess up ahead, there is Boromir,
he does not fight gracefully, no ease of movement, no agility,
only desperate swings and lunges
(alas, but he is just a Man, with short life and small mind)
Ho! Boromir! Ware! On your right!
Quickflash – I must do it.
Nock the arrow into place,
aim – but he shifts now, turns left
aim – but the view is blocked by sun and Wild Men
aim again and release.
Fly, fly, fly
through the air and follow that arrow
to another mind, enter it, and hear now its thoughts.
II. …the battle continues…
A jolt, a push, a blow to the back,
spin around and see the Easterling fall dead
no more a threat.
Jerk the sweat-soaked hair from the eyes:
search the field for the friend who guarded my back,
catch First One’s eye; there, arrogant as always,
grins nods yells: “You’re welcome!”
before continuing into the surging battle-thick.
A buzzing in the ears
locusts picking pulling stinging the Wild Men.
Radagast's booming voice,
trembling loud like marble columns falling:
“GO! GO! ONWARDS!
CAST BACK THE SHADOW!”
And Boromir thinks to himself, sees himself
as once a Captain-General of Gondor
leader of Men, favorite son
and Prince of the White City:
"Where has all that gone?"
Sees himself fighting Wild Men in a dark place
forsaken lands and forgotten home
and he says to himself:
"Why have I come here?"
Remembers the dream-prologue,
warning him of the future
telling him that tomorrow will get worse
and worse and worse
and after endless worse tomorrows:
"When will they get better?"
But they will get better! But they will!
Cut through another Easterling!
Push back the shadow, push it all the way back
into Mordor and then put a stopper on it
and let it implode on itself!
Imagine the day!
The White Tower glowing like a beacon for all
flags in the wind, the White Tree beaming
wide-blue skies and far-away clouds…
Remember Faramir's dream-words?
Peace peace (say it) PEACE!
That is what you fight for, Boromir:
you fight for peace.
III. …the battle ends.
Imagine the view from the clouds.
No, higher still,
imagine the view from the sun
so that the clouds are white specks
and the battle below,
just a dusty spot on Dagorlad plains.
But even from this height,
you can see the sweat trickling down Boromir's temple,
you can hear Second One holding his breath before releasing the blow,
all of this and everything,
you see hear know.
This is as the Valar perceive it,
(atop the Holy Mountain, Taniquetil)
at once up close and from afar
sensing the thoughts of all the players,
inserting instincts, manipulating impulses,
quickening one blow while slowing another,
all for one Ultimate Goal.
Now sit with Them,
and listen to Their talk:
"See You yonder Boromir?"
"My gaze catches all."
"I know this, it was not meant to offend."
"Speak then. What with Boromir's fight?"
"'Tis time for the elf-exile's end."
"Very well, 'tis time.
As an aside, see thither his father go up in flame,
in this moment, not one loss but two,
for good-bad son of Gondor.
Go, then, I will not do the dirty work."
"As You wish."
Soar down, ride the wind,
passing first cloud then sea
over rippling waves and storms and fair skies again
pass into the lands…
Look: Pelennor Fields!
See Meriadoc Brandybuck,
with arm and vision fading from Nazgûl-chill.
See Théoden good King of Rohan
blink and whisper, "Éowyn..."
See staff-less Gandalf riding Shadowfax wide,
beckoning to Aragorn King: "They retreat!"
And now pass the waves and waves
of orcs-goblins-Wild Men-Haradrim-oliphaunts
Pass over the Anduin, the line of orcs continues,
unbroken, like a vein from Mordor,
pumping black blood continuous
up to the very Tower.
Now veer north by northeast,
to another fight,
that has yet to finish.
There are your players,
there are your prey:
First One (goodbye)
Zoom in close close to Boromir:
see his chest rise and fall, his body expand
with each breath that sucks in the thick dusty air,
hear him cry out, sounds a bit like "Nraawwrgh!"
as he thrusts his sword behind him
always fighting for peace.
Now move five heads down
and find First One, the noble elf Golradir,
drawing his final arrow
loading it for the last time
aiming, his last aim,
and releasing - but not soon enough!
The Wild Man (now called Golradir’s Bane), arrow in chest,
continues forward, crude blade raised high,
and here are First One's thoughts as he sees
Let them know my name,
my name is Golradir.
I have earned my place
among the heroes of elf-kind.
Let them mark this place
HERE FELL GOLRADIR,
BRAVE ELF OF MIRKWOOD!
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.