More than a Broken End
"Boromir of Gondor," he said, clear voice ringing out, "I
would speak with you."
Boromir turned. "And what would you say?"
"That would be for our ears alone," Aragorn said. "It
concerns our first meeting and would not be understood by
the Council."
"What have you to say of that?" Boromir said, flushing.
Aragorn bowed his head. "It would be well for you if the
Council did not hear the words I would say to you," he
said, low, so only Boromir could hear.
"I will walk with you," Boromir said at last.
The assembly did not see them leave, being already absorbed
in their own plans and pursuits.
Aragorn led them into the Hall of Rememberance, where the
shards of Narsil lay.
"This sword is mine," he said, drawing a reverent finger
down the hilt. "It was borne by my sires Elendil and
Isildur. It has remained in Rivendell for safekeeping,
while I bear another sword of lesser lineage. But one day,
Boromir of Gondor, this sword shall be reforged. The Blade
that was Broken shall shine again. It would be well for you
to learn respect for it now."
Boromir laughed. "In the hands of a Ranger! Teach me
respect, if respect you would have me learn."
"If you would have it so," Aragorn said, and his voice was
as ice. "You are indeed as I suspected, a youth who knows
nothing of honor and only may boast of deeds greater than
he have done as though they were his own. Think you that
Gondor alone protects the West from Mordor? Nay, here in
the North there are Shadows too. Long have I walked the
hills between the Shire and Rivendell, and many evils have
I destroyed. The Shadow would have devoured the North, but
for the Rangers."
Aragorn lifted the smallest shard from the cloth where it
lay. "Come with me, if you would learn respect."
Boromir followed, stung.
Aragorn's childhood room lay empty always, waiting for its
master's infrequent visits. But now Aragorn's small
belongings lay on the shelves of the room, and the place
looked as though someone lived there again.
The hush of a quiet afternoon lay over Rivendell. Outside
the windows of Aragorn's room, nothing could be seen to
move. Aragorn stepped first to the windows of the room and
drew the curtains shut. Then he beckoned to Boromir, who
stood hesitant in the doorway.
"Close the door," he said. "Come here."
Boromir did so, nervously.
"The blade of a king is no mere toy," Aragorn said, raising
the shard and laying it lightly against Boromir's neck,
against the fine hairs of his beard. Boromir tensed, but
did not move.
"You should not fear pain," Aragorn said, watching
Boromir's eyes go wide. "Pain can be pleasure, if you
desire it to be. Nay, you need not look so afraid."
"I have seen too much pain to think of it as pleasure,"
Boromir said. "And I do not trust you, heir of Isildur."
"You will learn both lessons soon enough," Aragorn said,
sliding the blade down across Boromir's throat, not even
cutting the skin. "Indeed you learn the second one now. I
do not intend to kill you, Boromir of Gondor, Heir of the
Steward, and I will not, even if your death could buy me
the throne of Gondor."
"What do you intend to do, then?" Boromir asked.
"You need a lesson in respect," Aragorn answered, moving
away. "I would guess that you are the apple of your
father's eye, and have never learned the simple courtesy of
your grandfather's rule. You resemble your father in more
than just looks."
"Do you know my father?" Boromir inquired.
"I did. Or thought I did," Aragorn said, curtly. "It is not
a matter I wish to discuss, even now, so many years later.
On your knees, Boromir of Gondor."
Boromir hesitated.
"On your knees!" Aragorn repeated. "This is not a
vow-ceremony, but a learning. Obey me, or suffer to see
your land overthrown by fire and hate at the hands of
Orcs."
Boromir sank to his knees, reluctance visible in every
pore.
"Good," Aragorn said. "This shard still cuts, and cuts
deep. Would you wish it to dance along your skin, and prove
to you what, even broken, it may do?"
Boromir paled. "I do not need that test!" he cried.
Aragorn smiled grimly. "I think you do."
Coming over to where Boromir knelt, he stood before him,
and unbuttoned the man's garments, finally letting his
clothes fall away from him. Aragorn himself remained
dressed.
"If at any time you feel you have learned what it is I
speak of," Aragorn said, bending down to look Boromir in
the eye, "simply say so and this shard shall be restored to
its brothers. Now, on your feet. Go lie on the bed,
facedown."
It was far too late to think of refusal. Numbly, Boromir
did what Aragorn commanded, his clothing dropping to the
ground as he stood.
With Boromir lying on the bed, Aragorn stood quiet for
several moments as if thinking. His footsteps finally
sounded loud in the room as he walked over to stand beside
the recumbent man.
Carefully, Aragorn began to cut with the shard.
Fire licked down Boromir's back with the first cut of the
blade. A cry rang from him before he thought to quench it.
Agony, it was agony, beating through him, searing down his
spine.
And then, oh blessed relief! A warm wet tongue followed the
path of the blade, making Boromir gasp and shake. The
spilled blood, little as it was, had been a horror, but
this was a delight, and the pain that tinged it only made
it more delightful.
Strange fate indeed that the beautiful mouth that healed
him and the hand that wounded him should be one and the
same. And then the light dawned, and he understood what
Aragorn spoke of.
An insult to the blade was an insult to the man who bore
it. And Boromir had offended indeed.
"The shards of Narsil, the blade that cut the Ring!" he had
said with awe in his tone. "It is still sharp!" he had
marveled as he tested his finger on it. Then he had looked
across the room and seen Aragorn sitting quiet in the
dimness. Embarrassed, he had dropped the shard. "But
nothing more than a broken end." He heard it clatter to the
floor, but had not bothered to pick it up.
If Narsil was a "broken end," was Aragorn, who by his touch
had proved his healing powers?
A long moment passed, in which neither of them moved.
Aragorn waited, silent. Boromir thought desperately.
"I have learned a lesson, Aragorn son of Arathorn," he said
at last.
He could almost feel Aragorn straighten behind him. "And
what have you learned?"
"That as the blade of Narsil is still sharp, so is the line
of Isildur. And as the blade of Narsil will be reforged and
return to glory and honor, so may the line of Isildur."
"You have learned well in little time," Aragorn said, and
at last there was a smile in his voice. "I see you
inherited your father's wit, as well as his lesser
qualities."
Boromir heard the clink of the shard being laid down on a
small table. "Turn over," Aragorn whispered.
Boromir did not even think about disobeying. Fingers
covered his hand, and then Aragorn's mouth covered his for
a long moment.
"I am far more than just a broken end, Boromir," Aragorn
said at last. "Far more."
by Amy Fortuna
he Fellowship having been formed to the satisfaction of
Elrond and everyone else, a lull ensued when no one seemed
to know quite what to do. Legolas moved away from Gimli.
Gimli bent to pick the pieces of his broken axe. Gandalf
laid a hand on Frodo's shoulder. And Aragorn moved toward
Boromir.
