Sons of Gondor
"There is weakness, there is frailty;
And he desperately needed to believe in something.
When he'd held the broken hilt of Narsil in his roughened hands at
Rivendell, he'd felt the power of Man, the hope, the great destiny.
And he'd also felt the failure.
Boromir shivered and drew his Elven cloak around him for warmth.
Though they were only a few days away from the safe haven of
Lothlorien, the Company had dared not risk a fire. So, he stood guard
over the halflings in the chill of the woods along the bank of the
Anduin and reflected on things better left unthought.
He could not be like Isildur.
He could not betray his people, his family, his Company for the sake
of false hope and insidious whispers that haunted his every waking
moment. He knew the Ring's siren call would lead him to damnation,
but it was so hard to hang onto the conviction they were doing the
right thing. Using the Ring to fight the Dark Lord still seemed like
a viable alternative to this suicidal mission.
But then, a suicidal mission would bring him that much closer to the
Halls of Mandos. That much closer to Dara.
She'd been dead for three unendurable years and yet he still missed
her with every breath. People who said time heals had obviously never
lost someone of value. The immortal time of the Elves would not heal
the hollowness of his heart.
Still, he had to find something to hold onto here. There was beauty
yet to be found in this realm. He gazed up at the full moon under a
cloudless, starry sky. The moon shot silver rainbows over the trees
and ground, illuminating, casting back shadow. And while his warrior
nature cursed the lack of darkness that would protect Frodo and the
rest of the Company, his human heart ached at the splendor.
For it was on a night such as this that he'd first opened his heart.
That he'd first claimed lips sweeter than any mead or ale; that he'd
felt unfettered, complete happiness for the only time in his life.
She had been his miracle, his reason to keep Gondor thriving. She had
been his reason to live up to every one of his father's increasingly
paranoid demands.
But everyone knew miracles didn't exist. And Gondor had no future.
Not unless he did something about it. He looked at Frodo, caught in a
fretful sleep under the eave of a copse of trees and took a half step
toward the Hobbit before stopping himself with a shake.
No.
He would not do this.
Boromir had a sudden, almost violent urge to hear his brother's
voice. Faramir's sheer presence would be enough to stave off these
dark cravings. He wondered if his brother could sense his troubled
spirit, his conflict. Long had he fought the demons that dwelt both
in Mordor and in his soul and he feared, for the first time ever,
that he was losing the battle.
The thought scared him more than an army of the Dark Lord's Orcs. His
soul may be tattered and torn, but it and honor were all he had left.
And pride.
He heard a slight movement from the trees behind him. He whirled
around, sword in hand, ready to defend the Ringbearer and the others
to the death, if need be. But, as soon as he'd turned, he loosened
his grip on his weapon. It was only Aragorn, back from roving patrol.
"Legolas and Gimli will be back soon," the Ranger stated softly, as
he walked to the clearing and stood next to Boromir. "You should try
to get some rest now. It will be light soon and you will need to save
your strength for Anduin."
"I have strength enough to do what needs to be done." At least, he
did physically.
"You have been almost Elven in your endurance," Aragorn admitted,
absently rubbing the necklace Arwen had given to him in
Rivendell. "Why are you in such a hurry to reach Tol Brandir? Is
Gondor's need so dire? Or is there perhaps another, more personal,
reason you desire to seek the walls of the White City?"
Boromir shook his head and sunk to the ground, leaning against the
rough bark. "No, there is nothing for me there now." And admitting it
broke his heart again. He looked up at Aragorn, who stood silent and
watchful. "Only a father in need of his eldest son, a brother in need
of his sibling and a city in need of leadership. I would be there to
give it to them." Pride drove him to say words he wasn't even sure he
believed anymore.
Aragorn dropped to his haunches and touched a dirty hand to his
forehead in salute. "Remember that you will not face the darkness of
Mordor alone."
Yes, Aragorn had pledged his weapon. As had Legolas and Gimli. And
Boromir would take them gladly, for these folk, however disparate,
were his comrades, his kin, as close to him as his own blood brother.
But still he feared their help would come too late and Gondor would
pay too heavy a price. Who was to even say their mission to destroy
the Ring would succeed? If Gandalf the almighty Istari could fall,
what chance did the rest of them have?
He must stop these thoughts. They would drive him mad. He had the
Company, he had Isildur's heir and he had the Ringbearer and the Ring
of Power. Their quest had been ordained by Elrond himself. It would
not fail. He would not fail.
"Tell me what plagues you, brother." Aragorn took a last look around
the parameter of the camp, looking for any signs of danger. He didn't
know if it was the strain of too many nights without sleep, but he
could feel something dark in the air. Perhaps it was the unease he
felt from Boromir. Aragorn felt the other man's strain as vividly as
if it was he himself who felt it.
And perhaps he did.
He'd had misgivings about this quest from almost the beginning. As
Boromir had so eloquently stated, it was folly. What had made him
think he was ready to claim his throne, to reforge Narsil, to prove
that Numenorean blood still ran true in his veins?
All he had was the faith of a woman he could not have, the belief of
a wizard fallen and the grudging respect of a man he was almost
desperate not to let down. With a dozen men of Boromir's strength and
purpose, Aragorn could march through the Paths of the Dead to the
Black Gates themselves and feel nothing except victory within his
grasp.
But alas, he only had the one Boromir. And that one man was troubled
by shadows that would not let him be. His friend was too valuable to
lose to darknessŠtoo valuable to both the mission and Aragorn's own
quest to reclaim Gondor. He needed Boromir's support to win the
hearts of a people long used to toil and despair.
His people.
He could not let them down.
"I think it is your own thoughts that plague you." Boromir's voice
stilled the one inside Aragorn's head, allowed him a moment to step
back.
"It is only my concern for the Ringbearer," he lied, saying the first
thought that came into his head.
Boromir gazed at the halflings with an inscrutable expression. "He
suffers, Aragorn. I fear the burden is too much for him."
Aragorn privately agreed. This mission had been a poor test of his
leadership skills. He felt lost without Gandalf. If only...no, he
would not dwell on such matters. That path would drive him mad.
They sat in silence for such a long time that Aragorn thought perhaps
the other man had finally succumbed to slumber. When Boromir finally
spoke, Aragorn had to strain to hear him, even though they were
sitting right next to each other.
"I don't know how much longer I can resist." The words were halting,
hesitant. His head was lowered, hair falling in shadows across his
face. "I try, but it calls me day and night. I'm not like you. I
don't have a reason to withstand—no higher calling, no unfulfilled
destiny, no great love story that will be sung through the ages."
Boromir sighed deeply, wounded by injuries that no medicine could
ever heal. And confessed his deepest secret in the still of the
cloudless night to perhaps the only man who could possibly understand
what it was like to long for something that could never be. "I have
nothing except memories of a woman long since dead."
"Ah. I had wondered at the grief you carried with you." It explained
much. Aragorn's heart went out to the other man.
"She was pure and perfect. And, for a very brief period, mine." Sheer
emotion choked him for a moment. He cleared his throat, tried
again. "She died in an Orc raid three years ago. I was too late to
save her."
Images of Arwen lying bleeding flashed into Aragorn's brain. What
must it be like to lose someone you loved so completely? He himself
would never know the pain of a world without his love. But he felt
deeply for the man who did.
"You say you have no calling, no great love. What about your love for
Gondor? Cannot that sustain you? Cannot hope sustain you?" Cannot I
sustain you?...but the words were not spoken, were barely thought.
"I do love Gondor." No one could mistake Boromir's conviction. "With
everything I am and all I will be. It is my duty to see it protected,
see it safe. And that used to be a noble calling." He paused,
unwilling to say more, but this was a night for truths, however
painful. He looked at the man beside him—ragged, dirty, clothing
stained with blood—and only saw the leader of Men. "But no longer.
Not since you revealed yourself as Isildur's heir. Since you revealed
yourself to be king in both word and deed."
Boromir's entire world was falling apart and Aragorn was the one who
had struck the first blow. "I am sorry..."
"Don't be." Boromir clasped the other man's shoulder. "You are a
great man. You'll be a great king. I feel this. I may not have the
sight of my father or brother, but some things are obvious even to
the blind."
Aragorn nodded in understanding, even though he disagreed. He didn't
feel very kingly at the moment. "You still have a purpose, Boromir.
You still have a quest."
The other man smiled, but it was pensive. "Yes, I know. The
Fellowship. And every day, I fight for you. For Gimli and Legolas.
For the memory of Gandalf, our fallen leader. For them." He gestured
toward the Hobbits with a flick of his wrist. "I fight for Gondor,
for the glory of it that once was and the glory it will be again. I
would dearly love to be there to present you with the Crown of Kings
and pledge my fealty to you and yours." He paused, as if seeing the
moment in his mind's eye, then turned to Aragorn with a tired
expression. "But, I am just a soldier. A leader of men, yes, but not
in peace. I don't know peace. And my family's place in history is
nearing its end."
"There will always be need for men of your strength and courage,
brother." Aragorn could feel his friend, his comrade, slipping away
and was helpless to prevent it. He bitterly wished again that Gandalf
were here. But he wasn't. And the right words would not come.
Boromir continued. "My only hope is to die in battle, protecting what
we have, what could be." He gestured once again to the halflings. "I
would die to protect them. Silly and troublesome as they are. I would
die to keep that innocence, that laughter. They make me feel like
there's a future worth saving."
"Then keep that image when your thoughts grow bleak. If they can save
you, then it will have been worth all the burden and danger of having
them along."
Boromir nodded. "I will try. For you. Go get your sleep. I will stay
until Legolas and Gimli return."
Aragorn got up, stretching weary muscles. There must be something
more he could do or say, but he couldn't think of it. He turned to
leave and was stayed by the other man's hand on his wrist. He looked
down into his colleague's tortured face and deep down, he wept. This
was one battle he could not win with his sword. He could only offer
friendship—and hope it would be enough.
"Protect them if anything should happen to me." Boromir turned his
face up to Aragorn. His voice was low, but firm. "I do not fear so
much for Frodo. Or Sam. They have a higher purpose connected to the
Ring and there are great forces that will protect them should the
need arise. But Merry and Pippin are young. And not learned in the
ways of the world. Promise me you'll look after them."
The words sent a chill into Aragorn's already distressed heart. "You
will look after them, Boromir," he reminded the other man. "You are
their sworn protector."
"Promise me."
Aragorn gazed deep into pleading green eyes and could not deny them.
Perhaps it would give them both some peace. He inclined his head, and
Boromir let out a shaky breath. "Thank you," he said, his voice
choked. "I know you would never break an oath."
"Neither would you," Aragorn stated, finally blessed with the words
that might help, might heal. "You have more honor and conviction than
any man I've ever known. And you also swore an oath to see this
mission done. I know you will be with us to the end."
"It's a nice thought."
"Then think it."
"Aragorn, I..." Boromir stopped. "Thank you," he said simply.
The Ranger knew the other man didn't just express gratitude for the
promise to look after the younger hobbits. "We're all in the Company
together. There is a reason we were all chosen." Aragorn spoke his
words with care, knowing that it was critical he say exactly the
right thing. "I believe this. Just as I believe in your noble
destiny, Son of Gondor. I believe your time for greatness will come.
And you will rise to meet it. You will stay true to the Fellowship
and the quest."
He put his hand on Boromir's and squeezed, then let go and went to
his pallet.
Aragorn's final words were enough to give Boromir untroubled sleep
for the first time since Lothlorien. Perhaps things could be
different. Perhaps he had the strength to overcome his weakness.
Perhaps he could have that honorable death so he could face Dara with
pride when he strode through the doors of the Halls of Mandos.
He thought about the hand—warm, calloused, there—on his shoulder.
Thought about whispered confessions, a shared spirit, shared destiny.
Perhaps...just perhaps...he could also find something else worth
waking up for.
Perhaps he'd found hope after all.
by Brenda
but there is courage also and honor to be found in Men."
—Boromir, at the Council of Elrond
e didn't think he was going to make it back to Gondor. The Ring
wasn't going to let him. But, it didn't matter. She wasn't there. And
he had no hope to hold onto anymore. Nothing that mattered, nothing
sacred, nothing to believe in.
