The Elder Son The man finally turned and noticed me. I was surprised by the innocence
radiating from the Gondorian. Surely one of Denethor's sons would have the same
cruel nature as his father? Perhaps looks were not the only thing he had gotten
from his mother. After exchanging a few words with the man, who turned out to be
the elder of the Steward's sons, I decided that seducing this Boromir would be a
very good game indeed.
After the Council of Elrond and the creation of the Fellowship, I began my
hunt in earnest. I realized that Boromir was angry with me for not stating my
true identity when we first met, but I also sensed that the Steward's son was
unwillingly fascinated by the man who would claim the throne of Gondor. I knew
that I could have thrown the younger man up against a wall somewhere and kissed
him into surrender, but I wanted to humble the pride of Denethor's son, as well.
I wanted Boromir on his knees, begging me to take him, I wanted all resistance
vanquished and the warrior completely submissive to my will. Therefore, I
started a subtle campaign. I would meet Boromir's eyes during meals and hold his
gaze for longer than was polite. I made a habit of brushing up against the
warrior with some part of my body whenever we chanced to meet. One day I
suggested that Boromir and I have sparring practice, and I showed up without a
shirt on and let Boromir defeat me. The next day I suggested a rematch, and I
showed up wearing only a loincloth, with my body oiled. I easily defeated the
Steward's son and I made sure that the younger man knew that he had been allowed
to win the day before. Not for nothing was I known as the greatest hunter in the
North.
Gandalf finally noticed what I was doing after almost a week had gone by and
decided to poke his long nose into the matter. He drew me aside, "I have seen
your pursuit of the man from Gondor. You must cease at once. It is not seemly!"
"Why, because he is a man?" I countered. "You know I have not taken any
female into my bed since Arwen bound herself to me."
Gandalf sighed, "Have you ever considered not having anyone in your bed? Many
people go for long periods of time without sex and are none the worse for it."
I was puzzled, "Why would I do that?" Then I smirked, "Besides, he is
Denethor's son, I still owe that old man some grief after the trouble he caused
me. "
"Why do you hate Denethor so? He was never any threat to you."
"Because he is a petty, vindictive little man who does not deserve to be the
son of someone like Ecthelion. He tried to arrange for my patrols to be ambushed
by Orcs, just because his father loved me better. And he didn't do it just once;
it had happened several times before I realized what he was doing. Luckily,
Boromir doesn't resemble his father, or I might not be able to manage bedding
him."
"I beg of you, you must not do this!"
"You still have not given me a good reason, Gandalf."
"Because he is your son!" the wizard thundered.
I froze, "What did you say?"
"You do recall seducing Denethor's wife a few weeks before you left Gondor,
do you not?"
"It seemed the least I could do," I shrugged. "The old man she married wasn't
keeping her happy, and he deserved to be cuckolded, especially by me."
"Denethor is the same age as you are, you know."
"He was born old. What about Finduilas?"
"Her belly was already ripening by the time you left to fight the Corsairs."
I started to argue, but Gandalf interrupted me, "Yes, I know, Denethor was still
bedding her, but as soon as I saw the child, I knew he was yours."
If it had been anyone but Gandalf saying these things to me, I would have
doubted his sanity. But it was Gandalf, and so I was forced to believe. "A son,"
I was dazed, "I have a son."
"Yes, ironic isn't it? Denethor dotes on his oldest son beyond all reason and
ignores his younger son. But his beloved Boromir is actually the child of his
hated rival, and Faramir alone is his true-born son," Gandalf mused.
Boromir was naturally confused by my retreat from his seduction, so I decided
to tell him about Arwen and I humbled myself to apologize.
I tried to feel as a father should about Boromir, but the principal thing I
felt was fear. We were setting out to destroy the Ring of Power that had
corrupted Isildur, and there was not one, but two men on the quest in whose
veins ran that tainted blood. I would have to watch Boromir closely and I knew
from his words at the Council that he did not understand our ancestor's fall.
As we traveled south along the western edge of the Misty Mountains, I came to
respect Boromir's battle skills and his common sense. I found myself wanting to
be closer to him, wanting to know this stranger who was also by some chance my
child. But my responsibilities to the Fellowship and my heritage weighed heavily
on me. The long hours of endless walking gave me much time for introspection, a
thing I had tried to avoid all my life. As I walked behind Boromir, I was forced
by his very presence to confront the results of my heedless actions.
My line was weak and corrupted, this fact I knew and had known since I was
old enough to understand. Elrond had taught me well how Isildur had been
weak-willed and power-mad, and how each passing generation since his time had
become even more inadequate. And then the Half-Elven bastard had tried to
convince me that I was the one who was meant to be the King of Men. His
contradictory demands on me had made me nearly crazy. I had tried to hide from
my destiny by fighting with the Dúnedain, by pretending to be no more than a son
of the North. I had drunk far too much ale and smoked too much pipeweed in
pursuit of forgetfulness. I had looked at my numerous affairs with anyone who
would have me as proof of my degradation. And I had hoped with every breath I
took that the One Ring would never be found and that my weakness would never be
exposed to the rest of the world.
Arwen was convinced that I could overcome Isildur's folly and set right what
had gone wrong all those years ago. She claimed that she had inherited her
grandmother's foresight and she deemed that I would rise higher than any king
before me, save Elendil. So she bound herself to me because she believed that it
was the will of the Valar that the lines of Elrond and Elros be reunited. I did
not share her conviction, but I was grateful to her for seeing some good in me.
I tried to keep our vows to each other as best I could, though I believed that
honor was foreign to my nature. Her love for me was the one bright spot in my
life.
But now something else was illuminating the darkness of my spirit. Boromir
had not grown up with tales of betrayal and failure by his forefathers. He had
been brought up with tales of Mardil, the Good Steward, and all the other men of
the House of Húrin, who had kept faith and kept their oaths and kept Gondor for
the King. He had all the confidence of a man sure of his world and his place in
it.
I had started to relax and enjoy Boromir's company by the time we were
climbing the Pass of Caradhras. I had begun to think my fears of him groundless,
when suddenly Frodo tripped and tumbled down the mountain to my feet. I helped
the Halfling to his feet and then looked up just in time to see Boromir pick up
the Ring.
"Boromir! Give the Ring to Frodo." I gripped the hilt of my sword
unconsciously, instinctively ready to act if necessary. I saw the lustful look
cross Boromir's face as his hand slowly came up to take the Ring. My anxious
words finally penetrated the spell the Ring had laid on him and he gave it back
to Frodo.
As my hand gradually relaxed from the sword I had not even realized I had
grasped, I understood the choices that the Valar would put before me and the
price I might have to pay for my tainted blood. If it came to protecting the
Ringbearer or slaying the son I was coming to appreciate, I was not sure which I
would choose. I could protect Frodo with my life or death as I had sworn to at
Elrond's Council, but I did not know if I would be able to save him if it would
require Boromir's death. So my oath to Frodo was yet another vow that had turned
to ashes in my hands. I wanted nothing more than to flee the entire mess and
lose myself forever in the forests of the North.
I followed Gandalf in a daze, walking and fighting only because such things
were thoroughly ingrained in my behavior. I tried to watch Boromir to see if the
Ring had taken him, but after the incident on Caradhras, he seemed to back to
his usual sunny nature. The darkness of Moria oppressed him as it did us all,
but he bore it better than most.
I stayed in my haze of unconcern until Gandalf fell in battle with a Balrog.
I stood at the edge of the abyss, staring in disbelief at the place where my
friend had been. I finally roused from my stupor to hear Boromir frantically
calling my name as he bore the Ringbearer away from the disaster of Khazad-dûm.
As we exited the mines, I realized grimly that I could no longer float along,
content to let Gandalf make my decisions. It fell to me to lead the remnants of
the Fellowship.
"Boromir, get them up."
"Give them a moment, for pity's sake," he begged me.
His compassion touched me, but I knew we could not linger, not until we had
reached a place of refuge. "By nightfall these hills will be crawling with Orcs.
We must reach the safety of the woods of Lothlórien."
He understood my urgency then, and helped me get the little ones moving. We
reached the Golden Wood unharmed and finally the Fellowship was ushered into the
presence of the Lord and Lady.
I faced the Lady Galadriel with my usual nervousness. She could see deep into
the hearts of the beings who came within her wood, and I had never faced her
with a clear conscience. She found me contemptible and was by no means happy
with Arwen's choice. Her mental probing revealed my relationship with Boromir
and my bouts of self-examination. She seemed smug that I was finally forced to
deal with the results of my careless drift through my existence.
Boromir trembled and sweated under her gaze and I began to fear for him once
again. He avoided the rest of the Fellowship as we settled in for the night and
I tried to find the source of his uneasiness.
"Take some rest. These woods are well protected."
"I will find no rest here," he muttered. "I heard a voice in my head. She
spoke to me of the fall of Gondor, but said that there is hope yet. It is long
since we had any hope. My father is a noble man, but he grows weak and his rule
is failing. Our people lose faith. He looks to me to set things right and I
would do it. I would see the glory of Gondor restored."
I ground my teeth at this mention of Denethor and his unreasonable
expectations of his elder son. My son! Denethor had done the same thing to
Boromir that Elrond had done to me: placed responsibility for the entire world
on our frail human shoulders.
Boromir turned to face me then and his face was full of animation and pride.
"Have you ever seen it, Aragorn? Have you ever seen the Tower of Ecthelion
glowing like a spike of pearl and silver, its banners caught high in the morning
breeze? Have you ever been called home by the clear ringing of silver trumpets?"
I was humbled by his unmistakable love and dedication to his city. In all my
life I had never found anything to spark my passion, never felt such feelings as
my son had for his city far away. I answered him slowly, "I have seen the White
City, long ago."
He leaned even closer to me, "One day our paths will lead us there. And the
Tower Guard shall take up the call 'The Lords of Gondor have returned.' "
I could not bear to dash his hopes, could not bear to tell him that I would
have to go to Mordor with Frodo, so I said nothing. He turned and went to his
bed, while I sat sleeplessly through the night. I had an overwhelming urge to
shield this son of mine from all the hurts and disappointments of this world.
For the first time, I regretted that I had no part of his upbringing.
Galadriel and Celeborn gifted us with Elven boats and other things and sent
us on our way. We made good time on the Great River and the days passed in
relative peace among our Fellowship.
One night as we made camp beside the river, I came upon Boromir staring at a
log floating by the bank. He had not realized the Gollum was still following us.
He tried to talk me into going to Minas Tirith to regroup, but beneath his words
I could hear the maniacal glee of the Ring.
I finally lost patience with his pleading and tried to walk away, but he
grabbed my tunic and growled, "You've lived your whole life in fear, hiding from
your heritage. But I tell you there is good to be found in the world of Men, and
honor and decency."
"I would not bring the Ring within a hundred leagues of your city," I ground
out.
I stamped away from him to my bedroll, trying to ignore the look of
devastation on his face. I knew all about the weakness of Men and he was proof.
I wanted no part of ruling Gondor. He was pushing me too hard; I would rather go
to Mordor than to Minas Tirith and face my destiny. I could not do what he was
asking of me. But one thing I could not deny: the respect I felt for him
initially had grown into true friendship. I actually liked this stubborn,
hard-headed Gondorian.
As I lay on my blankets and tried to sleep, memories of this journey with my
surprising son flittered through my brain. And I realized that I was lying to
myself again. I was pleased with him, pleased with his battle skills, his easy
nobility, his care of those who depended on his strength. But I could take no
responsibility for his virtues; they must have been instilled in him by the
hated Denethor. It galled me, because the Steward had kept not just my kingdom
for me, but my son as well. And I could hide from it no longer, for then I
understood that I loved my son and I would give anything to have him know it.
All these years, the high and mighty of Middle Earth, Elves and wizards and
sons of forgotten Númenórean nobility, had pushed me to accept my destiny and I
had ignored them all. I had continued my debauched path in hopes that I would
never face Isildur's choice. But I could not disregard Boromir's claim on me and
his insistence that I be the King. Of all the peoples of these lands, only
Boromir had that power over me and only he had the right to expect noble things
from me. And I realized that night that maybe, with him at my side as my
Steward, I could be what he wanted me to be. And for the sake of the love I bore
for him, I would try to give my son what he desired.
We continued our drift down the Anduin and I pondered my new-found feelings
for Boromir. As we passed the Argonath, I stared long and hard at the likeness
of Isildur as if I had never seen it before. I had always cursed his name for
bringing such disgrace to his descendants. I hoped that the youngest member of
his line could escape that fate.
We beached the boats at Parth Galen and set up camp to wait for nightfall to
cross the lake. Legolas was being his usual annoying, gloomy self, but I ignored
him as I always did. I had forgotten that he was usually right about things such
as approaching enemies. Bitterly do I now regret not listening to him. But
perhaps the Valar had ordained our paths long before and nothing I could do
would have changed our fate.
It was Merry who noticed that Frodo was missing and I immediately saw
Boromir's shield lying abandoned by a tree. I no longer needed Legolas' Elven
sight, for my heart was suddenly full of forebodings as I raced up the hill of
Amon Hen.
"The Ring has taken Boromir." With these simple words, Frodo crushed any
expectation I had that Boromir and I could find peace together. I knew that the
choice I feared was on me at last, and I still had no idea how to steer my
steps.
But I saw in Frodo's blue eyes his resolve to take the choice from me and
hope flared in my heart. "I would have gone with you into the very fires of
Mordor," I said as I released him to follow his own road. As I closed his small
fingers around the Ring, I finally started to believe that I could change my
fate, that I did not have to follow Isildur's path of destruction.
"Look after the others, especially Sam. He will not understand," Frodo asked.
I nodded, and added in my mind, *Especially Boromir.*
I saw his sword glowing blue and sent him on his way, while I fought to stop
the Uruk-hai that were charging up the hill. Gimli and Legolas were helping me
when I heard the sound that chilled my blood and killed my hopes.
It was the Horn of Gondor and I raced down the hill to its call. I fought
like a wild thing, slaying every Orc that stood between my loved one and me. I
finally reached him, to see him kneeling at the feet of the beast that was
trying to murder him, his eyes still full of fire. I leaped on the Uruk-hai and
dispatched him as quickly as I could, then I ran to where Boromir lay.
He had managed to crawl to a tree, and my fear threatened to choke me, for he
was pierced by three arrows in his chest. I tried to deny what my heart was
telling me, tried to remove the arrows, but Boromir had already accepted his
fate.
"Leave it. It is over. The world of Men will fail, and all will come to
darkness, and my city to ruin."
I could not let him go without hope, no matter what it cost me. "I do not
know what strength is in my blood, but I swear to you that I will not let the
White City fall, nor our people fail."
"Our people... our people," he repeated with surprise and joy.
I nodded, trying to hold back my tears.
He buried his hand in my hair, "I would have followed you, my brother. My
captain. My King."
And in that moment I was given the son that any man would be proud to claim,
for he had courage beyond question, his honour had been redeemed, and he had
given me all the loyalty in his generous heart.
And the Valar decided that I did not deserve such a gift, because in the next
moment he was gone, lost to me forever.
And so I fought all the battles of the War of the Ring, not to reclaim my
ancestor's throne or to marry Arwen, but to fulfill the only vow I had ever
taken that meant anything to me.
And every time I swung my sword, I prayed that I would be found worthy of the
trust given to me by my firstborn son.
Epilogue
King Elessar entered his rooms hot and tired after riding patrol east toward
Cair Andros. He had never been able to completely stop being a Ranger once he
had become King and he often rode out hunting orcs and other outlaws, sometimes
accompanied by Éomer or Faramir.
Elessar's ears were filled with the sounds of his infant son screaming, as he
walked in the nursery to the sight of Arwen desperately trying to calm the
frantic baby.
The King was alarmed. "What is the matter with him?"
"He is teething," Arwen answered as she tried to quiet the child, but all her
efforts were to no avail. "Poor little mite, it hurts, doesn't it?" She turned
to her husband, "I have tried everything, but I cannot get him to settle. Elven
babies do not carry on so."
"Let me take him for a bit," Elessar reached for the boy.
"But you are still in your armor, surely you want to bathe and change first?"
"No, that can wait," the King took his son and walked out into the garden
that adjoined the royal suite. "There little one," he soothed, gently stroking
the downy cheek. The baby had momentarily quieted and his eyes focused on the
loose strap of his father's vambrace. His tiny hands reached out for the leather
and soon he was gnawing happily on the band.
Elessar smiled mistily as he awkwardly removed the vambrace from his arm
without dislodging the baby. "Should I tell you about the man who wore those,
Eldarion? Shall I tell you about your brother?"
The heir to the throne of Gondor did not reply, but Elessar took his silence
and steady chewing for consent. "He was a brave warrior and a good man. And his
smile could light up the whole world. And I loved him with my entire being." The
King sighed as memories washed over him. "His name was Boromir..."
by Raederle
No more be grieved at that which thou hast done,
Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud,
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,
And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.
—William Shakespeare
fter depositing the remaining three Hobbits in
the rooms that Elrond had provided for them, I was ready for some relaxation. I
had found a quiet nook to unwind and get lost in a story from the First Age,
when I heard footsteps approaching. I looked up and saw a man dressed in rich
clothes wandering through the shrine to the Sword-that-was-broken. I remained
still and was able to observe the stranger without being noticed myself. What
have we here? Gondor from the looks of the insignia, nobility from the richness
of the clothes, and the badge of the Stewards. One of Denethor's sons, then.
Doesn't resemble the old man, but he looks almost exactly like his mother.
Wonder if he wants to play? He would provide a good distraction from the serious
matters surrounding us.
