Beyond the Sea They cleansed my body, removed the arrows that killed
me, put me in an Elven boat with my broadsword and
the cloven Horn of Gondor and as many Orc weapons as
space would allow, so I think I must have died
honorably. I don't remember much of my last fight, apart
from the end, when the Halflings were carried off by
stinking Orcs, screaming and fighting and kicking, until
one of the foul creatures hit them brutally over the head
so they hung like dead weights as the creatures of
darkness ran past me, their casual carrying of their
burden a final insult.
They sang a lament for me, Aragorn, and Legolas, their
eyes rimmed red with unshed tears, while Gimli stood by
with bowed bead, so my death must have meant
something to them, even if my life gave them so much
grief. I betrayed them at the end. No, not just at the
end, I betrayed them right from the beginning. I never
committed myself completely to the Quest. There were
too many doubts, too much mistrust, too much pride and
arrogance in my heart to ever become a real member of
the Fellowship. And all this became my downfall in the
end.
Aragorn took the bracers from my arms with more
tenderness than I had ever deserved, and he bound
them around his own and filled his quill with the arrows
that had slain me, while grief and anger raged in his
eyes, so maybe, maybe, I meant something special to
him after all.
They pushed me away in this little boat of Elvengrey
wood, they sent me down the Rauros Falls because it
was too dangerous for them to give me a proper burial. I
would not endanger them in death as I had done in life
by falling prey to the temptation of the Ring. Instead of
resting forever under a grassclad burial mound, I sped
downward in a roar of water and foam and never-ending
noise and spun round in whirlpools and eddies until the
Anduin slowed its course and ambled forward towards
the sea. The broken remains of my horn were washed
away from me, as were the foul Orcs' weapons, which
sank to the bottom of the river, the remains of my horn
setting off on their own, unknown course.
For days I drifted down the river, settling into the rhythm
of gently lapping water, my spirit still hovering close by
my dead body for some reason not wanting to take leave
of my mortal remains just yet. And then, one night I
passed the fields of Ithilien and I saw my beloved
brother sitting near the water's edge, studious, pensive,
as was always his way when he was not engaged in
battle. Faramir, my brother, I loved you so dearly, more
than I ever let you know. You were so much better than
I was, even if our father did not deem you so. I am glad
that it was I who undertook the fateful journey and not
you, and that it was I who died failing to fulfill Gondor's
promise of aiding the quest to bring the ring to Mordor.
Our country would have fared so much worse if it had
been otherwise. I see that clearly now. I see my flaws,
my mistakes, the chances I missed, the opportunities I
failed to see.
This is what grieves me most of all, that in death I see
what I could not when I was alive. It is all as clear to me
now as the water that surrounds me, shining like the
light of the Lady Galadriel as my funeral boat drifts ever
further down the river Anduin. The river is widening
more and more, the landscape is changing, trees make
room for flat, dull plains, until the great river and I finally
reach the sea. My mind floats along with my body, out
into the bluegrey sea. I do not know for what reason, nor
do I know what will happen, but somehow my body is
still linked to my soul, a tenuous yet insistent tug
pulling at my consciousness, not letting me find peace
just yet.
Seagulls accompany my still body, crying forlornly as
they hover in the sky. They sing another funeral song for
the Steward's son who failed to understand the look in
the eyes of his King until it was too late. I was too
preoccupied with myself, with Gondor, with his unwanted
and unwarranted claims to the throne, claims that were
made only in my mind. I drove myself mad with jealousy
and wrongful accusations and never stopped to think
what I meant to him, or what he meant to me. Or maybe
I was just too afraid to admit it.
The Eastwind, the wind that comes from Mordor, but is
now seasoned with the sweet smell of Ithilien's flowers,
speeds my boat further and further out onto the sea.
Further and further away until even the seagulls leave
me on this journey that I must make alone. I do not
know where it will end, whether I will drift forever on a
calm, grey sea, the sun filtering through my closed
eyelids, the stars unable to lift the darkness in my eyes.
But I am soothed, rocked like a little baby, the way my
mother used to rock me when I was a little child and
afraid of the dark.
I am not afraid; no, how can I be. I am dead, there is
nothing left to be afraid of. If any emotion is still here it
is curiosity and maybe sadness that I will not see him
again. My brother, my captain, my King even, but never
my lover. And through no fault of his, I see that now.
The offer was there all along, but I was too proud to see
it. Too consumed in my notions of what was right and
befitting, although my body betrayed itself over and over
again as I would lie awake in a dark forest and stare at
his sleeping form over the dying embers of our fire. He
would have taken me, showed me what it is to love and
be loved, even if he would not have forsaken Arwen, his
betrothed. That much was clear to me from his goodbye
to her when we left Rivendell. The love they shared
would never be broken. And I would not, could not see
further than that. I would not understand that there was
room for more love in his heart besides the love for his
Elven Lady. He would have loved me just as much if I
had let him. I would not recognize that he would give me
the same promise filled look when we would all sit
together at night, tired, sharing a simple meal of bread
and meat. I feel sad, realizing all this and I start to
wonder how long my journey over this sea will take or
where it will end.
But something changes in the gentle, rocking motions of
the water, a shortening of the waves that moves my
boat in another, more jarring rhythm. And then my little
boat is lifted in the sky, while the earth curves away
beneath me and I am now drifting in the sky on a
straight road through mist and clouds for what seems an
eternity. Other, even more magnificent seagulls than the
ones from before now sail the skies, flocking together
one by one, until there are so many I cannot count them
anymore and their lonely cries accompany me yet again
on this final journey. And then the boat gently comes to
a halt, the merest of shocks indicating that I have
reached a place that is more than air and water. There is
a freshness, a greenness in the air, like a rain curtain
lifting from the air, and even in death I am gladdened.
There are voices around me, speaking in a language that
I have heard before, in dreams, in whispers, from
Legolas' mouth. Elven voices sussuring like the waves
and the wind that carried me here. Elven hands that
steady the boat and pull it gently onto the shore. And
Elven hands that lift my body out of the boat and carry it
away, inland. I can do nothing but follow, my spirit still
attached to the broken and marred flesh that was once
my body. The Elves bring me to a beautiful yet somber
looking hall, its walls and roof wrought with intricate
designs, and they carry me inside.
A grave looking woman sits there and they lay my body
before her. She leans forward and puts a gentle hand on
my forehead and I feel my spirit being drawn again
towards my body. I slide inwards, turning and twisting;
my body shudders and I gasp and I draw my first painful
breath like a newborn baby. I open my eyes and look up
into friendly, yet immeasurably sad eyes. There is a
benevolence surrounding her that is more than I can
bear. And I cry. I ended my life crying and I am starting
my life, or whatever this gift that I have been given may
be called, by crying again. I cry for everything I have
lost, for the things I could have achieved if I had not
been so flawed. I cry for I know I am in the Halls of
Mandos from where I will board Mournië, the ship that
will bring me to the unknown place where Men and all
other mortals go. I cry for I know I will not see Aragorn
again, I cry for my unanswered love. Because I now
know that I loved him. I loved him with all my heart, I
merely was too blind to see it. Finally my tears dry and
the woman starts to speak, her voice soft and gentle.
"Boromir, son of Denethor, welcome to the Halls of
Mandos from which you have been given reprieve.
Nienna I am, the one who gives solace to those waiting
in my brother's Halls. As is the right of all mortals you
have been given time to think about your past life in
Arda before you will board the dark ship Mournië to
return to Eru Iluvatar, the One. But you came not by
the usual road that mortal Men will take to arrive
here. But instead you were brought here by Elven wood,
clad in Elven cloak and adorned with Elven clasp and
therefore you will be given a boon.
You need not spend your waiting days
in the Dark Halls of Mandos but you will be allowed to
review your life wherever you please on this island
until you will be summoned again."
I do not know what to say, but I rise and bow my head
in thanks. I look up again and see Nienna smiling at me,
and the great sorrow that was in my heart is lifted. The
Elves, who have kept their distance while I gave voice to
my grief, now come over and lead me gently away, into
the sunshine.
Days pass and I heal, getting stronger again, the arrow
wounds on my chest having healed completely. I have
spent my healing days on the western shores of the
island from which I have watched the unfurling of the
end of the Quest on Arda. I have seen Frodo and Sam
travel through the barren lands of Mordor, their bond of
love growing stronger and stronger, and I have seen
them throw the One Ring in the Crack of Doom. I have
seen their rescue and it gladdens me. It fills my heart
with joy that these things have come to pass and that in
a little, twisted way my death has contributed to this. In
hindsight my death probably was necessary to set these
events in motion. Had I lived and not succumbed to the
temptation of the Ring none of this might have
happened. We would have gone on, the eight of us,
travelling together into Mordor, and we would all have
been captured and died horribly at the hands of Sauron,
casting the lands of Middle-Earth forever into misery and
doom. My sombre predictions would have come true had
I not died the way I did. It hurts, yet it also feels right: I
have atoned for my sins and I now am content to sit on
the shores of Aman, to look Eastwards and wait. I
do not know what I am waiting for, but I will know what
it is when it comes. I merely enjoy sitting here, finally at
peace with myself and basking in the golden sunlight.
I feel a light tap on my shoulder and I turn around,
looking into the radiant face of one of the Elves that
brought me to the Halls of Mandos. She smiles at me,
bends over and takes my hand.
"It is time now," she says. "Come, Boromir."
I rise and let myself be led over the island, crossing the
Pellinor Mountains until the sun sets and we finally reach
the dark Halls again. I look at my companion, questioning,
not knowing what is expected of me and she beckons me to
go on inside.
I go in, and again I see Nienna, sitting behind a single
fire, and to her left a group of people. I stand still,
hesitating, not knowing what is expected of me, but she
beckons me forward. I cross the hall towards her until I
stand before her. I stand before her, my head bowed in
deference.
"Be welcome again, Boromir, to the Halls of Mandos from
which I sent you away before. Man of Gondor, long have
you waited on the shores of the Undying Lands, not
knowing your fate, or what awaited you. But your
waiting is now over. Long years have passed in the lands
of Middle-Earth and everyone you ever knew has died or
sailed from the Grey Havens to this island. Frodo Baggins
has arrived, and Sam Gamgee, Peregrine Took, Meriadoc
Brandibuck and the one you knew as Gandalf. The last
ship brought Legolas Greenleaf, and Gimli, son of Gloin:
the Elf and his Dwarven friend. But they are not the only
ones who have come to Aman, to find their final
destiny."
She looks sideways to a little group of Men standing to
her left in the gloom, who come forward as she beckons
them, and I gasp in surprise as before me stands
Aragorn, and he laughs and walks up to me. I fall to my
knees, from shock and because it is the proper thing to
do: to give honor to my King.
I kneel frozenly, head bowed, cheeks aflame with shame
and desire and I do not know how I must respond, for it
is not only Aragorn who is here, but Arwen stands beside
him. But she smiles at me, takes my hand to pull me up.
She whispers to me that she knows, and has always
known and that it is all right. Aragorn kisses my brow,
kisses the same spot where he gave me his goodbye
kiss, the seal of his love for me, and I smile and weep at
the same time, noticing that he is still wearing my
bracers, the leather now old and worn, the white tree
barely visible anymore.
"My Boromir, Arandur mine, we will go our final road
together." He kisses me tenderly, lovingly, and I know
that everything has come full circle now. This is the
reason of my waiting for so long in the Undying Lands.
We stand together, his arms around me, holding me as if
he has done so all his life. We are silent, words are no
longer necessary as everything has already been said.
Nienna speaks again, breaking the silence.
"Mournië is waiting for you to bring you beyond the
boundaries of Arda and it will sail soon. You must go now
on your final journey."
The ship, its purple dark sails softly flapping in the wind,
lies in the haven on the farthest shore of Aman. Night is
falling and the stars are coming out. As the three of us
board the ship I look upwards and see a lonely seagull
soar darkly against the stars, its shape blotting out their
humble light. It cries once, a farewell cry to those who
are on the verge of leaving forever. I smile at the sound
and I know that all will be well.
The ship draws away from the shore and I see figures
standing there. I recognize them, four small persons,
standing hand in hand, and an oddly matched couple of
Elf and Dwarf standing nearby, their hands lifted in
greeting; a tall, stately figure is standing a little further
away, gazing benevolently at us. I know we will meet
again at the end of times, when this earth has died and
from the ashes a new earth will be born, but untill then
our parting is forever.
And then we sail under an ever darkening sky, until we
reach the walls of the world, rising up so they seem to
bend in on themselves. A gate lies before us, its doors
dark and unbidding, and anticipation courses through our
bodies. This will be the last journey. What lies behind
these gates will only be known to us. The dark gate
opens and the ship starts to sail through. A gentle light,
like sunlight in spring, shines through and we sail into a
radiant morning, while the air smells of flowers after a
gentle rain; our hearts rejoice as we disembark from the
ship and walk into an everlasting spring together.
The End
by
Sasjah Miller
...Mornië utúlië (Darkness has come)
Believe and you will find your way
Mornië alantië (Darkness has fallen)
A promise lives within you now...
Enya—May it Be
hey gave me some sort of a burial, so I guess I must
have died. I don't remember much of the actual moment
of my death, only that I welcomed it as an ending to
unending pain and that I was gazing through my tears
into the endless sea of Aragorn's eyes while my lungs
filled up with blood. My own tears obscuring my last view
of him, my own lifeblood drowning me, sweeping me
away from him forever.
