Mourning
In the early hours of the morning, Legolas stood watch far enough away not to
overhear even with his Elvish ears. The dwarf snored loudly, whereas the wizard
lay silently with his eyes closed. Perhaps he was not asleep at all, though he
never stirred while the stars continued to wheel about the sky.
Aragorn lay in the tall grass, his face pressed to the undersides of the
vambraces that he had unstrapped from his forearms so that he could hold them.
He cried silently, refusing to let his breathing grow ragged, biting his lip
when necessary to keep the sobs in. He did not say Boromir's name aloud even in
a whisper, for he did not want to hear the sound vanish in the air the way
Boromir's breathing had stopped, leaving behind terrible quiet.
In the bleak darkness before dawn, Aragorn lay alone with his agony. He wondered
sometimes about the joy he might have felt at Gandalf's return and the rescue of
Merry and Pippin if only the other man had been alive to share it. Eventually,
sometimes, he fell into fathomless dreams, but no matter how terrifying, he
always woke at first light.
Boromir would never wake to see another sunrise.
The lives of men are brief and bleak. Legolas does not understand, not even when
he believes Aragorn dead after the battle with the warg riders. "They are
frightened," the elf says, gazing at the farmers and stable hands recruited to
battle Saruman's army at Helm's Deep. "They cannot win this fight. They are all
going to die!"
"Then I shall die as one them!" Aragorn cries, his voice too loud among the
terrified old men and young boys. If he were mortally wounded in the battle, he
thinks, he might feel only relief: the fates of Rohan and Gondor would no longer
rest in his hands, and perhaps he would see Boromir again soon.
In Edoras he sometimes encountered Éowyn creeping through dark hallways in the
early hours, her eyes haunted. He knows that she lost her beloved cousin
recently, the young prince whom Théoden also mourns. Éowyn is so young, yet she
has already known so much death in her family and in her kingdom. The evils
unleashed by Sauron and Saruman will bring yet more suffering into the world of
men.
The battle rages through the night. The forces of Rohan cannot prevail much
longer, yet Aragorn must keep them strong. He made a promise to Gandalf that the
defenses would hold, and if he must keep his word with no more strength than his
own sword and his will, then that is what he will do.
Black thunderclouds and rain obscure the stars for most of the night, yet now
and then a few shine through. Looking up, Aragorn thinks of Boromir dying in the
shadow of Amon Hen, disappearing over the Falls of Rauros. Exhaustion overtakes
him briefly, body and spirit, and he sags against the stones circling the great
fortress. Yet he cannot weep now. He cannot rest. Too many other men may die.
They must get through this darkness, all of them; somehow, they must hold on
until the dawn.
by Your Cruise Director
ight was the only time when Aragorn could weep. As they traveled from the
borders of Fangorn to Edoras, no longer driven by sharp-edged terror concerning
the fate of the hobbits, they could afford to stop to rest. Aragorn and Gimli
had both been near collapse after three days of tireless pursuit, and even
Gandalf seemed to need to recover his strength after the great changes that had
befallen him.
