Kudos to Admiral von Cha-Cha, my beta-reader, who has done a wonderful job ^^
Disclaimer : Nothing you recognize belongs to me.
To the Edges of Duty
3015 TA
Excited by the prospect of coming back to his beloved native city in all its sparkling splendour after a long absence, Boromir spurred his mount into a canter. Soon the shadow of the Rammas Echor (1) fell behind him and he allowed his mind to have a well deserved respite, pushing his restricting responsibilities into the background.
The teasing sun which had just risen played with his nape and warmed his tense muscles, while a cool breeze lashed his face and reminded him of the imminent wet gloom of fall which would shortly replace the mildness of the lovely days. The wild grass near the road cheerfully danced and the blue-grey clouds twirled above the plain. The lively cheeping of some playful bird even greeted the riders.
Boromir knew perfectly the road that he and his men were now taking, as he had travelled through this land so many times. Yet he never got tired of it. The Pelennor Fields were dear to him; the storm which rumbled and threatened Gondorian borders seemed to have spared the fertile fields and the orchards with their trees heavy with ripe fruits.
At that thought, Boromir's hands tensed on his reins.
He loved his native city and his noble and stubborn people; he was proud to belong to one of the last free people amongst the Men and to protect them. A talented captain dear to Gondor, he was his father's pride. For some people he was a protective wall, for others Gondor's vengeful sword.
He had indeed inherited his tactical genius and his sense of duty from his father, however he also had his mother's compassion. His heart bled when he saw the consequences of Mordor's destructive force and his temper raged when he witnessed the tears of a family racked with grief. How much longer could he hold in the feeling of despair these things made him feel?
"My captain?"
Suddenly startled out of his grim musings, Boromir turned in his saddle toward the one who had spoken, one of his youngest recruits still filled with enthusiasm.
"Will you pass on my greetings to Lady Alfirin?"
Boromir nodded with a fleeting smile. Most of his men had a soft spot for his young wife. Patient and gentle, she blossomed in the Houses of Healing. Many soldiers had been appeased by her soothing hands or comforted by her serene presence. She offered her beaming smile to every one, whatever the circumstances.
Boromir had not chosen to marry the young Alfirin from Lossarnach, who was twelve years younger than him. He had done it because it was his duty, as were many of his actions: and he needed an heir. Alfirin had been chosen because of her noble heritage, but also because of the friendship her family shared with the King of Rohan. Morwen of Lossarnach's blood indeed ran in her veins. (2)
He did not regret their marriage and even felt a sincere affection for Alfirin. He did not know her well because of his prolonged and repeated absences, but he had been surprised to notice that he found comfort and rest in her embrace.
He enjoyed seeing her dancing under the stars, letting down her ebony hair, or listening to her quiet breathing while she slept.
She was even already with child and so all Minas Tirith had a reason to rejoice. But Boromir was worried: Alfirin's pregnancy was difficult, and in addition, her health was delicate. He was not blind: he had noticed the purplish-blue rings under her eyes, and that her face had become even paler and more angular, and that her gaze sometimes became similar to that of a scared child.
Boromir had to protect her and the children she would give him, but how could he fight an ailment he knew nothing of?
A cloud of dust ahead of them suddenly caught his attention and raising his hand he ordered his men to stop. His grip tightened on his sword's hilt and he warily watched the horizon. It soon turned out that a lone rider was riding full tilt toward them. It was undoubtedly a messenger.
He put again his horse forward and his men followed suit.
The mysterious rider was indeed a messenger and wore the Citadel guards' severe outfit. He bowed his head in a respectful greeting as soon as he stopped and heralded without warning:
"My captain, I am relieved to have found you so quickly! Lord Faramir has just sent me. Lady Alfirin has already been in labour for several hours."
Boromir tensed at once.
"How is it possible?" he exclaimed. "The delivery was not expected for at least a month!"
"I am only the messenger, I cannot explain why the delivery is so early..."
Boromir abruptly breathed in and turned toward the oldest amongst the men who had come with him from Osgiliath.
"Belladan, I entrust you the task of presenting a report of the situation in Ithilien to the Steward, my father."
Then, without expecting an answer, he spoke to the others:
"We cannot afford to lose time!"
oooOoooOoooOooo
Never had Boromir so quickly covered the distance between Osgiliath and Minas Tirith. Boromir, who usually enjoyed the splendid view of Mount Mindolluin capped with snow overlooking the White City, had barely glanced at the sparkling radiance of the Tower of Ecthelion.
The company burst in through the main gates which were not even fully open. Everybody dismounted as usual, except Boromir and the messenger, whose steeds rushed forward on the main road which climbed up to the Citadel.
The messenger was ahead of Boromir, and the former's voice raised above the shattering noise of the horses' hooves on the paving:
"Make way! Make way for Lord Boromir who has returned! Make way!"
One by one, they went through the various gates of the seven levels of Minas Tirith. At the last gate, having seen Faramir, Boromir wordlessly dismounted.
"Finally, you're here!" Faramir exclaimed. His drawn features gave his worried state of mind away. "Follow me!"
Boromir silently nodded because of the big lump in his throat. Both brothers greeted each other with a warrior handshake.
"Beregond, you've done everything you could. You can go back to your post, you'll be rewarded for your speed and efficiency."
While both brothers hurried toward the Houses of Healing, Faramir explained the situation:
"Alfirin has been delivering for hours... I was told she was resting in the gardens when the first contractions began. I haven't heard anything yet of the delivery itself, only the women are accepted at Alfirin's bedside, and they remain walled up in their silence! I sent a trustworthy man in search of you, hoping no unexpected event had delayed your journey back to Osgiliath..."
Boromir kept silent.
The grave-faced Steward's sons soon burst in the Houses of Healing without warning. A young healer in training, surprised, suddenly whirled around and awkwardly curtseyed: Boromir looked very intimidating as he still had his hauberk and all his weapons on. Faramir nodded to the frightened girl in order to dismiss her, and the brothers hurried in the corridors leading to the antechamber of the room where the birth was taking place.
Obviously, the door was closed and an eerie silence reigned in the small room. There was suddenly a long moan and Boromir tensed.
The long wait was just beginning: Faramir chose to sit down, while Boromir preferred to stand. He slowly removed his weaponry while his brother stared at an invisible spot in a wall.
"Where is Father?" Boromir asked much later. He had eventually leant against a wall in a posture which could have seemed relaxed, but Faramir knew his brother all too well: Boromir's tight jaw and fists gave his worry and his frustration away.
Indeed, Boromir could not stand feeling useless or powerless and under these circumstances he was both. He didn't know how long he would be able to contain his profound unrest. He had done his best to distract his thoughts, hence this sudden question after what had seemed an endless silence.
Faramir carefully weighed his words and finally answered:
"He didn't leave the throne room. He hopes that both mother and child will emerge unhurt from the delivery."
Boromir nodded and the silence once again fell in the room.
The door suddenly half-opened, giving way to a slender and dishevelled woman. Boromir straightened up at once, Faramir stood up. The maiden lowered her head and eventually wearily spoke:
"Lady Alfirin wants you to be at her side. But I have to warn you that there are some... complications. The delivery has begun too early, and it has been discovered that Lady Alfirin was expecting twins. Her hips are narrow... Things are not looking good."
She looked up: her upset gaze met Boromir's cold and nearly disdainful one.
"Let me pass." He finally managed to articulate without losing his temper.
The young woman nodded and stepped aside, letting the Steward's eldest son enter.
oooOoooOoooOooo
Boromir, haggard, strode into the living quarters that he and Alfirin had shared.
He hesitated for a few moments, and slowly walked toward her favourite room, a comfortable room she had called "private sitting-room". The furniture was ill-matched: there were solemn family heirlooms in the midst of serene paintings picturing peaceful landscapes that Alfirin herself had painted... Everyone had eccentricities – Alfirin's was undoubtedly an usual sense of decoration.
Despite the fact that this room always amused him, he remained unable to smile.
He and Alfirin had spent there most of their evenings together, sometimes while chatting about nothings, sometimes in a comfortable silence. There, they had argued about the name their child would be given: Barahir, if it was a boy; Eldolen, if it was a girl.
Boromir's steps guided him to the iron wrought mirror that Alfirin had taken with her leaving Lossarnach and that had been so dear to her, as her mother had owned it. He froze and his reflection sadly stared at him.
He barely recognized his pallid face. It was his face of the day after a defeat, his face in front of the tombs of those who had fallen to defend the White City.
He was unable to suppress his overcoming feeling of having failed which compressed his entrails. Alfirin was dead. He had failed his duty of protecting her, he had failed her.
Powerless, he had witnessed her last breaths while her face had become nearly peaceful and while she had seemed to fall asleep.
But she would never wake up.
Moreover, he knew she had suffered, and he had tried in vain to comfort her as he has sat at her bedside.
His failure was complete.
Alfirin had been so proud of being his wife; she had looked at him so many times with her big eyes sparkling with trust and affection. Had he betrayed the trust she had put in him without hesitation with his helplessness?
So many doubts were haunting him...
And what about the children?
While thinking of his son Barahir, his mood darkened even more. Stillborn, the latter would never see daylight.
What did he have left?
The whirling of his thoughts became finally calmer. He did have Eldolen left. His little star, his daughter. The only survivor of the disaster.
Eldolen, who would never know her mother. While growing up, would she be angry with her father for it?
Boromir was aware that Faramir had endured with difficulty the early passing of their mother, and both of them had suffered from her absence. What about Eldolen?
Would his insecurities never be quiet?
In the reflection of the mirror he was relieved to see Faramir who was silently watching him. Boromir had run away in search of solitude, however it had proven to be a rather scatterbrained decision. His brother's constant presence, who knew and understood him undoubtedly better than anyone else, indeed comforted him a little bit.
Both brothers stayed that way for a long time. They had no need of word to understand each other, one of them wordlessly offering comfort to the other.
Faramir eventually broke the silence:
"Eldolen needs you. Minas Tirith needs you."
Boromir turned toward his brother and looked down. He did not try to hide his confusion.
"Faramir... How could I be a father for Eldolen... and at the same time fight Minas Tirith's foes? How?"
Few were those who had already seen Boromir consumed by doubt: Faramir belonged to them. It filled him with fright –who would not be afraid at seeing such a proud and self-assured man evidently displaying his insecurities? – but he had learnt to conceal it.
"You're not alone." He simply said.
And Boromir understood. Minas Tirith counted on him, but himself could count on his brother. He looked up:
"Where is Eldolen?"
(1) Outside wall of Minas Tirith which encircles the Pelennor Fields.
(2) Morwen of Lossarnach was a Rohan Queen. She is Théoden's mother.