Boromir did not like the wood. The Elves made him uncomfortable – and why
were the Fellowship here? They should not waste time – there was little
enough to spare. But he remained silent.
The Elves led the eight travellers up a winding stair, high into the trees. Boromir had never seen anything like the construction of this place – it awed him. Slowly they approached the highest house, and largest, nestled in the largest mallorn tree. A soft white light glowed there.
The eight weary travellers entered the great court of the House, and stood silently, waiting.
Then she, Galadriel, Lady of the Wood, appeared – a tall figure, clad all in shining white. Her golden hair shone like the sunlight. By her side stood another Elf, a Lord, also tall and fair and clad in shining white raiment. His hair was silver, and in his blue eyes, like the eyes of the Lady, there sat wisdom and authority. He spoke first, and his voice was deep and rich.
"Eight there are, yet nine there were set out from Rivendell, so said the messages. Tell me, where is Gandalf? I much desire to speak with him."
The Lady said nothing, but looked long at Aragorn, who stood beside Boromir. And then she spoke, and it seemed to Boromir that he had heard no voice more beautiful or terrible. It was deep, yet soft and musical, even in grief.
"He has fallen into shadow," she said sadly. Boromir could hear the soft gasps of the Elves in the court – hushed moans of great grief and shock.
"Alas, Gandalf the Grey fell in Moria and did not escape," Aragorn said sadly. "And with him died our greatest friend and counsel."
"These are evil tidings," said Celeborn, "the most evil that have been spoken here in long years full of grievous deeds."
"The Quest stands upon the edge of a knife," spoke Galadriel again. "Stray but a little and it will fall, to the ruin of all." She held the eight weary travellers with her eyes, and in silence looked searchingly at them in turn. Boromir saw the hobbits blush, especially Sam, who quickly hung his head. Frodo she held long in her gaze, before he too looked away. Even the proud Dwarf Gimli could not long withstand the intensity of her gaze. It did not seem to Boromir that Legolas or Aragorn were affected by her piercing stare, for they returned it.
And then the Lady Galadriel looked at him. Her deep blue eyes reflected the wisdom gained by aeons of experience, and the authority given her as a High Elf. They were sad yet earnest in their searching. It seemed to Boromir that she was reading his thoughts - looking beneath all his many layers of clothes and studying his soul.
Then Boromir heard her speak, though she said no words aloud.
"You have travelled far, Boromir, son of Denethor, but you have not found what you seek. Your passion for your people is noble, but it blinds you to the snares of desire. You wish to see the glory of Gondor restored, to save it from what seems inevitable destruction. There is yet hope of this, Son of Gondor, but not whence you seek it. There is a choice before you now, and you must decide which path you shall take. Will you follow the others, to battle and to death, to destroy this weapon of the Enemy? Or will you claim that which you so greatly desire, to attain the other longing of your heart?"
The Lady's words pierced Boromir's heart. So she knew of the sickness that had eaten away at his soul for so long – of the terrible struggle in his heart. He trembled, and cast his eyes downward. He could bear the Lady's gaze no longer.
Galadriel spoke again, and this time her words were heard by all the Company.
"Yet, hope remains while the company is true." She smiled. "Do not let your hearts be troubled. Go now and rest, for you are weary with sorrow and much toil. Tonight you will sleep in peace."
But Boromir knew that for him, there would be no peace. He could not sleep – weary though he was, slumber would not come to him. So he sat against the spreading roots of a great mallorn, and thought of what the lady had said to him.
It was in this pensiveness that Aragorn found him. "You should take some rest," he bade Boromir. "Grief has taxed us for many days. These borders are well protected – you may sleep deep and without fear."
Boromir looked at Aragorn. "I will find no rest here," he said despairingly. "I heard her voice inside my head. She spoke of my father and the fall of Gondor. She said to me even now there is hope left. But I cannot see it. It is long since we had any hope." He sighed wearily.
"My father is a noble man, but his rule is failing. And now our…our people lose faith. He looks to me to make things right and I would do it. I would see the glory of Gondor restored." Boromir's voice was choked with emotion, and he sighed again. He looked at Aragorn, who sat next to him.
"Have you ever seen it, Aragorn? The white tower of Ecthelion, glimmering 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?"
As Boromir spoke of the White City, he seemed to feel his grief and despair lift a little. Gondor was to him beauty, home, life itself – his bastion of sanity in a mad, mad world.
"I have seen the White City. Long ago," Aragorn said in a quiet, kindly voice.
"One day, our paths will lead us there. And the tower guards shall take up the call: The Lords of Gondor have returned!" Boromir spoke softly but excitedly, the thought of Gondor and Minas Tirith warming his soul. Perhaps Galadriel was right – and if there was hope yet for Gondor, who better to deliver it than the heirs of the King and the Steward?
The Elves led the eight travellers up a winding stair, high into the trees. Boromir had never seen anything like the construction of this place – it awed him. Slowly they approached the highest house, and largest, nestled in the largest mallorn tree. A soft white light glowed there.
The eight weary travellers entered the great court of the House, and stood silently, waiting.
Then she, Galadriel, Lady of the Wood, appeared – a tall figure, clad all in shining white. Her golden hair shone like the sunlight. By her side stood another Elf, a Lord, also tall and fair and clad in shining white raiment. His hair was silver, and in his blue eyes, like the eyes of the Lady, there sat wisdom and authority. He spoke first, and his voice was deep and rich.
"Eight there are, yet nine there were set out from Rivendell, so said the messages. Tell me, where is Gandalf? I much desire to speak with him."
The Lady said nothing, but looked long at Aragorn, who stood beside Boromir. And then she spoke, and it seemed to Boromir that he had heard no voice more beautiful or terrible. It was deep, yet soft and musical, even in grief.
"He has fallen into shadow," she said sadly. Boromir could hear the soft gasps of the Elves in the court – hushed moans of great grief and shock.
"Alas, Gandalf the Grey fell in Moria and did not escape," Aragorn said sadly. "And with him died our greatest friend and counsel."
"These are evil tidings," said Celeborn, "the most evil that have been spoken here in long years full of grievous deeds."
"The Quest stands upon the edge of a knife," spoke Galadriel again. "Stray but a little and it will fall, to the ruin of all." She held the eight weary travellers with her eyes, and in silence looked searchingly at them in turn. Boromir saw the hobbits blush, especially Sam, who quickly hung his head. Frodo she held long in her gaze, before he too looked away. Even the proud Dwarf Gimli could not long withstand the intensity of her gaze. It did not seem to Boromir that Legolas or Aragorn were affected by her piercing stare, for they returned it.
And then the Lady Galadriel looked at him. Her deep blue eyes reflected the wisdom gained by aeons of experience, and the authority given her as a High Elf. They were sad yet earnest in their searching. It seemed to Boromir that she was reading his thoughts - looking beneath all his many layers of clothes and studying his soul.
Then Boromir heard her speak, though she said no words aloud.
"You have travelled far, Boromir, son of Denethor, but you have not found what you seek. Your passion for your people is noble, but it blinds you to the snares of desire. You wish to see the glory of Gondor restored, to save it from what seems inevitable destruction. There is yet hope of this, Son of Gondor, but not whence you seek it. There is a choice before you now, and you must decide which path you shall take. Will you follow the others, to battle and to death, to destroy this weapon of the Enemy? Or will you claim that which you so greatly desire, to attain the other longing of your heart?"
The Lady's words pierced Boromir's heart. So she knew of the sickness that had eaten away at his soul for so long – of the terrible struggle in his heart. He trembled, and cast his eyes downward. He could bear the Lady's gaze no longer.
Galadriel spoke again, and this time her words were heard by all the Company.
"Yet, hope remains while the company is true." She smiled. "Do not let your hearts be troubled. Go now and rest, for you are weary with sorrow and much toil. Tonight you will sleep in peace."
But Boromir knew that for him, there would be no peace. He could not sleep – weary though he was, slumber would not come to him. So he sat against the spreading roots of a great mallorn, and thought of what the lady had said to him.
It was in this pensiveness that Aragorn found him. "You should take some rest," he bade Boromir. "Grief has taxed us for many days. These borders are well protected – you may sleep deep and without fear."
Boromir looked at Aragorn. "I will find no rest here," he said despairingly. "I heard her voice inside my head. She spoke of my father and the fall of Gondor. She said to me even now there is hope left. But I cannot see it. It is long since we had any hope." He sighed wearily.
"My father is a noble man, but his rule is failing. And now our…our people lose faith. He looks to me to make things right and I would do it. I would see the glory of Gondor restored." Boromir's voice was choked with emotion, and he sighed again. He looked at Aragorn, who sat next to him.
"Have you ever seen it, Aragorn? The white tower of Ecthelion, glimmering 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?"
As Boromir spoke of the White City, he seemed to feel his grief and despair lift a little. Gondor was to him beauty, home, life itself – his bastion of sanity in a mad, mad world.
"I have seen the White City. Long ago," Aragorn said in a quiet, kindly voice.
"One day, our paths will lead us there. And the tower guards shall take up the call: The Lords of Gondor have returned!" Boromir spoke softly but excitedly, the thought of Gondor and Minas Tirith warming his soul. Perhaps Galadriel was right – and if there was hope yet for Gondor, who better to deliver it than the heirs of the King and the Steward?