A/N: Gah! Bad enough that most of Rohan, and a goodly portion of Gondor, keeps showing up demanding a story be written, but now I've got dead Hurins wanting in on the action! Boromir turned up one morning wanting a chance to tell his side of things. This topic has been addressed before, but not always to my satisfaction. Too often Boromir seems perceived as either evil or weaker than everyone else for his succumbing, but I tend to think the great duress he was under in trying to defend Gondor made it easier for the Ring to manipulate his thoughts into believing this Ring would save his people. He succumbed because his need for what he thought the Ring could do was greater. When he realized he had been deceived about the Ring, and came to recognize its evil power for corruption, he reverted to his usual noble self and selflessly defended the Hobbits to death in a final effort to fulfill his oath. So here is my take on it.
The action/dialogue is a mix of Tolkien and Peter Jackson's movie version. I have somewhat paraphrased the Tolkien portion in order to make it better match the speech patterns and such of my writing and PJ's dialogue.
Whisperings
He heard the voice again, soft and seductive. It tickled at the back of his mind, weaving tendrils around his every thought.
Gondor needs this weapon; Gondor deserves this weapon. What do the others care about Minas Tirith and his people? They have not shed their dearest blood in the battle against Mordor. He has seen too many die – too many friends. He has to watch his people rise each day with the fearful dread that today might be the last that they draw breath. Some conceal the fear better than others, but it is there in all of them. You can see it in their eyes.
His father, a noble and honorable man, is being worn down with despair and worry. He takes too many risks in his efforts to keep Gondor safe for a king that is likely never to return. Boromir cast a scornful glance at the Ranger from the North – Aragorn, son of Arathorn. He should believe this was to be their king? There was nothing noble about this man. Aside from some prowess in battle, there was nothing to recommend him. What could Dwarves, Elves and Hobbits understand of Gondor's suffering? Even the Istar came and went as he pleased, unbothered by such trivial problems of Men. Only he fully comprehended their dire circumstances. Only he understood.
League after league, he had walked in silence listening to this ridiculous group babble on as though they were on a picnic outing. His people were fighting for their very lives. Gondor's need was real and immediate. He should not be here wasting valuable time on this foolish "quest". He should be leading Gondor's armies into battle, with the weapon of the enemy at his disposal. Only then could Gondor hope to see victory; only then could Gondor hope to be free to live and prosper once more.
The Lady of the Golden Wood had spoken in his mind while they were in Lorien. She had said there was still hope, but he saw none except in this Ring that the others would destroy. It was their only chance against the evil that Sauron wielded. Already he knew Gondor's forces were outnumbered. It was only a matter of time until they fell.
The Ring-bearer left the group, to go alone and decide whether to follow the path Aragorn had set, or listen to Boromir's alternative counsel. Boromir's eyes followed him. Perhaps now was the time, his only chance to be alone with Frodo and convince him of the wisdom of the course he advised, without the interference of the others. He rose and trailed the Hobbit off into the woods. Seeking not to alarm the little one, he began collecting firewood as he went. They would need it, and Frodo would not be so surprised to meet him off alone.
As he walked, his thoughts festered within him, the voice digging and poking at him any time he tried to contemplate another course. No – it was clear. The Ring-bearer must be made to see his folly. To carry this weapon to Mordor was to hand it over to the enemy without a fight.
Then the Ring-bearer was there before him. What idiocy, to entrust such a powerful weapon to this Hobbit! The fool did not even have enough sense not to go off by himself and unprotected, here where the dangers were so great.
"None of us should wander alone. You least of all," he warned, more genially than he felt at the moment. "So much depends on you," he added somewhat resentfully.
The Hobbit gave him an uneasy look, and he asked, "Frodo?" When Frodo did not respond, he pressed, "I know why you seek solitude. You suffer. I see it day by day. Are you sure you do not suffer needlessly? There are other ways, Frodo, other paths that we might take." Boromir watched carefully for any sign of weakening in the Hobbit, but could discern none.
"I know what you would say, and it would seem like wisdom but for the warning in my heart," Frodo finally told him.
"Warning? Against what? True-hearted men will not be corrupted. We of Minas Tirith have been staunch through long years of trial. We do not desire special powers, only strength to defend ourselves, strength in a just cause. And in our need, chance brings to light the Ring of Power. It is a gift – a gift to the foes of Mordor. We must use the power of the enemy against him. We are all afraid, Frodo, but to let that fear drive us to destroy what hope we have – don't you see? That is madness!"
"There is no other way!" Frodo asserted firmly.
Taking another tack, Boromir tried, "If you would but lend me the Ring…"
"No," Frodo said, drawing back.
"Why do you recoil? I am no thief," Boromir said with irritation.
"You are not yourself."
"What chance do you think you have?" Boromir's anger was beginning to consume him. The fool would not listen to reason. "They will find you," he said bluntly. "They will take the Ring, and you will beg for death before the end!"
Instead of listening, Frodo turned and began to walk away. This was madness – utter madness! And it could not be tolerated!
"You fool! It is not yours, save by an unhappy chance! It could have been mine. It should have been mine! Give it to me!"
In the next moment, the two were struggling on the ground, each fighting for possession of the dreaded Ring that calmly awaited the outcome. But then the Hobbit felt so desperate that he used its power and slipped it on his finger, at once becoming invisible. A kick to Boromir's chest knocked him back enough for Frodo to scramble from his reach, and the big man searched blindly, hoping to locate him in the air nearby.
"I see your mind. You will take the Ring to Sauron! You will betray us! You'll go to your death, and the death of us all!"
Boromir continued his frantic search for the Hobbit, to no avail. His boot slipped on the many dead winter leaves and he was dumped on his face. Only then, as the Ring moved farther away from him with Frodo's retreat and the fall jolted him physically, did his mind clear. An overwhelming realization of what he had done filled him, and remorse swept through his being. How had he let this happen? How could he have succumbed to it?
"Frodo?" he called fearfully.
"What have I done?" he asked himself in horror, suddenly clearly comprehending his actions. "Frodo, I'm sorry!" he yelled, but the Hobbit was long gone.
Tight-lipped and worried, Boromir returned to camp, but would not answer the questions his companions posed, other than to say he and Frodo had argued, and the Hobbit had disappeared. Instantly, Merry and Pippin took off to look for their friend, and Aragorn charged Boromir with following and protecting them. Wearily he rose again and moved off in the direction they had taken. At least in this, he could stand fast and be true.
And then he heard them. They must be under attack. Orcs! In an instant his sword was drawn and he was running. There was no time for regrets, no time for self-recrimination. The Fellowship was in danger and needed him. Only in this could he redeem himself to any extent. Only in this would he find any solace to his soul for his horrifying lapse. How could he have yielded to the Ring's enticings? How could he have been so weak? He was heir to the Stewardship of Gondor. He had taken an oath to defend the others in his party, and with his dying breath, he would do so…
THE END
10/18/06