Hello FanFiction Readers!
This is my VERY first fiction and I am really excited about sharing my story with you guys! I absolutely ADORE Boromir and I would have loved for him to survive the War of the Ring so I thought, why not? That was all I needed to write this story. I paired Boromir with an Original Character of my creation called Lorien and it's a sweet love story as well as a little adventure thrown in. It's rated M because their might be some situations later on in the chapters. It will be tastefully done and their will be NO SLASH whatsoever...I ABHORE it.
PLEASE read & review I would appreciate all your feedback, no matter how harsh.
DISCLAIMER** I DO NOT OWN LORD OF THE RINGS OR JRR TOLKIEN'S ORIGINAL CHARACTERS... I only own my Original Character LORIEN
Thanks and Enjoy!
As the riders emerged from the great forest of Ithilien, the magnificent city of Minas Tirith sparkled like a diamond in the distance. It's great pearly walls caught the morning sunshine and reflected the light back brilliantly, causing the soldiers to shield their eyes from the intense light. The soldiers of Gondor exclaimed their happiness as they saw the impressive gate that protected Minas Tirith and relished in the pure silver cries of the trumpets that heralded their arrival. With a massive groan, the heavy oak door swung open to admit the soldiers clad in silver and black, the insignia of the white tree embellished onto the chest plate of each soldier.
While the soldiers thundered in, two stately men waited outside the gates upon massive horses, lathered from their vigorous ride. The captain of Gondor was a noble man and of great lineage. The sunlight reflected off his silver plate armor and the wind ruffled his shoulder length light brown hair. He was a massive man, at six feet five inches, and was built like a soldier. His gray eyes glinted in the light as he watched each of his men ride into the city, exhausted from their toil but beaming from their victory. Captain Boromir would slightly lower his head every once in a while to acknowledge a passing soldier.
Besides the captain of Gondor, was his younger brother, Faramir. The younger brother was an intellectual and had always favored books over swords, yet he was an accomplished Ranger of the West. With brown hair identical to Boromir's, the ranger had gray eyes with flecks of green interspersed within the iris, the green color similar to the green leather armor he wore. Built smaller than his older brother, Faramir waited beside Boromir, eyes bright, his hand grasping the banner of Gondor which flew high in the morning wind.
When the last man had entered Gondor, Boromir and Faramir rode in side by side and smiled as the city erupted into cheers and thunderous applause. Somewhere in the rafters, unseen trumpets sang, their clear melody filling the city. Boromir and Faramir descended from their steeds and Boromir raised his fist into the air crying, "People of Gondor! My brothers! We have reclaimed Ithilien!" The crowd cheered and cries of "Boromir, Boromir!" filled the air. "We have our fair city of Ithilien, the city our people gave their blood for! We now look to Osgiliath and the foul enemy which grips its walls with great evil. We will overcome them!" Boromir cried, pumping his fist in the air, the crowd exploding into thunderous cheers and cries of joy, before looking upon Faramir's face and saying, "Remember this day, little brother."
Lorien heard the silver trumpets calling and she quickly dropped her thick book, running to the balcony which gave her a glorious view of the golden plains that lay before Minas Tirith. She could see the soldiers streaming into the city, mere specks of black and silver. Already, the city was celebrating the arrival of the soldiers and she could hear their raucous cheering and applause.
Quickly retiring into her bedchambers, Lorien glanced at the mirror, carefully smoothing down her thick sable curls, making sure her appearance was pristine. When she deemed herself to be acceptable, she ran down the dining hall and made it to the top of the lower level stairs when she met her father climbing up the stairs. "Father!" She cried, flinging her arms around him. Her father chuckled and returned her embrace saying, "Lorien, you grow more beautiful every time I see you." Lorien beamed and embraced her father again, murmuring, "I missed you more than you can imagine." As her father embraced her once again, Lorien saw Lord Boromir and Lord Faramir climbing up the stairs in good spirits, talking animatedly to one another. When he saw Lorien and her father, Faramir grinned and waved to Lorien, who waved back with a warm smile on her face. Lord Boromir continued to stride ahead, clapping some soldiers on their backs as he walked down the hall with Faramir. "Come, Lorien. I am tired from my journey and require food and rest." Lorien smiled and took her father's arm and led him back to their modest home on the sixth level of Minas Tirith.
Boromir finally entered his chambers and rested his sword and shield against the wall, and began to remove his armor, the heavy silver plates clanking noisily as he set them down, piece by piece. He sunk gratefully into the hot bath water the servants had drawn for him and washed the sweat and dried orc blood from his body.
After dressing in a fresh embroidered tunic and heavy leggings, Boromir was just about to take a sip of ale when a messenger came through the door, "Mi Lord, the Lord Denethor requests your presence in his halls." Boromir sighed and nodded slowly to the young messenger boy. The boy flitted away and Boromir tied his leather jerkin over his red tunic.
He walked out from his chambers and walked outside to the stairs, finding that Faramir, too, was heading for the stairs. "Father requests you presence also, brother?" Faramir said. Boromir nodded heavily and said, "Of course he does. The man cannot let us have but a moment of peace." Faramir nodded stiffly and the pair began to walk up the clean white steps. Reaching the top most portion of Minas Tirith the two brothers automatically shielded their eyes against the rays of the sun which were falling generously on the top most tower of the White City.
In the utmost middle was the tree of Minas Tirith, or what was left of it; The leaves had fallen from it many decades ago and it now stood rooted in the center, a cold, barren root of a once magnificent tree. Beyond the tree were two great black doors which once held great kings. Now, as Boromir and Faramir walked the halls, only the cold, white statues of the kings remained.
It was so quiet in the hall that the footsteps of the two men reverberated through the hall. "Where is he? Where is my first born? Boromir!" The Steward of Gondor rose slowly from his dais and hobbled down to meet Boromir. Boromir pushed his gloomy thoughts away and put on a winning smile and greeted his father as warmly as he could, "Father! It is good to see you in fair health." The Steward smiled his crooked smile and embraced Boromir saying, "Never mind my health, my son, speak of your grand victory! The men already tell tales of your heroics." Boromir chuckled and said, "The men exaggerate, father. This victory does not only belong to me, father, it belongs to Faramir as well. He fought bravely beside me." Faramir hesitantly stepped forward and smiled at his father but the old steward faced Faramir and a great sneer crept upon his face, "It is because of Faramir that Gondor lost Ithilien in the first place. You had to go and fix his mistake." Taken aback by his father's word's Faramir said, "I did what I could to protect the city, father. We did not have reinforcements when the enemy first ambushed my men." The steward frowned deeply, his ivory skin glinting in the white hall, "Always you cast a poor reflection on me. Be thankful that you have an older brother such as Boromir, who has the power to do his father's bidding." Boromir bowed his head and closed his eyes, "Father...You give him no credit and yet he tries to please you. Don't you see Faramir loves you?" Lord Denethor impatiently waved Boromir's words away saying, "Do not trouble me with Faramir. I know what little use he has, but I haven't brought you here to discuss your brother. Tonight I hold a feast in honor of your victory, Boromir! I expect you to show up, on time," Denethor eyed Boromir, "The people will be heartened by your presence." With that the steward waved the two brothers from the hall, dismissing them as quickly as he had summoned them.
The steward then returned to his dais, just below the king's throne that stood so empty in the room. Almost like the barren tree that withered outside, Denethor I, son of Ecthelion, curled into the steward's chair and he seemed to be a part of the cold, hard rock that the chair was wrought of, a living statue among the kings of old.