DISCLAIMER: None of the original characters or places belong to me, they are the works of a very talented man named Tolkien. I have taken some liberties with his characters and plot, and also from Peter Jackson's incredible film. These events do not effect the original story in any way (I hope) they are just for my own selfish pleasure. I love the character of Boromir, and wanted to give him some happiness, as there doesn't seem to be much for him in the book/film. This is also my first time showing any of my fanfic, so please be gentle with me!
Reviews are welcomed, as are flames. And yes there is an element of Mary Sue about this, but nevermind. It can't be helped.
The doors were as heavy as Boromir's heart as he pushed them open. The two armoured guards saluted him as he passed between them. Their hands touched the brooch that held their cloaks closed, shaped in the Tree of Gondor, and then to the pommel of their swords. It was an age old gesture of respect, and he returned the salute briefly, tapping his own clasp. He was impatient to get inside.
Boromir's father, Denethor II, the Steward of Gondor, was standing in the centre of the great hall, staring up at the empty throne of Gondor, a troubled expression on his regal face. He was alone in the grey stone room, with its ornate beams, high ceiling and the arched windows that revealed the view across the carved city of Minas Tirith.
Like his son, he was a proud man, with a face which was almost carved, so dignified it was, like the city he ruled over. But where his son was fair, he was dark, but both had the same grey eyes and the same proud features. Worry set the face of the elder man as grey as the stone of the city.
Saluting him, Boromir greeted his father. "Father, I came as soon as I could."
"The honour of Gondor rests heavy upon my shoulders, and now I must pass some of that burden onto you, my Son,"
"Lord Mithrandir was sighted within the city walls. Has his tidings bearing on Gondor?"
"His tidings have bearings for all the race of men. Mordor is growing more powerful by the day." Denethor laid a hand upon the shoulder of his son. "I have a mind to send forth an ambassador of Gondor to the lands west of here. Gondor shall need allies if Mordor strikes any closer. And they shall, the orcs grow bolder with every attack. We must face the reality that Gondor cannot hold them back alone".
"I shall go," Boromir stood straighter, his eyes glancing to the empty throne that presided over the Great Hall, the emblem of the Tree and Seven Stars. It would not be the first time he had been sent to foreign lands in their honour.
"No!" Denethor's eyes blazed for a moment and Boromir was shocked by the anger there. But it was over in a second, and the dignity was restored.
In a gentler tone, Denethor continued. "You have been away from your home too many times in recent years. And your home, your city needs you. You are a Captain of Gondor, and your sword shall be needed. I shall send your brother, Faramir. It will be good for him,"
"Faramir has duties elsewhere in Gondor," Boromir reminded his father. "It is my wish that you send me".
Denethor was silent, simply appraising his headstrong elder son.
Boromir continued. "I feel that it is better if I go, that it is right that I go. I have had..."
He shook his head, as if not quite believing he was about to say his next words, "I have had a 'dream' that I must leave Minas Tirith"
He said the words lightly, but he saw a shadow pass over his father's face.
"If you believe that you must, if you 'dream' that you must, then you must. I fear the darkness that is creeping over the land, Mordor has been a threat for too long, and Mithrandir believes that they will only get stronger. May you go in the name of Gondor, in honour, my son."
"And with you, father."
They embraced briefly, and Boromir left his father to his thoughts.
Boromir hurried through the palace, to his living quarters. He ignored the salutes and glances, his mind working frantically. It would be a long journey, following the Great River. He had no idea how long it would be how long he would be away from Minas Tirith. But he would have to leave within days. Reaching his main living area, he immediately saw the reason for his reluctance for leaving Gondor.
His wife, Daya.
Boromir had married the daughter of his father's advisor a year previously. A childhood playmate, he had grown to love the slim woman, with thick dark hair, creamy skin, dark flashing eyes, and full pink lips that were always quick to smile. As he entered the room, her head was already turning to him, a smile on her lips.
Observing the correct ritual, she bowed her head and waited for him to speak, the only man she would do this for.
Silently he reached for her hands, and kissed each in turn, his thumb rubbing over the ring she wore, the symbol of their marriage. At his silence, her entire body tensed, and her head snapped up.
"You spoke with your father?" her low voice touched upon his heart, and he had to look away from her. The hero of Gondor and he could not meet his own wife's eyes.
"I must leave Minas Tirith. For some time."
Daya moved to the window, the midnight blue velvet of her gown brushing across the flagstones. She raised a hand and lightly touched the one of the seven stars embossed on the silver circlet she wore around her head.
"You seek assistance in the fight against Mordor?"
He nodded, and she sensed rather than saw the movement.
"Rivendell" she said the single word slowly.
"You feel it too?"
She had touched upon his thoughts, of the city of Elves that lay to the North West. Boromir was drawn there, despite the tension between the elves and men. He had already decided to travel there first.
She sighed, as if resigned to the fact of his departure.
"I fear that there is a darkness coming to Gondor, my husband. If it were my will and my will alone, I would have you by my side, so that we face that evil together, but it appears that we must part. Our paths shall take different routes from the one we have previously walked together."
Her voice had lowered, her eyes fixed on a point far in the east, no coincidence that she gazed in the direction of Mordor.
Boromir felt the hair on the back of his neck rise; Daya's heritage was not completely of Gondor, her father a man of the frozen lands north of the misty mountains. His tribe had sought refuge in Gondor, led by Daya's grandfather, their chief, away from the troops of Mordor that had attacked them. In her lineage were many powerful and mystical figures and her gift for prophecy was known throughout Minas Tirith. Boromir knew that she did not always see clearly, perhaps the influence of her blood being diluted by her Gondorion mother, but she would sometimes see things that would occur before they happened. He had no doubt that this was one of those moments.
"What you speak of may yet come to pass, for the threat of Mordor is well known. As it is your will, it is mine, I would stay by your side, but honour and duty requires my absence from you. Fear not, you shall be protected within these walls, my father, and Faramir shall see that no harm shall come to you".
He saw the scorn in her eyes, and he cursed himself for his patronizing words. Daya was almost as proficient with a blade as he was, raised in the manner of her people to be a sword woman, but denied the opportunity to be a warrior by Gondor's rigid tradition that no woman should carry a sword into battle.
"Your words comfort me," and he could not tell from her tone if she was scornful or not. She spoke quietly, the formal language of a man and wife in public, but suddenly the formality broke and she ran to her husband like a girl, seeking his mouth with hers.
"When do you leave?" her voice was breathless, her eyes searching.
"At dawn,"
"Then tonight is ours,"
Boromir could see his blond hair and beard reflected in the depths of her eyes, and suddenly he did not know himself. Like his wife, he also had a feeling of dread, and its origin was in the east. But he spoke not of it, he simply kissed his wife, and took her to their bed.
The sun had cast the grey stone of the city a brilliant pink as it rose above the horizon. Rising from the warm depths of his bed, Boromir washed, and dressed, all the time looking across at the city that was his home. He was a leader of men, a figure of power, and he must leave on quest that he could see no end of.
Daya entered the room, already up and dressed in the traditional purple silk of Gondor. She bowed to her husband, the rising sun catching the circlet she wore round her head, and he saw the single tear that rolled down her cheek. Taking her husband's vambraces she strapped them to his wrists, kissing the tree on each of them, reaching up to brush the hair from his face, taking in the greyness of his eyes, the proud nose, strong chin and neat beard, as if committing them to memory. The face softened as he returned her stare, he leant in close to kiss her lips, admiring her simple beauty.
"When I return, we shall not be parted again," he whispered into her hair, holding her close against him. "We must look to the future," Daya smiled at him, but like his father on the previous day, he saw a shadow slide over her face, a sudden darkness that seemed at odds with her smile.
"Yes, husband."
A cold icy hand gripped Boromir's heart.
"What do you see for our future?" his hands suddenly clamped on her shoulders and she gasped in pain, at the strength in his hands. "Daya, you must speak to me, what do you see?"
She closed her eyes, unable to look at him.
"You will face two evils... Mordor, and a personal evil. It has a power, and it will be difficult... But I do not see the end. I cannot see past the challenge, and I know not what the future holds for us, it is darkness..." her voice pitched higher, panic sounding in her frantic tones, she clasped at her husband, not wanting to let him go, "But our path is set, and I fear the pain that will befall us both."
Boromir stepped back, turning away from her in growing horror.
"You recognise this fear?" she whispered.
"I did not want to trouble you with what I believed to be idle thoughts, but I must tell you now. I dream the same dream repeatedly, night after night. In this dream I see the eastern sky grow dark, but in the west a pale light lingers. A voice cries, "Your doom is at hand, Isildur's Bane is found!"
"Isildur's Bane?" she drew in a sharp breath. "The One Ring?"
She was learned in the old myths, as they all where, but they were myths, simply myths, there was no ring.
"Sauron is rising again."
"The Ring is a powerful enemy and a deadly friend. It calls even the strongest to its heart, and demands your obedience."
"You believe it exists?"
"You doubt its existence? Or fear it? For if the Ring exists, then the Heir of Isildur will return."
Boromir's temper, quick to rise, answered his wife.
"I would welcome the Heir of Isildur, if it meant that Men could once more be reunited."
"You would lose your position."
"I would serve my King, as I serve my father!"
She realised that she had pushed too far.
"I apologise, my Lord. I do not mean to doubt your loyalty." She dropped into a curtsey, eyes lowered and he pulled her upright.
"You are my wife, Daya, daughter of Veradan. You understand the elements that form me, and my fears. I must leave now, but I will only pass beyond this city's walls, if I have your blessing."
Daya's heart was heavy, her face damp with tears.
"Go with my blessing, Boromir, and with my love."
Husband and wife kissed a final time and so Boromir left the palace.
As he passed through the city gates, he glanced back at his home, for a final time. His eyes were instantly drawn to the ledge on the White Tower where he would pace when he was troubled.
And she stood there, his wife, a hand raised towards him. Even at this distance he could see the tears on her face.