Fidelis
A/N: I was feeling angsty the other day, and wrote this. It's a combination of bookverse and movieverse, for the simple (and very-much-fail) reason that I cannot remember everything that was said in the movies. -.-
Isildurioni means heir of Isildur.
Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it's not mine!
The fire burns low, casting its red glow over the members of the Fellowship. A dark figure rises from his resting place, and disappears into the trees. He doesn't know that another is awake, and watching him.
"Boromir!" The whisper startles him, and he whirls around, frustrated with himself for feeling like a child caught guilty. Aragorn steps out from between the trees. "What is it?" Boromir snaps. The Ranger just looks at him, unfazed by the vehemence in his voice. "Something troubles you much, son of Denethor," he murmurs quietly. "What troubles me is no matter of yours, Isildurioni," Boromir says harshly, and turns away.
Aragorn frowns at his back, and reaches out, stopping him with a hand on his arm. "I swore an oath to the Ringbearer," he reminds Boromir. "I will protect Frodo to the best of my ability. But that does not mean I must give up others who can still be saved."
Boromir sighs sadly. "You know, then." He looks at Aragorn beseechingly. "He whispers to me in my mind...tempting me. He tells me I can save my people, my city, if only I would take the Ring to Minas Tirith. I do not believe Him, when my mind is clear. But then He shows me what will come to pass if I follow you. The White City burning, the land under shadow..." He shudders. "He shows me my brother, pierced by arrows and dying of fever."
Aragorn rests his hand lightly on Boromir's arm, comforting him. "Together we can still save Minas Tirith. The Shadow shall be overcome," Aragorn promises, but Boromir shakes his head. "Nay, it shall not be," he says quietly. "That is your destiny, not mine. I will not see the White City, nor my brother, ever again. I can feel it in my heart."
"It may not be so," Aragorn disagrees, equally quietly.
To his complete surprise, Boromir drops to one knee before him. "Mayhap you speak aright," he says softly. "I would see you on the throne as the rightful King, if I ever set foot in Minas Tirith again." Aragorn smiles, clasping Boromir's arms in a warrior salute. "I thank thee," he murmurs, drawing Boromir upright. The Gondorian bows his head slightly. "I am sorry for how I have acted towards you," he says. "We could have been friends."
Aragorn takes Boromir's hands in his own. "Nay," he whispers. "We could have been brothers."
Boromir dies in Aragorn's arms the next day.
"I tried to take the Ring from Frodo," he whispers weakly when Aragorn finds him, dying. "I am sorry...I have paid." He pauses for a moment, struggling for breath. His dark green eyes are filled with remorse as he looks up at Aragorn. "They have gone...the Halflings..." Boromir murmurs. "The orcs have taken them. I think they are not dead. Orcs bound them." His eyes close wearily. After a moment he speaks again. "Forgive me. I have failed."
"No, Boromir," Aragorn tells him firmly, not believing that Boromir cannot still be saved. "You have fought well." He reaches for the black arrow embedded in Boromir's shoulder, but Boromir's fingers lock around his wrist with surprising strength. "Leave it," he says brokenly, his voice unusually harsh. "It is over. The world of Men will fall, and all come to darkness...and my city to ruin." There are tears in his eyes by the end.
"I do not know what strength is in my blood, but I swear to you, I will not let the White City fall, nor our people fail," Aragorn vows, tears shining in his silver eyes as well.
"Our people..." Boromir repeats, as if testing the words on his tongue. "Our people..." Aragorn nods. Boromir reaches out blindly for his sword, lying near him in the grass. Aragorn places the hilt in his hand, and Boromir lays the blade across his heart. "I would have followed you to the end, my brother," he says, pledging his undying loyalty to Aragorn with his last breath. "My captain...my King." A ghost of a smile crosses his face even as the light fades from his eyes.
Aragorn's tears fall as he brushes Boromir's cheek, bending to kiss Boromir's brow. "Be at peace, Son of Gondor," he whispers, his voice shaking. He hears Legolas and Gimli behind him, and turns to face them, tears still trickling down his face.
"They will look for his coming from the White Tower. But he will not return."
It is a day of great joy in Minas Tirith.
The rightful King has returned, and now all are gathered for his crowning.
Frodo Baggins, the Ringbearer, brings the crown to Mithrandir, who sets it on Aragorn's head. "Now come the days of the King!" the White Wizard cries loudly, so all can hear him. He smiles down at the King. "May they be blessed."
Aragorn blinks, and for a moment he can see Boromir before him. I promised I would see you as the rightful King, he explains, smiling softly. As he begins to fade from Aragorn's sight, he whispers, You will be a great King...the greatest since King Elendil the Tall. I can feel it. Aragorn stands, and turns to face the people—his people.
"This day belongs not to one man, but to all!"
A/N: It's been a while since I watched any of the movies...please forgive any mistakes! (Please tell me, though, so I can fix it ASAP.)
Reviews are love! I like to know how I did :)