The four weary soldiers were met halfway between Osgiliath and Gondor. The
reinforcing troops provided them with horses, and sped on to Osgiliath.
Boromir, Faramir, and the two soldiers reached the gates of Gondor within
two days. They were rushed to the healing halls, where Denethor doted over
Boromir as if he were a child once again. His wounds had been shallow, but
the water had caused some infection. Faramir had been out in a few hours,
only needing some bandaging. The other two soldiers were in much worse
condition, having water in their lungs. Boromir spent many hours in counsel
with his father, refusing to stay in bed. At night he often went out on the
walls and looked east towards Mordor. He felt like a useless invalid, and
longed to be out fighting once more. His dreams plagued him still, and he
grew gaunt and pale, eyes acquiring an almost haunted look. It was one of
these nights that Boromir heard a familiar voice behind him.
"You do not look well at all, my liege." The soft voice of Ariadne cooed, and her warm hand rested upon his shoulder. He didn't turn to look at her, although he was pleased to see her again. He had much on his mind. "I feared that you had been lost with the many at Osgiliath." Ariadne continued, chewing his bottom lip, uncomfortable with Boromir's reaction to her presence.
"A few scratches. I mourn for those who lost their lives, which were too many." His voice was low, revealing his bitterness. He scowled in the direction of Mordor and finally turned to look at Ariadne. She could not help but reach up and stoke his care worn cheek, concern showing plainly on her face. Boromir clenched his jaw and turned away again. He did not need pity from this woman. Ariadne retreated a few paces, leaning on the wall and looking over the sleeping city.
"Your brother has left already for Osgiliath again." She said softly, watching his gray eyes narrow. He nodded.
"My father gives him no rest." Boromir said bitterly.
"It looks as though you haven't been getting much rest yourself." She watched him a moment before continuing. "What weighs on your mind, Boromir? You had this look before you left." Boromir's shoulders slumped, and he covered his face with his hands.
"It's these dreams." He answered, smoothing back his dark hair angrily. "No sooner does my head hit the pillow than my mind is flooded with images which invoke such…such fear that I start up from my bed in a sweat." Ariadne simply took his hand, urging him to go on. "Yet when I wake I can only recall pieces that make no sense. Different pieces. Pieces that don't seem to fit together to form a clear idea in my mind!" Boromir's voice cracked with emotion, and he turned again to gaze at the darkness rising from Mordor. His eyes closed as he felt Ariadne wrap her arms about his neck, bringing her body close to his. He reacted instinctively by returning the embrace, burying his face in her hair, the scent of jasmine filling his senses. Her fingers traced his spine lightly, soothingly, and he felt himself relaxing slowly. He sank back against the parapet, drawing Ariadne with him. Cradling her upturned face in his hands he pressed his lips to hers, feeling her fingers against his neck, in his hair. He pulled away slowly, feeling intoxicated. Ariadne rested against his chest, stroking his cheek.
"I know the thread of Westernesse runs through your bloodline, but all thought it resided only with your father and brother." She said, voice husky with emotion. "And if indeed these dreams trouble you so you must take them as a warning." Boromir nodded, smoothing her hair absently.
"I was almost sure that my life would be lost at Osgiliath… and yet here I am." He mused, looking up at the dim light of the stars. Ariadne drew away from him and looked into his face.
"Will you return to Osgiliath?"
"Yes. As soon as my father releases me from this prison." He scowled again, towards the large double doors that lead to the houses of healing. "My place is not here." He added gently, noting Ariadne's look of worry. She paced away from him, hands clasped.
"A-are you sure your place is there? You are heir to the stewardship after all. With the situation in Mordor growing worse-"
"I think a woman should not heed the gossip of old men." Boromir interrupted sharply, immediately repenting. "My place is wherever it best serves Gondor, Ariadne. And if I die, it will be in service to Gondor. I am a soldier above all." He sighed. "You wouldn't understand."
"I DO understand that your dreams are an omen, Boromir, and you would NOT serve Gondor as a corpse!" Ariadne's eyes burned with indignation. "I think perhaps it is YOU that does not understand what your gift may be telling you." She turned her back to him, shoulders rising and falling with her breath. Boromir stifled a curse and went over to her, taking her in his arms gently.
"It is not for us to stand here and debate the future which is yet unknown." He pressed his lips to her throat gently, feeling her surrender. He took her by the hand and led her to his chambers, allowing the fire in the hearth to burn low.
The following morning he was called to meet with his father. His father looked tired and old, but smiled warmly when Boromir came to his side and knelt.
"Rise, my son." Denethor urged, taking Boromir's arm. "A solution may yet be found." He paused, sitting back in his throne. "Your brother came to me, before he returned to Osgiliath, and recounted to me a dream. He saw a light in the west, and a voice that called to him saying:
Seek for the sword which was broken:
In Imladris it dwells;
There shall be counsels taken
Stronger than Morgul-spells.
There shall be shown a token
That Doom is near at hand,
For Isildur's Bane shall waken,
And the Halfling forth shall stand."
Denethor's voice trailed off, seeing the reaction upon Boromir's face.
"I have also dreamt that dream, father, though I did not understand it until now." Boromir stood amazed, gazing off sightlessly.
"Have you any notion of what it may mean, Boromir?" Denethor asked sternly, rousing his son from his daze.
"No, father." My downfall his soul answered within him.
"Imladris is the realm of Elrond of the north. Faramir would go, but I thought him best needed here to lead the troops of Gondor." Boromir frowned.
"But father-"
"I would rather send my first son and heir to seek Elrond, and to find the meaning of this dream." Boromir fell silent. "Your brother knows and has accepted my decision, Boromir."
"Then it would please me greatly to do my father's will." Boromir replied.
Boromir gasped painfully, eyes rolling back in his head as he fell against the tree, a burning numbness spreading across his chest. Blinking, he watched as Merry and Pippin were grasped under the arms of a swarthy orc and dragged away. He reached after them weakly, gasping their names. He watched as Aragorn slew the orc whose arrows still quivered in his chest. His eyes shut, opening only when he felt a presence at his side. Aragorn was looking down at him, eyes wrought with concern.
"I tried to take the ring from Frodo," His breath caught in his throat. "I am sorry. I have paid."
"Shh… Boromir…" Aragorn reassured him, smoothing back Boromir's tangled hair, eyeing the vicious arrows protruding from his body.
"They have gone: the Halflings. The orcs have taken them." Boromir's face contorted with pain, body tensing. "I think they are not dead. The orcs bound them." His gray eyes closed. "Farewell Aragorn! Go to Minas Tirith and save my people! I have failed."
"No!" Said Aragorn, his eyes filling with tears. "You have conquered. Few have gained such a victory. Be at peace! Minas Tirith shall not fall!" Aragorn said, leaning to kiss Boromir's brow. Boromir's eyes closed for the last time.
If you're frightened of dying, and you're holding on, you'll see devils tearing your life away. If you've made your peace, then the devils are really angels, freeing you from the earth. ° Jacob's Ladder
"You do not look well at all, my liege." The soft voice of Ariadne cooed, and her warm hand rested upon his shoulder. He didn't turn to look at her, although he was pleased to see her again. He had much on his mind. "I feared that you had been lost with the many at Osgiliath." Ariadne continued, chewing his bottom lip, uncomfortable with Boromir's reaction to her presence.
"A few scratches. I mourn for those who lost their lives, which were too many." His voice was low, revealing his bitterness. He scowled in the direction of Mordor and finally turned to look at Ariadne. She could not help but reach up and stoke his care worn cheek, concern showing plainly on her face. Boromir clenched his jaw and turned away again. He did not need pity from this woman. Ariadne retreated a few paces, leaning on the wall and looking over the sleeping city.
"Your brother has left already for Osgiliath again." She said softly, watching his gray eyes narrow. He nodded.
"My father gives him no rest." Boromir said bitterly.
"It looks as though you haven't been getting much rest yourself." She watched him a moment before continuing. "What weighs on your mind, Boromir? You had this look before you left." Boromir's shoulders slumped, and he covered his face with his hands.
"It's these dreams." He answered, smoothing back his dark hair angrily. "No sooner does my head hit the pillow than my mind is flooded with images which invoke such…such fear that I start up from my bed in a sweat." Ariadne simply took his hand, urging him to go on. "Yet when I wake I can only recall pieces that make no sense. Different pieces. Pieces that don't seem to fit together to form a clear idea in my mind!" Boromir's voice cracked with emotion, and he turned again to gaze at the darkness rising from Mordor. His eyes closed as he felt Ariadne wrap her arms about his neck, bringing her body close to his. He reacted instinctively by returning the embrace, burying his face in her hair, the scent of jasmine filling his senses. Her fingers traced his spine lightly, soothingly, and he felt himself relaxing slowly. He sank back against the parapet, drawing Ariadne with him. Cradling her upturned face in his hands he pressed his lips to hers, feeling her fingers against his neck, in his hair. He pulled away slowly, feeling intoxicated. Ariadne rested against his chest, stroking his cheek.
"I know the thread of Westernesse runs through your bloodline, but all thought it resided only with your father and brother." She said, voice husky with emotion. "And if indeed these dreams trouble you so you must take them as a warning." Boromir nodded, smoothing her hair absently.
"I was almost sure that my life would be lost at Osgiliath… and yet here I am." He mused, looking up at the dim light of the stars. Ariadne drew away from him and looked into his face.
"Will you return to Osgiliath?"
"Yes. As soon as my father releases me from this prison." He scowled again, towards the large double doors that lead to the houses of healing. "My place is not here." He added gently, noting Ariadne's look of worry. She paced away from him, hands clasped.
"A-are you sure your place is there? You are heir to the stewardship after all. With the situation in Mordor growing worse-"
"I think a woman should not heed the gossip of old men." Boromir interrupted sharply, immediately repenting. "My place is wherever it best serves Gondor, Ariadne. And if I die, it will be in service to Gondor. I am a soldier above all." He sighed. "You wouldn't understand."
"I DO understand that your dreams are an omen, Boromir, and you would NOT serve Gondor as a corpse!" Ariadne's eyes burned with indignation. "I think perhaps it is YOU that does not understand what your gift may be telling you." She turned her back to him, shoulders rising and falling with her breath. Boromir stifled a curse and went over to her, taking her in his arms gently.
"It is not for us to stand here and debate the future which is yet unknown." He pressed his lips to her throat gently, feeling her surrender. He took her by the hand and led her to his chambers, allowing the fire in the hearth to burn low.
The following morning he was called to meet with his father. His father looked tired and old, but smiled warmly when Boromir came to his side and knelt.
"Rise, my son." Denethor urged, taking Boromir's arm. "A solution may yet be found." He paused, sitting back in his throne. "Your brother came to me, before he returned to Osgiliath, and recounted to me a dream. He saw a light in the west, and a voice that called to him saying:
Seek for the sword which was broken:
In Imladris it dwells;
There shall be counsels taken
Stronger than Morgul-spells.
There shall be shown a token
That Doom is near at hand,
For Isildur's Bane shall waken,
And the Halfling forth shall stand."
Denethor's voice trailed off, seeing the reaction upon Boromir's face.
"I have also dreamt that dream, father, though I did not understand it until now." Boromir stood amazed, gazing off sightlessly.
"Have you any notion of what it may mean, Boromir?" Denethor asked sternly, rousing his son from his daze.
"No, father." My downfall his soul answered within him.
"Imladris is the realm of Elrond of the north. Faramir would go, but I thought him best needed here to lead the troops of Gondor." Boromir frowned.
"But father-"
"I would rather send my first son and heir to seek Elrond, and to find the meaning of this dream." Boromir fell silent. "Your brother knows and has accepted my decision, Boromir."
"Then it would please me greatly to do my father's will." Boromir replied.
Boromir gasped painfully, eyes rolling back in his head as he fell against the tree, a burning numbness spreading across his chest. Blinking, he watched as Merry and Pippin were grasped under the arms of a swarthy orc and dragged away. He reached after them weakly, gasping their names. He watched as Aragorn slew the orc whose arrows still quivered in his chest. His eyes shut, opening only when he felt a presence at his side. Aragorn was looking down at him, eyes wrought with concern.
"I tried to take the ring from Frodo," His breath caught in his throat. "I am sorry. I have paid."
"Shh… Boromir…" Aragorn reassured him, smoothing back Boromir's tangled hair, eyeing the vicious arrows protruding from his body.
"They have gone: the Halflings. The orcs have taken them." Boromir's face contorted with pain, body tensing. "I think they are not dead. The orcs bound them." His gray eyes closed. "Farewell Aragorn! Go to Minas Tirith and save my people! I have failed."
"No!" Said Aragorn, his eyes filling with tears. "You have conquered. Few have gained such a victory. Be at peace! Minas Tirith shall not fall!" Aragorn said, leaning to kiss Boromir's brow. Boromir's eyes closed for the last time.
If you're frightened of dying, and you're holding on, you'll see devils tearing your life away. If you've made your peace, then the devils are really angels, freeing you from the earth. ° Jacob's Ladder