Summary: Alternate Universe. A legend of five guardians created by Sauron arises in Rivendell. One of the guardians brings her tale and must return to Mordor to do what's needed to be done but to what sacrifice, she doesn't know. Set after the Council of Elrond but before the fellowship leaves to their journey.
Rating: PG now but PG-13 to R in later chapters
Comments: I never get enough comments, good or bad. Review please. It helps to know what sucks and what sucks less. Lol
Author's Note: I think I'm now posting this to see if I can finish this idea.
Final Note: This is only undergoing a few drafts, so don't freak about errors.
Five of Five: A Guardian's Tale
Chapter 4: Of Logic and Drawings
Boromir, son of Gondor, swung with all his might at the ranger, who blocked his attack with ease only to be moved by the power behind the swing. Their swords sung with the sound of metal cutting through the evening air. He'd needed to take some of his anger out and asked Strider to spar with him. Prior to the spar, the news that a treacherous Elf was to join them had brought him to the brink of insanity.
He rode into Rivendell seeking help and got back the hand of an enemy almost slapping him in the face for wanting help. He blocked the ranger's slash attempt and parried a few more times still thinking. Boromir returned the attacks by sending a few Strider's way. He couldn't believe that most of the fellowship was falling behind the Ringbearer's opinion of this woman.
Strider finally parried then spun around and inverted his blade but purposely missed Boromir giving him a warning look. The Gondorian shook his head and wondered how Strider could seem so patient all this time even now with him.
"You'd be dead, my friend." Aragorn said and sheathed his blade. Boromir did the same not noticing that he was sweating. He nodded knowing he would be dead, but in battle he was never this distracted. Aragorn started to walk with Boromir following.
"Thanks again," Boromir said simply.
"I know what troubles you, Boromir, and I can't say anything that'll change your mind, but I do offer this council. Speak to the guardian."
Boromir stopped and looked at Aragorn as if he had grown a second head. Anger boiled within him, but he let it subside. "He's trying to help you," a calm voice from within said. He didn't like the idea of being in the same building as the enemy; now Strider asked him to seek some comfort by speaking to the bane of the his existence.
"Have you?" he asked staring dead in the ranger's fair eyes.
"No," Aragorn said then looked up to a window high in one of the buildings that towered above the gardens, "but I have seen others do what I just asked you to do and find a bit of comfort." Boromir didn't say anything for a while. Every bone in his body said that it was a bad idea, but somewhere in the back of his mind, curiosity had set in, deeply rooted under the rage.
"I won't promise you anything, Aragorn." he stated and sighed deeply. They grasped forearms, a gesture of friendship, then Boromir left to head back to his room. Aragorn's advise was not without it's own wisdom, but every time he thought about it, a sting of betrayal entered his heart pushing the advise away as being folly.
He didn't trust these Elves and half Elves nor did he trust the magic types, leaving him to believe the half lings, innocent minded they seemed, or the dwarfs. Aragorn though was none of these; therefore, he trusted Aragorn above the rest. They became fast friends, but he kept himself distant from everyone. He was here to receive help for his land not make friends, be merry and to certainly not fraternize with an enemy, whether former or current.
Boromir stopped halfway and sat down on a couch in one of the open rooms then stared at the Elven designs. Beautiful as the carvings were, it didn't matter much to him; he had a purpose here. The more he pondered the deeper funk he put himself into. An overwhelming curiosity washed over him once again burying the rage, and Boromir found himself getting up and walking to a room--not to his room though. He asked around and found where this "guardian's" room was and walked there not focusing on anything else but getting there.
When he finally approached the room, the door was open all the way showing a half a dozen candles lit. The evening had only dulled the room with the candle flickers not casting many shadows on the surrounding objects. Boromir entered the room looking around. "Such a nice room for the Dark Lord's henchmen." he mused and saw a figure propped up on the window ceiling.
Boromir examined the person seeing an Elven female sitting on the window seal, left leg straight out with her right leg bent for support and back against the frame. She held a book in her hands with her left hand, gloved, steadying it and her right hand making sweeping marks on the page. She wore a white shirt with a black vest of possible mail over it, fitted black pants and laced boots below the knee, black as well. In the corner he saw her black cloak.
"This has to be her; none of the Elf females wore that much dark clothing," he thought and walked closer. She didn't seem disturbed by his presence and made no effort to communicate. Boromir felt in the pit of his stomach a twinge of guilt for coming here. Even exiting would leave him guilty of even thinking about considering an enemy as an ally.
"Why does it pain you to enter my door when it's open for all to pass through?" she asked when he was no more than five feet away. Boromir felt flushed for even a hinted thought of fear being mentioned and stood sternly where he was. He knew this was a bad idea and went against his gut feeling.
"Aragorn told me to talk to you." She didn't rise from her work and continued to draw human figures from what he could tell.
"Why would he do that?" she asked. Boromir noticed that she spoke evenly and calmly as if there were not a care in the world. It bothered him because they were at war.
"I was told you'd join the fellowship. I can't stand the idea of an enemy being in the mist of possible heroes." he stated trying to hide his anger that came out anyway. Once again, she did not pull away from her work.
"Your pride is a worse enemy than I ever could be." Boromir sighed deeply trying to control the sudden rage that once again boiled up inside. He was now being insulted by a lower life form like the orcs--a monster--a creation of the Dark Lord they fought now. She continued "I find your conflict interesting. You wanted to use the most evil weapon against the enemy knowing it'd mean the demise of whomever wields it and Middle Earth, and yet, you find your anger easily placed in me because I was created for evil. Evil is evil no matter who uses it or for what reason."
The final comment sent Boromir forward grabbing the guardian's throat now in complete rage. An agent of evil that probably killed his people long ago and now how the audacity to compare herself, a carrier of evil, to him, an honorable warrior. She didn't struggle or even move; her Elven eyes stared into his not even afraid.
"How can you say such?" he asked her with his voice tense. He tightened his grip but still allowed her to breathe--just in small gasps.
"I do not desire the ring as you do," she paused regaining a breath, "therefore, I do not cross into madness" she croaked out with her eyes still steady on his.
Boromir let go and moved back. How she knew he had thought of the ring astounded him, and he couldn't be angry now. His foot tapped the edge of something; he bent down to grab it. The book she was drawing in was opened to her latest work he figured. To his surprise it was a rough drawing of him and Aragorn sparring earlier. There were faint outlines and the beginnings to shading in the background. He marveled at the drawing then handed the book and the charcoal back to her not looking into her eyes.
He'd lost control and felt justified in doing so but just empty from trying the act. His emotions were once again thrown into turmoil. He could have killed one of the worst enemies of the Enemy, but he stopped short. Boromir now didn't how feel: guilty for failing, relieved in stopping or intrigued for listening.
"You couldn't have killed me." she stated flatly. Boromir looked at her oddly. "You couldn't. Only guardians can kill other guardians."
"I hear your confidence but don't see your reasoning," Boromir said now annoyed by her sudden cockiness.
"We, guardians, were created for certain purposes and were made from the purest of various species making us next to unstoppable."
"And how is that so?"
She shrugged her shoulder closing her book and turned to face him. For the first time since he arrived, Boromir noticed that she carried the same Elven beauty as any other of her species would, even to say as beautiful as Lady Arwen. The Elf maiden's enthrallment seemed to hold him there.
"I do not know; maybe magic was used to make the procedure work." she said getting up and setting her book next to two weapons. Boromir snapped out of her spell and stood there not knowing exactly what to say.
All he could feel was confusion. "It's late." he simply said and left the room without turning back.
*Next few chapters will be of different points of the journey; any suggestions, leave with the review. Thanks.