Paths of Peril -- A Dynasty Broken Book II

By Adara

I intended to return the reader to Minas Tirith and show how Denethor and Faramir are getting along. However, my muse refused to cooperate, so I moved onto a different topic. My muse definitely preferred that I write about Boromir in Rivendell after the time of the Council. I've always wondered how he and Aragorn managed not to kill one another, except that Tolkien had Aragorn go scouting with Elrond's sons. So what did Boromir do with himself during those nearly two months? I have a suggestion…

Adrift in Rivendell

The Man of Gondor slept little the night after the Council. That one small sentence had thrown his entire life into turmoil: "He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and he is descended through many fathers from Isildur, Elendil's son of Minas Ithil."

What bitter irony that I rode here seeking the salvation of my country, only to meet the one who will rule my country in my place. Boromir laughed dryly as he walked onto the balcony that extended from his bedchamber. For the first time since he had entered Rivendell, he did not notice the land's beauty. His thoughts were centered on his beloved Gondor and his lifelong goal to be her champion, and her leader. The betrayal by one he had come to like and admire was painful. I even thought to offer him some high command in Gondor's army if he returned home with me. What a fool I am, believing the words of a wizard and a stranger. Yet, there is something about Aragorn that draws one to him. It is not just that he speaks his mind plainly and, it would seem, honestly, he possesses a certain charm. I must travel to Lothlorien as soon as possible. I ache to see Eledwhen again, to feel her soft body beneath mine. And my father…I must return to Minas Tirith as soon as I can make arrangements for Eledwhen to travel. I must not leave such a heavy responsibility upon my brother's shoulders.

A change in the air about him caused Boromir to whirl about quickly, his hand clasped tightly upon the hilt of his dagger. Aragorn was standing in the archway between the bedchamber and the balcony. He looked hesitant, as one who is uncertain of the manner of his reception. An angry flush crept up Boromir's neck and his eyes narrowed. His hand tightened on the dagger in a death-like grip. "Have you come to gloat, heir of Isildur?"

Aragorn's expression became infinitely sad. Slowly he moved onto the balcony, keeping a wary eye on the other's dagger. "Do you wish for my death, or that I had never been born?" he asked softly.

Boromir turned his back to Aragorn and slowly eased his hand off the dagger hilt. He placed both hands upon the railing before speaking. "You have not earned the right to be called 'King.' What great deeds have you done? How often have you bled to keep Gondor safe from the darkness? How dare you pretend to be my friend while plotting to steal all that I have ever loved or wanted!" His voice broke as he uttered the last words and he fell into silence. Aragorn moved to stand beside him, pain evident in his gray eyes.

"I hoped we could get to know one another before you found out about my lineage. I wanted you to know me as Strider, the Ranger. Perhaps I was foolish to believe that you would like me well enough not to hate me for who my forefathers were." Boromir shot him a bitter look, limped to the table where a decanter stood and poured himself a glass of ale. He tossed the liquid down his throat in one rough movement, then turned to face Aragorn.

"Your destiny. Your kingdom. Your throne! Where have you been the past 40 years? Not in the forests of Ithilien fighting back the orc hordes. And certainly not at Osgiliath facing the Nazgul. Why have you never protected the land you want to rule?"

Aragorn closed his eyes and dropped his head. When he spoke it was barely above a whisper. Boromir had to strain to hear the words. "I have faced the Nazgul, and more than once. I have served Gondor, in another guise and another time. I served at the pleasure of Ecthelion, and so had the opportunity to come to know your father well. We were not exactly the best of friends."

Boromir gave a strangled snort. "Preposterous! You are no older than am I. What game do you play?" Slowly Aragorn turned to face the Man of Gondor.

"I am much older than I appear. The blood of Numenor flows strongly through my veins, extending my life. I am almost 70 years old."

Boromir's mouth fell open. He took several steps toward the other man and peered into his face, searching for telltale signs of the other's age. What he saw was a man in his prime, a man who appeared no older than did he. He looked Aragorn directly in the eyes and asked, "Have you the strength of a warrior, or that of a feeble old man?" Aragorn laughed grimly.

"Do you challenge me to a duel, hoping that you shall prevail and rid yourself of the competition for Gondor's throne?"

"Nay, I am not that foolish, since you stand upon two good legs and I am lame. Nor would I insult my host by fighting with his foster son under his roof. I only seek proof that you are who you say you are, and that you can help me save my land." Aragorn nodded thoughtfully and turned his gaze upon everything he had come to love as his home.

"I understand your feelings. Your deep love for your homeland. Imladris has been spared the horrors Gondor has endured, but the time is coming when even the power here will fail if we do not stop Sauron. I have spent my entire adult life in the wilds, secretly protecting Middle-earth against an evil I would never have it know. I perceive that my time is at hand, that soon I must prove myself worthy of your country -- and your fealty."

Boromir became agitated and limped back to the table to pour another glass of ale. "Gondor has managed well enough without a king. My father has kept her safe and well protected for many years. He will not turn over his reign to a Ranger of the North without proof of lineage. I warn you, it shall take more than a broken sword to back up your claim to the throne of Gondor. Do not think that the Steward will give up his rule on the say-so of a wizard and an Elf."

Now it was Aragorn's turn to become angry. He began pacing a small path along the rail. Finally his ire cooled and he caught Boromir in a steely gaze. "I shall prove myself in combat, even as have you. And I shall bleed for Gondor, if it is my fate to do so. The Sword-that-was-Broken will be forged anew and return to Gondor in the hands of Isildur's heir. Are you satisfied?"

"We shall see what we shall see. Gondor lies many hundreds of leagues away and there is much evil about. If you will journey with me to the White City, perhaps I shall see some sign that you are indeed worthy of the title King of Gondor." Boromir's stare was hard and challenging, yet Aragorn did not flinch beneath it. Slowly he allowed a smile to lighten his stern features.

"You have my word that one day we two shall stand side by side against whatever the Dark Lord throws at us. Shall we call a truce for now? I should hate to travel with you all the way to Minas Tirith wondering when you might choose to cross swords."

"You have my oath that unless you prove false, I will not directly challenge you. But I shall swear no allegiance to you as King of Gondor until I am satisfied of your claim." Aragorn stepped forward and extended his hand. After a slight hesitation, Boromir did the same and the two men clasped one another's forearm.

* * * * * * * * *

Boromir did not see much of Aragorn during the next few weeks, for the Ranger left Imladris with Elrond's sons. They were searching for news of the Nine Riders. Boromir would have preferred to join the scouting trips, but his broken leg ruled him out. Plus, he was not certain the Elves considered him trustworthy where their precious Estel was concerned. Instead he spent the days working to regain his strength and the use of his left leg. One day he wandered into Elrond's library and was surprised by the maps he saw rolled out upon a large table. Eagerly he studied the drawn representation of the lands between his present location and his homeland.

"I am glad to see you walking with only a slight limp, Lord Boromir." The Man looked up and saw his host. The Elf was almost invisible as he stood in a shadow cast across the room by the setting sun.

"My leg is almost mended and I am eager to be on my way. Perhaps you would be kind enough to lend me a horse?"

Elrond smiled and moved gracefully to the map table. "Which route seems the swiftest and least dangerous to you? Would you share the knowledge you gained during your recent experience? We seek a path the Fellowship may take." Boromir leaned over the table and studied the map detailing the land between Rivendell and Lothlorien. With one finger he slowly drew an imaginary line from Rivendell to Hollin, and on to the Redhorn Pass.

"This is the route which brought me here and also the route I would take back. It is approximately 45 leagues from here to the Hollin Ridge, and about a three- to four-day journey from there to the Redhorn Pass. Lorien is a relatively short jaunt farther."

Elrond allowed a momentary smile to cross his solemn features before he quickly erased it. "You seem to have more than a passing acquaintance with the Golden Wood. Would you mind telling me what, or who, draws you back?"

Boromir kept his gaze on the map as he answered, "My wife is there. She was injured during our journey to Imladris. I insisted that she remain with the Lord and Lady of the Galadrim." The Man looked up and caught his host sporting a somewhat shocked expression, which he hastily replaced with his usual serene mask.

"I did not know that you are married. I hope she was not too badly injured."

The Man turned his gaze back to the map. "She was captured by orcs. She suffered a couple of broken ribs and a concussion, but she was fine when I left. However, I am anxious to return as soon as may be."

"Of course, you are. Anything that you need for the journey, you shall have. My wife, too, was captured by orcs, long ago. They did unspeakable things to her, and she could not bear to remain in Middle-earth." Boromir started to say something comforting, but Elrond waved away his words. "I would not have us speak of such ugly things on so beautiful a day. Too, there is one favor I hoped I might persuade you to do for me."

Boromir sensed that something of life-changing importance was about to be asked of him. He had been bending over the table; now he straightened and prepared to meet his fate head on. "What is it that I can do for the Lord of Imladris?"

* * * * * * * * *

Once again the Council of Elrond was convened. It was now December 19, nearly two months since the decision on the fate of the Ring. Elrond stood before those gathered and looked each briefly in the eye. "The time has come to decide upon what course we shall take. Do you still hold to your word, Frodo, that you will be the Ring-bearer?"

"I do," said Frodo. "I will go with Sam."

Elrond sighed lightly. "I cannot foresee how your task will be accomplished, or what fate awaits you and your companion. Yet I will choose companions to accompany you as far as they will, or fortune allows." Turning his eyes upon those gathered about him, Elrond intoned, "The number must be few, since our hope is in speed and secrecy. The Company of the Ring shall be Nine, and the Nine Walkers shall be set against the Nine Riders that are evil."

Boromir's eyes were locked on Frodo as he listened to the Elf name the Nine companions. He was not surprised that the wizard had been chosen. The others were not known to him, except by sight. The Elf who had chastised him during the Council, Legolas, would go, as would the dwarf Gimli, son of Gloin. But when Elrond named Aragorn one of the Nine, Boromir shot out of his seat as though propelled by a bow. He looked accusingly at the other Man.

"Then you will not come to Gondor with me?"

"I will," said Aragorn, "and the Sword-that-was-Broken shall be re-forged ere I set out to war. But the Hobbit's road and our road lie together for many hundreds of miles. Therefore, Boromir, I ask that you also join our Fellowship. I believe that the little ones will need our strength, if not our battle skills."

Boromir nodded thoughtfully. "Aye, I already have pledged my word to the Lord Elrond that I will accompany Frodo until such time as I must turn aside to travel to my city. I will hold you to your oath, Aragorn, that one day you will fight for the people of Gondor."

As Denethor's son contemplated the problems he knew they would face, Elrond chose the two remaining Companions -- Pippin and Merry, Frodo's two other friends from the Shire. "We must delay no longer. If the Ring is to set out, it must go soon. In seven days, the Company must depart."

This is such madness; four helpless Hobbits and only an Elf, a wizard and a dwarf to aid them. The only sane choice Elrond made was to include the Ranger and me. Boromir's gaze fell upon Frodo. He felt suddenly out of sorts, then he heard faint whispers in his head.

Aragorn studied Boromir from across the room. He did not like the paleness of the Man's pallor, or the feverish way he stared at Frodo. As valiant a Man as the Steward's son is, I sense that he is drawn too strongly to the Ring. I hope that none of us shall rue the day he was chosen to accompany the Ring-bearer.

To be continued