Shield and Sword
Chapter Two
Lea of Mirkwood
Disclaimer still applies.
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February 20, 3019
Boromir, Captain of Gondor and sword arm of the White Tower, stood on the bank of the Anduin facing the water with his arms hugged to his chest. His hair brushed against his cheek, brushed there by the sudden wind, warm at first. Boromir felt a cold wind rise off of the water and shivered. Strange. Spring should be coming along soon, and he shouldn't be feeling this cold. Cold, cold, cold. The wind had been warm a moment ago and now it felt like ice. He turned to face the rest of the Company.
"Is it cold to anyone else as well?" he asked, rubbing his palms together. Legolas looked up from his pack.
"No, Boromir," he said with a puzzled look. "It is warm here, I can almost feel a summer breeze."
Aragorn cast him a dark and wary look before wiping down his sword blade. He then placed it in the finely wrought sheath gifted to him by the lady Galadriel. The fading sunlight gleamed off of the gems on the fine leather. As he sat down on the stone near the fire, his hand moved of its own accord to lightly touch the green stone on his breast. Boromir felt resentment welling up deep inside him, but still a wonder and reverence for Aragorn's noble manner kept him from acknowledging his resentment. He turned away and looked back across the river. So calm. The water flowed past like forever. It never faltered, and when it did fall it flowed again.
Boromir picked up a twig from the shore and threw it out into the middle of the river. The sunset, flickering like flames on the water's surface, revealed the twig tipping as it hit and being pulled down into the river's strong current. Not so calm. Not for the first time, Boromir wondered what would have happened had his brother been the one to go to Imladris (I claim this plotbunny!!!). He probably would have liked to see the Elves. He would have appreciated more the countless books of lore held within the walls and rooms of Imladris under the care of Lord Elrond. Perhaps his brother would not care for the Ring. It would be so like Faramir to be noble like that. But what of the Ring? Boromir turned away from the water. The calm feeling that came when looking at it had betrayed him. It had calmed him into relaxing too much. Thinking about the Ring was something he had forbidden himself to do. But what of it? He sat down by the fire, eating Samwise's food as though nothing was wrong. What of the Ring? He cast a glance at Frodo, across the fire. He watched Sam as the earnest and kind hobbit patted Frodo's shoulder and pressed a bowl of soup into his hands. Frodo shook his head listlessly and looked away, as if the sight of food sickened him. What of the Ring? Aragorn rose from the fireside and bent down next to Frodo, speaking softly. Boromir caught scattered words.
"Frodo, you will need your strength. We have a long way yet to go."
The Ranger stood back up and went to stare off into the woods again. Frodo made a face and took a few bites, but when no one was looking he dumped the rest of his food into Pippin's bowl. Boromir chuckled softly.
"Frodo?" he said quietly. The hobbit's head snapped up guiltily, and the hint of childish mischief returned. Sometimes Boromir caught Frodo playing small tricks on his cousins, or looking up when his name was called as though he were being caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Now was one of those times.
"Why do you not eat?" he asked. "Here," said Boromir, reaching into his pocket. "I believe I got this piece of candy from one of Haldir's brothers."
He pulled out a piece of honey candy, wrapped in a mallorn leaf of its own. Frodo reached over and took it from Boromir's much larger hand and unwrapped it. He looked up at the Captain warily.
"I am no child, Boromir," he said flatly. "I am a full nine years your senior."
Boromir smiled. "I know this. But you are not eating, and I don't care how old anyone is, candy is always tempting."
Frodo studied Boromir for another moment, and then took a bite of the candy, grinning at his companion. Aragorn sent Boromir an approving look and Sam beamed as Frodo finished off the bit of sugary candy and licked his fingers. (The most adorable visual.)
But what of the Ring?
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Boromir dreamed of the Ring that night. He dreamed of its silky golden color, and the richness of the tone, like velvet. He dreamed of the smooth gold and dreamed of holding it in his hand. But in his dream, as he looked down at the small circle of sunlight in his palm, he felt something in his chest and heard that same fearsome noise. Gnashing teeth and the Dark Tongue. The impact of something hitting his chest and burning. He looked down and saw arrows piercing his chest, and blood running down his front. He moved his hand to the front of his jerkin and felt warm wetness. Pulling his hand back, he saw the Ring was now sitting in a pool of his own blood. He screamed and woke with a start, cold sweat beading on his forehead. He sat straight up and looked around in terror. From the rock by the waterside, Legolas slowly turned to look at him, his eyes glittering like the stars. He and Boromir locked eyes. Could Legolas see his thoughts? His breath gradually slowed, the sight of the calm and serene Elf slowing his terror.
But what of the Ring?
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