Shield and Sword

Lea of Mirkwood

Disclaimer: Same as always.

A/N: *sniffle* No, there won't be a Shire. *listening to TT* OH CRAP! HALDIR! Nooooo! Am barad! *sp?* (I'm sitting here in front of the PC, with my hands over my face, sobbing at the mere SOUND of Haldir's death. Imagine what I do in the theatres!)

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Boromir felt that they were nearing the old borders of Gondor. Somehow he knew it. It was like how his brother knew whether Boromir was hurt or not. Some sort of sense that Faramir had been too open about, and had been ridiculed by his father for. Faramir had not learned that Denethor did not want to hear of such things. Boromir had, and had kept his small sense of danger and other things to himself. Not even speaking of it to Faramir. The only person he had ever told was Gandalf. But now Boromir would give anything to be rid of this gift and curse. The vision and premonition had come so strongly he had blacked out, and it nearly cost all the Fellowship their lives. Merry and Pippin worst of all. He was still racked with guilt at the thought that their deaths might be through his making.

"What are you thinking about, Boromir?" asked Merry. Boromir turned around quickly.

"We are nearing the old borders of Gondor," he replied simply.

"Really?" asked Pippin in awe. "How will we know?"

"You will know," chuckled Boromir. "You will know."

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Pippin tipped his head back and stared at the monstrous statues in complete awe and amazement. He tugged on Boromir's sleeve.

"You were right, Boromir!" he said with a smile. "I do know."

Boromir smiled and let his oar rest on his lap. He tilted his head back and just stared at the great guardians of Gondor, Elendil and Anarion. His grey eyes looked up into the heavens, and into the great stone faces. Their reflections shone in his eyes as they moved along the swift current like leaves in a stream. Tall and proud were the kings of old. Boromir looked at their faces and saw likenesses. Proud faces, stern and solid jaw. He glanced at Aragorn's weathered face, and then at the faces of the Argonath. He, Boromir, looked more like these kingly men than Aragorn. Boromir felt a sharp shock of shame at thinking so cruelly about his friend and companion.

"They are so...noble," whispered Merry. "Are you kin to them, Boromir? You look like them."

Boromir could barely tear his eyes away from the face of Elendil to answer Merry. "Distant."

He heard Aragorn softly whisper to Frodo, "Long have I wished to look upon the kings of old...my kin," with such pride that it made Boromir's heart ache to hear it. He had worked his whole life to bring peace to Gondor, and yet this man had lived in the North all his life. No matter what Boromir did, he would always feel that Aragorn could achieve more. Aragorn was the heir to the throne of Gondor, hidden in the North for generations. Boromir's kin and forefathers had lived in Gondor all their lives and kept the lands safe. But Isildur's heir would soon sweep right in and take that task from them. And all would rejoice, even though the Stewards had been better than king in Gondor. Bitterness festered in Boromir's heart as he looked at the Argonath passing by him. But perhaps...if he were to use the Ring to overthrow Sauron, they would welcome him as leader. But no, they were to destroy it, not use it. Destroy. Not use.

But what if they could use it?

What if they could use it?

What if?

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Woo! Wrote this within the next fifteen minutes after finishing chapter four. I'm on a roll! Next I'll write Amon Hen: Part One of Five. That's right. Five whole chapters just about Amon Hen. I've got up to chapter 14 plotted out. Don't you love me? This is possibly (other than yet unposted Théoden fic) the only fic I do not have block in. Do you know why? Because of the lovely plot outline I wrote when I was bursting with ideas. It is the true weapon against the block. PLOT PLANNING.

And I've got Amon Hen: Part Two done. In a notebook, yet to be typed, but done!

Review?