While it's true that J.R.R. Tolkien (and his estate) own Boromir of Gondor,
it could be reasoned that once Tolkien opted to kill him off that those of
us who come after are free to take him up again. I have made free use of
Tolkien's maps and lexicon, but forgive me if I miss the mark of
perfection. Besides Boromir, all other characters are mine.
---- "Aragorn knelt beside him. Boromir opened his eyes and strove to speak. At last slow words came. 'I tried to take the Ring from Frodo,' he said. 'I am sorry. I have paid.'"
The Two Towers, J.R.R. Tolkien ----
It was as like waking after a long sleep and Boromir struggled to regain wakefulness the way a drowning man struggles for a last breath. His senses began to return to him and he could feel the salt spray and hear the tumultuous roar of the surf. Opening his eyes, he saw that he lay on a sandy spit below a craggy cliff. How had he come to be here, he wondered.
Bone tired, Boromir found it impossible to pull out of the reach of the waves which lapped at his legs and then retreated. It came to him that he had been injured in some way and possibly fallen from the boat-here he paused for the memory was dim, but it stood like a spark in the blackness of his mind -- he had been with companions. A Drawf. An Elf. Halflings. A Ranger. Slowly, bit-by-bit the tale returned to him as the sun moved through the sky. The Fellowship of the Ring. He fought orcs at Amon Hen and collapsed there with a dozen black arrows in his chest. Aragorn and the others had bore him down the hill and laid him in a boat with sword and shield, setting him adrift over the Falls of Rauros. He had been dead.
Slowly Boromir sat up and examined himself. His tunic and jacket were pierced with jagged holes, but no wounds lay beneath. Uncertain, he looked about him as if the answers to this mystery were to be found close at hand. He discovered only the echo of the waves against the cliff and the cries of shorebirds diving for their meal. Before him, as far as his eyes could see, stretched a vast unbroken horizon of curling, foaming waves
He stood on shaky legs and examined the steep cliff for some means of leaving. Much of it proved too smooth for handholds, but he thought it possible that he might scale the rougher part of it. Still he found he lacked the will to do so. Boromir knew himself to be dead and reasoned that the dead wait. He sat staring out at the sea - recalling how he had once loved the sea for its wild beauty - and waited for whatever was to come next.
The sun dropped behind the cliff and darkness rushed closer with each incoming wave, eating away at his resting place. A storm cloud lay on the horizon and he knew that soon the sea would take him again or else batter him against the rocky cliff. There was a twisting in his heart and he gave a great sob of fear. At that moment, a bright blade of light crossed the sky and then was lost. A moment later, it came again, swung through the darkening sky as if to keep the thunder clouds at bay. The source of the light was beyond the cliff and it came to him that now he should begin the climb.
What could have been accomplished in half an hour by daylight, now took Boromir many long dark moments of fearful grasping and not a few mishaps. All the while, thunder rolled across the water and lightening danced in the clouds. When at last he pulled himself over the edge, he stretched out upon the grass ledge and wept with relief. Then he saw the great blade of light arcing overhead and his eyes followed it towards a tall tower standing in the distance. At its feet huddled a little stone cottage, like a child clinging to a mother's skirt. He started towards it and was soon peering in a window of thick glass at a distorted figure moving within, but more to his interest was the flickering of a fire and a strong smell of cooking.
Without a single drop of warning, rain began to lash him and the wind roared in from the sea. Resolved, he sought the door and knocked, wondering what the keeper of this place would think of finding a tattered prince of Gondor upon his doorstep. When no one came, he knocked again with more force and gave a cry.
Above his head a shutter opened and a covered head leaned from the casement to look down at him in wonder. The face, partly hidden by the hood, was nearly white with surprise and alarm. A lantern was lifted up and its beam directed at Boromir. Words were said, but the wind tore them away before they could reach him. He shouted back, trying to make himself clear. There was a gesture meant to drive him away then the hooded head withdrew and shut up the window. The door remained bolted tight.
Boromir cried out once more in frustration and looked about for another place of refuge. He saw there was a lean-to where logs were piled and he ducked under this to be out of the storm, though the cold and the wet troubled him for some time and he found no peace in sleep. But when the worst of the storm had passed, sleep found him.
The next morning dawned gray and drizzle of wet fell unrelenting from the slate sky. He pulled himself from his temporary home just as the door to the cottage opened. A woman emerged, evidently intent upon the task at hand, and made ready to move off. Boromir called to her and she whirled about to face him, her jaw loose in astonishment, before giving a startled cry and dropping the pan she carried in her haste to re-enter the cottage.
There was finality to the bang of the door and the thud of a bar thrown into place.
He walked to where the pan had dropped and found it full of seeds and mush. Hungrily he consumed every bite and licked his fingers afterwards. He almost missed the sounds of the little shutter opening, but when he turned he saw her staring down at him and recognized the pale, frightened face from the previous night.
He swallowed the last of his curious breakfast and addressed her, "Good day to you Lady."
"Who are you?" she asked, her accent was of the Western lands beyond the White Mountains. "How come you here?"
He hesitated only a moment, "Among those I call friends, I am known as Boromir and I know not how I came here or even where I am."
"I think you are a brigand and know well where you've set down. Where is your ship then?" she demanded fiercely.
"I have no ship."
"What!" she scoffed, "You must think me simple. How is it you should come here then?"
"I tell you that I know not how I came to be here," he repeated and explained how he had woken on the sand and climbed the cliff. She listened with doubt in her eyes, but after awhile she spoke.
"You've been cast off some merchant ship then," she pronounced, "and now you think to deceive me with your strange tales and foreign looks."
"I ask for nothing more than what I've been given," he said scornfully, "and to be told where I am and pointed in the direction of Gondor."
She laughed at this, which angered him further.
"Where then is an inn where I can find some comfort and such information," he demanded, trying to temper his request with a modicum of civility.
"You'll not be finding an inn nearby," she laughed, drawing in her head and shutting the window.
A moment later the door was unbolted and she stood on the threshold with a pot of food in her hand, "I thought you were a ghost," she said simply, "When you came last night. Now I see that you are a fool of a man who doesn't know an island when he stands upon one."
Boromir gave her a puzzled look.
"This is the Isle of Lunefar and I am Salandra the Keeper," she said, offering him the contents of the pot, "Would you be wanting some of this or would you prefer more of the scratch?"
Boromir thanked her and held out the pan which she filled with a thick mash of oats and potatoes. It was hot and filling and he ate three plates before discovering that she had none left for her. Salandra had stood watching him with a mix of curiosity and amusement, but he saw that she was ready to retreat behind the door if he should make any sudden moves.
When he was done, he thanked her again and she told him to be thankful by chopping some logs. He was directed to a little shed where he found an ax among an assortment of other homely items, including a wooden washtub of some size. When he returned she had closed the door again, leaving a cup of water standing on the sill. He drank it greedily.
He chopped for an hour or so before sitting down to rest, noticing as he did that the weather had changed and it was growing colder. He also discovered Salandra was watching from the window. She lowered a jug to him and he found it full of a tart drink that burned his mouth but warmed him inside. "Now if you'll just take this feed to the chicks," she said lowering a little pail full of mush, "Mind you that you don't eat it afore them! And give them water as well."
Boromir looked at her askance and she casually explained that she had no intention of coming out until he had gone and if he cared to eat then he'd better take up some of the work or else go hungry and thirsty. "For the well is in the lighthouse," she said and closed the window.
He found the hens and, not knowing what else to do, placed the pan before them only to receive a nasty pecking for his troubles. The sole rooster-- a big black bird with a vivid red comb-- strode about, jabbing at his legs and leaving welts behind. Boromir quickly exited the coop. He heard her laughter and looked up to see her standing peering down at him from the tower. She shouted down that she wanted him to set some stone back into the wall and indicated where he might find his lunch when he was done.
Late in the afternoon she set out a hot plate of beans and tough cakes of corn which he ate ravenously, washing it all down with mug of the tart drink she brewed. While he rested, he heard her open the window and looked up.
"There is another storm coming," she said in a matter-of-fact voice as she leaned out and scanned the horizon. She tossed down some blankets wrapped in a thick sea animal pelt. "You'd best go round to the shed and make your bed there."
Boromir nodded and moved to take what little comfort he had been offered, but asked if it would trouble her for him to have some hot water. At once she was suspicious, but he explained that he would like to clean himself and his clothes as best he could. She said she'd think it over and closed the window. He passed a chilly night in the cramped space, glad of the shelter when the storm broke overhead.
The next day he found a steaming bucket of water and a change of clothes waiting outside the door to the shed. He washed as best he could, scrubbing the muck and mud from his skin. His fingers traveled lightly over the places where he had been wounded, but he found no discomfort there. He wore his own boots and cloak, but dressed in the clean rough wool tunic and trousers, wondering as he did to whom they belonged. When he emerged he thought his looks might soften her heart - for was he not a prince of Gondor?-- but after giving him something to eat, Salandra began issuing another list of commands and kept him busy the entire day hauling rock, mending fences, and feeding chickens.
She took particular interest in this last activity and her laughter explained why. Boromir's face burned as he brushed aside the hens and used the pan to keep the rooster at bay. He heard her voice calling to him, she addressed him as 'Man."
"Hey there Man, do you know a hen from a pullet then?" she called merrily. He said he did and she told him to bring her one. This took some time as he had to chase them around the pen and the first time he caught a hen.
"You'll put them off their laying," she shrieked from her vantage point. Boromir slowed down and at last caught a pullet.
"Ah, I am afraid your adventures are about to end, my friend, for when we next meet it shall be upon my plate," Boromir said while tying the young male's legs together. The bird gave a gurgling cry of distress.
Salandra had a basket waiting at the front of the cottage. Boromir placed the pullet in the basket along with the few eggs he had gathered from the nests and the puzzled look of the bird as it was being hauled up put him in good humor.
She had him spend the rest of the afternoon in the garden collecting the last of the vegetables from the drooping vines and rooting for potatoes like a pig. He was none too clean when he came up for lunch, but his mouth watered at the memory of the chicken. He was met by a cooling plate of potato mash and more of the hard corn cakes, he ate both with some mumbling, but left nothing on the plate. When Salandra appeared at the window he asked about the chicken.
"Tasty one was he," she said mischievously. "Though a bit run about." She closed the window.
Boromir put down his plate and strode away from the cottage, determined to do no more menial work. Instead he took a path past the garden up a slight hill that allowed a complete view of the island and the sea that relentlessly crashed around it. Lunefar was a narrow work of land with the tall lighthouse at one end, with its cluster of buildings and tiny garden, and a steep drop off at the other end where he had come from.
He sat there the rest of the day, looking at the sea and letting many things pass through his mind. His companions. The One Ring. The evils of Mordor. The White Towers of his beloved home. His betrayal of Frodo was a great shame to him though he had tried to erase it by defending Merry and Pippin, but even the Horn had failed him. He realized his own unworthiness and hung his head in shame. Boromir stared toward the east with the flares of the day's last light at his back and found that he was weeping. Was it all lost to him? He felt sure that watched from the tower and wondered what she must be thinking.
The dusk came fast and with it a miserable cold that passed through his fur lined cloak with ease, so at last he thought he should go round to his shed. He left his look out and found his way back as the night quickly drew around the island. As he drew near the cottage he saw Salandra stood inside the hen house. She looked up and saw him walking toward her and her mouth tightened, but she did not flee. She latched the last of the shutters and came out of the pen bravely. "It is bound to come ice tonight," she said, "and the hens must be locked up or else we'll have none left."
What she said next surprised him as well, "You'd better gather your blankets and sleep before the fire or else I'll have none of you left as well." He thought he detected a strained note of fear in her voice, but she calmly walked off towards the house, leaving the door slightly ajar behind her.
---- "Aragorn knelt beside him. Boromir opened his eyes and strove to speak. At last slow words came. 'I tried to take the Ring from Frodo,' he said. 'I am sorry. I have paid.'"
The Two Towers, J.R.R. Tolkien ----
It was as like waking after a long sleep and Boromir struggled to regain wakefulness the way a drowning man struggles for a last breath. His senses began to return to him and he could feel the salt spray and hear the tumultuous roar of the surf. Opening his eyes, he saw that he lay on a sandy spit below a craggy cliff. How had he come to be here, he wondered.
Bone tired, Boromir found it impossible to pull out of the reach of the waves which lapped at his legs and then retreated. It came to him that he had been injured in some way and possibly fallen from the boat-here he paused for the memory was dim, but it stood like a spark in the blackness of his mind -- he had been with companions. A Drawf. An Elf. Halflings. A Ranger. Slowly, bit-by-bit the tale returned to him as the sun moved through the sky. The Fellowship of the Ring. He fought orcs at Amon Hen and collapsed there with a dozen black arrows in his chest. Aragorn and the others had bore him down the hill and laid him in a boat with sword and shield, setting him adrift over the Falls of Rauros. He had been dead.
Slowly Boromir sat up and examined himself. His tunic and jacket were pierced with jagged holes, but no wounds lay beneath. Uncertain, he looked about him as if the answers to this mystery were to be found close at hand. He discovered only the echo of the waves against the cliff and the cries of shorebirds diving for their meal. Before him, as far as his eyes could see, stretched a vast unbroken horizon of curling, foaming waves
He stood on shaky legs and examined the steep cliff for some means of leaving. Much of it proved too smooth for handholds, but he thought it possible that he might scale the rougher part of it. Still he found he lacked the will to do so. Boromir knew himself to be dead and reasoned that the dead wait. He sat staring out at the sea - recalling how he had once loved the sea for its wild beauty - and waited for whatever was to come next.
The sun dropped behind the cliff and darkness rushed closer with each incoming wave, eating away at his resting place. A storm cloud lay on the horizon and he knew that soon the sea would take him again or else batter him against the rocky cliff. There was a twisting in his heart and he gave a great sob of fear. At that moment, a bright blade of light crossed the sky and then was lost. A moment later, it came again, swung through the darkening sky as if to keep the thunder clouds at bay. The source of the light was beyond the cliff and it came to him that now he should begin the climb.
What could have been accomplished in half an hour by daylight, now took Boromir many long dark moments of fearful grasping and not a few mishaps. All the while, thunder rolled across the water and lightening danced in the clouds. When at last he pulled himself over the edge, he stretched out upon the grass ledge and wept with relief. Then he saw the great blade of light arcing overhead and his eyes followed it towards a tall tower standing in the distance. At its feet huddled a little stone cottage, like a child clinging to a mother's skirt. He started towards it and was soon peering in a window of thick glass at a distorted figure moving within, but more to his interest was the flickering of a fire and a strong smell of cooking.
Without a single drop of warning, rain began to lash him and the wind roared in from the sea. Resolved, he sought the door and knocked, wondering what the keeper of this place would think of finding a tattered prince of Gondor upon his doorstep. When no one came, he knocked again with more force and gave a cry.
Above his head a shutter opened and a covered head leaned from the casement to look down at him in wonder. The face, partly hidden by the hood, was nearly white with surprise and alarm. A lantern was lifted up and its beam directed at Boromir. Words were said, but the wind tore them away before they could reach him. He shouted back, trying to make himself clear. There was a gesture meant to drive him away then the hooded head withdrew and shut up the window. The door remained bolted tight.
Boromir cried out once more in frustration and looked about for another place of refuge. He saw there was a lean-to where logs were piled and he ducked under this to be out of the storm, though the cold and the wet troubled him for some time and he found no peace in sleep. But when the worst of the storm had passed, sleep found him.
The next morning dawned gray and drizzle of wet fell unrelenting from the slate sky. He pulled himself from his temporary home just as the door to the cottage opened. A woman emerged, evidently intent upon the task at hand, and made ready to move off. Boromir called to her and she whirled about to face him, her jaw loose in astonishment, before giving a startled cry and dropping the pan she carried in her haste to re-enter the cottage.
There was finality to the bang of the door and the thud of a bar thrown into place.
He walked to where the pan had dropped and found it full of seeds and mush. Hungrily he consumed every bite and licked his fingers afterwards. He almost missed the sounds of the little shutter opening, but when he turned he saw her staring down at him and recognized the pale, frightened face from the previous night.
He swallowed the last of his curious breakfast and addressed her, "Good day to you Lady."
"Who are you?" she asked, her accent was of the Western lands beyond the White Mountains. "How come you here?"
He hesitated only a moment, "Among those I call friends, I am known as Boromir and I know not how I came here or even where I am."
"I think you are a brigand and know well where you've set down. Where is your ship then?" she demanded fiercely.
"I have no ship."
"What!" she scoffed, "You must think me simple. How is it you should come here then?"
"I tell you that I know not how I came to be here," he repeated and explained how he had woken on the sand and climbed the cliff. She listened with doubt in her eyes, but after awhile she spoke.
"You've been cast off some merchant ship then," she pronounced, "and now you think to deceive me with your strange tales and foreign looks."
"I ask for nothing more than what I've been given," he said scornfully, "and to be told where I am and pointed in the direction of Gondor."
She laughed at this, which angered him further.
"Where then is an inn where I can find some comfort and such information," he demanded, trying to temper his request with a modicum of civility.
"You'll not be finding an inn nearby," she laughed, drawing in her head and shutting the window.
A moment later the door was unbolted and she stood on the threshold with a pot of food in her hand, "I thought you were a ghost," she said simply, "When you came last night. Now I see that you are a fool of a man who doesn't know an island when he stands upon one."
Boromir gave her a puzzled look.
"This is the Isle of Lunefar and I am Salandra the Keeper," she said, offering him the contents of the pot, "Would you be wanting some of this or would you prefer more of the scratch?"
Boromir thanked her and held out the pan which she filled with a thick mash of oats and potatoes. It was hot and filling and he ate three plates before discovering that she had none left for her. Salandra had stood watching him with a mix of curiosity and amusement, but he saw that she was ready to retreat behind the door if he should make any sudden moves.
When he was done, he thanked her again and she told him to be thankful by chopping some logs. He was directed to a little shed where he found an ax among an assortment of other homely items, including a wooden washtub of some size. When he returned she had closed the door again, leaving a cup of water standing on the sill. He drank it greedily.
He chopped for an hour or so before sitting down to rest, noticing as he did that the weather had changed and it was growing colder. He also discovered Salandra was watching from the window. She lowered a jug to him and he found it full of a tart drink that burned his mouth but warmed him inside. "Now if you'll just take this feed to the chicks," she said lowering a little pail full of mush, "Mind you that you don't eat it afore them! And give them water as well."
Boromir looked at her askance and she casually explained that she had no intention of coming out until he had gone and if he cared to eat then he'd better take up some of the work or else go hungry and thirsty. "For the well is in the lighthouse," she said and closed the window.
He found the hens and, not knowing what else to do, placed the pan before them only to receive a nasty pecking for his troubles. The sole rooster-- a big black bird with a vivid red comb-- strode about, jabbing at his legs and leaving welts behind. Boromir quickly exited the coop. He heard her laughter and looked up to see her standing peering down at him from the tower. She shouted down that she wanted him to set some stone back into the wall and indicated where he might find his lunch when he was done.
Late in the afternoon she set out a hot plate of beans and tough cakes of corn which he ate ravenously, washing it all down with mug of the tart drink she brewed. While he rested, he heard her open the window and looked up.
"There is another storm coming," she said in a matter-of-fact voice as she leaned out and scanned the horizon. She tossed down some blankets wrapped in a thick sea animal pelt. "You'd best go round to the shed and make your bed there."
Boromir nodded and moved to take what little comfort he had been offered, but asked if it would trouble her for him to have some hot water. At once she was suspicious, but he explained that he would like to clean himself and his clothes as best he could. She said she'd think it over and closed the window. He passed a chilly night in the cramped space, glad of the shelter when the storm broke overhead.
The next day he found a steaming bucket of water and a change of clothes waiting outside the door to the shed. He washed as best he could, scrubbing the muck and mud from his skin. His fingers traveled lightly over the places where he had been wounded, but he found no discomfort there. He wore his own boots and cloak, but dressed in the clean rough wool tunic and trousers, wondering as he did to whom they belonged. When he emerged he thought his looks might soften her heart - for was he not a prince of Gondor?-- but after giving him something to eat, Salandra began issuing another list of commands and kept him busy the entire day hauling rock, mending fences, and feeding chickens.
She took particular interest in this last activity and her laughter explained why. Boromir's face burned as he brushed aside the hens and used the pan to keep the rooster at bay. He heard her voice calling to him, she addressed him as 'Man."
"Hey there Man, do you know a hen from a pullet then?" she called merrily. He said he did and she told him to bring her one. This took some time as he had to chase them around the pen and the first time he caught a hen.
"You'll put them off their laying," she shrieked from her vantage point. Boromir slowed down and at last caught a pullet.
"Ah, I am afraid your adventures are about to end, my friend, for when we next meet it shall be upon my plate," Boromir said while tying the young male's legs together. The bird gave a gurgling cry of distress.
Salandra had a basket waiting at the front of the cottage. Boromir placed the pullet in the basket along with the few eggs he had gathered from the nests and the puzzled look of the bird as it was being hauled up put him in good humor.
She had him spend the rest of the afternoon in the garden collecting the last of the vegetables from the drooping vines and rooting for potatoes like a pig. He was none too clean when he came up for lunch, but his mouth watered at the memory of the chicken. He was met by a cooling plate of potato mash and more of the hard corn cakes, he ate both with some mumbling, but left nothing on the plate. When Salandra appeared at the window he asked about the chicken.
"Tasty one was he," she said mischievously. "Though a bit run about." She closed the window.
Boromir put down his plate and strode away from the cottage, determined to do no more menial work. Instead he took a path past the garden up a slight hill that allowed a complete view of the island and the sea that relentlessly crashed around it. Lunefar was a narrow work of land with the tall lighthouse at one end, with its cluster of buildings and tiny garden, and a steep drop off at the other end where he had come from.
He sat there the rest of the day, looking at the sea and letting many things pass through his mind. His companions. The One Ring. The evils of Mordor. The White Towers of his beloved home. His betrayal of Frodo was a great shame to him though he had tried to erase it by defending Merry and Pippin, but even the Horn had failed him. He realized his own unworthiness and hung his head in shame. Boromir stared toward the east with the flares of the day's last light at his back and found that he was weeping. Was it all lost to him? He felt sure that watched from the tower and wondered what she must be thinking.
The dusk came fast and with it a miserable cold that passed through his fur lined cloak with ease, so at last he thought he should go round to his shed. He left his look out and found his way back as the night quickly drew around the island. As he drew near the cottage he saw Salandra stood inside the hen house. She looked up and saw him walking toward her and her mouth tightened, but she did not flee. She latched the last of the shutters and came out of the pen bravely. "It is bound to come ice tonight," she said, "and the hens must be locked up or else we'll have none left."
What she said next surprised him as well, "You'd better gather your blankets and sleep before the fire or else I'll have none of you left as well." He thought he detected a strained note of fear in her voice, but she calmly walked off towards the house, leaving the door slightly ajar behind her.