WAITING IN VAIN
She stood, as she always did on the balcony of her house looking northward. She listened for the sound she wanted to hear. Nothing came to Idril, granddaughter of Hurin of the Keys of Dol Amroth. Minas Tirith was busy with errand riders and soldiers running around, tall men with grim faces and bright swords. Old women walked to the Houses of Healing while sentries chatted on the narrow roads. It was now fifty days since Boromir, Captain of the White Tower had departed from the City, seeking answers to a riddle only he and his brother knew. Fair Idril, her dark black hair hiding her sad face turned and sighed as the Sun rose to her climax. Horns sounded to signal noontime, but not the horn she wanted to hear.
She sat on a lonely wooden chair in her chambers, turning her head towards the window in hope. Her eyes revealed her true heritage, a pureblooded woman of Nùmenorean race and of the Elven-line of Dol Amroth and niece of Morwen of Lossarnach , former Queen of Rohan. She was roughly the same age as Eomer, Third Marshal of the Mark. She dwelt not in Lossarnach with her grandfather nor in Dol Amroth with the Prince Imrahil, having studied lore and weaponcraft under Denethor the Steward, her kinsman from afar. It was during this time that she met Boromir, the greatest of men (or so many thought) in Minas Tirith.
"Where are you , horn-bearer? It has been two score and ten days since you left this city to Imladris of legend."
She had loved Boromir from the beginning of their meetings, but he cared little for women, preferring to spend time with his men or his brother Faramir. His valiant deeds were no secret in Minas Tirith, and Idril herself longed to welcome the Captain home and embrace his shoulders in victory. She cared not that Boromir was untaught in ways of courtship or lore as she and Faramir were, nor that he spoke little of the Elven-tongue as most men did. Idril deemed Boromir a great man of great courage, and for her that was enough. He little resembled the men of her own house, tall and fair Men of Dol Amroth and mingled little with them. Denethor had thought that she would be enamoured of Faramir, her like in skill and looks. But she thought otherwise, being proud in her refusal of such an idea. In came a greed-clad man, with a book in his hand and a cup of tea in his hand.
"My lady?" the man offered the tea. She looked up, but the hope faded in her eyes as Faramir, son of Denethor knelt and thrust the cup forward.
"Ah, Faramir.you resemble your brother too much in looks. Thank you, but I have already had my noon tea. I shall be in the dining hall shortly, if Denethor wants me there."
"Something troubles you, Idril. Are you waiting for my brother to return? I wait as well, hoping the Horn of Mardil returns. My duties do not make me forget to look westwards in prayer for him."
"Have our scouts not seen him pass our borders?" Idril frowned.
Faramir shook his head. "No, lady Idril. My men, as well as the border- guards at Cair Andros have seen naught of him. But some Riders of Rohan coming from the East Emnet have informed me that they are aware of his passing through their land. The beacon-wardens tell me Boromir is headed for Isengard, home of Saruman the White."
Idril stood to her full height and bowed her head. "Saruman the White, that cunning wizard who sits in our fortress of Isengard. I pray that Boromir does not need his services! I rather would have him meet the Grey Pilgrim, whom we both have seen in our childhood, Faramir. Boromir would greatly esteem him."
"He does not esteem any wizard, Idril. Boromir once told me that he would rather have an army of strong Men than the advice of one wizard. I think otherwise or both-yet in our situation, who can be correct?"
"In Gondor? Only one is learned enough to answer that, Faramir. And we go to dine with Denethor, master of lore."
The two went up stairs of stone towards Denethor' s citadel, Faramir leading Idril into the hall of his father. There indeed sat Denethor on his stone chair, at the foot of several steps where a giant throne lay. Boromir once asked Denethor why he never sat on it, and all Denethor said was that all the Men in Minas Tirith would kill him on the spot and no sons' loyalty could save him.
"What if a corsair captained a war-ship of Gondor? Ignorant are you, Boromir of the significance of the throne! I am a Steward and not a King, as you will be. Not in ten thousand years will our line sit on the throne of Gondor. We are as our forefathers were, ruling Gondor with our wisdom and not our idealistic fancy."
Boromir was only a young lad of fifteen then, and those words stuck in his head. Idril was also present and acknowledged Denethor' s stance. Boromir sometimes confided in her as to why his father could not be King of Gondor, as he was ruling in all but name and title. He opened his heart to Idril, who knew not how to respond. Often Faramir would give counsel to his brother in such matters and his counsel was enough. But Boromir slept little when thinking of such matters, and Idril knew it. She would hear sword strokes at night, the future Steward practicing his skills. His room was scarce above hers, and she heard all the mumbling and musings in his room. Often Boromir would talk to himself, of his brother and father, or the hope left in the House of Stewards. She always heard his horn blow in the morning as he set off on his duties, a mighty sound that heartened all that heard it in Gondor and frightened all its enemies.
She sat next to Denethor as the food and wine was brought for the Steward and his family. Boromir' s place on his father's right was empty, though a coat of arms was draped over it to show that he was not dead. Faramir sat on the other side, talking to another captain and trying not to look at his father. Idril wondered why this was, as Boromir had never once profited from his brother or shunned him. By right the sons of the Steward were meant to sit side by side, yet Faramir sat opposite of Denethor. Idril looked at her own seat and realized that it was indeed Faramir' s appointed seat. But she did not dare defy Denethor, as the grim Steward had great powers of mind that pierced the very soul.
"What have you learned today, young Idril?" he began, his dark eyes looking at her.
"I have consulted some of the lore-readers of my land, and have translated some scripts in your archives, as you had requested, sire. The lore of Mithrellas and Imrazor is now slightly more clearer, though I wish I had help in translating some of the older script."
"Anything that can help us uncover the riddle Boromir and Faramir heard in their dream?"
Idril revealed a scroll and stood to read it, Denethor nodding. "Yes. I have uncovered part of the riddle. Hear me now, Men of Minas Tirith!"
"The Bane of Isildur- I have read that Isildur had with him a mighty weapon after the Last Alliance, a weapon that betrayed him in the Gladden Fields. What it was I cannot understand without the help of one of the Istari."
"A weapon?" Faramir' s face changed, "What weapon could he have gained from the land of the Enemy?"
"That I do not know, Captain. But let me continue. I have also seen old records from the Northern Kingdom of old that shed a little light of these 'Halflings' mentioned in your dream. Those of us known in lore or those that have children already know of them. But I have deciphered records of King Argaleb of old, that indicate that Halflings live far North of Gondor, nearer to the havens of Cirdan and indeed near Elendil' s Tower Hills. Sadly, no other documentation of the North Kingdom exists."
"I say that is good work, Idril. You deserve praise for your skill. You should learn more from her, Faramir! She is of the House of Imrahil your uncle and wise beyond her years. Now how goes our defense of Ithillien, Faramir?"
Faramir rose grimly and looked at his father. "I report that the Enemy is moving towards the Morannon at high speed, in wains and riding great Mumakil . Our Rangers are scarce enough but to reduce their numbers. I fear that unless help arrives from elsewhere, the Enemy will have his forces marshaled to take the western bank of the river. Have messages been sent to Orthanc and Edoras?"
Denethor grimaced and ordered his son to sit down.
"Yes, I have sent out word. Saruman is not helping us any longer, and I deem his motivations to be suspicious. Wizards cannot be trusted. Saruman is no more trustworthy than Gandalf Greymantle. As for Thèoden, our messengers only return with his scorn. I fear he is rotting away on his wooden throne. That leaves Gondor alone. My hope is that Boromir returns from Imladris with Elven-armies or even Dwarf- armies , or at least himself. I miss him sorely and his men do as well."
Idril saw the pain on Faramir' s face as Denethor practically humbled his younger son. When Boromir would sit there, he would always support his brother, recalling tales of Faramir' s own courageous deeds and their many valiant adventures together. Never did Boromir join his father in lowering Faramir and the two were always together at Boromir' s insistence. Idril remembered one sortie when Faramir was ordered to lead a small company into Ithillien while Boromir was commanded to stay. Without Denethor' s knowledge, Boromir snuck into the party and helped them to success. Faramir knew nothing of this until they had returned, and won praise for his brother's deeds, though he was leader. Another time, Faramir was given a dangerous task to steal a ship of the Corsairs, which had been marooned near Pelargir. He was captured and taken to the City of the Corsairs. Boromir instantly commanded a fleet of Dol Amroth and rescued his brother through great peril. Idril herself was on that ship, as she was no simple maiden but a woman of arms, winning great praise herself, wearing the silver helm of her house.
It was in arms that Boromir and Idril shared the most pleasure, often practicing together under the sun. She was skilled with spear and staff, while he with the sword and bow. Faramir would sit beside them ,reading yet another book of lore. He himself was a highly skillful swordsman, but his skill with the bow was unparalleled in Gondor, not even by Boromir. It need not be said that the three had been friends since early childhood, as Hurin removed to Lossarnach and his daughter moved to Minas Tirith. Idril' s love for Boromir grew as they did, with the years and slowly, a blossoming flower in springtime. Boromir himself disclosed little, though he was mindful that as the next Steward , he would need an heir. What better than a woman of high Nùmenorean race with Elven-blood, and kin of Rohan' s royal house? He esteemed Idril more as a friend and counselor than for her bloodline, and made no secret to Denethor that Idril was more than any woman he would ever meet.
The proud Boromir only ever disclosed these things to his brother, and never told Idril of his affection and respect for her. He would go on missions to far reaches of Gondor, going even to the borders of Rohan where it was said a strange forest folk dwelt, to shake the thoughts out of his mind. He would go to the Silent Street to speak to Elendil' s tomb, as was his right as future Ruling Steward . Men questioned him not, and none told of it until Bergerond later told Peregrin Took. Idril wept when Boromir announced that he would seek Imladris instead of his brother, who was chosen by the Council.
"Boromir! You cannot leave your city in its peril! Why not let Faramir go, for he is valiant and wise. Elrond will welcome him as well as he will you! The journey is long and hard, and I deem that it will be one hundred days until you even see the fair Elven-valley."
"But I must go, Idril. Minas Tirith needs this counsel. Faramir is more than capable of performing in my stead. I can trust him to protect the Western shores." He looked upon Idril' s face glistening with tears of sadness and regret, regret at never baring her feelings for him. They stood alone in Boromir' s chamber under the light of the Moon, having only each others' eyes to search for in the dark.
"Why do you cry, Idril? Am I not of the seed of Nùmenor, the great Men of Elendil' s race? Hardy are the Men of Minas Tirith, and I deem myself able. Who will go if not the son of the Steward? Lord Elrond may have news only my father has to know. Do not cry, fair maiden of arms. The horn of Boromir will return, that I can promise." He kissed her on her brow, holding her shoulders.
"Boromir..you who was named after the brave Steward of a hundred wounds...do not make such promises in times like these..but I will make a promise to you, Man of Minas Tirith. When you return, I will wed with you, and we shall fight the Darkness together. For I love you, Boromir son of Denethor, son of Ecthelion and will not bear to see you return with anyone save mighty companions of arms. Long have I loved you, from the days of our childhood together. I see little of Nùmenor in you, my love but remember that many Men fought beside them against the evil. Of those I deem you the mightiest."
Boromir' s eyes welled up with tears on hearing his childhood companion's words, his heart now emboldened by his duty and his own love for Idril. He kissed her softly in the pale moonlight as she moved her arms around him to answer. For one night, Boromir and Idril forgot about the cares of the world as they made love to the sound of silence. As they awoke the next morning in each other's arms, Idril saw a rare sight, the sight of Boromir at peace in his bed. She smiled, and knew that she had helped bring about this change.
Many folk in Minas Tirith watched as Boromir mounted his horse the next day and prepared to ride westwards. He wore a great wooden shield as well as his war-horn, his face full of pride and eagerness. His father made a solemn announcement ,and Faramir was on hand to embrace his brother before he mounted. Idril stood beside his horse, holding the reins. He turned to her and smiled.
"Is there nothing the lady Idril would give to a lonely traveler?"
"Aside from my love, take this. It is a brooch of my house, and is made of silver mined by the Eldar long ago in the First Age. It will protect you and remind you of what awaits on your return."
Boromir fastened the brooch on his fur coat, and it glistened in the sunlight. Idril smiled and patted the horse.
"You will pass through Rohan, my steed. Do not fear any Men there, for they are like to your own kin. If you lose Boromir, run into their fields." The horse neighed, stroking Idril' s cheek.
As Boromir rode off into the west, the folk of Minas Tirith dispersed , leaving only Denethor, Faramir and Idril standing in the grass of the Pelennor.
"There goes my son, proud Captain of the White Tower. May the Valar bless his journey, and lead him to no danger!"
"With danger, Boromir would overcome it. I doubt not he will reach Elrond Half-Elven, father."
For once, Denethor nodded and said nothing to Faramir. Both loved Boromir as father and brother and all three sorely wished his mother was there. Idril stood still and let her hair blow in the wind.
Long did she wait, until one day she heard a faint noise coming from the direction of Rauros. She turned her gaze northwards, hearing a faint, wind- borne horn-call. Her mind could not see any further, and she ran to Denethor, seeking his aid.
"Yes, I have heard it too. If it indeed is the horn of Boromir, we cannot help him, for he is still outside our boundaries. Our only hope is that the Rohirrim know that he was there, or that he is travelling with powerful company. Stay, Idril. I will try to see what is going on there, as I can with my powers."
Denethor saw little, and knew not that Boromir had fallen defending two Hobbits near the Falls of Rauros. Idril' s face went pale at the thought of Boromir dying, and begged to be assigned to river companies, or that of Cair Andros. Denethor reluctantly agreed to this, for he had regarded Idril as his own daughter and the perfect compliment to Boromir. Thus her silver helm was routinely seen on the forts of Cair Andros, searching ever for her love.
Then came the saddest news of her life. Faramir, returning from Ithillien brought the most crushing blow to Denethor since Findulas' death- two shards of Boromir' s war-horn. He was dead indeed, and all of Minas Tirith mourned him for days. None more so than Idril, who refused raiment of noble ladies, spending more and more time in the black and silver of the Tower. Distraught, she sat one night by the Anduin when on river duty ,seemingly falling asleep.
She opened her eyes to see a strange boat come towards her, slowly passing her by. It was in the likeness of a swan, with a man inside. She cried when she saw that it was Boromir, wearing another brooch on his coat. But the brooch was not of Mannish design and from her study she made it out to be that of Lorien. His golden belt was also similar in make, and dozens of swords lay in his boat. It swayed as it neared her, and she waded into the water. He was not cold, as corpses should be but warm, an almost Elvish glow in his face. She looked down and kissed him, hoping he was merely asleep by some art of the Elves. Alas, he was indeed asleep, but for a longer time than she would live. The boat left her hands and drifted into fog, and she never saw it again. Two little figures came up behind her and tugged at her armor.
"He saved us. Boromir is a hero."
"Yes, his horn was blown in our defense. Do not weep in sadness, lady of Gondor. Boromir is now headed to the Sea, where no evil can defile his body."
The two figures disappeared into the fog as she awoke, her captain rousing her.
Idril fought long and hard against Sauron' s attack in the War of the Ring, until she fell at the Morannon, a proud banner bearer of Imrahil , the Silver Swan standing beside her wounded body as Frodo the Halfling destroyed Sauron' s most treasured possession, saving the world Boromir and Idril fought for. Her dying eyes saw Boromir, standing on top of a hill, fighting alongside Elessar as they did in Moria, defending the Seven Stars . She smiled as darkness took her. Imrahil and his knights bore her out of the field after the battle, and she was buried with great sadness in Raith Dinen by Faramir the Steward. Fittingly, her tomb was beside that of Boromir and the two were joined as one tomb, two statues embracing each other in a love that would have flourished at any other time.
Much later, Éowyn , Princess of Ithillien looked upon her statue and asked Faramir who this woman was. All Faramir would say was that she was Cali - el Boromir , the 'Light of Boromir'. She too, had won renown as a woman warrior, yet thought that she was alone and her heart was lost to war. She had slain no Witch-King or great servant of the Enemy like Éowyn herself had, but all knew her as the Silver Helm, a sad woman who wore no dress or items of beauty out of sadness. The sadness of loving the greatest warrior in Middle Earth.
She stood, as she always did on the balcony of her house looking northward. She listened for the sound she wanted to hear. Nothing came to Idril, granddaughter of Hurin of the Keys of Dol Amroth. Minas Tirith was busy with errand riders and soldiers running around, tall men with grim faces and bright swords. Old women walked to the Houses of Healing while sentries chatted on the narrow roads. It was now fifty days since Boromir, Captain of the White Tower had departed from the City, seeking answers to a riddle only he and his brother knew. Fair Idril, her dark black hair hiding her sad face turned and sighed as the Sun rose to her climax. Horns sounded to signal noontime, but not the horn she wanted to hear.
She sat on a lonely wooden chair in her chambers, turning her head towards the window in hope. Her eyes revealed her true heritage, a pureblooded woman of Nùmenorean race and of the Elven-line of Dol Amroth and niece of Morwen of Lossarnach , former Queen of Rohan. She was roughly the same age as Eomer, Third Marshal of the Mark. She dwelt not in Lossarnach with her grandfather nor in Dol Amroth with the Prince Imrahil, having studied lore and weaponcraft under Denethor the Steward, her kinsman from afar. It was during this time that she met Boromir, the greatest of men (or so many thought) in Minas Tirith.
"Where are you , horn-bearer? It has been two score and ten days since you left this city to Imladris of legend."
She had loved Boromir from the beginning of their meetings, but he cared little for women, preferring to spend time with his men or his brother Faramir. His valiant deeds were no secret in Minas Tirith, and Idril herself longed to welcome the Captain home and embrace his shoulders in victory. She cared not that Boromir was untaught in ways of courtship or lore as she and Faramir were, nor that he spoke little of the Elven-tongue as most men did. Idril deemed Boromir a great man of great courage, and for her that was enough. He little resembled the men of her own house, tall and fair Men of Dol Amroth and mingled little with them. Denethor had thought that she would be enamoured of Faramir, her like in skill and looks. But she thought otherwise, being proud in her refusal of such an idea. In came a greed-clad man, with a book in his hand and a cup of tea in his hand.
"My lady?" the man offered the tea. She looked up, but the hope faded in her eyes as Faramir, son of Denethor knelt and thrust the cup forward.
"Ah, Faramir.you resemble your brother too much in looks. Thank you, but I have already had my noon tea. I shall be in the dining hall shortly, if Denethor wants me there."
"Something troubles you, Idril. Are you waiting for my brother to return? I wait as well, hoping the Horn of Mardil returns. My duties do not make me forget to look westwards in prayer for him."
"Have our scouts not seen him pass our borders?" Idril frowned.
Faramir shook his head. "No, lady Idril. My men, as well as the border- guards at Cair Andros have seen naught of him. But some Riders of Rohan coming from the East Emnet have informed me that they are aware of his passing through their land. The beacon-wardens tell me Boromir is headed for Isengard, home of Saruman the White."
Idril stood to her full height and bowed her head. "Saruman the White, that cunning wizard who sits in our fortress of Isengard. I pray that Boromir does not need his services! I rather would have him meet the Grey Pilgrim, whom we both have seen in our childhood, Faramir. Boromir would greatly esteem him."
"He does not esteem any wizard, Idril. Boromir once told me that he would rather have an army of strong Men than the advice of one wizard. I think otherwise or both-yet in our situation, who can be correct?"
"In Gondor? Only one is learned enough to answer that, Faramir. And we go to dine with Denethor, master of lore."
The two went up stairs of stone towards Denethor' s citadel, Faramir leading Idril into the hall of his father. There indeed sat Denethor on his stone chair, at the foot of several steps where a giant throne lay. Boromir once asked Denethor why he never sat on it, and all Denethor said was that all the Men in Minas Tirith would kill him on the spot and no sons' loyalty could save him.
"What if a corsair captained a war-ship of Gondor? Ignorant are you, Boromir of the significance of the throne! I am a Steward and not a King, as you will be. Not in ten thousand years will our line sit on the throne of Gondor. We are as our forefathers were, ruling Gondor with our wisdom and not our idealistic fancy."
Boromir was only a young lad of fifteen then, and those words stuck in his head. Idril was also present and acknowledged Denethor' s stance. Boromir sometimes confided in her as to why his father could not be King of Gondor, as he was ruling in all but name and title. He opened his heart to Idril, who knew not how to respond. Often Faramir would give counsel to his brother in such matters and his counsel was enough. But Boromir slept little when thinking of such matters, and Idril knew it. She would hear sword strokes at night, the future Steward practicing his skills. His room was scarce above hers, and she heard all the mumbling and musings in his room. Often Boromir would talk to himself, of his brother and father, or the hope left in the House of Stewards. She always heard his horn blow in the morning as he set off on his duties, a mighty sound that heartened all that heard it in Gondor and frightened all its enemies.
She sat next to Denethor as the food and wine was brought for the Steward and his family. Boromir' s place on his father's right was empty, though a coat of arms was draped over it to show that he was not dead. Faramir sat on the other side, talking to another captain and trying not to look at his father. Idril wondered why this was, as Boromir had never once profited from his brother or shunned him. By right the sons of the Steward were meant to sit side by side, yet Faramir sat opposite of Denethor. Idril looked at her own seat and realized that it was indeed Faramir' s appointed seat. But she did not dare defy Denethor, as the grim Steward had great powers of mind that pierced the very soul.
"What have you learned today, young Idril?" he began, his dark eyes looking at her.
"I have consulted some of the lore-readers of my land, and have translated some scripts in your archives, as you had requested, sire. The lore of Mithrellas and Imrazor is now slightly more clearer, though I wish I had help in translating some of the older script."
"Anything that can help us uncover the riddle Boromir and Faramir heard in their dream?"
Idril revealed a scroll and stood to read it, Denethor nodding. "Yes. I have uncovered part of the riddle. Hear me now, Men of Minas Tirith!"
"The Bane of Isildur- I have read that Isildur had with him a mighty weapon after the Last Alliance, a weapon that betrayed him in the Gladden Fields. What it was I cannot understand without the help of one of the Istari."
"A weapon?" Faramir' s face changed, "What weapon could he have gained from the land of the Enemy?"
"That I do not know, Captain. But let me continue. I have also seen old records from the Northern Kingdom of old that shed a little light of these 'Halflings' mentioned in your dream. Those of us known in lore or those that have children already know of them. But I have deciphered records of King Argaleb of old, that indicate that Halflings live far North of Gondor, nearer to the havens of Cirdan and indeed near Elendil' s Tower Hills. Sadly, no other documentation of the North Kingdom exists."
"I say that is good work, Idril. You deserve praise for your skill. You should learn more from her, Faramir! She is of the House of Imrahil your uncle and wise beyond her years. Now how goes our defense of Ithillien, Faramir?"
Faramir rose grimly and looked at his father. "I report that the Enemy is moving towards the Morannon at high speed, in wains and riding great Mumakil . Our Rangers are scarce enough but to reduce their numbers. I fear that unless help arrives from elsewhere, the Enemy will have his forces marshaled to take the western bank of the river. Have messages been sent to Orthanc and Edoras?"
Denethor grimaced and ordered his son to sit down.
"Yes, I have sent out word. Saruman is not helping us any longer, and I deem his motivations to be suspicious. Wizards cannot be trusted. Saruman is no more trustworthy than Gandalf Greymantle. As for Thèoden, our messengers only return with his scorn. I fear he is rotting away on his wooden throne. That leaves Gondor alone. My hope is that Boromir returns from Imladris with Elven-armies or even Dwarf- armies , or at least himself. I miss him sorely and his men do as well."
Idril saw the pain on Faramir' s face as Denethor practically humbled his younger son. When Boromir would sit there, he would always support his brother, recalling tales of Faramir' s own courageous deeds and their many valiant adventures together. Never did Boromir join his father in lowering Faramir and the two were always together at Boromir' s insistence. Idril remembered one sortie when Faramir was ordered to lead a small company into Ithillien while Boromir was commanded to stay. Without Denethor' s knowledge, Boromir snuck into the party and helped them to success. Faramir knew nothing of this until they had returned, and won praise for his brother's deeds, though he was leader. Another time, Faramir was given a dangerous task to steal a ship of the Corsairs, which had been marooned near Pelargir. He was captured and taken to the City of the Corsairs. Boromir instantly commanded a fleet of Dol Amroth and rescued his brother through great peril. Idril herself was on that ship, as she was no simple maiden but a woman of arms, winning great praise herself, wearing the silver helm of her house.
It was in arms that Boromir and Idril shared the most pleasure, often practicing together under the sun. She was skilled with spear and staff, while he with the sword and bow. Faramir would sit beside them ,reading yet another book of lore. He himself was a highly skillful swordsman, but his skill with the bow was unparalleled in Gondor, not even by Boromir. It need not be said that the three had been friends since early childhood, as Hurin removed to Lossarnach and his daughter moved to Minas Tirith. Idril' s love for Boromir grew as they did, with the years and slowly, a blossoming flower in springtime. Boromir himself disclosed little, though he was mindful that as the next Steward , he would need an heir. What better than a woman of high Nùmenorean race with Elven-blood, and kin of Rohan' s royal house? He esteemed Idril more as a friend and counselor than for her bloodline, and made no secret to Denethor that Idril was more than any woman he would ever meet.
The proud Boromir only ever disclosed these things to his brother, and never told Idril of his affection and respect for her. He would go on missions to far reaches of Gondor, going even to the borders of Rohan where it was said a strange forest folk dwelt, to shake the thoughts out of his mind. He would go to the Silent Street to speak to Elendil' s tomb, as was his right as future Ruling Steward . Men questioned him not, and none told of it until Bergerond later told Peregrin Took. Idril wept when Boromir announced that he would seek Imladris instead of his brother, who was chosen by the Council.
"Boromir! You cannot leave your city in its peril! Why not let Faramir go, for he is valiant and wise. Elrond will welcome him as well as he will you! The journey is long and hard, and I deem that it will be one hundred days until you even see the fair Elven-valley."
"But I must go, Idril. Minas Tirith needs this counsel. Faramir is more than capable of performing in my stead. I can trust him to protect the Western shores." He looked upon Idril' s face glistening with tears of sadness and regret, regret at never baring her feelings for him. They stood alone in Boromir' s chamber under the light of the Moon, having only each others' eyes to search for in the dark.
"Why do you cry, Idril? Am I not of the seed of Nùmenor, the great Men of Elendil' s race? Hardy are the Men of Minas Tirith, and I deem myself able. Who will go if not the son of the Steward? Lord Elrond may have news only my father has to know. Do not cry, fair maiden of arms. The horn of Boromir will return, that I can promise." He kissed her on her brow, holding her shoulders.
"Boromir..you who was named after the brave Steward of a hundred wounds...do not make such promises in times like these..but I will make a promise to you, Man of Minas Tirith. When you return, I will wed with you, and we shall fight the Darkness together. For I love you, Boromir son of Denethor, son of Ecthelion and will not bear to see you return with anyone save mighty companions of arms. Long have I loved you, from the days of our childhood together. I see little of Nùmenor in you, my love but remember that many Men fought beside them against the evil. Of those I deem you the mightiest."
Boromir' s eyes welled up with tears on hearing his childhood companion's words, his heart now emboldened by his duty and his own love for Idril. He kissed her softly in the pale moonlight as she moved her arms around him to answer. For one night, Boromir and Idril forgot about the cares of the world as they made love to the sound of silence. As they awoke the next morning in each other's arms, Idril saw a rare sight, the sight of Boromir at peace in his bed. She smiled, and knew that she had helped bring about this change.
Many folk in Minas Tirith watched as Boromir mounted his horse the next day and prepared to ride westwards. He wore a great wooden shield as well as his war-horn, his face full of pride and eagerness. His father made a solemn announcement ,and Faramir was on hand to embrace his brother before he mounted. Idril stood beside his horse, holding the reins. He turned to her and smiled.
"Is there nothing the lady Idril would give to a lonely traveler?"
"Aside from my love, take this. It is a brooch of my house, and is made of silver mined by the Eldar long ago in the First Age. It will protect you and remind you of what awaits on your return."
Boromir fastened the brooch on his fur coat, and it glistened in the sunlight. Idril smiled and patted the horse.
"You will pass through Rohan, my steed. Do not fear any Men there, for they are like to your own kin. If you lose Boromir, run into their fields." The horse neighed, stroking Idril' s cheek.
As Boromir rode off into the west, the folk of Minas Tirith dispersed , leaving only Denethor, Faramir and Idril standing in the grass of the Pelennor.
"There goes my son, proud Captain of the White Tower. May the Valar bless his journey, and lead him to no danger!"
"With danger, Boromir would overcome it. I doubt not he will reach Elrond Half-Elven, father."
For once, Denethor nodded and said nothing to Faramir. Both loved Boromir as father and brother and all three sorely wished his mother was there. Idril stood still and let her hair blow in the wind.
Long did she wait, until one day she heard a faint noise coming from the direction of Rauros. She turned her gaze northwards, hearing a faint, wind- borne horn-call. Her mind could not see any further, and she ran to Denethor, seeking his aid.
"Yes, I have heard it too. If it indeed is the horn of Boromir, we cannot help him, for he is still outside our boundaries. Our only hope is that the Rohirrim know that he was there, or that he is travelling with powerful company. Stay, Idril. I will try to see what is going on there, as I can with my powers."
Denethor saw little, and knew not that Boromir had fallen defending two Hobbits near the Falls of Rauros. Idril' s face went pale at the thought of Boromir dying, and begged to be assigned to river companies, or that of Cair Andros. Denethor reluctantly agreed to this, for he had regarded Idril as his own daughter and the perfect compliment to Boromir. Thus her silver helm was routinely seen on the forts of Cair Andros, searching ever for her love.
Then came the saddest news of her life. Faramir, returning from Ithillien brought the most crushing blow to Denethor since Findulas' death- two shards of Boromir' s war-horn. He was dead indeed, and all of Minas Tirith mourned him for days. None more so than Idril, who refused raiment of noble ladies, spending more and more time in the black and silver of the Tower. Distraught, she sat one night by the Anduin when on river duty ,seemingly falling asleep.
She opened her eyes to see a strange boat come towards her, slowly passing her by. It was in the likeness of a swan, with a man inside. She cried when she saw that it was Boromir, wearing another brooch on his coat. But the brooch was not of Mannish design and from her study she made it out to be that of Lorien. His golden belt was also similar in make, and dozens of swords lay in his boat. It swayed as it neared her, and she waded into the water. He was not cold, as corpses should be but warm, an almost Elvish glow in his face. She looked down and kissed him, hoping he was merely asleep by some art of the Elves. Alas, he was indeed asleep, but for a longer time than she would live. The boat left her hands and drifted into fog, and she never saw it again. Two little figures came up behind her and tugged at her armor.
"He saved us. Boromir is a hero."
"Yes, his horn was blown in our defense. Do not weep in sadness, lady of Gondor. Boromir is now headed to the Sea, where no evil can defile his body."
The two figures disappeared into the fog as she awoke, her captain rousing her.
Idril fought long and hard against Sauron' s attack in the War of the Ring, until she fell at the Morannon, a proud banner bearer of Imrahil , the Silver Swan standing beside her wounded body as Frodo the Halfling destroyed Sauron' s most treasured possession, saving the world Boromir and Idril fought for. Her dying eyes saw Boromir, standing on top of a hill, fighting alongside Elessar as they did in Moria, defending the Seven Stars . She smiled as darkness took her. Imrahil and his knights bore her out of the field after the battle, and she was buried with great sadness in Raith Dinen by Faramir the Steward. Fittingly, her tomb was beside that of Boromir and the two were joined as one tomb, two statues embracing each other in a love that would have flourished at any other time.
Much later, Éowyn , Princess of Ithillien looked upon her statue and asked Faramir who this woman was. All Faramir would say was that she was Cali - el Boromir , the 'Light of Boromir'. She too, had won renown as a woman warrior, yet thought that she was alone and her heart was lost to war. She had slain no Witch-King or great servant of the Enemy like Éowyn herself had, but all knew her as the Silver Helm, a sad woman who wore no dress or items of beauty out of sadness. The sadness of loving the greatest warrior in Middle Earth.