A/N: Thank you everyone for your reviews! In response to your question, Teithol, I think Boromir does not seem to know his true capabilities yet. As he has not tried to grasp the Ring, he does not know what would happen if he did attempt to. It is also difficult for him to remember that he is disembodied, as the last time he faced the power of the Ring, he was alive. I hope this clears things up for you. : )   These are just my attempts to explain that line, but the meaning is quite difficult to get across.

Pipkin Sweetgrass: I am honoured that real long-time Tolkien fans are reading my fics. :) Thank you for your review. "Boromir Brandybuck" does have a nice ring to it – probably to do with the alliteration!

Anyway, here's Chapter 3! Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it!

In Spirit – Chapter 3: "The Call of a Horn"

"Boromir…"

The most gentle, graceful voice he had ever heard. The tone, soothing, comforting, otherworldly, seemed to echo on for eternity. And light. The most vibrant, brilliant white light. Everywhere, he could see it. Yet, he found, there was no need to strain his eyes to see a thing. He could not bring himself to speak; the words had been stolen from his lips. There was no possible way to describe the beauty of this place.

"…Son of Gondor."

The voice was mournful now; it had a grief-stricken tone. But Boromir could not identify it as either male or female; it was unique, and entirely peaceful. But why did it sound so full of sorrow and regret? The manner of its tone brought tears to his eyes; tears that he did not understand.

"Who are you?" he managed, almost a whisper.

Silence.

For a brief moment there was no sound audible. And in this time, the place became more ominous to him. He did not know this place, and did not desire to remain there, alone. It was suddenly full of grief and despair, memories he longed to break away from, to escape. And he concentrated desperately on this thought. Please, he cried inwardly, please, let me leave.

As if in answer, he felt himself immediately weaken, no longer able to stand upright.

And he fell.

Descending rapidly, his mind full of terrible panic… The brilliant light faded quickly to menacing darkness, and he felt disorientated, confused. And through this he heard again the voice, though this time, seemingly inside his mind…

"Do not fear…he is waiting…but you do not have much time."

Who? Who did the voice speak of? Who was waiting…

He knew. His mind told him the answer. And he felt terrified, and thankful, at the same time. They would meet again. And this thought gave him strength as he plunged evermore into the darkness.

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The water lapped against the banks of the Anduin, and the reeds rustled gently in the cool breeze. Darkness had fallen, and a clear moon now shone upon the calm scene. But all was not still. An object was being carried along by the river, slowly approaching the bank. It moved steadily up and down, and glimmered bright white and silver when bathed in the moonlight. The river gently and respectfully carried it to the shore, which was blanketed with thick reeds.

The object caught on one of these plants, and proceeded to bob lightly against its stem. This motion caused an unusual knocking sound, raising the attention of a figure sitting near the shore.

Cautiously, the figure approached. He maintained careful distance, for all manner of things could be found in the river. As he came closer, however, he uttered a startled cry of recognition, and dashed to the bank.

Boromir felt himself return to reality as the cold of the night set in on him. He was unsure if his encounter had been a dream, as things so often were, but he still felt that the sorrow in the gentle voice had somehow etched a meaning on his heart. The grief evoked in those moments lingered with him for some time afterwards.

He immediately heard the sound of the river, which struck fear through his body. To him, the river was representative of all that had befallen him. He did not know how long it had been since he had fallen at Amon Hen; time had somehow eluded him. He looked up, to see a cloaked shape crouching at the riverbank. Somehow, he felt he should recognise him, but under only the faint moonlight, it was impossible for him to make any distinctions. Intrigued, he began to move closer. He subconsciously kept his hand on his horn, which hung by his side as he walked.

The figure scooped the object from the water, and let it rest limply in his arms. It was the same horn, once a brilliant white but now dull, caked in river mud. He noticed despairingly how the horn had been cloven in two, perhaps by blade or axe. No…how could this have happened? His hands were trembling as he brought the item to his chest.

Boromir faltered as he saw the horn. Once again, cruel memories came back to haunt him. He did not remember the great horn being cloven; indeed, the memories of his final moments were consistently hazy and unclear. Not that he tried to recall those times. As he stood motionless on the shore, the figure rose, and Boromir could see his face.

"The Horn of Gondor," he uttered, his voice wavering and disjointed.

Realising whom it was, the words spoken by the mysterious voice in his dream began to make sense. Overwhelming joy became utter despair as he grasped the situation before him. And the word came not to his lips, but to his heart. Faramir.

"Boromir…my brother…"

Boromir could hardly detect these words. They were spoken so silently and incoherently that they were almost impossible to hear, which made it all the more upsetting.

"What has befallen you? Many nights had I thought it was a dream; the boat on the river, that it could not be true, and yet there seemed to be no waking! Where is your horn, I cried…where is your horn…" He trailed off into silence. Boromir stood shocked, realising that his brother had witnessed his funeral boat… but how? How could the boat survive unscathed after it had fallen from Rauros?

He shook his head. That was not important. How could he stand so close to his brother, who was clutching desperately to the horn, and not comfort him? But it would do no good, he harshly reminded himself, and he could not refrain from cursing quietly.

Still, it did not hurt to try. Although hope was a rare thought at these times, somehow a glimmer remained in him wherever he travelled. He did not know where it originated from, or why it remained when all hope seemed lost, but it was comforting to know that in the deepest chambers of his soul, it still endured.

Picking up his courage and strength, he paced nervously to his brother's side. It confused him as to why he should be so anxious at approaching; something did not feel quite right. But he could not think what, and he did not mean to. All that mattered now was that he had a chance to say sorry, to apologise for his mistakes and to finally say goodbye. That would be enough. He would not ask for much. For he remembered the voice's words…

"You do not have much time…"

At first, he could not look at his brother. He merely stared out at the river, which, he knew, had borne his body past this point, and would eventually carry it out to sea. He could not help but shudder at this fact; just the thought of the lifeless corpse brought a lump to his throat. This caused him to turn to face his brother; indeed, if he had not thought of it, he may not have turned at all.

And Faramir was looking at him.

No, Faramir was staring at him.

At him. His expression was one of bewilderment; Boromir saw his eyes darting quickly and searchingly over him, and his grip on the horn slightly loosen, as if he would let it fall. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no sound came. Boromir felt the same way. And as much as he hated to admit it, he knew that something was not right. Something in the voice had told him so.

"Boromir…" Faramir said, tears welling in his eyes, his voice barely a whisper.

Boromir too felt hot tears gathering and blurring his vision. How was this possible? Could his brother truly see him? Or was it another vile trick?

"But I saw you," Faramir struggled, "you…the boat…" Faramir glanced down at Boromir's horn, and then, quickly, at the object he held with his own two hands.

"Brother," said Boromir soothingly, his voice quivering slightly, "do not let yourself be troubled. Yes… I am fallen. But, for a brief time, I am here with you. Listen to me," he pleaded. Faramir looked up, and his brother could see the unmistakable path of a tear on his face.

"Faramir," he continued, knowing somehow that his time was running out, "Faramir, I am sorry. Fate has proved me a weaker man than all would have thought. Just know this. I will never abandon you. Remember this."

Faramir opened his mouth to speak, but another voice overrode him, and his words were altogether muted.

"He cannot," came the voice sternly, yet sympathetically. Suddenly, everything faded out of view, the river, the reeds, all succumbed to the light.

"Faramir!" Boromir cried out desperately, as he saw his brother fade. "Faramir!"

"Boromir…" called the voice again. He recognised it as the same voice he had encountered before. Boromir collapsed to the ground in a heap, his hands cupped over his face. It was evident that he was weeping. Then, angrily, he thrust his hands to the floor, and shouted to the heavens.

"Why?" he cried piteously. "Why do you subject me to this madness? Can you not see I have had enough torment, enough pain, enough death? Why more?"

His voice quietened to a whisper, and once again, he fell to the ground.

"Why more…"

"Boromir," said the voice, in an angrier tone, "you do not understand. Nor do we expect you to. But you must listen." Boromir raised his head, tears streaming down his face.

"You must choose your own path now. We have guided you thus far. But you must discover on your own how to return. Only then can Faramir see you again." Boromir sighed wistfully. He had known.

"We have shown you but a glimpse of what may come to pass, if you should succeed. But we can do no more for you now."

But what must I do? thought Boromir, renewed with lost hope, wiping away his tears. No answer came.

"You will find a way," said the voice, reassuringly. "We will speak no more."

His surroundings again began to fade, the light steadily dimming, and he suddenly found himself back on the slopes of Amon Hen, where he had been when the pain had struck him. He looked in the direction his comrades had left for. And he vowed privately that he would see his brother again.

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A/N: Hmmm… I'm not too sure about this chapter… I hope it's not too confusing! Please review!