Summary: Boromir returns from the afterlife to fulfill an oath to Aragorn.
Along the way, he meets his mother and the King of the Oathbreakers. Remix
based on FROM THE GREY TWILIGHT by Adrianna Pita. Original Elements added.
Please R & R.
He lay at the rough base of the tree. In his last moments, the fragrance of the world intoxicated him. Rich damp earth and musty leaves were like wine, cut to vinegar by the tang of his own blood. Aragorn leaned over him, and in the close comfort of this man, Boromir breathed for the last time the scents of the two other men he had loved without fail. The sun and smoke of Aragorn's hair was Denethor's; the leather and grass of Arragorn's hands, Faramir's.
He was cold and could not move his lips, but there was an oath straining inside him, and Aragorn must hear it. "The Quest is not yet ended; upon my honor, I will stay by your side until it is done." Past the time for words, his fierce promise was branded into his soul by the warmth of Aragorn's lips on his forehead, and it echoed in his breast a moment after his final heartbeat.
(New Scene)
He was warm now, and the lips on his forehead were smooth and cool—and smiling, though he was not sure how he knew this. He opened his eyes and saw his mother leaning over him.
"Boromir," she said, though her lips did not move. "I am glad to see you."
"My lady," he thought, and she replied as if he had spoken.
"My son."
Boromir felt light and calm and no longer weary. "You are beautiful," he said with a depth of pure love he had never known. Moments or hours passed.
"What is this place?"
His mother smiled again and answered, "you are in between the mortal world and the Halls of Mandos."
"Then I am dead?" Boromir said at last.
"Yes, in the way that men understand death. You will know everything in time."
"Did you watch us from this place?"
"Yes," she replied. "I watched you, and I waited for you."
Her serene face grew grave. "You have bound yourself to the earth by your promise to Aragorn. I can show you the way, but I cannot help you. It is hard to be among the living, yet not alive. It will take all of your strength."
"My lady, will I come back? Will I see you again?"
"I hope with all my heart that you will come back. When you do, we will talk for a long time. And you will have another reason to come back. You will have the chance to make peace with one you have wronged. For this reason, I waited for you, as your father will wait for Faramir."
"How did you wrong me, mother?"
"I left you too soon," she said. "I could have stayed."
"It is good to see you."
His mother smiled. "Thank you, my dear. When you fulfill your promise, we will meet again."
Boromir was quiet for a moment and then said, "My lady, who will I wait for?"
Again his mother looked grave. "If all goes well, you will greet your halfling friend. You will wait for Frodo."
(New Scene)
Boromir sat near the campfire and watched his brother sleep. Though exhausted from battle, Faramir would not rest for long. The light flickered on Faramir's face and made him look young as when they were boys. Boromir had learned quickly that he could not indulge in mortal emotions; when he saw Faramir for the first time since his own death, he reached for his brother in an unexpected wave of grief. Immediately, he lost his strength and began to let go, as he had at Amon Hen. His mother said he was bound to the earth, and he did not want to become a lost spirit, trapped and powerless. As much as he wanted to let Faramir know somehow that he was near, he could not compromise his oath. He could not fail.
He stood and leaned over his sleeping brother. Stretching out his hand, he brushed a lock of hair from Faramir's forehead. Though he knew Faramir could not hear him, Boromir said, "Rest well, little brother, for you will need it." Faramir stirred at the sudden cold on his face. Moments later, he awoke and gazed into the fire, wondering at the scent of salt and cedar that conjured up his brother.
(New Scene)
It did not take Boromir long to sense that Aragorn was near—although mortal terms of near or far had no place in Boromir's new understanding of the world. He could move effortlessly in no time where he chose and among crowds of people who could not see him. He was never hot or cold, hungry or weary. And as long as he kept his emotions honed to one determined point, he would not feel the fading that he dreaded. He could touch people, and they could feel him as a breath of cold, but he regretted that he could not feel them. And no one had seen him thus far.
He hoped that Aragorn would know him.
Certain that he was moving even closer to Aragorn, he stopped suddenly. Something had blocked his way, though he could see nothing. Then, a swirling vortex of shrieking noise and light as wide as the plains themselves exploded in front of him. A massive army appeared twenty feet from where he stood. Its leader, a tall pale man dressed and armed in the ancient manner flew toward Boromir with a look of fury. "Who dares to trespass here?" the pale king demanded, and struck Boromir's shoulder sideways with his spear.
As shocked at being seen as struck, Boromir nearly lost his footing. A rage flared inside him, and unlike gentler emotions, anger fueled his strength. He pulled out his sword. "I am firstborn of the Lord of Gondor. There is no place in Middle Earth I may not go." The pale king cocked his head and showed his teeth in something like a smile. "You are the noble Boromir? Well, Steward, the lord Aragorn has summoned my army from the grave to save your land."
Boromir looked dismayed. "Oathbreakers! I wonder that Aragorn would trust you now."
The pale king's eyes narrowed. "Your arrogance is a fine thing in the face of your failure. You--and your addled father and desperate brother. A thousand years of honor disgraced by your House. Gondor, brought to ruin; the mighty Denethor doomed to a pyre of his own making, and the helpless Faramir with him."
Boromir jerked as if struck, and waves of sorrow and shame rolled through him. Darkness closed around him. His father and brother dead--and by what new evil? His beloved Gondor abandoned to the mercy of traitors--and Aragorn, desperate enough to embrace them? Grief and confusion filled him; he began to drown, pulled downward and downward into darkness. He knew if he did not fight, if he did not force rage to triumph over grief, he would fade completely and his cause would be lost. His final promise to Aragorn, all he had left to redeem his honor and fulfill his duty, would be broken. As he lowered his eyes, he caught the glimmer of gold at his waist—and clutched at a new thought as to a rope thrown from the shore of the Great River.
He thought of The Ring.
He thought of the ring and its hateful, awesome power, and of his own weakness and of the dark lords who lusted for it, too. He thought of Frodo's face as he had seen it last: wary and knowing, haunted and frightened—and finally, dim with the shadow of Boromir's betrayal. He thought of his own life and of how he had served Gondor and of how he had loved his shining White City. His loyalty could not be questioned; and his honor could be redeemed. With these thoughts to spark his anger, he resurfaced with a noble fury that fueled him anew.
He swung his sword at the pale king, who was prepared for his assault; he blocked the blow with his shield, and a sound like thunder clapped through the air. Boromir stepped back as a circle of soldiers surrounded him. His eyes glowed as he cut them down with his sword one by one. His battle skills had returned—and his strength was unearthly. The fallen soldiers did not rise again, as Boromir feared they might. The pale king looked suddenly wary.
"Come!" Boromir cried to the legions in front of him. "I will take you one by one and each in turn until the end." He faced the pale king, "and I will take you last." The pale king spoke, and there was coldness in his eyes. "And then, mighty steward? How will you face your King after slaying his army? Is your sword alone enough to stop the forces of Mordor?"
Boromir paused for a long moment and said, "No. It is not. It seems I must accept you and your army of traitors. But I will not fight by your side."
The pale king shrugged. "That matters not to me. I will fight for the King and pay my debt--and be rid of this place forever."
"It will not be soon enough."
"Agreed."
"Take care to stay out of my way," said Boromir, and he left the pale king and his army to follow behind as he set out to find Aragorn.
(New Scene)
Down from the standing stones, with the pale king's army behind him, Boromir followed Aragorn as he rode with Legolas and Gimli. Aragorn rode without looking back, and Boromir wondered how much he saw of the ghostly army as it followed him. And Boromir wondered if Aragorn could see him—if he would ever see him.
Boromir moved closer, following Aragorn and his companions to a small clearing. He allowed himself an instant of affection as he watched his friends. He could see that they were exhausted: Aragorn tried twice to swing his leg over his horse to dismount, and even Legolas' customary ease was marked by stiffness. Shoulders slumped, but muttering about tough dwarfish constitution, Gimli didn't bother to dismount.
It was difficult to see the company without Gandalf and the halflings, especially Frodo, but Boromir knew he could not linger in those thoughts. Aragorn gazed into the distant fog and stood very still, as if waiting for someone to emerge. Boromir stood directly before Aragorn, but Aragorn looked right through him.
A short while later, as the company prepared to travel, Aragorn looked back into the fog and nodded grimly. The ghostly army had reminded Aragorn of its presence with restless moans. Aragorn turned away as he lifted himself into the saddle; Boromir followed behind him. Aragorn shivered slightly at the touch of Boromir's hand on the back of his neck.
Boromir spoke and was certain that if Aragorn could not hear him now, he would in time.
"I said that Gondor would see it done, did I not? And the Quest is not yet ended."
As they rode, Boromir reached forward to touch the vambraces, his vambraces, on Aragorn's arms. They were a symbol of the kingdom Boromir and his ancestors had protected for a thousand years: for this time, for this man. He knew that whatever battles lay ahead, he would stay by Aragorn's side and serve him with honor.
(New Scene)
Boromir stood in the White Tower as was his custom and watched the sun rise beyond the land of Gondor. The beauty of this shining city, though blackened and scarred by war, did not dim in his eyes. "They will rebuild it," he thought. "Aragorn and my brother will rebuild it."
"Yes, they will," his companion replied. "And I am glad of it."
Boromir smiled and placed his hand on his father's shoulder. "We have seen it done. And left such a tale that, in years to come, no one will believe it."
Denethor replied, "You and I have done what we were born to do. What our fathers and their fathers lived and died for." He looked into the courtyard below, and saw Aragorn and Faramir walk across the stone. They looked up at the tower. A shadow crossed Denethor's face. "If I could, I would talk with Faramir one last time."
"Don't mourn, father," Borormir said, almost lightly. "You will have your chance."
Boromir looked down at Aragorn and raised his hand in salute. Aragorn smiled and tilted his head in acknowledgement.
"What do you see?" asked Faramir gazing intently at the tower.
"The past," answered Aragorn. "For there is no future without it."
From that day forward, Denethor and Boromir, stewards and lords of Gondor were never seen again standing in the White Tower. But on certain cool mornings and warm evenings, when Faramir climbed the tower to look over the land, the scents of sun-warmed pipeweed or salt and cedar surrounded him; and he knew that he was not alone.
He lay at the rough base of the tree. In his last moments, the fragrance of the world intoxicated him. Rich damp earth and musty leaves were like wine, cut to vinegar by the tang of his own blood. Aragorn leaned over him, and in the close comfort of this man, Boromir breathed for the last time the scents of the two other men he had loved without fail. The sun and smoke of Aragorn's hair was Denethor's; the leather and grass of Arragorn's hands, Faramir's.
He was cold and could not move his lips, but there was an oath straining inside him, and Aragorn must hear it. "The Quest is not yet ended; upon my honor, I will stay by your side until it is done." Past the time for words, his fierce promise was branded into his soul by the warmth of Aragorn's lips on his forehead, and it echoed in his breast a moment after his final heartbeat.
(New Scene)
He was warm now, and the lips on his forehead were smooth and cool—and smiling, though he was not sure how he knew this. He opened his eyes and saw his mother leaning over him.
"Boromir," she said, though her lips did not move. "I am glad to see you."
"My lady," he thought, and she replied as if he had spoken.
"My son."
Boromir felt light and calm and no longer weary. "You are beautiful," he said with a depth of pure love he had never known. Moments or hours passed.
"What is this place?"
His mother smiled again and answered, "you are in between the mortal world and the Halls of Mandos."
"Then I am dead?" Boromir said at last.
"Yes, in the way that men understand death. You will know everything in time."
"Did you watch us from this place?"
"Yes," she replied. "I watched you, and I waited for you."
Her serene face grew grave. "You have bound yourself to the earth by your promise to Aragorn. I can show you the way, but I cannot help you. It is hard to be among the living, yet not alive. It will take all of your strength."
"My lady, will I come back? Will I see you again?"
"I hope with all my heart that you will come back. When you do, we will talk for a long time. And you will have another reason to come back. You will have the chance to make peace with one you have wronged. For this reason, I waited for you, as your father will wait for Faramir."
"How did you wrong me, mother?"
"I left you too soon," she said. "I could have stayed."
"It is good to see you."
His mother smiled. "Thank you, my dear. When you fulfill your promise, we will meet again."
Boromir was quiet for a moment and then said, "My lady, who will I wait for?"
Again his mother looked grave. "If all goes well, you will greet your halfling friend. You will wait for Frodo."
(New Scene)
Boromir sat near the campfire and watched his brother sleep. Though exhausted from battle, Faramir would not rest for long. The light flickered on Faramir's face and made him look young as when they were boys. Boromir had learned quickly that he could not indulge in mortal emotions; when he saw Faramir for the first time since his own death, he reached for his brother in an unexpected wave of grief. Immediately, he lost his strength and began to let go, as he had at Amon Hen. His mother said he was bound to the earth, and he did not want to become a lost spirit, trapped and powerless. As much as he wanted to let Faramir know somehow that he was near, he could not compromise his oath. He could not fail.
He stood and leaned over his sleeping brother. Stretching out his hand, he brushed a lock of hair from Faramir's forehead. Though he knew Faramir could not hear him, Boromir said, "Rest well, little brother, for you will need it." Faramir stirred at the sudden cold on his face. Moments later, he awoke and gazed into the fire, wondering at the scent of salt and cedar that conjured up his brother.
(New Scene)
It did not take Boromir long to sense that Aragorn was near—although mortal terms of near or far had no place in Boromir's new understanding of the world. He could move effortlessly in no time where he chose and among crowds of people who could not see him. He was never hot or cold, hungry or weary. And as long as he kept his emotions honed to one determined point, he would not feel the fading that he dreaded. He could touch people, and they could feel him as a breath of cold, but he regretted that he could not feel them. And no one had seen him thus far.
He hoped that Aragorn would know him.
Certain that he was moving even closer to Aragorn, he stopped suddenly. Something had blocked his way, though he could see nothing. Then, a swirling vortex of shrieking noise and light as wide as the plains themselves exploded in front of him. A massive army appeared twenty feet from where he stood. Its leader, a tall pale man dressed and armed in the ancient manner flew toward Boromir with a look of fury. "Who dares to trespass here?" the pale king demanded, and struck Boromir's shoulder sideways with his spear.
As shocked at being seen as struck, Boromir nearly lost his footing. A rage flared inside him, and unlike gentler emotions, anger fueled his strength. He pulled out his sword. "I am firstborn of the Lord of Gondor. There is no place in Middle Earth I may not go." The pale king cocked his head and showed his teeth in something like a smile. "You are the noble Boromir? Well, Steward, the lord Aragorn has summoned my army from the grave to save your land."
Boromir looked dismayed. "Oathbreakers! I wonder that Aragorn would trust you now."
The pale king's eyes narrowed. "Your arrogance is a fine thing in the face of your failure. You--and your addled father and desperate brother. A thousand years of honor disgraced by your House. Gondor, brought to ruin; the mighty Denethor doomed to a pyre of his own making, and the helpless Faramir with him."
Boromir jerked as if struck, and waves of sorrow and shame rolled through him. Darkness closed around him. His father and brother dead--and by what new evil? His beloved Gondor abandoned to the mercy of traitors--and Aragorn, desperate enough to embrace them? Grief and confusion filled him; he began to drown, pulled downward and downward into darkness. He knew if he did not fight, if he did not force rage to triumph over grief, he would fade completely and his cause would be lost. His final promise to Aragorn, all he had left to redeem his honor and fulfill his duty, would be broken. As he lowered his eyes, he caught the glimmer of gold at his waist—and clutched at a new thought as to a rope thrown from the shore of the Great River.
He thought of The Ring.
He thought of the ring and its hateful, awesome power, and of his own weakness and of the dark lords who lusted for it, too. He thought of Frodo's face as he had seen it last: wary and knowing, haunted and frightened—and finally, dim with the shadow of Boromir's betrayal. He thought of his own life and of how he had served Gondor and of how he had loved his shining White City. His loyalty could not be questioned; and his honor could be redeemed. With these thoughts to spark his anger, he resurfaced with a noble fury that fueled him anew.
He swung his sword at the pale king, who was prepared for his assault; he blocked the blow with his shield, and a sound like thunder clapped through the air. Boromir stepped back as a circle of soldiers surrounded him. His eyes glowed as he cut them down with his sword one by one. His battle skills had returned—and his strength was unearthly. The fallen soldiers did not rise again, as Boromir feared they might. The pale king looked suddenly wary.
"Come!" Boromir cried to the legions in front of him. "I will take you one by one and each in turn until the end." He faced the pale king, "and I will take you last." The pale king spoke, and there was coldness in his eyes. "And then, mighty steward? How will you face your King after slaying his army? Is your sword alone enough to stop the forces of Mordor?"
Boromir paused for a long moment and said, "No. It is not. It seems I must accept you and your army of traitors. But I will not fight by your side."
The pale king shrugged. "That matters not to me. I will fight for the King and pay my debt--and be rid of this place forever."
"It will not be soon enough."
"Agreed."
"Take care to stay out of my way," said Boromir, and he left the pale king and his army to follow behind as he set out to find Aragorn.
(New Scene)
Down from the standing stones, with the pale king's army behind him, Boromir followed Aragorn as he rode with Legolas and Gimli. Aragorn rode without looking back, and Boromir wondered how much he saw of the ghostly army as it followed him. And Boromir wondered if Aragorn could see him—if he would ever see him.
Boromir moved closer, following Aragorn and his companions to a small clearing. He allowed himself an instant of affection as he watched his friends. He could see that they were exhausted: Aragorn tried twice to swing his leg over his horse to dismount, and even Legolas' customary ease was marked by stiffness. Shoulders slumped, but muttering about tough dwarfish constitution, Gimli didn't bother to dismount.
It was difficult to see the company without Gandalf and the halflings, especially Frodo, but Boromir knew he could not linger in those thoughts. Aragorn gazed into the distant fog and stood very still, as if waiting for someone to emerge. Boromir stood directly before Aragorn, but Aragorn looked right through him.
A short while later, as the company prepared to travel, Aragorn looked back into the fog and nodded grimly. The ghostly army had reminded Aragorn of its presence with restless moans. Aragorn turned away as he lifted himself into the saddle; Boromir followed behind him. Aragorn shivered slightly at the touch of Boromir's hand on the back of his neck.
Boromir spoke and was certain that if Aragorn could not hear him now, he would in time.
"I said that Gondor would see it done, did I not? And the Quest is not yet ended."
As they rode, Boromir reached forward to touch the vambraces, his vambraces, on Aragorn's arms. They were a symbol of the kingdom Boromir and his ancestors had protected for a thousand years: for this time, for this man. He knew that whatever battles lay ahead, he would stay by Aragorn's side and serve him with honor.
(New Scene)
Boromir stood in the White Tower as was his custom and watched the sun rise beyond the land of Gondor. The beauty of this shining city, though blackened and scarred by war, did not dim in his eyes. "They will rebuild it," he thought. "Aragorn and my brother will rebuild it."
"Yes, they will," his companion replied. "And I am glad of it."
Boromir smiled and placed his hand on his father's shoulder. "We have seen it done. And left such a tale that, in years to come, no one will believe it."
Denethor replied, "You and I have done what we were born to do. What our fathers and their fathers lived and died for." He looked into the courtyard below, and saw Aragorn and Faramir walk across the stone. They looked up at the tower. A shadow crossed Denethor's face. "If I could, I would talk with Faramir one last time."
"Don't mourn, father," Borormir said, almost lightly. "You will have your chance."
Boromir looked down at Aragorn and raised his hand in salute. Aragorn smiled and tilted his head in acknowledgement.
"What do you see?" asked Faramir gazing intently at the tower.
"The past," answered Aragorn. "For there is no future without it."
From that day forward, Denethor and Boromir, stewards and lords of Gondor were never seen again standing in the White Tower. But on certain cool mornings and warm evenings, when Faramir climbed the tower to look over the land, the scents of sun-warmed pipeweed or salt and cedar surrounded him; and he knew that he was not alone.