Part 4.
Boromir left his men and approached what had to be the main building. Off to the side, a ranger and an elf stood talking. Taking care not to listen, he walked inside. The pair watched him leave, Strider felt the need to go talk to him. He looked at Gandalf, who subtly nodded his head in the direction Boromir had gone. Whether it was his will or the Istari's, Strider went after Boromir.
Legolas looked between the two, shrugged, and went to find some more agreeable company.
Gandalf watched Strider disappear before turning his full attention back to Eomer. "And he hasn't tried to claim the throne?"
"No. He seems to be waiting for something."
"Your sister is there?" Gandalf pressed, still being gentle.
Eomer nodded, then paled. "You don't think he'd-but that's against your code!"
"I believe that there is nothing that Saruman won't try to attain his goals." Cold.
"And what, exactly, would that be?" Eomer demanded.
Sigh. "I wish that I could say I knew for sure. But I do not."
Eomer bit his tongue, partly out of respect but mostly because he'd never seen the gray wizard at a loss before. No one had. Besides, the wizard had just lost his friend and must feel confused as to what he was supposed to do now. He must feel betrayed as well. "It's all right, Gandalf. We'll figure it out. Isn't that what this meeting is about?"
"Partly. You are a good man, young Eomer." The Istari rested his hand on his shoulder comfortingly.
"I'd like to believe that. But I left my sister behind, once more." It was said with some anger.
"Did you not say that she threw you out?"
"Not exactly," the younger man hedged.
"But she's the one who helped you escape?" Eomer nodded. "Then trust her. She is not totally defenseless. Saruman cannot force her to do his bidding-he couldn't force me. And he knows it." He squeezed his shoulder, then led him into the building. "You must be exhausted and want to rest."
"Actually, I want to write to my sister, let her know what's going on. Are there any kittiwakes around?" He pulled back a bit and looked around, for the first time taking in the place he'd be staying in. For all its enclosure, it was also open.
"Why a kittiwake?" Gandalf was intrigued.
"It may not be fast but that bird's name had protected my sister many times. And it is so unremarkable an animal that it will pass right under Saruman's nose." He explained, unwilling to go into further detail.
Gandalf thought quickly, a plan forming in his mind. "You write the message, see what you can find out-especially about what he has brought with him. I'll get you your birds."
"Thank you."
Gandalf shook his head. "No. Thank you. With her information we may yet win this with minimal causalities."
"Do you honestly believe that?" Skeptical.
"I have to or else I'll go mad." Serious.
"My sister would love to help out." Eomer knew his sister, better than he knew himself. This was a way for her to fight back. Eowyn would not back down from the challenge or the danger.
Piercing look. "Is she willing to play such a dangerous role in this?"
"You know my sister. What do you think? Do you honestly believe that she will refuse?" Equally direct.
"May be she should." Quiet.
"She won't." In fact, he thought, the situation would only make Eowyn more determined to see it through.
"That's what I'm afraid of." Ominous.
***
Boromir wandered around the place, drawn to one room more than all others. It was like something was calling to him and he was unable to resist it. He perused the room, occasionally pausing to study the murals that decorated the walls. Some of the stories he knew-such as the final battle against Sauron. Others were new to him, though no less compelling.
At one point, he found himself studying Isildur's face. Noble of face and form, hiding the frailties in human nature. He and his descendents obviously did not care for the fate of Gondor. Why else would they stay away when they were needed?
It was a bitter thought but he knew, unlike his father, that a steward was not what the country needed now. Gondor needed a king. Not just any king, their true king. One who would not be swayed by the ever changing moral tides. A king who would see all of his subjects as equals, holding none above another.
Tell yourself another myth, Boromir. He mocked his foolish fantasy. No such man exists. And if he did, he has shown no inclination to help his people. No honor by removing himself from their sights and their hopes. We will not ask him for the impossible, just that he be there.
He pulled away from Isildur's image and saw a statue. Mournful of face and form, he felt compelled to draw near. It looked so real as it bowed over something. Curious, he approached. "It does exist." Awe. Fear. And he shook to see it. If the sword existed, then the heir must as well.
"So real," he murmured and reached out a tentative hand, but jerked it back.
Don't get your hopes up, Boromir. This king has not bothered to show his face. Has not had the courage to approach and tell you of his presence. Nor does he seem to care that Gondor is under attack. Why do you persist in caring for him? In believing in his existence?
You are too old for such hopes, Boromir. There is no legendary heir waiting in the wings. No one to rescue Gondor from Mordor, just your family as it has always been.
The voice sounded remarkably like his father.
Turning around abruptly, he knocked the sword off the plate. It crashed with two distinct cries of pain-echoing sounds of the past.
Bending down, ashamed of his actions, he picked up the hilt and reached for the blade. Another hand reached it first. He looked up, startled to see the ranger from outside. Up close, he could see that the face was more regal than he'd thought at first. The eyes were kinder than he expected of a man raised to live in the wild.
He looked away, unable to meet those wise eyes. "I didn't mean to disturb it."
"I know. I was watching you, you seemed so far away." The voice was soft, hesitant.
"Yes." Short. Hard. He stood and placed the hilt down reverently.
Strider followed suit. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as the open eyes closed, shutting him out. He was losing the moment, a moment that he knew was vital for something. "Would you like to tell me something of what weighs you down, Boromir of Gondor? I am a good listener."
The man of Gondor was not surprised to hear his name on the other man's lips. "Why would a ranger want to know of the troubles plaguing Gondor?"
"Because this ranger is a man of Gondor himself, though he has not set foot in the White City in years." Quiet.
Suspicious eyes studied him. Dawning realization came, followed by anger.
The dark head bowed. "Your instincts do not fail you, Boromir. I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn-known to you as Isildur's heir."
Rage. "And you reveal yourself to me now? For what purpose? To gloat over the inefficiencies in our government, to berate us for failing my people?"
Gray eyes closed. "No. I know you to be a good and honorable man. I also believe that you understand fear-especially it relation to doing something you feel unequal to."
"But I have not hid behind that fear as you have." Scornful.
"Had I half your courage, I would have gone to meet my fate gladly. But I do not. And I don't want to be king. I never asked for it!"
In that moment, Boromir saw shades of his brother, Faramir.
'I haven't your strength, Boromir. Why must I bear this burden? Why must I see things?'
He had had no words for his brother then, as he had no words for his king now.
But those eyes pleaded with him for something. His hand rested on the tense shoulder. "Then do not strive for kingship now. Strive to accept yourself, the rest will follow. We do not require perfection, we just ask that you be there for us-willing to bear our sorrows, as well as our joys, with us."
Hesitant smile crossed his face as he studied the man before him. "Gondor loses faith for though we have a steward, my father's rule is failing. He is changed, the darkness grows, and we have no way to fight it. I am not asking for you to take up a burden you do not feel up to shouldering, I am asking that you help us because you can. Whether you believe it or not, it is in your heart and in your eyes."
"There is more honor in men that I had allowed myself to believe." Aragorn murmured, resting his hand on the other man's. "You are a good man, Boromir."
"I give you my word that I shall stand by your side. But I am no elf, I am a man. As such, I have their failings." He left it at that, though he knew that Aragorn heard the unspoken as do you.
"Seek no perfection in me and I will try to do the same for you."
Unspoken, the bond between them was forged.
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Author's Note: Won't someone please review?
Boromir left his men and approached what had to be the main building. Off to the side, a ranger and an elf stood talking. Taking care not to listen, he walked inside. The pair watched him leave, Strider felt the need to go talk to him. He looked at Gandalf, who subtly nodded his head in the direction Boromir had gone. Whether it was his will or the Istari's, Strider went after Boromir.
Legolas looked between the two, shrugged, and went to find some more agreeable company.
Gandalf watched Strider disappear before turning his full attention back to Eomer. "And he hasn't tried to claim the throne?"
"No. He seems to be waiting for something."
"Your sister is there?" Gandalf pressed, still being gentle.
Eomer nodded, then paled. "You don't think he'd-but that's against your code!"
"I believe that there is nothing that Saruman won't try to attain his goals." Cold.
"And what, exactly, would that be?" Eomer demanded.
Sigh. "I wish that I could say I knew for sure. But I do not."
Eomer bit his tongue, partly out of respect but mostly because he'd never seen the gray wizard at a loss before. No one had. Besides, the wizard had just lost his friend and must feel confused as to what he was supposed to do now. He must feel betrayed as well. "It's all right, Gandalf. We'll figure it out. Isn't that what this meeting is about?"
"Partly. You are a good man, young Eomer." The Istari rested his hand on his shoulder comfortingly.
"I'd like to believe that. But I left my sister behind, once more." It was said with some anger.
"Did you not say that she threw you out?"
"Not exactly," the younger man hedged.
"But she's the one who helped you escape?" Eomer nodded. "Then trust her. She is not totally defenseless. Saruman cannot force her to do his bidding-he couldn't force me. And he knows it." He squeezed his shoulder, then led him into the building. "You must be exhausted and want to rest."
"Actually, I want to write to my sister, let her know what's going on. Are there any kittiwakes around?" He pulled back a bit and looked around, for the first time taking in the place he'd be staying in. For all its enclosure, it was also open.
"Why a kittiwake?" Gandalf was intrigued.
"It may not be fast but that bird's name had protected my sister many times. And it is so unremarkable an animal that it will pass right under Saruman's nose." He explained, unwilling to go into further detail.
Gandalf thought quickly, a plan forming in his mind. "You write the message, see what you can find out-especially about what he has brought with him. I'll get you your birds."
"Thank you."
Gandalf shook his head. "No. Thank you. With her information we may yet win this with minimal causalities."
"Do you honestly believe that?" Skeptical.
"I have to or else I'll go mad." Serious.
"My sister would love to help out." Eomer knew his sister, better than he knew himself. This was a way for her to fight back. Eowyn would not back down from the challenge or the danger.
Piercing look. "Is she willing to play such a dangerous role in this?"
"You know my sister. What do you think? Do you honestly believe that she will refuse?" Equally direct.
"May be she should." Quiet.
"She won't." In fact, he thought, the situation would only make Eowyn more determined to see it through.
"That's what I'm afraid of." Ominous.
***
Boromir wandered around the place, drawn to one room more than all others. It was like something was calling to him and he was unable to resist it. He perused the room, occasionally pausing to study the murals that decorated the walls. Some of the stories he knew-such as the final battle against Sauron. Others were new to him, though no less compelling.
At one point, he found himself studying Isildur's face. Noble of face and form, hiding the frailties in human nature. He and his descendents obviously did not care for the fate of Gondor. Why else would they stay away when they were needed?
It was a bitter thought but he knew, unlike his father, that a steward was not what the country needed now. Gondor needed a king. Not just any king, their true king. One who would not be swayed by the ever changing moral tides. A king who would see all of his subjects as equals, holding none above another.
Tell yourself another myth, Boromir. He mocked his foolish fantasy. No such man exists. And if he did, he has shown no inclination to help his people. No honor by removing himself from their sights and their hopes. We will not ask him for the impossible, just that he be there.
He pulled away from Isildur's image and saw a statue. Mournful of face and form, he felt compelled to draw near. It looked so real as it bowed over something. Curious, he approached. "It does exist." Awe. Fear. And he shook to see it. If the sword existed, then the heir must as well.
"So real," he murmured and reached out a tentative hand, but jerked it back.
Don't get your hopes up, Boromir. This king has not bothered to show his face. Has not had the courage to approach and tell you of his presence. Nor does he seem to care that Gondor is under attack. Why do you persist in caring for him? In believing in his existence?
You are too old for such hopes, Boromir. There is no legendary heir waiting in the wings. No one to rescue Gondor from Mordor, just your family as it has always been.
The voice sounded remarkably like his father.
Turning around abruptly, he knocked the sword off the plate. It crashed with two distinct cries of pain-echoing sounds of the past.
Bending down, ashamed of his actions, he picked up the hilt and reached for the blade. Another hand reached it first. He looked up, startled to see the ranger from outside. Up close, he could see that the face was more regal than he'd thought at first. The eyes were kinder than he expected of a man raised to live in the wild.
He looked away, unable to meet those wise eyes. "I didn't mean to disturb it."
"I know. I was watching you, you seemed so far away." The voice was soft, hesitant.
"Yes." Short. Hard. He stood and placed the hilt down reverently.
Strider followed suit. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as the open eyes closed, shutting him out. He was losing the moment, a moment that he knew was vital for something. "Would you like to tell me something of what weighs you down, Boromir of Gondor? I am a good listener."
The man of Gondor was not surprised to hear his name on the other man's lips. "Why would a ranger want to know of the troubles plaguing Gondor?"
"Because this ranger is a man of Gondor himself, though he has not set foot in the White City in years." Quiet.
Suspicious eyes studied him. Dawning realization came, followed by anger.
The dark head bowed. "Your instincts do not fail you, Boromir. I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn-known to you as Isildur's heir."
Rage. "And you reveal yourself to me now? For what purpose? To gloat over the inefficiencies in our government, to berate us for failing my people?"
Gray eyes closed. "No. I know you to be a good and honorable man. I also believe that you understand fear-especially it relation to doing something you feel unequal to."
"But I have not hid behind that fear as you have." Scornful.
"Had I half your courage, I would have gone to meet my fate gladly. But I do not. And I don't want to be king. I never asked for it!"
In that moment, Boromir saw shades of his brother, Faramir.
'I haven't your strength, Boromir. Why must I bear this burden? Why must I see things?'
He had had no words for his brother then, as he had no words for his king now.
But those eyes pleaded with him for something. His hand rested on the tense shoulder. "Then do not strive for kingship now. Strive to accept yourself, the rest will follow. We do not require perfection, we just ask that you be there for us-willing to bear our sorrows, as well as our joys, with us."
Hesitant smile crossed his face as he studied the man before him. "Gondor loses faith for though we have a steward, my father's rule is failing. He is changed, the darkness grows, and we have no way to fight it. I am not asking for you to take up a burden you do not feel up to shouldering, I am asking that you help us because you can. Whether you believe it or not, it is in your heart and in your eyes."
"There is more honor in men that I had allowed myself to believe." Aragorn murmured, resting his hand on the other man's. "You are a good man, Boromir."
"I give you my word that I shall stand by your side. But I am no elf, I am a man. As such, I have their failings." He left it at that, though he knew that Aragorn heard the unspoken as do you.
"Seek no perfection in me and I will try to do the same for you."
Unspoken, the bond between them was forged.
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Author's Note: Won't someone please review?