Boromir, Thou Shall Live
By Priscilla Stafford
Author's Note: I'm back after such a long absence! I am now living in Hawaii since for the next two years I shall be attending Kapi'olani Community College! Wish me luck in all my studies (though I promise to still write whenever I get the chance!) Before classes started I wanted to update another chapter because I felt so bad for not having written in a while. :P Please forgive me?
I know I wrote something about having the chapter about Boromir and 'two women', but I've been doing a lot of thinking. Mostly about where this story is going. I'm thinking it's getting a bit long though I still have a longs ways to go! So I'm going to try from now on taking out some (unfortunately) very unnecessary scenes. So this gets things on the roll again.
Story begins from the day after the previous chapter. Please enjoy! (Please read important notice at the end of this chapter)
Chapter Forty-one: 'Hidden Secrets, Secrets Revealed'
Pippin gazed in wonder as Gandalf and he galloped through the city on Shadowfax. So, this is Boromir's home, he thought to himself, afraid to speak out loud. Gandalf had remained silent and almost sullen, not speaking since gaining admittance at the Great Gate.
It was truly a city, greater than Pippin had ever imagined; greater and stronger than Isengard, and far more beautiful. Yet… there was something out of place amidst all its greatness.
Perhaps it was the fact that the houses, walls, and courtyards seemed decayed and old, barely able to keep up with the times. It was also eerie how there were so many houses yet hardly any people. In fact… Pippin tried to peer through the windows of the empty houses, for that's how they all appeared. Empty.
Where were all the people? Pippin furtively cast his gaze right and left, ahead and behind. But he still could not espy a single person.
They at last reached another gate; Pippin had been counting as they rose higher and higher in the citadel and knew that this was the seventh gate. The last one he hoped; the Hobbit was tired from all the nonstop riding he had been doing for days.
As if he had been speaking aloud, Gandalf reined Shadowfax to a halt and dismounted without so much of a word to Pippin. The Hobbit was helped down and Shadowfax began to be led away by some men who magically appeared from under the shadow of the gate. Shadowfax at first resisted any contact from the men and Pippin couldn't blame the horse. He would hate to go off with some stranger; especially with the likes of these men who were grim and solely concentrated on their task.
With a few soft spoken words from Gandalf, Shadowfax finally suffered himself to be led away and soon Gandalf strode through the gates. Pippin did so more cautiously, pausing to stare at the Guards of the gate.
They were robed in black, and had helms of a strange shape. Upon the black surcoats were embroidered in white a tree blossoming like snow beneath a silver crown and many pointed stars. The White Tree…
Hearing a distinct tapping up ahead, Pippin once more focused in the direction Gandalf had taken. The tapping was from Gandalf's staff which made a resounding, echoing sound in the white-paved court.
In the middle of the courtyard, there was a fountain surrounded by a bright green lawn. But this wasn't what caught Pippin's attention; it was the dead tree.
The air surrounding the tree vibrated with such mournfulness that it made Pippin slow his steps, watching with a certain fascination the falling drops from the fountain dripping sadly from the barren and broken branches of the tree.
The words that Gandalf had murmured earlier came into his mind. Seven stars and seven stones and one white tree…
Hurrying to catch up with Gandalf to ask the wizard if that was the 'one white tree', Pippin almost opened his mouth to speak but found himself at the doors of the great hall beneath the gleaming tower. His mouth remained open though not to speak but in awe of the house of stone.
Passing through the doors and earning stern glances from the silent door-wardens, Gandalf and Pippin walked down a paved passage, long and empty. Their footsteps echoed in the hall, mingling with the cool shadows.
Gandalf slowed down so he was now walking side by side with Pippin. "Be careful of your words, Master Peregrin," the Maia spoke softly but firmly. "This is no time for hobbit pertness. Theoden is a kindly old man and Denethor…"
Here he stopped in mid sentence while Pippin waited curiously for him to continue. Finally, Gandalf did so, speaking even more softly than before. "Denethor is of another sort; proud and subtle, a man of far greater lineage and power, though he is not called a king. But he will speak most to you and question you much, since you can tell him of his son, Boromir."
The mentioned name made Pippin smile wanly. "Boromir warned me of his father."
"And I will warn you again," Gandalf said with a stern look, "Do not tell him more than you need and speak nothing of Frodo's errand. I will deal with that in due time. And say nothing about Aragorn either, unless you must."
"Why not?" Pippin whispered. "He'll be arriving here himself, anyway – "
"Perhaps," Gandalf interrupted. 'Though if he comes, it is likely to be in some way that no one will ever expect, not even Denethor. It will be better so."
The wizard halted before a tall door of polished metal. He turned to face Pippin squarely in the face and the Hobbit held back a wince. There was that look in Gandalf's face which meant he was going to receive some sort of lecture.
And right he was. "See, Master Pippin," Gandalf began, "there is no time to teach you all you would need to know of the history of Gondor; though it might have been better if you had learned something of it instead of your birds-nesting and playing truant in the woods of the Shire. Do as I bid!" The old man shook his head. "If you have walked all these days with closed ears and mind asleep, wake up now!"
More confused now than reassured, though he hardly thought that giving the Hobbit any reassurance was the wizard's idea, Pippin just nodded meekly. As Gandalf faced and knocked on the door, Pippin panicked and tried to remember all that Boromir had told him in Edoras.
Most important of all was to tell the Steward that his son was alive and well. All right, I can do that, Pippin thought.
But when the door opened as if on its own, Pippin swallowed. The great hall was lit only by deep windows in the wide aisles at either side, beyond the rows of tall pillars that upheld the roof. There were no decorations of any kind except that between the pillars there stood a silent company of tall images graven in cold stone.
They struck Pippin as similar to the hewn rocks of Argonath, and awe fell on him as he looked down that avenue of kings long dead.
At the far end of the long, solemn hall, there was a high throne upon a dais of many steps. But there was no one seated on the throne but instead, at the foot of the dais on the lowest, broad and deep step sat an old man on a stone chair.
Slowly, Gandalf and Pippin approached that chair, Pippin feeling unsettled as he noticed the old man staring straight at him, not seeming to even notice the wizard walking beside the Hobbit. At about three paces from the man's footstool, Pippin stopped when Gandalf did so.
"Hail, Lord and Steward of Minas Tirith, Denethor son of Ecthelion!" Gandalf spoke. "I am come with counsel and tidings in this dark hour."
The man, who Pippin could place the name of Denethor upon, finally looked into the wizard's face. "Dark indeed is the hour, and at such times you are wont to come, Mithrandir."
As Denethor spoke, Pippin regarded the face carefully, noting the carven face with its proud bones and skin like ivory and the long curved nose between the dark, deep eyes. And strangely, Pippin decided there was more of a similarity between Denethor and Aragorn rather than with the Steward's son.
The eyes settled on him again and Pippin carefully tried to keep eye contact though it proved to be difficult with the eyes seemingly searching into his very mind and soul.
"It has been told to me that you bring with you one whom had traveled and had been saved by my son. Is this he?"
Pippin drew a blank for a moment, wondering how Denethor knew of it. He could only think of how he had spoken to Ingold at the Wall of Stone. How had Denethor heard of it…?
There was no time to ponder this as Gandalf replied. "It is. A Halfling he is, as you see, yet this is not he of whom the omens spoke."
"Yet a Halfling still," Denethor said grimly, "and little love do I bear the name, since those accursed words came to trouble our counsels and drew away my son on a wild errand." He next spoke to Pippin. "Tell me, if you were traveling with my son, where is he now since he obviously no longer travels with you."
Remembering Boromir's words, Pippin only answered slowly, "He told me at our last parting to tell you that he is alive and well. And that he cannot wait to be home again."
Denethor laughed though sharply and without the laughter reaching his eyes. "You evade my questions with something that I wish to hear." The Steward spoke to Gandalf. "I heard the dim blowing of the horn my son carried, thirteen days ago. What happened?"
The blowing of the horn… Pippin, remembering how Boromir had saved him and Merry, and recognizing some sort of worry behind the Steward's words, spoke. "Thirteen days ago I stood beside Boromir as he blew the horn. But no help came, only more orcs." Forgetting his fear, Pippin kept on speaking with some pride for his friend. "But he withstood as long as he could to save us, my kinsman Meriadoc and myself. In gratitude, only days ago when we were reunited, I pledged my service to him."
"So," said Denthor, looking with some amusement into Pipin's face, "you pledged allegiance to my son? But your story puzzles me… 'Reunited' you say? You were separated, then separated once more as you arrive here before Boromir does."
He put his gaze on Gandalf, narrowing his eyes. "Perhaps you will once more evade my questions when I ask where my son is now."
Gandalf did not answer at once but instead reached for something inside his robes. He pulled out what appeared to be a letter and handed it to the Steward. "Perhaps this may ease some of your distrust in our news of your son."
Denethor took the letter without another word and after breaking the seal open, read silently to himself. For a moment, Pippin imagined that the crease upon the man's brow softened, the hard edge in the other's eyes relaxing as Denethor read the message from his son.
But it all changed as Pippin saw the man finish the letter then appear to read for the second time, then again for the third. The letter was folded and placed on the lap, Denethor obviously pondering the contents of the letter before regarding his guests with a sharp look. "It seems my son feels it unnecessary to give his own father either news or details of what has transpired since leaving his home. Has he learned too speak in riddles as you do, Mithrandir? He writes little and says nothing except that he will return home soon. Yet he is not home and you and this Halfling are here."
Denethor leaned forward in his chair and his voice rose. "The Boromir I knew would not waste time yet eight months it has it been since I have laid eyes upon him! Is it an errand which keeps him away? An errand of great importance…
"The Boromir I knew would have brought his father a great gift." Here Denethor looked up Pippin in such manner that the Hobbit grew uncomfortable. "Tell me, Halfling, did he indeed bear a gift for me?"
Here it was; the question Boromir had warned Pippin of. The young Hobbit, using his words carefully, knowing how the Lord Denethor could decipher lies from truth, answered, "He said to tell you that he bears wonderful gifts from the Lady Galadriel of Lorien."
The High Steward seemed surprised by the answer, the first time Pippin had seen the man show any surprise. There was silence for some time before Gandalf finally spoke, grasping his staff in a tighter grip. "You wish for news and details of your son but I suspect you will neither listen nor believe my words." The wizard searched Denethor's face. "You speak as though with a purpose; as though you wish for my companion and I to reveal something you already know of. Tell me, what do you know?"
"What do I know?" Denethor bit out, shaking himself out of whatever thoughts had befallen him after Pippin's answer. "Three nights ago, there was a great stirring on the eastern horizon. We saw nothing but there was indeed a stirring which caused much unease amongst those of Gondor. And it was then we saw something in the sky; the fell beast ridden by the Servants of the Dark Lord."
A cold fear struck Pippin as he vividly recalling that beast. The screeching, the shadows it cast upon the lands, the sounds of its wings beating through the air…
"It flew like something crazed and maddened, flying without a definite course yet steadily heading for the dark lands," Denethor continued. "Once it flew very close to one of the battlements and the men who saw it in close remarked that it bore no Rider."
This caused Gandalf to raise his eyebrows in surprise. "No Rider?"
The Steward of Gondor nodded, gauging Gandalf's reaction. "And you say you know nothing of this?"
"I wish I did," Gandalf replied thoughtfully. The wizard regarded the Steward carefully and after a few moments asked slowly, "Is there anything else you wished to share."
The Hobbit could almost imagine the curt response the Steward would give the Maia, but strangely enough, Denethor remained silent, almost stubbornly refusing the speak. Instead, he put his attention on Pippin, almost smiling though the Hobbit could see that the smile did not reach his eyes. "Come, speak. I wish to know your name."
Pippin, not knowing what else to do before such a man, bowed his head meekly and said, "Peregrin, son of Paladin of the Shire of the Halflings. At your service."
Denethor smile even more, this time amusement shining behind those piercing eyes. "At my service? Then I ask you to speak and be not silent! Tell me your full tale and see that you recall all that you can of Boromir, my son. Sit down and begin!"
The old man struck a small silver gong that stood near his footstool and at once, servants came forward. Pippin saw then that they had been standing in alcoves on either side of the door, remaining unseen to less than observant eyes.
"Bring wine and food and seats for the guests," Denethor commanded to them, "and see that none trouble us for one hour."
After making sure the servants understood and scurried to obey, Denethor spoke to the wizard and Hobbit. "An hour is all that I have to spare, for there is much else to heed. Much of more import, it may seem, and yet to me less pressing. But maybe we can speak again at the end of the day."
Pippin stole a look at Gandalf whose expression was one of great impatience. "And earlier I hope. I have not ridden hither from Isengard, one hundred and fifty leagues, with the speed of wind, only to bring you one small warrior, however courteous. Is it naught to you that Theoden has fought a great battle, and that Isengard is overthrown, and that I have broken the staff of Saruman?"
Instead of being impressed as Pippin thought he would, the Steward merely hardened his look. "It is much to me. But I know already sufficient of these deeds for my own counsel against the menace of the East."
The Hobbit felt the strain between the Maia and the Steward, almost as if he saw a line of smoldering fire, drawn from eye to eye, that might suddenly burst into flame. As if each were reading the other's mind, neither looked away for what seemed like forever and not for the first time, Pippin wondered what he was doing here. Here amongst two such men, both so powerful and almost larger than life. If he had felt small being a Hobbit, he felt even smaller now before two powerful beings.
Finally, it was Denethor who was the first to look away. "Yes, for though the Stones be lost, they say, still the lords of Gondor have keener sight than lesser men, and many messages come to them."
Was it Pippin's imagination, or had there been a sudden gleam in the old lord's eyes as he spoke of the Stones?
For some reason, Pippin felt that something was not right. Something… inexplicable. From the moment Gandalf had started to speak, Pippin felt that Lord of Gondor distrusted the wizard. But Gandalf was speaking the truth, could not the Steward see?
All through their audience with Denethor, it was as if the Steward already knew so much yet... what?
At that moment, the servants had returned bearing a chair and a low stool along with some food and drink. Pippin sat down, not taking his eyes off Denethor.
"Now, tell me your tale," said the lord, half kindly, half mockingly. "For the words of one whom my son so befriended will be welcome indeed."
Never had one hour seemed so long to Pippin. He always thought he would never find it difficult to tell the story of his adventures with the Fellowship but found it hard being under the scrutiny of the High Steward. Not only did he have to keep his wits about him while Denethor stabbed ever with his shrewd questions, Pippin felt the ever presence of Gandalf at his side. The wizard was watching and listening and to Pippin it seemed that Gandalf was holding in check a rising wrath and impatience.
At least the interrogation, for what else could it be called, was over and done with. Gandalf and he were now following a guide to housing which had been prepared for them. They walked in silence, Pippin almost afraid of the stern look on his companion's face. They had more or less just walked out on an audience with the Steward of Gondor and it was quite obvious how upset Gandalf was.
Towards the end of their stay in the great hall, Denethor had all but accused Gandalf of trying to take over the realm of Gondor to which Gandalf had sharply bit back.
Pippin bit his lip, turning his head slightly so he could look up into Gandalf's face. The wizard didn't notice him at all, looking straight ahead and not even acknowledging the Hobbit's presence. Pippin sighed. He hated being just 'extra baggage'…
They came to a house close to the wall of the citadel upon the north side of Minas Tirith, not far from the shoulder that linked the hill with the mountain. Within, upon the first floor above the street, up a wide carven stair, their guide showed them to a fair room. Pippin felt himself relax slightly for the room was light and airy, a pleasant atmosphere indeed. Though sparely furnished, there was a comfortable feel to the room. No longer was that pressure he had been feeling ever since meeting Denethor in his chest.
He went over to one of the three high narrow windows looking over the Anduin, still shrouded in mists. He had to climb on the bench under the window to look out over the deep stone sill.
Turning around once he saw that the guide had left the two travelers alone in the room. Biting his lip before braving to speak to Gandalf, Pippin asked, "Are you angry with me, Gandalf? I did the best I could."
To his astonishment, Gandalf laughed suddenly. "Indeed you did!" The wizard went to stand beside Pippin, putting his arm around the hobbit's shoulders, together gazing out the window.
Pippin glanced in some wonder at the face now close beside his own, for the sound of that laugh had been gay and merry. Yet in the wizard's face he saw at first only lines of worry. Though as he looked more intently he perceived that under all there was a great joy.
"Indeed you did your best," the Maia continued, "and I hope that it may be long before you find yourself in such a tight corner again between two such terrible old men! Boromir would have been proud of how you conducted yourself."
The compliment made Pippin bow his head, blushing slightly. However, the feeling faded as Gandalf spoke again with some seriousness. "Still… the Lord of Gondor learned more from you than you may have realized. There was no way in which you could hide the fact that Boromir did not lead the Company from Moria; that there was one among you of high honor who was coming to Minas Tirith. And that he had a famous sword.
"Denethor has given long thought to the rhyme and to the words Isildure's Bane since Boromir went away." Gandalf looked down at Pippin though as he spoke his eyes focused away from Pippin's face; as if speaking more to himself. "He is not as other men of this time. Whatever be his descent from father to son, by some chance the blood of Westernesse runs nearly true in him; as it does in his other son, Faramir."
"And in Boromir?" Pippin asked.
Gandalf shrugged his shoulders. "It does not run in Boromir though Denethor wished it in his most beloved son. The Steward has long sight; he can perceive, if he bends his will thither, much of what is passing in the minds of men. Even of those who dwell far away. It is difficult to deceive him, and even more dangerous to try."
"I wish Boromir had been there," Pippin said with a sigh. "Perhaps maybe then the Steward would not have been so hard to face."
"Maybe, though I doubt it to some extent." The wizard took a deep breath and let it out slowly and steadily. "Boromir, too, does not have news which would make his father happy in the least. No, I think that it would not have gone better with the Captain of Gondor here. In fact, there is a chance it would have gone worse."
He fell silent then sighed. "The board is set and the pieces are moving. One piece that I greatly desire to find is Faramir. I do not think he is in the city but I have not had any time to gather news."
"I have heard so much of Faramir; I hope I can meet him soon," Pippin said eagerly. "You and Boromir have much respect for him from what I can gather."
Gandalf chuckled. "Yes, I do respect the younger brother of Boromir, though from long before I did the older. You must have realized for yourself how much Boromir seemed changed when you were reunited with him in Edoras."
The hobbit nodded solemnly. "He seemed more… quiet. Thoughtful."
"Well put, young Pippin. He has become more similar to his younger brother in that sense." Gandalf turned and went to the door. Before he walked out, he stopped and spoke to Pippin, "I am in haste. Do me a favor when you go out. Even before you rest, if you are not too weary, go and find Shadowfax and see how he is housed. These people are kindly to beasts for they are good and wise folk, but they have less skill with horses than some." With that, the wizard left the hobbit all alone.
For a brief moment, Pippin continued gazing out the window, observing the scenery. His thoughts drifted to what the other members of the Fellowship must be doing at that moment. Sighing and thinking it better to actually do something instead of thinking how alone he was at the moment, Pippin went to the door and hurried down the street. At least Shadowfax would be considered as some sort of company.
Denethor watched as his servants cleared away the dishes and furniture that had been set up for his guests. Guests… Denethor curled his lips back in disgust. Thinking of that old fool made him unconsciously grip the arm of his chair tightly. Mithrandir always acted as if he was the only one who knew everything that went on.
Well, the so called White Wizard could not even imagine knowing as much as Denethor did…
Of course, he had learned some very important facts from the Halfling. Periadoc might prove to be useful in the future. Especially if the Steward wanted to learn more of his son…
Steepling his fingers and gently resting his chin on them, Denethor found himself sinking into melancholy once more. For days he had felt nothing but unease when thinking of his missing son. And when he looked into the Stone…
With a growl he pushed himself off the chair and slowly walked down the hall between the great statues. They had never comforted him before; they were not doing so now in his moment of turmoil.
The Stone did not lie, had never showed him an untruth. Everything from the overthrow of Isengard and Saruman had been true. Mithrandir thought he did not know. Fool…
He had mastered the Stone for so long, he had long ago dismissed his early fear at the power he now held in his hands. Yet for the first time, four days ago, Denethor had been tormented with an agonizing fear.
The death of Boromir was not an image easily erased from his mind…
Strange though that it was about his own son that Denethor could not control seeing in the Stone. Boromir's future, if he had one, was clouded and murky.
Two different deaths he had witnessed of Boromir. For the first time, Denethor began to doubt his capability in handling the Stone. What if his control was slipping?
No! He emphasized the denial in his mind by putting his staff down hard. He still had control! Feeling the angry and frustration build up even more, he turned round and strode back to his throne. As he did he glared up at the High Throne for the King of Gondor. Cursed seat… always empty but larger than life, always preying upon his mind.
Denethor knew that only he deserved to be in power of Gondor; no other could possibility hold together what he had strived so long to keep. Except for Boromir…
With pride Denethor smiled at the thought of his son. Boromir, now there was one who could take up the reign of Stewardship. He had groomed him; trained him! No other.
Yet… what if something happened that he should lose is son? At the thought of Faramir becoming heir filled Denethor with disgust. Faramir was weak while Boromir was strong; his younger son would never be half that man Boromir was.
But what if…
No, Boromir was strong. And loyal only to his love for his father and country.
Mithrandir was hiding something of his son; the Boromir he knew would never stay away from home so long. Something had happened…
And Denethor wanted to know.
Boromir carefully stepped outside the tent and for the first time since arriving in Dunharrow, found himself fairly confident on standing on his own two feet. After saying farewell to Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli yester morning, he had been too exhausted to argue with Faedwyn about staying in bed until fully recovered.
All day yesterday and the most part of today had been spent slipping in and out of dreamless sleep, evidence of just how tired he had been. He had woken up a few minutes ago and found that he was alone. He knew that Faedwyn or her son and daughter would have protested about him getting up but he knew he could rest no longer.
After changing into his clothes, careful to avoid jostling his right arm which still gave him pain, here he was now. Taking a deep breath of the fresh air, he looked towards the setting sun which cast rays of streaming light through the otherwise gloomy air of Dunharrow.
Noticing that there were hardly any people around, he decided to leave the hood from his cloak off his head. Lifting his head up to the sky while closing his eyes, Boromir enjoyed this moment of peace while he could savor it. The future held no promises for anyone, least of all for him.
Hearing someone calling his name, he looked to see that Deluen was approaching, a young child held in her arms. She came with a smile on her lips and Boromir saw that she seemed happy. And from the way she held the child, it was obvious to see why her happiness was so radiant.
"My lord, I pray you are well rested," she said with a dip of her head, lowering her eyes for a moment in respect.
Boromir returned her smile with one of his own, finding her cheerfulness contagious. "I am feeling much better, especially under your family's wonderful care. I cannot thank you and your family enough."
"It has been an honor to serve you. If there is anything I could do for you now – ?"
"I only felt the need to move around and take in some fresh air. And I see your hands are full." He smiled at the little girl in Deluen's arm, the girl smiling shyly back. She had large grey eyes hidden behind blonde bangs which fell into her eyes.
"Her name is Morwyn," Deluen said putting a loving gaze on the child. "We were just about to find her uncle, isn't that right Morwyn?" She looked at Boromir with a questioning gaze. "Would you like to join us in finding Bawuer?"
"Bawuer is her uncle?" The Gondorian stared at her, confused. "Then she must be your daughter…" Hadn't her husband died almost ten years ago? What was she doing with a child…? Boromir closed his mouth and dropped his gaze abruptly.
She noticed his reaction and smiled, her cheeks red. "It is nothing like you are thinking. She is my daughter, but only in an adoptive sense. Her mother was one of my closest friends who died in childbirth."
Seeing the pain in her eyes, Boromir could only offer his sympathies. There was a short, slightly uncomfortable silence between them which was suddenly interrupted by a young lad running up to them.
"Mother!" The boy of perhaps ten or eleven years attached himself to Deluen's skirt. "Grandmother says that we are to have a guest for the evening meal and that – " The boy broke off, finally really taking a look at Boromir. Still staring at the foreigner, the boy asked his mother, "Is he Lavlaisi?"
"Yes, he is," Deluen said. "My lord, this is my son, Herluen. Forgive his interruption, I have told him on several occasions to look and think before speaking."
Boromir waved the apology away and offered his left hand to the boy. "An honor to make your acquaintance, young sir."
Herluen stared at him for a few moments in awe but finally reacted by taking the offered hand, albeit almost uncertainly. "Uncle Bawuer says you are all the way from Minas Tirith."
"Aye, that I am."
"And you are Uncle Bawuer's good friend?"
Chuckling at the lad's inquisitiveness, Boromir nodded his head.
"Were you friends from when Uncle Bawuer used to live in Minas Tirith?"
"Unfortunately, I never met your uncle when he was in Minas Tirith."
"Then where did you – ?"
Herluen was stopped by Deluen placing a hand on his shoulder. "Enough with your questions, Herluen!" she said in a quiet but exasperated voice. "It is not your place."
Boromir immediately interceded for the boy. "I am very much used to inquisitive boys, Deluen. Pray do not scold him if you think I am annoyed, for I am not."
Giving him a grateful look for being so understanding, Deluen nodded in the direction from where her son had run up from. "If you would care to join us? Mother is preparing the evening meal and we would be honored to have such a guest as yourself."
"Thank you, though the honor would be all mine," Boromir corrected her with a shake of his head. "If you would show the way?" For a moment, their eyes met and Boromir saw a flash of uncertainty when she looked back at him. Not for the first time since meeting her did Boromir found himself admiring her fair and delicate features. But there was still strength in her; there had to be for her to raise two children without the support of a husband.
Their eye contact broke when Herluen came between them and took Boromir's uninjured hand. "Let's go, Uncle Bawuer and grandmother are waiting!"
The feel of the small hand in his own caused memories to resurface in Boromir's mind. How many times had Faramir reached out to him in this same manner when they were young? How many times had Boromir told his younger brother how he would someday have to grow out the habit? Of course, though he would verbally deny it, Boromir had loved the feel of his younger brother's hand in his…
Shaking away the memories, Boromir smiled down at the young lad. "Let us go, young Herluen!"
Deluen found herself watching Boromir as they walked to her family's tent. She was not afraid of him noticing; he was too busy listening to her son. Herluen, being his usually self, kept up a steady conversation and seemed completely enthralled by the foreigner.
He is not the only one enthralled…
The Gondorian had risen much in her standards; no one had connected so much with her son outside of her family, especially other men. She knew that it was mostly her fault. Though it had been ten years since her husband passed away, she never could work up the courage to actually think that she could love again. Haralon and she had shared something special which nothing could replace; but every so often, Deluen wondered if it was time to move on.
But how? She was no longer as young as she used to be. There were far many younger women of marriageable ages who were available. And most of all, unencumbered with any children…
Deluen sighed. Herluen and Morwyn were such blessings but truth be told only repelled other men.
She gave Boromir an appraising look. Here was this man, without any hesitancy, holding hands with her son and listening with such kind intensity. If only Herluen had been able to grow up with such a father like this man. Haralon had never even had a chance to meet his own son and for that, Deluen knew that Herluen was growing up without that vital connection shared between a father and son.
In some way, she could relate to that. But to never know your own father…
They reached their tent and stopped as Herluen was the first to rush in. Seeing her older brother move ahead, Morwyn asked to be let down and the toddler went in. Deluen looked around and saw some of the neighbors were watching them with curious looks. Then she saw how they must have looked; Deluen and Boromir walking side by side, Morwyn in her arms and Herluen holding hands with the Gondorian.
The image made Deluen uncomfortable but soon found herself thinking maybe it did not seem as bad as she might have first thought…
There was a light touch on her arm and saw that Boromir was trying to catch her eye. "After you," he said when he saw her meet his gaze, opening the tent flap.
"Thank you," she said then looked into his green-grey eyes, laughter and amusement still behind them from talking to her son. On an impulse, she said, "You have a way with children."
Boromir cocked his head slightly with a smile. "No, not really. Your son is special, that is all." In a softer tone he whispered, "You have raised him well."
"You mean without a father?" Deluen raised an eyebrow in amusement at his expression of embarrassment. "He is happy and content; there are times I admit he becomes sad seeing his friends with their fathers. But life goes on, and he is doing well."
"And you?"
Deluen turned away from his gentle look. She considered ignoring the question but for some reason answered, "At first I did not want to believe there was life after Haralon. I felt there was no reason to live in such a cruel world. I was angry… and devastated.
"Then one day after falling asleep in tears, I saw the most beautiful sunrise in my life. And I remembered my son who had not been born yet at that time."
At that memory, staring out the window with a hand on her stomach imagining the baby growing inside, Deluen smiled in reminiscence. "I knew from that day that I was going to live for my son. Not a life of wanting something I could never get back but a life of being thankful for what I do have. I still have my family."
Embarrassed at maybe having spoken too much, Deluen blushed. "I'm sorry, you probably didn't want to hear all this."
"On the contrary, I am fascinated. I think you and I share a lot more in common than either of us might have suspected."
His eyes seemed sad as he said this, making Deluen wonder just how similar they were. Before she could say anything, he made a sign for her to enter the tent. Remembering just where they were, Deluen briefly took his hand and squeezed it, wanting to do anything to take that sadness in his eyes away. "Thank you for listening," she whispered.
"Thank you for confiding in me." Squeezing her hand back, he led her in and Deluen pretended to not notice the way her mother and grandfather were watching them.
"Sorry for keeping you waiting," Deluen said. "My lord, let me introduce you to my grandfather, Firnon."
Firnon shook the Gondorian's offered hand and gestured to the ground next to him. "I'm afraid I cannot stand up in my condition so please, take a seat next to me. I've been looking forward to meeting you for I have heard much of you from my grandson."
As Deluen went to help her mother in the meal preparations, she kept an eye on Boromir as he carefully sat down on the ground, mindful of his injuries. Making sure he appeared settled in and comfortable, she stood next to her mother to give assistance.
Faedwyn was smiling as she remarked in low tones, "You seem to be getting along quite well with our guest."
"As he is getting along well with our whole family," Deluen countered. "Especially with Herluen." Even now, her son had gone to sit close to the Gondorian, hanging on his every word.
"You know what I'm talking about." Faedwyn stole a look at Boromir before saying, "Are you attracted to him?"
All Deluen could do was stare at her mother in shock. No, she couldn't… it was not like that. Was it?
Pretending not to notice Deluen's incredulous look, the older woman continued, "You would be a fool not to be attracted to such a man as he." With a softer tone she said kindly, "And it would not be wrong for you to like him."
For a moment, the Rohirrim woman didn't say anything as she worked in silence. Of course there was no denying that she liked the man; he seemed kind and thoughtful and the way Herluen seemed to like him…
No, Faedwyn was right. It would not be wrong for her to… like him.
But no, not yet. Not in that way.
Perhaps never.
She had no more time to contemplate her new feelings, for her brother chose that moment to return. There was a curious look in his eyes which made everyone stop their conversation. Herluen and Morwyn, the only two who could not read his mood, ran to their uncle with shouts of glee.
Bawuer picked both of the children up into his arms, his eyes on Boromir. He asked with a curious tone, "Just how many of those Halflings do you know of who happen to be traveling in Rohan?"
When Theoden finished telling about the Paths of the Dead, it took all of Merry's effort not to sink into depression. What had Aragorn been thinking to travel on that terrible path?
Merry could hardly touch the feast that was laid out before him now. He stole a look at the men who sat at the table: Theoden, Eomer, and Dunhere, lord of Harrowdale. They pretended to eat with relish though there was a grim set in their mouths, eyes seemingly hard and emotionless.
And if the conversation on the Paths of the Dead had put a dent in their appetites, it had completely spoiled the meal for Eowyn. Merry observed that the Rohirrim lady had hardly touched her food from the very beginning of the meal, a far off look in her sad, blue eyes. The Hobbit wondered why she seemed so sad.
But most of all, he wondered at her apparel. From when she had ridden out to meet her uncle and brother, she had been clad in warrior's garments, girded with a sword! She rode a horse as if she had grown up in the saddle which she probably had; it was more than likely she could use her sword as well.
He turned away from the woman as someone thrust aside the broidered hangings which curtained off the small space in which they were eating. It was the captain of the Guard and he spoke to the king. "A man is here, lord. An errand-rider of Gondor. He wishes to come before you at once."
An errand-rider of Gondor? The words made Merry feel a slight quiver of excitement run up through him, as well as feelings of apprehension. Why was this person here in Rohan?
"Let him come," Theoden commanded as he placed the cup he had been drinking from down on the table.
The captain bowed before turning round to whisper through the curtain to someone on the other side. A tall man entered then and Merry found himself startled to see him. He almost cried out in surprise, a surge of excitement flowing through him. Was it…?
No.
In disappointed, Merry slumped back down into his seat, crushed and more than a little ashamed for the hope which had come to him unbidden. For a moment it seemed to him that Boromir was alive and well, standing before him.
But no, the man was a stranger, though as like to Boromir as if he were one of his kin; tall and grey-eyed, and yes, there was that proud set in his shoulders. Clad as a rider with a cloak of dark green over a coat of fine mail, on the front of his helm was wrought a small silver star.
Merry curiously saw that the man was carrying in his hand a single arrow, black-feathered and barbed with steel, but the point was painted red.
The Gondorian stopped in front of the low table and sank down on one knee. He presented the arrow to Theoden and spoke. "Hail, Lord of the Rohirrim, friend of Gondor! Hirgon I am, errand-rider of Denethor, who brings you this token of war.
"Gondor is in great need. Often the Rohirrim have aided us, but now the Lord Denethor asks for all your strength and all your speed, lest Gondor fall at last."
The Hobbit saw Theoden's face pale slightly as one who receives a summons long expected and yet dreadful when it comes. "The Red Arrow," he said softly, his hand holding the arrow trembling. "In all my – "
Theoden stopped as a commotion was heard behind the curtains. There was a murmur of voices, hushed but urgent in tone which made Theoden motion for the captain of the Guard to see what was happening. But before the captain had even taken one step, one of the embroidered hangings was wrenched down from where it was hung. A man came striding in and Merry noticed that two of the guards who had been standing outside were being held back by a Rohirrim man.
The captain of the Guard whom Theoden had commanded to find the source of the commotion drew his sword. With wide eyes, Merry saw that Eomer and Dunhere had stood up, both with hands on their swords. "Bawuer, what is the meaning of this?" Eomer shouted to the man who was still trying to keep the two guards back.
The blonde haired man answered, "My lord Eomer, I am sorry for the intrusion but my friend – " He was interrupted as a soldier came up from behind and grabbed the man named Bawuer's arms.
The captain by this time had his sword pointed to the black robed man's upper chest. Before anyone could react, the unknown man moved quickly to the side and grabbed the sword at the hilt and while wrenching the sword away, used the momentum to trip the Rohirrim man onto the ground. He threw the sword onto the ground away from everyone and continuing as if nothing had been hindering him went to the errand-rider.
By this time, the Gondorian had jumped to his feet and slowly backed away, his sword having been taken away from him before appearing before the King.
The mysterious man stopped however and seemed to be staring at the arrow in Theoden's hand. To Merry it seemed that the stranger shuddered as if seeing something terrible.
"Who are you that you barge into my presence uninvited," Theoden said in a deadly, low voice.
The man however didn't even seem to notice anyone else in the room but continued to stare at the arrow. "So it is the beginning of the end," he whispered. Merry stood up suddenly, for that voice was hauntingly familiar. He could see nothing underneath the dark hood and could not make out any familiar features.
Bawuer came forward calmly, overpowered and outnumbered, though he gave dark looks at the soldiers who were now keeping their weapons trained on him. Three other guards surrounded the other stranger, pointing their spears at him.
Appearing not to care, the stranger faced the Gondorian. "Hirgon, what has happened?"
Hirgorn stepped back in shock. "How is that you address me as one who knows me?"
Theoden chose this time to finally stand from his seat and Merry noted how there was a frustrated look behind his eyes. "Will you not reveal yourself to us, stranger? And Eomer, who is this man, Bawuer?"
The king's sister-son placed a hard look onto the Rohirrim man named Bawuer who was looking none too happy. "The last I saw him he was escorting this man, Lavlaisi, from Helm's Deep to wherever his destination was, by my orders."
"Lavlaisi…" Theoden said musingly.
"Yes, I am Lavlaisi," the stranger spoke up. For a moment, he froze as if with indecision, as if there was a great struggle going on inside of him. Finally, his shoulders dropped slightly, perhaps coming to a decision.
"Yes, I am Lavlaisi," he repeated. "But I am also known by another name." Again, Merry felt he knew that voice. But it was impossible…
Merry was astonished as Lavlaisi faced him, features still hidden in the shadow of his hood. "It's good see you are well, Merry."
He knows my name!
Lavlaisi lifted one of his hands to reach for the hood of his cloak. As he did, a flash of green and silver caught Merry's eyes. It was a brooch at the man's neck. Shaped like a leaf…
With a start, Merry reached for the identical brooch clasped at his own throat. It couldn't be…
Throwing the hood completely off his head, Lavlaisi's face was now revealed for all to see. Except it wasn't Lavlaisi, no, that wasn't the name Merry would place with that face.
Too stunned by this turn of events, Merry was unable to speak. He could only stare as he was overwhelmed with both complete joy and utter shock.
But he didn't have to say anything for Hirgon had dropped to one knee though he had his face lifted up, eyes on the revealed man. "My lord Boromir…" he whispered for all to hear.
Author's Note: So, what did you think? I had many points of views in this chapter but I hope it was still easy to follow. The Minas Tirith scene was a bit challenging since it had to be a little different since Boromir is alive and Denethor doesn't really know that. So, what did you think? I had many points of views in this chapter but I hope it was still easy to follow. The Minas Tirith scene was a bit challenging since it had to be a different since Boromir is alive and Denethor doesn't know that.
As for the Denethor scene, remember; Denethor thinks he controls the Stone but in reality, it's obvious that Sauron only showed what he wanted to show. It's natural that Sauron might have lied about Boromir being alive because he knows that it would confuse and rattle Denethor. Hope that makes sense.
Tell me what you think of Deluen; like her, hate her? Just to let you know, I'm writing her character with the image of mild, 'soft' Nicole Kidman in my mind.
Yes, Boromir has finally revealed himself to everyone in Rohan! It's official, the Steward's son is in Rohan!
Next Chapter: Will have Boromir talking a bit with Theoden then later on with Merry. Merry's the only one who still doesn't know what really happened between Boromir and Frodo! Also, expect Boromir to have maybe a scene with a 'certain Rohirrim lady'.
IMPORTANT: There's a rumor going around that is banning writers from writing replies to their reviewers in their stories! So I'm terribly sorry, but until this rumor is either confirmed or denied, to be on the safe side I am not going to write replies to my wonderful, fantastic, SUPERB reviewers. Once more I apologize for not putting replies, I hope you all understand. But remember, your reviews are being read and are what encourage and inspire me to write! Please review and drop off any comments, thoughts, and suggestions you may have! Or drop me an e-mail any time (THAT I can reply to!)