Birdsong. Small singing birds, and interwoven with their light twitter the wistful cry of gulls. The soft rhythm of waves lapping on the shore in the distance. Boromir drifted in half-dreams of his mother, cradling him in her lap, telling him about the song of the seagulls circling over Dol Amroth. He did not really know what she meant, but he felt safe and happy.
He opened his eyes. A blue sky interspersed with clouds, trees waving gently in the wind, a strange freshness in the air. A white sandy shore. The remains of a fire. A warm woollen cloak. Apples, bread and nuts spread out on a linen cloth before him.
Boromir got up, stretched himself and yawned. Now that he was fully awake, old, well-known feelings started to haunt him again. His body felt light and refreshed, but his heart was still heavy, weighed down by a nameless grief. It was hanging over his spirit like a dark cloud, a vapour of negativity even the strangely bright colours of this country could not dispel.
"Good morning!" Galathorn appeared with a smile on his face.
"Morning," Boromir answered, trying to force a smile which turned out rather wretched.
"What is the matter? What is upon your heart, Boromir?" Galathorn asked gently. The concern in his voice, which had grown very soft all of a sudden, seemed genuine. However, Boromir only muttered a weary "Don't know." in response. Then he heaved a deep sigh.
"Let's go for a walk, shall we?" Galathorn waved his hand vaguely towards the mountain looming up in the distance.
'Hmmm … alright, why not."
They had their breakfast in silence. Although the bread and fruits tasted lovely, Boromir ate little. Then Galathorn packed his few belongings and they set off.
As they left the shade of the trees and started to cross the open spaces at the foot of the mountain, a light rain was drizzling down. Boromir welcomed it. It made him feel strangely at home, weaving a veil of invisibility around him, caressing his face like the soft fur of a small animal. It was as if the sky was weeping tears of compassion, the tears he could not find himself.
The climb proved steeper than he had imagined, and after they had mastered about half of the journey to the top, they were enveloped in thick fog that barred all sight down or around. Yet the air was not stifling, and Boromir, wrapped in his own gloom, did not feel any exhaustion. They hardly exchanged a word during that trip, and Boromir was glad he was not forced to talk. He could not have told how long it had taken them to get to the top, where they sat down on two large boulders and rested.
Galathorn sat silent and motionless for such a long time that Boromir already thought him asleep. All of a sudden, however, he turned round and addressed the Gondorian:
"This is Taniquetil, the centre of Valinor, once the cradle of Arda. And yet it is only one of many places. There are more worlds than the Middle-earth you know now, Boromir, and more powers at work in them besides the evil forces. So do not despair. Do not give up on yourself, Boromir, Son of Gondor. Many people have had to endure failure and defeat, and yet in the end it has turned to good."
"Ha! You can tell me a lot! It doesn't mean a thing from someone who has never himself experienced such humiliation as I have!"
"And how do you know whether I haven't? I could tell you a story of a man who was slowly tortured to death, all the while being mocked, insulted, spat upon by his enemies, his soul perishing under an unbearable burden – I will spare you the details, but the physical pain was by far not the worst of it all –, and yet in the end it turned to mighty good for many. In fact, it was the only way to victory."
"Bah! Stories! Who knows if they are true!"
"Look!" Galathorn's voice was suddenly full of authority. The fog around them lifted. Boromir gasped. A deep purple sky appeared, stretching into endless space, with stars scattered all over it like gems on a velvet cloth. What astonished Boromir so much, however, was the angle of perception: Some of these stars were so close that he could recognize them as planets, even discern their surface structure. They seemed to be hanging in the air like ripe apples or peaches from an invisible tree. 'I didn't know Taniquetil was that high up above the clouds,' Boromir thought. His attention was captured by the blue planet closest to him, a blurred pattern of water and continents not so different from Middle-earth as he had seen it on the maps of the learned long ago. Yet Boromir's view of that planet was impeded by a looming black cross, suspended as it were in space, casting its shadow on the whole world. On the cross hung a man, his face drawn with suffering and privations, yet with a faint glimmer in his eyes that Boromir could not quite interpret. The face was Galathorn's.
After a long silence, Boromir finally turned round. "Who are you?" he asked hoarsely.
"I am Galathorn, Son of Ilúvatar. Ilúvatar and I are one."
Boromir's head spun, yet somehow he did not doubt it. "But why this?" he whispered.
"For a world not unlike your own. Whether removed by space, or time, or another dimension, need not concern you now. – Would you like to get to know it?"
Boromir nodded, his interest captured almost against his will. Immediately, he felt a hand over his eyes, and was suddenly surrounded by blackness. Then it seemed to him as if he was taken up by invisible hands and thrown down from the top of Taniquetil – he scarcely had time to scream – , hurled towards that mysterious planet. An explosion, and he could remember no more.