Hello. This is something I had always wanted to write. So I will write this. If there are inaccuracies or poor references, please do let me know. I will simplify a lot of things for readers who don't want to read through Tolkien's works just to understand the story. I hope you enjoy it.

-Chapter one-

A soft and warm white light filled an empty boundless space that stretched beyond everything that exists, was to exist, and existed once before. Neither time nor object held any power in this vast expanse for there was no beginning nor end to such a place. This was the great beyond, the space beyond Arda, the realm of Eru Iluvitar. Everything that passed and would come to pass was barely a mote of dust in the vast infinite white realm. Eru Iluvitar was the beginning and end. He had sung reality into being with his boundless voice that weaved creation into being.

His breath created time and with his gentle hands, he molded reality into being. Countless realities all intertwined with each other by notes of his song burst into being, each ringing a unique and long note. Some rang out and then quieted, becoming nothing in the vast void. One of the many notes he sang was the realm of Arda, the first note and the loudest of them all.

Having sung the realm into being, he knew it inside and out. Be it the past and future of the realm, he held it dear. As such, he sang an avatar into being, more potent than all the Ainur and Valar combined, and infused it with his will to understand his creation in an acceptable form. If he were to manifest in the tiny note, it would shatter like finely spun glass, Such an outcome would be displeasing.

His avatar walked among the world, disguised as an old elf, wise and tall. He counseled kings, watched the turning of time as lives came and went, like candle flames burning then extinguished as quickly as they were lit. Years were no more relevant than millennia. His avatar had grown attached to the realm and over time exerted its voice to change things it had seen as unnecessary and sickening. The darkness was necessary as was the light, however, his avatar that was infused with the minds of many men, dwarves, and elves were compromised. What would have been a detached judgment was clouded and the fate of Arda was changed ever so slightly.

A small boat drifted down the Anduin, carrying a passenger that could no longer see the light of day or feel the peace of the night's embrace. The passenger who took his final passage down the gentle waters was Boromir, Son of Denethor the second, the honored steward of Gondor, and his beautiful wife Findulias. Having seen the past of the unfortunate passenger, the avatar exerted it's voice as final mercy to the man. Singing the veil of the worlds apart, the avatar of Eru breathed a small portion of its power into Boromir and gently carried him into another note it's creator had sung.

What was a small portion of power to the Avatar was considerable to mortals, giving Boromir the life and power of a lesser Maiar. With such power in his new life, perhaps Boromir could forge his own destiny in this new note?

-Danmachi-

Boromir awoke with a start, his eyes jerking open taking in a sharp gasp. His eyes searched around, taking in his immediate surroundings. He was laying in a peaceful meadow of tall green grass that rose above his head. Was this the Halls of Mandos? If it was the halls spoken of in texts and by the legends, it was very different too what he had expected. Boromir had not spent much mind on the texts of the afterlife, but he had been properly educated by the high Standards of Gondor.

Slowly he raised himself above the grass. He wore a black overcoat of silver-lined fabric in the fashion of Gondorian Nobles with the white tree inlaid by strings of refined silver on the back. His tunic was silver on top of a black shirt underneath. His pants were black and sturdily made of fine fabric. His boots were refined but practical, being black with silver clasps and reaching his mid-shin. His cloak was a dark black with silver-plated steel clasps.

There was no trace of the blood and wounds that had riddled his body after being run through by black arrows. His body was light and felt as if it was flowing with energy, like an endless pool of life. A longsword in a black sheath hung at his waist, a silver branch design snaking up the sheath to the guard wound around it. The grip was black with a silvery blue-coated pommel.

"Mithril" Boromir breathed out as he drew the sword out of its sheath and held it out, the bluish silver tinted mithril handle easy to recognize. The blade was bluish-white, similar to the ancient blades forged in the second age. The materials and process of smithing such a blade lost to the tides of time.

Sheathing the sword again, Boromir looked around with keen attention. The fields he stood in went on for many leagues in all directions. To his left were the cold peaks of distant mountains. In front of him, no more than ten leagues was a giant tower that looked similar to Orthanc in Isengard. It rose above a grand city that spread for miles around it. It was a considerable structure, rivaling the height of the towers in Upper Minas Tirith.

He had never heard of such a structure or city in his entire life. He had heard of towers rising into the sky by passing elves that spoke of Gondolin but this did not look to be such a realm.

His immediate choice was to strike out for the city and find out just where in Arda he was. Information was key, and what was better than a massive city too find answers. Perhaps he could find a familiar name or land and make his way home.

And cut.

I don't have much time to write right now, but do share your thoughts.

This was just an introduction since I don't have much writing time right now, the chapters will be longer as the story continues. The next chapter or so will be short, but when I get more time they will be considerably longer.