Disclaimer: I do not own LOTR characters, whose births are credited to J.R.R. Tolkien.


I return to my room, exhausted and drained from the serious planning for the journey. I grow weary of this world; I wish to return home, back to my brothers, back to my love, back to the way things were before. But first, Sauron's punishment. I have a good feeling about this Fellowship; I feel that this group will succeed, and I can finally make peace with my past.

A knock sounds on my door. Tired as I am, my body tenses again, wary of intruders. After the spectacle at the Council meeting, tensions and suspicions united the rival races and clans against me. Lightly clicking my tongue to create a shield around me, I rise to open the door. As I suspected, Boromir's agitated face appears.

"My lady," he says, shying his eyes from my gaze. His head lowers in what I assume to be deference, or even possibly fear. "I'm sorry for disturbing you this night. I know you must be feeling unwell, but I need to ask you something."

He looks at me, asking permission to cross the portal. I open it wider and step to the side. "Thank you," he says. He steps forward with his head still bowed. Then he looks up, the mildest form of surprise showing on his face as he glances about my charm-decorated room.

I shut the door behind him, leaving only a crack of light to escape. "Did you make all of these?" Boromir asks. He's studying an intricate gold knot meant to strengthen relationships hanging from the ceiling. "And these too?" Boromir points to the murals of my home on the wall. Then he looks at me, ducking under a bundle of lilies tied together by a ring of spotted feathers. "They're beautiful."

I walk to my desk and pull out a sheaf of paper and a quill. "Thank you," I write in the Common. A high-born lord must be literate, no? "The papers and things hanging from the ceiling are charms. The walls are images of my home painted from memory."

"You must have been a great artist then." His hand twitches and I notice a sheen of sweat on his forehead that hadn't been present when he entered. I force him to the wall and draw a knife against his neck. He grunts on impact and freezes when he feels a cold tingle below his jaw. In his eyes, I see desperation. He hadn't come here to make friends, and he hadn't expected me to have superhuman speed and strength. And he definitely hadn't expected me to be armed.

My head pounds from fatigue, and I know I must finish it quickly. Where the hell were my guards?! I enter his mind to speak directly to him.

Why are you here?! I ask, enraged. Have you come to take me to your fortune-less kingdom and give me to Sauron for mercy?! My voice rings in his mind and he shuts his eyes with pain. His mouth opens in a silent cry.

"H-How do you know -"

How could I not? I interject. Boromir son of Denethor, of the House of Stewards of Gondor? I'm not as stupid and isolated as you think.

"P-Please -"

Have mercy? The knife digs deeper, but not deep enough to puncture skin. Men are deceptive and vain creatures. Thinking only about their own future, and not the future of others -

"SAVE MY PEOPLE!" Boromir shoves me to the floor, a sliver of blood trickling from a cut on his neck. "I want to know my people will be protected."

I glare at him. He offers his hand, and I take it. Gripping his hand, I mind-speak. They'll be protected from you.

His brow furrows. You will fall into darkness. A darkness that won't leave you until you choose to release it. I can sense you are an honorable Man, Boromir. There will be no one like you for generations to come, a curse and also a blessing. Beware, Boromir, your end is coming.

"Please, my people. No more about my fate."

They will be safe, when the true King returns.

And all at once, Boromir's face twists into a snarl. "The True King is my father," he spits. "That Ranger knows nothing of my land." He throws my hand away and storms out of my room, but not before hearing me say, It's already begun.


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