I finally managed to finish this chapter! This chapter only has only 6 words instead of 12, for Boromir who only managed to make it through a third of the story. I apologise for any mistakes there may be as this story has not been beta'd.

Boromir

Messenger

Many humans know little about the Valar, and do not truly believe in them. The Valar are the gods of the elves, of which they have seen, and we, the secondborn, have not. I do believe in them, mostly, and know much of them. It comes of being upper class, our education is greater than most and the Lord Denethor, my father, would spare no expense in the matter of giving Faramir and I an education, and so learn we did, about the Valar and every other subject imaginable. Faramir thrived on this, I simply couldn't care enough to remember all those facts. It's not that I'm stupid, or lazy, I'm just not a scholar nor do I wish to be. I remember thinking that from the little I know of elves they would not believe so completely in imagined gods. Combined with the fact that they live so many years, and that some of their fathers and grandfathers may even have been to the blessed lands their kind claim to have once traveled to, the Valar seem to be real enough, though we see them not. Some do say that they commune with us, in dreams and messages, but that I scorned in disbelief. "Why would the mighty gods talk to us? They have long distanced themselves from our world, and in all my travels I have never yet met someone of any credibility who has claimed to have talked to the Valar. If some wish to believe their drunken imaginings and remembered dreams are messages then they may do so by all means. But I for one will not listen to them." Said I.

I am thinking though, that I may have been hasty in this judgement, for while I still believe that most who claim to have heard a prophecy of some sort lie or are mislead I no longer believe that it is utterly impossible. This past week has been an eventful one, not least because of a strange recurring dream of Faramir's. This dream cannot be anything but a prophecy, it came again and again, and each time he heard the same verse in his head.

At first I was sceptical, but only last night I too had the same dream with the voice that told a riddle.

Seek for the sword that was broken

In Imladris it dwells

There shall be councils taken

Stronger than Morgul spells

There shall be shown a token

That doom is near at hand

Isildurs bane has awoken

A halfling forth shall stand

Faramir could not make sense of this anymore than I could, but we know that Imladris is the elven name of Rivendell, the elven stronghold of Lord Elrond. So Faramir begged our father to allow him to go there and seek the answer to the riddle. But father believed him not, until I had the same dream and asked the same of him.

So now I will leave for Rivendell at dawn tomorrow to seek for the answer to a riddle.

I still haven't made up my mind about the Valar, but perhaps they are real, and the dream is from them. Perhaps I will be a messenger or a vessel for a message from the Valar.

And that is a comforting thought.

Aquamarine

The citadel of Minas Tirith is large and beautiful, with grand halls of stone and large marble statues. Rivendell is an entirely different matter. Where Minas Tirith is noble, stately and white Rivendell is multicoloured and cheerful, it is no smaller yet I must admit that it has a more welcoming feel. If I had to pick fault with anything here it might be the colours. The room in which I am staying is not painted white, brown, beige or anything even remotely sensible like that. No, it is aquamarine. A fine colour for a guest room indeed!

Later Lord Elrond contacts me.

"I am sorry" he says "for the colour of your room. Some of the elves here have a tendency to play rather silly pranks."

So, I realise, it was not bad taste at all but simply an elfling prank.

"That is alright my Lord Elrond." I say. "Surely the children of the elves are no less mischievous than any other children. I do not mind."

Lord Elrond just sighs.

"It amazes me sometimes." Says Elrond "How an elfling can also be a reborn elf lord from the first age."

Rival

It is true that he could be a friend, maybe. And an ally for my people, or our people, if he is to be believed. But that is not what I see in this ranger. Until he proves himself worthy of the crown of Gondor, and shows his proofs beyond all doubt than he remains a rival, a threat to the security and unity of my country. It is not that I do not want a king. My father would oppose any threat to his rule over Gondor, but not I. What I want is someone who understands the needs of Gondor and her people, who can govern fairly, someone who is worthy of command. As of yet, none of these things are proven in the ranger. He is a foreigner who has lived much of his life in the wild. What does he know of my country or its ways? Maybe later he will prove himself. For now, I will wait and see.

Frigid

If ever I thought I knew the cold, I was wrong. I could see from the start that taking the path over Caradhras was a mistake and indeed I was right. If I am this cold I can only imagine what the poor hobbits are feeling; being half my size they can barely push their way through the snow. Soon we must stop, the blizzard prevents us from making much of a headway and we are all chilled to the bone. I'm glad I insisted we bring the blocks of wood, despite the extra and bulky weight. I settle in and prepare for the coldest night of my life.

Compulsive

I could do good if only I had the ring! If only the hobbit wasn't so foolish then my country could be saved. I cannot believe I am thwarted in this by but one small being, the very one I am sworn to protect. But what is more important, the safety and wellbeing of one hobbit, or of a country, or of the world? It is an easy decision, and I reach for the ring. The desire to take it is compulsive, I must have it, I must, I MUST. IT IS MINE, RIGHTFULLY MINE. I WILL TAKE IT AND THE WORLD WILL BE UNDER MY COMMAND. I WILL USE IT FOR GOOD AND ALL SHALL BE WELL IN THE WORLD UNDER MY RULE. MY RING MINE MINE MI-

Oh. Oh no, no no nonononono. What did I do?

Noble

I understand now, why the ring could never be used for good. But alas for Boromir son of Denethor, the knowledge has come too late. Never again will I gaze of the fair towers of Gondor, or enter again into my country. It is too late for me, I know it in my heart. How could I return now, after what I've done? I must though, for I promised my brother.

The uruk-hai are upon me now, and I scarcely feel like raising my sword or shield. Then I see the hobbits, Merry and Pippin, bravely luring the uruks, taunting and throwing stones. They are my friends. And for all I have taught them, surely they cannot stand against the might of Saruman's army. I roar, and charge before them. May these uruks rue the day they raised their blades against a warrior of Gondor! May they rue the days they ever tried to hurt my friends. And may I find some small measure of redemption in this deed. I blow my horn, and attack!

It comes out of nowhere, a black shaft hurtling through the air. And after all the arrows that have hit my shield, gone astray or been deflected in my life, this one does not.

I know I am done for the moment it hits me, but why let a little thing like death stop me? In some ways it is only fitting I die, and so I will die with as much glory as is left in me. I blow my horn again and again, for surely the others are somewhere near?

The second arrow comes. But as I sink to my knees I see Merry and Pippin. All hope has left their eyes, their little swords at their sides. And the uruks keep coming.

I do not know how I do it, but I get up again. Maybe if I kill a few more they will be saved. It is too late for me, but if I can hold out until the others arrive they might yet live. The third arrow is too much, and I can only watch helplessly as the hobbits are taken away by the uruks, fighting and screaming. Maybe I was noble, maybe I did good in the end, but to the end I failed. Failed my country, my brother, my friends.

…And wasn't that uplifting. Anyways, that's all for poor Boromir, next up; Gimli.

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