Boromir's Story
by Gwin Gold

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Author's Note: I'm quite aware that most of this is highly incorrect, as far as the books and movies are concerned. But that's why it's called an AU, right?
Please read and review to let me know what you thought!

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"Boromir, you have been summoned to go to Rivendell for an important meeting they are going to have there." Denethor sounded full of pride.

Boromir looked at his father. "What?" He was incredulous; why would the Elves summon him, of all people?

"You have been summoned to Rivendell," Denethor repeated patiently, smiling. "You will go, will you not?"

"Well…of course," Boromir said. His answer was automatic—there was almost no one in the whole country of Gondor who would dare say no to Denethor.

"Good!" Denethor clapped his hands once. "Good. You shall depart immediately; you must not keep the Elves waiting."

"Yes, Father," Boromir replied, although he found himself wishing that, just once, Denethor would ask for someone else's opinion on matters instead of deciding everything for everyone.

Denethor said nothing, merely returning to his supper.

That must mean I'm dismissed, Boromir remarked silently, with just a hint of exasperation. Nonetheless, he turned and left the room, nodding to the guards as he went.

Soldiers and guards acknowledged him as he strode past, but none spoke. It was as though all of them had already known he would be leaving on a mission that day.

Perhaps they did. Boromir walked outside. He paused by the old, gnarled tree that resided in the middle of the courtyard, and felt a heavy weight on his heart.

Ever since the White Tree had died, hope of defeating Mordor had faded more and more. It did not help any that Gondor had no king.

If Boromir was going to be honest, he would admit that Denethor was doing a poor job of keeping both Minas Tirith and Gondor in good shape. But then, perhaps that was to be expected. He was no king; no royal blood ran through his veins.

Denethor had been looking to Boromir to set things right for several months now. It seemed as though Denethor had given up all hope of being able to help Gondor, and was already passing the title of Steward on to his oldest son.

I do not know if I am ready to become Steward of Gondor yet, Boromir thought, gazing thoughtfully at the White Tree. But I will try to set things right. There must be a way to restore Gondor to its former glory, and I will find it.

Boromir finally tore his eyes from the Tree, and, nodding to the men who guarded it, continued on his way. He was already dressed for travel—he had on light armor, and his sword and horn were with him. He had only just returned from a visit to Rohan.

Now all he needed was to have one of the stable boys get his horse ready, and he would be off. It seemed as though Boromir spent most of his time travelling these days.

Fifteen minutes later, Boromir was inside the stables. He had asked one of the servants to go and ready his horse, and they had run off.

"Boromir! I would not have expected to see you here so soon after returning!"

Boromir turned to see who had spoken, and then smiled. It was Faramir, his brother.

"Father received word that the Elves at Rivendell wished for me to meet with them," Boromir explained. "So I must leave again."

A shadow crossed Faramir's face for a brief moment. "Of course." He obviously was trying quite hard to hide the resentment in his voice, but failing.

Boromir sighed. "If Father had bothered to ask for my opinion, I would have told him I wanted to rest for a while." He knew this was not true; he merely wanted to console his younger brother.

Unfortunately, Faramir knew it was a lie as well. He had always been able to read Boromir's thoughts. "No, you wouldn't have. You would have agreed to go."

"Faramir," Boromir said, sensing what Faramir was thinking. "He does not favor one of us above the other." Again, the lie escaped before he could stop himself.

Faramir shook his head. "He does."

"Faramir…" Boromir sighed again.

"Never mind," Faramir said. "What's done is done." Before Boromir could protest, he changed the subject. "Return soon, all right, Boromir?" He managed to give Boromir a smile that only looked half-false.

Boromir hesitated, reluctant to leave knowing that Faramir still believed that Denethor loved him more than the younger son. Then he shook his head slightly. Faramir will always believe that, so long as Father continues to treat us differently. He returned Faramir's smile, feeling like he had to say something to console him. "I will, little brother. I always will."

Faramir nodded, and then turned abruptly and left.

Just then, the stable boy returned, leading Boromir's stallion.

The horse was a chestnut color. Its name was Alcarin; he was named for one of the former kings of Gondor.

"Is there anything else you need?" the stable boy asked in a small voice.

"No," Boromir said, taking the reins from the boy. "Thank you." He saw that the boy was still nervous, but did not know what to do about it. In the end, he just gave the boy an encouraging smile.

The youth managed a shaky grin, then turned and scampered away into the shadows of the stable.

Boromir laughed quietly, amused at how quickly the boy had retreated. Then he mounted Alcarin and carefully urged him forward.

Alcarin gave a soft whicker, then trotted outside and started through the streets of Minas Tirith.

Everyone who saw Boromir pass looked at him curiously, as though they too were wondering where he was going so soon after coming home.

Boromir was accustomed to this, however, and pretended not to notice.

He could not help but feel slightly nervous; he had never gone to see the Elves before. Many people thought badly of the Elven race as well. They considered the Elves cowardly and weak, hiding away in their forested realms.

Boromir was unsure of what he should believe. In the end, he decided to push all thoughts of Rivendell out of his mind and concentrate on getting there safely.