Ten: An Unfinished Life

Talion spoke with Dineo and the other merchants from the White City over the next several days, and they all agreed to move the citadel rather than change routes or cut off trade entirely. The only thing they disagreed on was the site of the new citadel. They failed to hear him saying their negotiations would not matter if there was no suitable location where they agreed to build, so the Ringwraith left them to argue amongst themselves, instead sending off messages to Ghûra and Skoth. Then he followed Captain Taranir, an old friend among the Rangers, down to the caves under the city and gestured for an Orc to follow them in case they needed a runner.

"We found him drifting downstream in an Elven boat," the Ranger said as they entered Celebrimbor's barrows, "Before Sauron's army crossed the Anduin, we moved him here to preserve him. We were only holding his body in waiting until it could be taken to the White City for burial, but since you have returned..."

"I can make an attempt at reviving him, depending on how long he's been dead, but if he is known to be dead in Gondor, he will have to stay in Mordor with me or go north to Dale or somewhere else. I would say Ithilien, but if new settlers are coming in or old ones returning… people who might recognize him or tell those who will..."

Taranir grimaced. "He is known to be dead," he answered unhappily, "and he will not thank you for holding him to Mordor's soil, even for his own safety. Even so, I would have you make the attempt, if you are willing. He is… sorely missed in the ranks."

Talion made a soft noise of acknowledgment in his throat and entered the barrow. As always, the Elven magic both welcomed him in and pushed him away; Celebrimbor had keyed him into the wards of all the barrows while they still ran together, making them recognize him as a friend and ally, but now they also saw the darkness of a Ringwraith in him and sought to drive him out. Those things together meant that unlike the other Ringwraiths he could actually enter the barrows, but it was extremely uncomfortable and his powers were greatly weakened on the near-sacred ground, the statues of ancient Elves looming forbiddingly overhead as if they would spring to life and draw their great stone swords on him.

Which meant - "I'll need to move him out of the barrow before I can attempt a revival."

Taranir nodded. "I'll get his feet."

Much to his own surprise, when he lifted the lid, Talion did recognize the dark-haired man in the barrow's sarcophagus. Long gone were the days of his youth when he had known many by name and more still by face; the only person he might have known outside his adopted family was Ioreth's father Hallas. He had been of strong Númenórean descent, with the expected length of life - he had been eighty when Talion and Ioreth had been banished to the Gate - but even that was pushing the limit. Even so, this face he knew, though they had not worked with one another long before his fall. Talion was still not fond of the White City's nobility, but Boromir had a good heart and thought of his people first and foremost, took on greater burdens than even Denethor had before taking up the Steward's scepter.

"We can come back for the rest of his gear; leave it for now." Together with Taranir, Talion lifted Boromir from the sarcophagus and carried him out into the caves beyond, laying him out on a stone plinth in front of the barrow, built for just such a purpose. Once there, Talion took a moment to examine his body. He had died from multiple arrows to the chest, which would be an easier resurrection than decapitation or dismemberment, but it was still going to put him on his back; much of his energy would go towards healing those wounds, rendering him weak and weary and possibly unconscious for the better part of a week.

Assuming his soul was in a position to come back. Unless their body was destroyed, as Dirhael's had been, the spirits usually lingered on the Shore for a time - sometimes up to a year, depending on the strength of their will while they were alive - before finally crossing over and passing beyond his reach. He pressed his Ring-hand to the Man's chest and found the thread he sought. It was barely more than a wisp of energy - Boromir had been dead for some months now - but enough of a tether remained between body and spirit for Talion to use it as a guide, send his fëa out and follow Boromir to the Farthest Shore.

The landscape was different from what he remembered of his own time on the Shore, but it was still unmistakably the same location. The grass was unnaturally verdant under his feet, the dome of the sky a gradient of exotic azure, and the snow on the mountains in the distance gleamed the purest white. The breeze smelled sweet and clean as Mordor never did, and the brook - the edge of eternity - bubbled cheerfully along in the distance, weaving in and out of a bright forest and cutting across the plain like the edge of a knife.

Armored as a soldier of Gondor and still on the near side of the Shore, Boromir sat on a boulder jutting up through the long grass, slowly scraping a whetstone over the edge of his sword as he looked off into the distance. The grind reverberated strangely in the pleasant air.

Talion looked down at himself. He was a Ringwraith once more, even here, and he felt the briefest flash of relief. As uncomfortable as the thought was, even though he had been only slowly sinking into the dark, he had been a Nazgûl longer than he had ever been a living Man, and that had left its mark. He preferred this form and all of its wonder and terror, and more importantly, this was how Boromir remembered him, for even Denethor had been a young man and yet unwed when Isildur's Ring had come to him.

Then he went back to observing the Man. He was clearly waiting for someone, and intended to wait as long as necessary. The desire to cross over had to be strong - Talion had felt it too, before choosing his Ring once more - but still Boromir lingered, digging his heels in and refusing to be moved. His will was great enough that he would probably wait out the full year before he finally yielded and stepped over.

"Boromir."

The Man jumped and whirled around, lifting his sword, then went slack in shock, awe, relief. "Talion! You've returned!"

The wraith smiled softly and pressed through the long grass to join Boromir on his rock. "I have. The One Ring has been destroyed, the Dark Tower thrown down and Sauron with it, and I am free to choose my own path once more. It is good to see you again, my friend, even like this. Do you have unfinished business in Middle-earth?"

The captain sighed and sheathed his sword to clasp arms with the Nazgûl. Then both of them settled back on the rock. "In a manner of speaking. Rather, I am waiting for someone to pass on. Unless…" He looked suddenly hesitant. "I do not think he has gone ahead of me, but would you…?"

"Name?"

"Frodo Baggins of the Shire."

"Ah, Shire, Baggins. That explains it." He dimly remembered pursuing the Ringbearer through a pleasant land of small people within the borders of former Arnor, and he had perilously come close to finding the Ring on at least one occasion; he had sensed it had been within arm's reach, just out of sight - but the Witch-king called him away at the last second. A good thing, too - at least for Middle-earth.

But now he reached out, calling softly for the Ringbearer on the Farthest Shore and beyond, everywhere he could reach, but as before, with Denethor, there was no reply, not even a rebuke or a refusal to answer his summons. That meant - "He's still alive."

He could not lie like this, fëa to fëa, and Boromir sagged in relief so profound that he almost fell off his boulder. Then he buried his face in his hands and quietly wept.

Talion leaned in, let their shoulders touch, offering what silent comfort he could. At last, Boromir's tears slowed, then stopped, and he laid back on the boulder and stared up at the sky. "I felt it even here, when Sauron's power was broken," he said. "The Shadow withered, and passed away, and the sun shone again, clear and bright. Even if I cannot apologize for the madness that took me, now I can at least rest in peace, knowing our people are safe."

"If that is your wish, I can still pass along a message on your behalf. But your body has not been destroyed, you know. I can restore you to life, if you will come."

The Man sat up sharply, as suddenly as if he had been struck by lightning. "You can? What am I saying, of course you can." Then he sagged again. "But I cannot return to Minas Tirith, can I? Since I am known to be dead."

"I am afraid so. No doubt your father would have welcomed you back, but the others, these newcomers… they might decide you are a danger even if your actions are innocent and helpful, and seek to kill you once more and the one who brought you back. But there are other places in Middle-earth who would gladly welcome you. Though we are closer to Tirith than others, I imagine you have no wish to stay in Mordor, so there is always West Gondor or Rohan, or even Dale. Sauron struck in force everywhere at once, so there is need for aid in rebuilding across the whole of Middle-earth."

Boromir thought for several long minutes, weighing his options, then sighed. "You are right to say that I do not wish to stay in Mordor - or rather, I feel that I cannot, not with Gondor so close. I will always be tempted to cross the mountains and walk among my people once more, and the same for West Gondor and Rohan. I will go to Dale instead, after - I assume I will need time to recover from the wounds that killed me?"

"A little." He had resurrected other Rangers before, but never Boromir.

"After that, then."

Talion nodded in assent, then hesitated. "While we are here… there's something you should know." When Boromir tilted his head in askance, he continued, "Your father Denethor is dead - or so I have been told. But when I tried to call his spirit, then, as now, there was no answer. I do not know what it means."

He called again so that Boromir might see and feel as he did, and spoke with his name, hoping the affection between father and son might provoke a reaction - some lingering regret over too much unsaid between them - but as before, there was no answer, not even a refusal to answer. Boromir, too, frowned deeply, though his brows turned up in concern also. "And this has never happened before?"

"Not once."

"Then if he is dead, but not here on the Shore or beyond it, then his spirit must be…"

Still in Arda. Trapped somewhere, or otherwise bound, but where? Who had done it, and how might it be undone? The wraith watched as Boromir looked back the way they both had come, more concerned than ever - and though he was concerned for Denethor still, his thoughts briefly strayed to his own son. He wondered if Dirhael - and Ioreth, his beloved wife, counterpart to Denethor's Finduilas - thought of him beyond the Shore, wondered at his absence, worried for him lingering in Middle-earth. He had never gotten up the courage to call for either of them. But while he was here, there was another… Just to see…

He turned his mind in a different direction and sent out another wordless call… but there was no answer. Not even a refusal to answer - only silence, as there was with the New Ring.

He let the sweet winds of the Shore carry away his fear and grief. If Celebrimbor was gone, then he was gone; there was nothing Talion could do for him now, and he had more immediate concerns. The remaining Ringwraiths, for one, and getting Mordor on its feet and ready to survive without Sauron, for another, and last but not least, finding Denethor and freeing him from whatever chains tied him to Arda.

He turned back to Boromir. "You cannot search for him, but I will, as I can. You have my word." When Boromir nodded, his worry becoming determination, the wraith held out a hand. "Then, shall we? And, welcome back."

As was expected, the Man nearly coughed up a lung after he started breathing again, and wheezed at the pain as the holes in his chest healed. Talion and Taranir immediately rolled Boromir onto his stomach to help get out the stale air that had been trapped inside his body since he had taken his last breath.

He soon calmed and, by a miracle or sheer will, stayed awake, though his whole body drooped with weariness. "There is no shame in needing rest, Boromir," Talion said, encouraging the Man to roll back onto his back on the plinth. "You've been through quite a lot."

"I have been… idle long enough," Boromir managed. "Sauron has been thrown down… but there is still… much work to be done."

The necromancer sighed and exchanged a glance with Taranir, then turned to the Orc who had come with them. "Râsh, if you could go back up and get a waterskin for Boromir; he needs it badly after so long dead."

"You got it, Gravewalker." Râsh jogged out of the caves and up the slope beyond, leaving the once-dead Man blinking in his wake.

"Râsh - is he…?"

"Not the one you knew. Râsh the Prickler was slain in the fighting around Minas Tirith, I'm afraid; this is Râsh Stoneskin. - Thank you, Râsh. Drink slowly - slowly! Don't guzzle it down; you'll make yourself sick! That's better. It's not going anywhere." He nodded approvingly as Boromir forced himself to take slow sips from the skin while also watching Râsh, who leaned up against one of the cavern walls and folded his arms across his chest, watching the Man in turn.

There was a shriek overhead, and Talion rolled his eyes. "Sweetheart,I've been gone for ten minutes," he grumbled, already heading for the cavern entrance even as Râsh snickered at him. Once there, he whistled sharply, and Daerwen shrieked again in response and slammed to the ground right in front of him, provoking a cry of alarm behind. "Peace, sweetheart," the Ringwraith said, catching her head and holding her close in an embrace as she folded her wings. "It's all right. You know what it feels like when I walk the Farthest Shore to call others back; that's what this was. I'm not dying on you."

Daerwen murmured unhappily and nudged him insistently, taking long draws of his cold scent. He released her and obligingly turned in a circle so she could sniff him all over from head to toe. When she was done and found him unharmed, she nuzzled him and projected her satisfaction through their bond, purring loudly. He pressed a kiss to her brow ridge, and she huffed a smokey fume.

"Eru in heaven," Boromir choked out behind them. "Lady Daerwen, an honor, as always. You are much larger than I remember; exactly how big do you intend to get?"

"Hopefully not too much more," Taranir said with a conflicted expression. "The larger she gets, the safer we'll be, but the more it will take to feed her. She tried to eat the Witch-king once, didn't she?"

"Once?" Talion only half-asked, amused, turning just enough that he could look at the Men without getting a crick in his neck, still holding Daerwen close and scratching over her scales to make her purring increase in volume.

"I only heard about once from my father. A little while after you took her back from the other Eight?"

"Ah yes. When she sneaked out of the citadel and tried to ambush him, despite being only four years old and still too small to eat even half a caragor by herself."

Talion gave the drake an unimpressed look, but she just huffed. Wasn't gonna let it stop me.

"Well now you don't need to worry about it, sweetheart. The Witch-king is dead and gone."

"The Witch-king of Angmar, the bane of all men, slain at last? When did that happen?" Boromir asked, trying to sit up again, eyes wide.

"The Battle of the Pelennor Fields," Taranir answered. "Sauron sent an army against the White City, with the Witch-king leading the way. He was slain by Éowyn, a princess of Rohan, in defense of King Théoden, who brought the Rohirrim to our aid."

Talion was pleased his guess had been correct but refused to let it show. That was one reason among many why he had never disparaged any woman who wished to join his ranks, regardless of race; 'not by the hand of Man shall he fall', so why not let a woman make an attempt? Or a female Elf or Orc; he had kept Idril, Eltariel, and Ghûra close for more reasons than one. "Éowyn of Rohan. I will remember that name."

"As I've heard it, she intends to become a healer," Taranir said, "so you'll probably never have to face her in battle."

"She survived a battle against a monster that had been the scourge of kings for thousands of years, and what's more shekilled him where theyfailed," Talion replied. "Even if she hangs up her sword and shield and never does another worthwhile thing in her life, a deed like that still deserves to be remembered. And becoming a healer is no less difficult than becoming a warrior, perhaps even more so; it is an easy thing to takea life, much harder to saveone."

Daerwen snorted in agreement, then lifted her head from Talion's grasp and leaned over, peering at Boromir. This is who you brought back?

Indeed. "Daerwen, you remember Boromir, don't you? You were very young then, but his father Denethor kept you safe in Minas Tirith for those few months when all of Mordor was under siege from Sauron."

She snorted again. I vaguely remember that. Mostly not understanding where you had gone, and why I could not leave that room at the top of the tower.

When Talion repeated that aloud, the captain let out an 'ah' of understanding. "So that's why the White Tower was sealed and barred some years ago, even to me! I had wondered. I am sorry about your imprisonment, my lady, even if it was to keep you safe. I'm sure you would rather have been here, or with Talion."

She hummed approvingly, and exhaled a short burst of smoke before turning and taking flight again, swooping back up into the night.

Boromir followed her passage, then looked back to Talion. "She hasn't changed much, has she?"

"No indeed," Talion replied with a grin. "She's the same as she ever was. But since you're still awake, let's see about getting you up onto an actual bed."

Boromir hissed in phantom pain when Ranger and Ringwraith each pulled an arm over their shoulders, but with their support and several stops to rest, he was able to hobble up the slope and into Minas Morgul. The other Rangers and a few traders there greeted him gladly and prepared a little food for him, a soft gruel and dried fruit cut into small pieces to go easy on his stomach.

"You're not the first of us that Talion's called back from death, Captain Boromir," said another Ranger, Naredir, when the other Man had looked surprised that they needed no direction from the Nazgûl regarding his care. "Just the latest. And we are glad to have you back with us. Here you are; eat this, even if you're not hungry. Your body needs it, even if your mind doesn't know it."

Boromir accepted that - though he had known of Talion's powers, he himself had never been resurrected before, or seen it done to another - and slowly made his way through the whole bowl.

While the Gondorian's attention was caught on Angreth and Flak joining up to tell the story of the time they had tarred and feathered one of Sauron's battalions, Talion pulled Taranir aside and slipped away into the ruins. Horza was the only one who noticed, and followed quietly at the wraith's shoulder.

"Boromir wants to go to Dale to avoid those who know of his demise," the Ringwraith told the Ranger. "I want to let our surviving agents know he's coming so they can prepare something for him. Do we have even just message routes up that way?"

Taranir shook his head grimly. "After you Fell, the land routes past the Gate became unsafe, and with no more drakes to make the flight... We got maybe one or two messengers there and back in those five years, and we don't know if any of our allies in Dale and Erebor survived, either."

Talion tilted his head and called quietly for the souls of their allies to the north. Only one recent one answered. Hogrim's shade stepped out of Aulë's Halls with a low grumble, straightening his smith's apron and re-knotting the perpetually loosening ties. "Gravewalker," he grunted. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever show up again."

"Apologies for my lateness, Hogrim," Talion replied, amused. "I was… otherwise occupied."

"So I gathered." The dwarf inclined his head to Taranir and Horza, who both returned the gesture. Then he took a seat on a bit of rubble. "What do you need?"

The Ringwraith explained, and Hogrim stroked his well-groomed beard. "A formerly dead Man in need of swift relocation? Well, given how bad the fighting was around Erebor, I imagine there'll be plenty of room for him, and no one will look too closely at a stranger from Gondor moving away from Mordor after the war. My daughter should still be in the business, and Bard's great-granddaughter Emilie. If you can send me up there, I'll go ahead and talk to them, let them know you're coming."

Talion grimaced. "That may be a bridge too far, even for me, but the southern edge of Mirkwood should be possible. I'll call you back when we arrive."

The dwarf nodded, and Talion let him return to the Halls, fading to become just another one of the soft whispers in the back of his mind.

He hoped Aulë did not notice the intrusion. The Smith was not as hot-tempered as Oromë or Tulkas were in the legends that Maglor had told them, but the last thing they needed was the Valar descending on them with intent to kill just as they were finally getting steady on their feet. However, given that the great spirits had withdrawn from the world with the downfall of Númenor, more likely they would not come themselves, instead sending more of their pesky Maia to manipulate others into doing the work for them.

The end result would still be the same.

Talion signaled Taranir and Horza to follow him back, and they all returned to the fire.