Disclaimer: LOTR belongs to the creative genius of JRR Tolkien, not me.

From the Shadows

Chapter 9.

“How fares Boromir?” Aragorn asked, after brief words of greeting had been exchanged. He did not really need to hear the words, the sorrow and concern evident in the elves’ eyes was answer enough.

“If he were an elf, I would say that he is fading and there is nothing Haldir can do to heal him,” Orophin replied sadly.

Legolas momentarily closed his eyes to hide his own grief at the news and prayed silently for the Valar to keep death from taking a man who was both friend and a kindred spirit. He did not blame Boromir for his gradual seduction by the power of the ring, it was an evil that many others, Elves and Men alike, had succumbed to in the past and certainly for less pure motives than Boromir professed. Mirkwood had been as enshrouded in the evil of the shadow as had Gondor and Legolas fully understood both the allure of such a weapon as Boromir had come to believe the ring to be and the desire to protect his home at any cost.

“Haldir says ‘tis the healing hands of the King he needs,“ Orophin added.

“ That is the reason we were seeking you out with such urgency and would have travelled all the way to Minas Tirith to do so if necessary.” Aragorn smiled and bowed his head acknowledging the depth of the friendship Rumil’s words implied.

“I will do all that I can,” Aragorn assured them all, turning to catch Legolas’s eye. The King saw that his friend stood slightly apart from the others, his mind obviously elsewhere judging by the way that he started when Aragon placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Come Legolas, we must make haste. Faramir will never forgive us if we lose Boromir now.” The words were an attempt at jest but both knew well there was much truth behind them.

“Aye, likely as not he will bar the gates to our return, should we do so alone,” Legolas replied with a half smile as he stepped onto the path indicating for the Galadhrim to lead the way.

“Faramir would do no such thing, but friend Gimli might be sorely tempted to punish us in such a manner for leaving him behind,” Aragorn replied as they made their way swiftly to Haldir’s talan. Legolas laughed merrily at that notion. Had not the Dwarf been otherwise occupied at Algarond, he would have indeed insisted on accompanying them on their journey.

----------------------------------------------------------------

“Thank the Valar you are here,” Haldir said, the relief in his voice and eyes was unmistakeable as he rose from the chair next to Boromir’s bed to greet Aragorn and Legolas.

“Greetings, Haldir. I have brought a supply of athelas, ” Aragorn said removing his herb pouch from his belt as he strode quickly over to his patient‘s side. He handed it to the Elf who immediately removed the precious leaves and began preparing the potion and salve he knew the King would need.

“He is so pale and is barely breathing, but he lives. You have been sorely missed, Son of Gondor,” whispered Legolas who had moved to the other side of the bed and taken Boromir's cold, limp hand in his own. Imitating Aragorn’s final gesture, only this time meaning it to be one of greeting and not farewell, Legolas leaned over and placed a chase, feather light kiss on the man’s forehead.

“Aye, indeed you have,” Aragorn agreed as he took a moment to study the face of the man he had believed dead, and who was so close to death once more he realised when he lifted the sheet that covered Boromir’s
naked chest. The sight that met his eyes caused him to draw in a sharp breath. Rather than being covered with the pinkness of new skin, the scars where the arrows had pierced Boromir's body were a sickly grey colour and a black liquid with a foul stench oozed slowly from them. Aragorn drew his hand back quickly when his fingers encountered the icy cold fluid. It was not so much the temperature that concerned him, for he knew such wounds would not have the heat of a normal infection. It was the utter evil he sensed coursing through Boromir’s body, entwining itself around every fibre of his being as it slowly strangled all the life from him was almost overwhelming.

The sensation was not unlike that which he felt when he treated Frodo for the morgul blade wound, or those of both Eowyn and Merry, but in Boromir it was so much stronger. Reaching for the steaming bowl of athelas and water that Haldir had silently placed art his side, Aragorn began to cleanse the wounds as best he could.

“Aragorn, he is not breathing! I can no longer hear his heart beating,” Legolas cried out in despair as he suddenly felt Boromir’s life force slipping away.

“No! You will not take this Son of Gondor!” Aragorn shouted vehemently to the unseen shadow of death whose bone chillingly evil laughter seemed to be filling his mind.

“Fight for him... die for him... give yourself in his place, King of Men,” taunted a raspy voice.

“Nay I will not!“ Aragorn replied his own voice tinged with a dangerous edge born of anger and determination not to let the darkness win. He had fought too long and hard and sacrificed much, as had Boromir, to see the world of men survive and he would not admit defeat now. Taking the almost lifeless face in his hands he drew on his inner strength and all the healing power he possessed to try and rid Boromir’s body and soul of the darkness that was leading him to his death.

“Reach for it and I will bring you back into the light, Boromir,” Aragorn whispered insistently, imagining hw was sending out a tendril of mithril to the hands reaching out so desperately to be saved from the edge of the abyss the man was teetering on. Each time he felt as if Boromir had grasped the lifeline, he heard that evil laugh he despised with a passion and the link would be broken. That his strength was failing against the power of the evil he was fighting was undeniable, and Aragorn knew it was only a matter of time before he was lost.

The shadow of death knew it too, and rejoiced.

“You can not win Elessar. I feel you weakening already, Your body tires and soon I will have you both!“

“Nay, you will not!” Declared another voice, one that sounded vaguely familiar but yet was not.

A fleeting notion that perhaps it was Legolas floated somewhere in than back of his mind but any further thought was lost when Aragorn felt strong hands covering his own where they gripped Boromir’s face. He felt a surge of energy so strong and pure fill him and brightness surrounded him that almost blinded even closed eyes. Suddenly he had the strength to not only reach Boromir, but to swiftly draw him out of the hands of death. Boromir's life force once again slowly moved throughout his body, the warmth and brightness engulfing every shred of darkness as it went.

Finally, after several anxious moments, sighs of relief were heard when, with a shuddering breath, the Man of Gondor opened his eyes.

“My King...” were the only words Boromir was able to mange, again pledging his loyalty as he had done at his death.

Tears of joy and relief filled not only Aragorn’s eyes but also those of the Elves who had been standing silently at the end of the bed, waiting to offer whatever assistance they could. With a slight nod of his head, a weary Aragorn gave silent permission for each of them to have a brief word with their friend whilst he prepared a sleeping potion for Boromir.

“Come, you must rest also, Aragorn, you must be exhausted,” Legolas said, offering Aragorn a cup of his own sleeping potion. The exhausted King shook his head and pushed the cup aside.

“Nay, I need to watch over Boromir, and I have yet to bandage his wounds with the athelas \salve,” he offered by way of explanation.

“Haldir is more than willing to sit with his friend. He can apply the bandages, after all he has cared for him well all this time, has he not?” Legolas pointed out.

“You speak the truth, my friend, “ Aragorn agreed. The extra bed Haldir had placed in the talan where Boromir was sleeping certainly looked inviting and he suddenly felt very tired. “Very well, I will do as you ask, but are you not also weary? You must have used a great deal of energy as did I,” he suggested, suddenly remembering that he had not healed Boromir on his own.

“Doing what? Sitting at Boromir‘s side and holding his hand for comfort required no feat of strength on my part,” Legolas replied, looking at Aragorn strangely.

“Did you not add your strength to mine when it was failing? I heard your voice, felt your hands... or so I thought.” Aragorn was still certain he recognised the voice, but could not place it.

“You did indeed have aid, but not from me,” Legolas replied with an enigmatic smile. Aragorn frowned at his friend choosing this moment to be particularly elvish in his response.

“Just tell me who it was Legolas, ” he said, exasperation evident in his voice.

“If my eyes did not deceive me, the ghostly image I saw at your side was none other than Lord Elrond’s brother, Elros.”