Chapter 11

When he heard Aragorn’s voice speaking softly to him in soothing tones, Boromir felt as if he was making his way through a thick early morning fog that was thankfully slowly beginning to rise taking with it the dreams that had clouded his mind and plagued his sleep. As comforting as the firm yet gentle touch of the hand grasping his felt, confusion and uncertainty forced Boromir to wonder if this was not merely another means of torment that the shadow of darkness he sensed still lingered deep inside saw fit to inflict? A torment he knew that the brave soldier he once believed himself to be would have easily defeated.

“Only in your own eyes have you ever been less than a brave soldier, nothing more than a dishonourable man. Use your courage and your pride to turn the darkness away, do not embrace it. Come back to the light.”

In the echo of the voices that had drawn him away from his nightmares, Boromir found a renewed strength of will and determination not to allow the evil within to prevail. In his mind's eye he pictured himself no longer hampered by injury raising his sword high, cutting a swathe through the veil of darkness, and allowing the light to shine through so brightly that no shadow could survive.

“Be gone, evil one! You hold no more sway over Boromir, son of Denethor, son of Gondor!” The words were spoken out loud surprising both Aragorn and Legolas who had assumed their friend had finally fallen into a peaceful sleep. Boromir’s voice was weak and raspy and the defiant words so proudly spoken caught on the dry lips and parched throat, resulting in a mild coughing fit.

“Boromir, wake up,” Aragorn’s voice was insistent and sounded so very real as was the welcome coolness left on his skin by the damp cloth wiped across his fevered brow. With some difficulty he opened his sleep heavy eyelids and was greeted with concerned smiles on the faces of his friends.

“Here, this will help.” There was no mistaking the almost musical sound of the elvish voice he recognised as belonging to Legolas. A strong arm eased him into a sitting position, holding him a little higher up on the pillows to ease the coughing and to allow him to take a few sips of the cool water from the cup that was held against his lips. He offered a nod of thanks to Legolas for the water before rubbing the sleep from his eyes with his free hand, his other gripping Aragorn’s a little harder.

“I fear my eyes deceive me. You two are indeed a welcome sight, but where is the other?” He asked, looking around as if expecting to see someone else.

“Other? Haldir is taking his rest?” Aragorn offered concerned that Boromir was apparently still not fully in control of his thoughts.

“Nay, I refer not to my elvish friends, but to the other healer.” Aragorn exchanged a glance with Legolas that spoke of his astonishment at this unexpected turn of events. Even when lost in the thrall of his dark, inner turmoil Boromir had apparently had some sense of Elros’s presence at Aragorn’s side.

“In truth I do not fully understand how it came to be, but it seems that my ancestor, Elros, saw fit to offer the aid I needed to heal you. It was he you must have felt.” Aragorn replied, looking curiously at Boromir who seemed less surprised than might have been expected at the response.

“Ah, that explains much. Ever since Haldir brought me here, I have sensed the presence of our forefathers in this forest, as if they were watching over me.”

“Faramir said much the same, and I assure you neither of you were mistaken,” Legolas informed him.

“Our elvish friend speaks the truth.“ Aragorn confirmed, noting how weak Boromir‘s grasp was, how much difficulty he was having merely holding his head up. “And if they can see you now they will know you are still not yourself and I believe they would agree with me that perhaps you should try and eat a little to regain your strength.”

“As you wish,” Boromir sighed wearily, resting his head on Aragorn’s shoulder for a moment.

“ Legolas please find Haldir and ask him for a light meal for our patient while I change his bandages.” Boromir settled back against the pillows and allowed the healer to complete his task, but thinking on what he remembered from his healing, he found his curiosity would not allow him to remain silent

“Aragorn, I assume that Faramir told you that I was called back from death’s door by the voices, the spirits of the Kings and Stewards of old who wander among the ruins of Amon Hen?”

“Aye, he related every word you said,” Aragorn nodded as he secured the last bandage in place, relieved beyond measure to see that the wounds were already beginning to heal. All Boromir needed now was rest and several more days of it before he would be in a fit state to travel home. Or for that matter to deal with the arguments Aragorn knew would ensue when he tried to convince a very stubborn man of Gondor that it was in his, and Minas Tirith’s best interests that he do so.

“Did you see him? Did you see Elros?” Boromir’s face was alight with awe and Aragorn found himself suddenly wishing he had been able to look upon the face of the first king of Men, rather than merely feel his touch.

“Nay, he was visible only to elvish eyes.“ Boromir frowned, his confusion obvious in his furrowed brow. Haldir and his brothers had never mentioned seeing the ghostly wanderers.

“A pity. I owe him my life and it would please me to be able to offer him my thanks, as I do to you, my King.” Boromir said he lifted Aragorn’s hand to his lips, placing a kiss of fealty on the ring of office he wore with an unmistakeable air of nobility that not even being bedridden could erase. It was a simple gesture but one full of meaning and to Aragorn’s delight, one that offered some hope that Boromir could be persuaded to return to Minas Tirith.

Until this moment, he had been pondering how best to approach the subject, but now he realised his answer lay in the reverence of Boromir's word and voice as he spoke of those who had come before, and of those to his King. For less than a heartbeat he felt as if a hand rested on his shoulder in silent encouragement, and he turned and smiled, bowing respectfully to the invisible one he knew stood at his side when he saw Legolas, who had just entered the talan, do likewise.

“I have brought enough for both you and Boromir to eat,“ Legolas said, looking pointedly at Aragorn who he knew must surely have also been hungry since it had been almost a full day since his friend had eaten. Aragorn accepted the broth, and acknowledged the thoughtfulness behind it with a slight incline of his head. Legolas smiled in return and selected an apple for his own repast. “Rumil bid me reassure you that he and Orophin prepared the broth,” He told the two men as he set the meal tray that he was carrying on the nightstand. Boromir, who had spent many an evening listening to complaints about Haldir’s cooking, laughed out loud, startling both Aragorn and Legolas.

“Something amuses you?“ Legolas asked, completely perplexed by the response to such a seemingly simple message, as was Aragorn.

“Let me just say that the quality of the good march warden's broth is infamous, and not because it is good!” Boromir replied diplomatically.

“The same can be said of Gimli’s notion of a palatable stew, ” Legolas told Boromir, a cloud passing over the amused glitter in his eyes as he recalled the reason why there had only been three hunters following the trail left by the Uruks who had taken Merry and Pippin.

Once they had finished their meal, Aragorn offered Boromir another sleeping potion. At first the, man was reluctant to accept, fearing his nightmares would return, but when Aragorn explained he would make it only a mild dose that would ease his weariness without causing dreams, Boromir gladly accepted. Within minutes he was asleep, and confident that the worst had passed, Aragorn took his pipe and tobacco pouch and, invited Legolas to join him outside on the balcony.

Legolas eyed the curling smoke coming from the pipe with his usual distaste for the habit, but rather than comment, he merely chose to sit on one of the overhanging branches, resting his back against the tree trunk. For a while there was only the sounds of leaves rustling above, and night creatures rustling below to break the silence between the two, until Aragorn decided to speak his mind.

“I think I know how to convince our stubborn friend that he should return to the White City,“ he said without preamble. Neither Elf nor Man was aware of Boromir’s change of heart, and had spent much of the journey to seek him out discussing how beat to achieve their desired goal.

“That is welcome news, indeed, and if I am not mistaken, your plan meets with Elros‘s approval,” Legolas replied, referring to the scene he had witnessed earlier. In all fairness, he had to admit that there was some validity to the arguments that his friend had offered for his decision, but he saw none compelling enough to cause him to remain in exile as Boromir intended. Nor did Aragorn.

“Aye, and I have my ancestors to thank for making me see the way.” Aragorn said, pausing to take another puff of his pipe and gather his thoughts. Legolas nodded his understanding as if a silent conversation had occurred between the two.

“I believe you have indeed chosen the correct path, my friend, “ the Elf agreed with an encouraging smile.

It was a mark of the depth of their friendship, of an understanding born of both adversity and joyous times spent together over the years that minds so different could think so alike. Not a word of explanation had needed to be spoken.