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

A/N: If anyone is still reading this, thanks for your patience. So sorry for the long delay but RL has been difficult since I last posted. Anyway as I said before, I fully intend to finish this fic.

From the Shadows

Chapter 13/14

Boromir had been forced to admit he was too weak to join in the evening meal that night, but he was relieved to find his strength returned slowly over the next few days. Although he still tired easily from physical exertion he managed to participate in a few brief sparring sessions with Aragorn, none of which he could be considered to have won, but his competitive nature saw to it that he tried his best. This was a development that pleased Haldir for it meant his friend was beginning to feel more confident in himself, that his true nature was at last reassuring itself. It finally seemed as if the evil of the ring no longer held sway over the Man of Gondor.

Hot and sweaty from their most recent encounter, the Men had retired to the bathing pool, verbally sparring in a teasing manner that spoke of their deepening friendship. Catching Haldir’s attention as they made their way back to the talan, Boromir asked for a few words in private. He had decided it was now time to leave, and he wanted the Elf to be the first to know.

“Are you sure you are well enough to travel? ” Haldir asked, studying his companion closely. In his opinion the man was not well enough to travel, but he realised that since Boromir had broached the subject of his impending return to Minas Tirith this morning, his stubborn friend would unlikely be dissuaded from doing so.

Boromir looked at Haldir, offering an affectionate smile for the concern the Elf was showing.

“Aye, ‘tis time we both went home. I admit I am still feeling a little weak, but that quickly passes with a few moments’ rest. I am becoming increasingly worried about Faramir, and I need to see my city, to walk its streets, to hear the sound of the silver trumpets at dawn.” The man replied, as images of all that he missed filled his mind and tinged his voice with a sadness and a longing that Haldir understood only too well. “And you have been away from your home far too long. I can almost feel the Golden Wood calling to you and your brothers.” Boromir added, smiling at the bright gleam of happiness that he saw in the Elf’s eyes as he spoke of his home.

“Indeed I admit I yearn to walk beneath the ancient mellryn, to see my Lady once more before she sails,” Haldir spoke wistfully, unable to deny the truth of the words.

Rumil and Orophin insisted they accompany Boromir and his companions back to the boat that was to be their means of transport. Travelling by river would undoubtedly be easier on Boromir and hopefully by the time they reached Osgiliath, the injured man would be better able to sit a horse for the final part of the journey to Minas Tirith.

“I will never forget all you have done for me, my friends. ‘Thank you’ seems so inadequate. I will miss you all,“ Boromir said, accepting a farewell embrace from each of the brothers in turn. These were the words of a simple, yet heartfelt farewell and they both realised it.

“I shall miss you too, Son of Gondor. May the Valar watch over you,” Haldir whispered, his sentiment echoed softly by Orophin and Rumil who stood at his side as the three of them watched the elvish boat until it disappeared around a slight bend in the river.

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Twilight was rapidly fading into the dark of night and the evening mist was slowly rising from the surface of the river as Legolas expertly manoeuvred the boat to it’s mooring. Boromir could not help but suck in his breath as if he were in pain at the sight of the battle scarred buildings of Osgiliath that were illuminated by pale moonlight and starlight. It was a sight not unexpected since Faramir had warned him that neither of the cities they had fervently defended for so long had survived unscathed, but his heart was breaking at the thought of this kind destruction being wrought on his beloved Minas Tirith.

The glitter of unshed tears in Boromir’s eyes did not go unnoticed by either of his companions, ands he was brought out of his despair by the touch of a hand on his shoulder. He turned to lock eyes with Aragorn, silently accepted the offer of comfort.

“Repairs are well underway with the help of Gimli and his friends, if you trust such a task to a handful of Dwarves,” Legolas reassured him, offering his own kind of compassion. Boromir knew the slight against Gimli was spoken in jest and he could not help but allow a small smile to curl his lips in response.

“Faramir says the new gates are a work of art, so indeed I do trust our gruff friend,” Boromir replied, suddenly very eager to see both the work of the Dwarves and the smiling face of his brother.

Aragorn must have read the thoughts on his face for he gestured towards the tavern a short way up the street that had miraculously escaped any major damage. Although the windows were boarded up, there was a hint of candlelight flickering behind them, a sudden loud burst of laughter, the last thing Boromir expected to hear in this desolate place, indicated the tavern was open for business. Aragorn looked towards the raucous noise then glanced back at Legolas who nodded agreement at the unspoken question. Both were concerned for Boromir. His strength appeared to be fading rapidly and if his pale colour was any indication, he needed food and rest.

“I think we should find a room for the night so that we can make an early start in the morning,” Aragorn said, leading the way. There was no mistaking the King and his friend the Elf and within minutes a very honoured innkeeper met the needs of the King and his companions. All the while he was preparing their meal and pouring their drinks, the innkeeper was casting confused glances at Boromir. The Steward’s sons had both been well loved by the inhabitants of Osgiliath, and there had been much sorrow when they learned of the death of Boromir.

The Steward’s elder son had come to know many of the tavern owners over the years, and he had frequented this particular establishment many times, but he did not recognise this owner. A wave of sadness engulfed him as he realised many of the people he had known had been lost in the war. That knowledge was even more devastating than what had happened to his city. A remorseful Boromir silently berated himself for allowing the destruction of stone that could easily be rebuilt to be filling his thoughts when he should have been expressing his sorrow for the fallen, lives that could not be replaced.

If the innkeeper was confused by the resemblance of one of the King’s companions to the late Lord Boromir, the man who just entered the tavern had no such uncertainty. With a brief bow of acknowledgement for his King, he turned his attention to the man he knew so well.

“My Lord Boromir! Faramir told us he had seen you, that rumours of your death were unfounded. You have no idea how happy we were to hear that,” he exclaimed, a smile of intense happiness on his face as he dropped his bow and quiver on the table and he strode over to engulf the surprised Boromir in a strong embrace. A surprised whisper of “Lord Boromir has returned,” travelled among the patrons with the swiftness of the onset of a summer storm.

“Aye, Dareth! As you can plainly see, I have returned. I hear you are the new ranger Captain,” he said, returning the embrace with a welcoming smile for an old friend. Dareth had been Faramir’s second in command for many years, and had always had ambitions of becoming the Captain. Not that he would have ever challenged for the position, for he had too much respect for Faramir, and loved him like a brother. Still, he had always hoped that one day...

“Aye, and that means you owe me as many tankards of the finest ale as I can drink,” the ranger replied, taking a seat beside Boromir and indicating for the innkeeper to bring the ale.

“I take it there was some kind of wager on this outcome?” Legolas asked, his curiosity piqued. Gimli often used tankards of ale to settle wagers, although he had lost at least once Legolas recalled with a self-satisfied smirk. Aragorn read his thoughts and laughed at the private joke.

“Aye,” Dareth confirmed, patting his friend on the shoulder and winking conspiratorially at the man. “Boromir here never believed that his brother would relinquish his role as Captain, and naturally I thought otherwise. Hence the wager.”

“Nor would he have done so, under normal circumstances,” Boromir declared with certainty. Faramir had always only ever wanted to be a Ranger. Although he was an excellent soldier when called upon to take that role, the Steward’s youngest loved the freedom from the more military life afforded a ranger, he loved the forests of Ithilien, and he the ties to the Elves of ancient times that were part of their ancestry.

Denethor had barely tolerated Faramir’s lifestyle, but he could not deny that he provided a necessary service in the defence of the city. Besides, it was Boromir who was being groomed to be the next Steward. Briefly he wondered how his younger brother was handling the role that had been thrust upon him, and if Faramir was now the Steward, what was Boromir to be? He had not really contemplated his future other than returning home, but he realised that he would need to discuss tis with Aragorn and Faramir as soon as he was well enough to resume whatever role was now to be his.

“ Then no thanks to the Dark Lord, Faramir became the Steward, and I became Captain of the rangers.” Dareth nodded a sombre agreement. “So, shall we drink to my good fortune, and your return?” He asked, raising his first tankard into the air before downing it in one long gulp.

During the course of the evening, the number of patrons in the tavern increased markedly. As soon as word spread of Boromir’s return, many of those who had mourned the loss of their beloved Lord Boromir had naturally come to see for themselves that he was indeed alive and well.

Acquiescing to Legolas’s suggestion that he and Aragorn move to a quiet corner on their own since Boromir’s admirers seemed reluctant to approach him at the King’s table. Aragorn was pleased to see not only how well loved Boromir was, but also how much at ease he was becoming in the famiiar surroundings. All the while they were at Amon Hen, Boromir had rarely smiled, but as the night wore on he was laughing merrily whenever something humorous was said, and when several of his soldiers joined his table, he looked positively overjoyed. He even joined in the singing of somewhat bawdy drinking ballads, much to Aragorn’s amusement. Aside from when he was with Merry and Pippin during the quest, the opportunity to see the man so relaxed had rarely presented itself.

Nonetheless, Aragorn was still concerned about the man’s poor stamina, until Legolas pointed out that Dareth was still drinking only his second tankard of ale, and was closely watching that Boromir did not overindulge as well. When the ranger realised his friend was finally succumbing to fatigue, he nodded at Aragorn, and the King and the Elf helped their friend to the bed that had been prepared for him. Aragorn looked back to give Dareth a nod of thanks and smiled when the ranger donned his bow and quiver, and headed for the door mouthing a silent “Faramir?”

Aragorn had no doubt that when they finally arrived at the gates of Minas Tirith, every single person dwelling there would be lining the streets to welcome their dearest son home.