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From the Shadows

Chapter 16

With a heart heavy with sadness at the loss of his father, and footsteps to match, Boromir made his solitary way to the House of the Dead. It was a path he had never travelled alone before and he wondered if perhaps he should have asked Faramir to accompany him, just as he had done so often in the past whenever the Steward had given his sons leave to pay their respects to their late grandfather. The cold, dank atmosphere and the eerie silence of the tombs had seemed very frightening to them both as boys and they had rarely spent more than a few moments paying homage to Ecthelion. However, as the years passed the significance of the last resting place of their ancestors as well as the last of the line of Kings became apparent to the men, especially Boromir for whom this place held both his past as well as his future. The elder son of the Steward had always felt humbled that he was being groomed to continue in the role that had such a proud and honourable history. He loved his city and his country and had spent his life aspiring to be counted amongst those who had kept the hope of Men alive in Gondor and Minas Tirith.

At first, Denethor had been such a man, Boromir reflected as he knelt beside the resting-place of his father, running his fingers gently over the roughly hewn image of a face he knew so well. There was no denying the subtle, yet evil skill with which Sauron had taken control of first his father with the palantir and later himself with the One Ring. Playing upon each Man’s fears and weaknesses had left them both defenceless, as Bormir had come to understand.

“Please forgive me, Father. We had always been close, I should have seen how you had changed, should have known you were not yourself long ago, ” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. The stone face was cold to the touch, but Boromir hoped that the love he felt for his father perhaps warmed it a little, that the silent tears he now shed would let Denethor know of his sorrow.

Boromir had many a sleepless night once he had learned of the treachery that had turned his father to eventual madness after Faramir’s first visit to Amon Hen. He was tormented by thoughts of what might have been. Had he remained in Gondor, perhaps he would have been able to save Denethor, or at the very least, keep his father from the being further influenced by the Seeing Stone, or even to keep him from trying to harm Faramir. When he had spoken of this with Haldir, the Elf had merely shaken his head and sadly explained that Sauron had likely been slowly using the palantir over many decades to enslave Denethor. Neither the healing hands of the King, nor the formidable powers of the Lady Galadriel would have had been able such break the hold of the palantir. Certainly such a feat would have been beyond any means possessed by Boromir.

When the King had come to Amon Hen he had related the events surrounding Pippin‘s fateful handling of the palantir and how difficult it had been for Gandalf to draw such an innocent mind back from the pull of darkness. Even the Istar would have found it impossible to save a more world wise, strong willed and stubborn mind, one swayed by the more baser instincts of power and greed, no matter the motive. Knowing that tendrils of the evil power still danced on the edge of his mind at times, Boromir knew there was nothing but truth in the words that only served to confirm what Haldir had spoken. Ever so slowly, with the aid of at first Haldir, and then Aragorn, he had begun to realise that on the journey with the Fellowship, he had been given no choice but to walk the path that had been ruthlessly chosen for him. A path not unlike Denethor’s and one with the same fate awaiting at the end... madness, death, the destruction of Minas Tirith and the ruin of Men.

“Our duty was to protect our people, as I am certain you intended to, at least at first. Our victories were becoming few, our losses many and the shadow in the east was moving ever towards the city. Gondor was in a dire position, our hope was finally fading and you had come to believe that the time of Men was over. Once I found myself in the presence of the One Ring I understand all too well how hard it must have been for you to resist the temptation to accept the power offered by the Dark Lord. False hope though it was, I did not see it as such at the time. I lost myself to the evil, but thanks to two remarkable Hobbits, my actions came to naught. For so long after I awoke in Amon Hen, I held the belief that Death would have been a fitting reward for my betrayal, as I am certain you would have believed yours to be. Apparently the Lady Galadriel thought otherwise, and perhaps we both should bow to her wisdom in this matter and realise that neither of us should have been punished for actions over which we had no control.”

“Nor do I, although I see how very much alike you and he were,” a soft voice said from the partly opened doorway. He had seen where Boromir was headed and did not want his brother to suffer his grief on his own. “I find myself wishing for a chance to tell him that I understand, that I love him, that you did not die,” Faramir whispered unable to hold back a tear as he moved silently to kneel beside his brother.

“For all his harsh words and even harsher attitude towards you, little brother, I know that he loved you as much as he loved me. He always held us both in his heart.” Boromir said as he placed ac comforting arm around Faramir’s shoulders. The devoted son in Bormir wished he had been able to say goodbye to his father, but the part of him that had been a committed soldier, and still was, he was surprised to feel, accepted the reality that in battle, death was often a solitary end.

“I know. I saw it in his eyes at the end. I knew it as a boy, when he would come to my room with a tray of supper after he had sent me from the table as punishment and he would stay and tell me tales of long ago.” Faramir was trying his best to ease the sombre mood.

“Well, even then you were fond of books and such,” Boromir said ruffling his brother’s hair with fondness.

“Much to Father’s disdain.” Faramir agreed, sharing a fleeting smile with his brother. “ And do you recall what he did after I announced I had decided to join the Rangers?“

“He made a public display of berating you for ‘deserting’ your rightful place at my side in the army,” Boromir replied. It had been a humiliating experience for Faramir, and one that had gradually become more common in the later years.

“Aye, but later that night I found my old bow had been replaced with another of the finest quality I have ever seen or used. I think it may have even been crafted by the Elves.” Faramir had been overwhelmed and grateful to realise that by his gesture, if not his words, his father did not totally disapprove. Nonetheless he had insisted Boromir ‘pinch’ him to make sure he was not dreaming.

“I am not certain, but I believe Gandalf may have had a hand in obtaining the bow, as I recall.” Boromir reminisced. “Father may never have spoken the words, especially in recent times, and but I am sure he was proud of you.” Boromir still felt his brother’s hurt when Denethor had refused to acknowledge his younger son’s part in the retaking of Osgiliath. Knowing that his father was not himself, only made it a little easier to bear now.

“I know.” Faramir acknowledged as he reached out to trace the image of his father's face as Bormir had done earlier. It was a gesture of both love and forgiveness that needed no words to be understood. Both became lost in their own thoughts for a while until, by silent agreement, the brothers stood and after bowing respectfully to their ancestors, they left them to rest in peace.

As they made their way into the courtyard someone called their names.

“Boromir!Faramir!” Recognising Aragorn’s voice both men turned in the direction from which the shout had come. The King was walking rapidly towards them waving a parchment.

“Good news, my King?” Faramir asked before he read the missive that was handed to him.

“Aye, it seems that King Eomer and Prince Imrahil, who are accompanying our ladies, are but a day’s travel from home,” he replied, his eyes alight with a look Boromir had never seen before. Faramir’s looked much the same and Boromir concluded it must be due to the love they each felt for their respective wives.

“Eowyn is eager to see you again,” Faramir told his brother as he read the note addressed to him.
As part of his duties, Boromir had travelled to Rohan on many occasions and had become friends with Eomer and Eowyn as well as the late King Theoden and his son, Theodred.

“And I am anxious to reacquaint myself with my sister in law,” Boromir replied with genuine affection for the young woman who had stolen his brother's heart. “And that of my Queen,” he added turning his attention to Aragorn.

“Perhaps that will change when they arrive. I believe the ladies are planning a welcome home banquet, one such has never before been seen in Gondor,” Aragorn added with a glint of mischief in his eye. “So far you have resisted any attempt at such a celebration, my Lord Boromir, even though you deserve such a tribute, so be warned ... Arwen will not be denied in this matter.”