Tribute to Boromir on the anniversary of his death.
This is just a little something in honor of Boromir and his story teller Linaewen. My poem follows. Hope you enjoy.
Anarelen’s conversation with Boromir
Anarelen sneaks into the room at Linaewen’s, “Boromir,” she whispers.
A figure comes from the shadows. He is much more striking in person. “Who goes there,” comes a low voice from the shadowy figure.
“It is I, Anarelen,” she whispers.
The figure moves into the moonlight, “Yes, I have heard Linaewen speak of you. Come closer so I may have a look.”
Anarelen moved into the light with Boromir. They stand facing one another, each surveying the other.
“You are an elf,” Boromir says though his voice bespeaks of uncertainty.
“Yes,” Anarelen replied looking intently at Boromir’s unsheathed sword.
Boromir steps to the side of Anarelen to get a better look as the light is still low. It is early morning; Linaewen and Mr. Linaewen are still asleep. Anarelen mirrors Boromir’s movement; she will not be taken off guard.
Boromir finally speaks, “you are very short for an elf.”
Anarelen rolls her eyes, “your gift of observation must come from your Gondorian roots.”
Boromir not certain if he has just been insulted replies, “no, I do see the pointy no.., I mean ears.” A smirk came across his face as he is quite pleased with himself. It has been long since Boromir had bandied words with anyone except Linaewen; it was exhilarating.
“If you must know, I am only half-elven. Though you, my friend, not only have the look of Gondor but have the smell of it also.” Anarelen stands with her arms crossed daring Boromir to speak.
“Well, your other lineage must be that of a dwarf,” Boromir shot back.
Anarelen came close to Boromir; her head only coming to his chin, “being short has its advantages; I am the perfect height to cut…” pausing a moment for reflection, “out your heart, if you have one”.
“If you stood but a bit higher from the ground I would cut off your head, ears and all,” Boromir answered his eyes blazing.
“Look here you horn blowing bag of wind, don’t go stealing other character’s words,” Anarelen backed away her hand on her dagger.
The two stood staring at one another, waiting for someone to make their move. Boromir finally spoke, “why have you come?”
Anarelen’s hand left her dagger and her head hung low, “I came to see you. I have promised Linaewen to write something for your death anniversary, and I needed to look upon your face.”
The tension in the room seemed to evaporate. Boromir was touched by her last words, remaining momentarily speechless. The words ‘death anniversary’ hung in his ears; Boromir lowered his head.
“My intent was not to fill you with sorrow. I wanted to write something in your honor that would do you justice.” Anarelen stood looking into the courtyard; she could not bear to look upon Boromir.
Boromir was surprised at Anarelen’s sadness, “why are you sad?”
She turned to Boromir and stepped closer to him, “because you are one of my favorite characters. My heart grows heavy with grief at your passing.” Anarelen’s eyes filled with pools of tears; she quickly turned away not wanting Boromir to see.
“If I am one of your favorites, I would hate to see how you greet someone you do not like,” Boromir said with a smile. Anarelen turned and gave her best smile; she was still quite sad at the thought of losing him.
“So you are going to write something, I have read your other story, ‘Liritar’. It had some decent fight scenes but entirely too much, um, you know,” Boromir began to stammer.
“You mean, romance,” Anarelen suggested her voice and spirits beginning to lift.
“Yes, yes, that stuff. I could hardly get through it to get to the fighting.” Boromir stood and went to the window.
“Then you would prefer I write a fighting scene for you, so we can once again see your skill with a blade.” Anarelen searched him for signs of what he truly wanted.
“Well,” Boromir turned and rested against the couch, he would not meet Anarelen’s gaze, “I guess, well, everyone knows I had not married before leaving Gondor. I was not yet betrothed either, but there is a softer gentler side to me.”
“Yes, we all know how you loved your home. We have heard it in your words.”
“Yes, I love my home, but there was someone long ago,” Boromir spoke his voice but a whisper.
Anarelen came and placed her hand to his cheek, “is that what you wish proud Boromir, that we know you were a complete man, capable in love and valor?” She continued when he did not answer, “Linaewen is doing a tremendous job at telling your tale. I do not think I could add to it,” she said then turned away.
“Yes, of course, I know you are busy with the new tale of Rohan, and that project set in your time,” Boromir’s voice rang of rejection.
“You see much, Boromir, son of Denethor, too much...”
Boromir quickly cut her off, “what was that about stealing other character’s words,” he asked with a smile
“Oh, yes sorry, I got carried away. When you work for Wormtongue his words linger in your mind,” she was glad to make Boromir smile even if it meant thinking of dark times.
“I am truly sorry for your troubles,” replied Boromir.
“It is alright, he will get his in the end. But as for you my friend, time is not why I hesitate to write what you ask; it is my lack of confidence in doing you justice and staying true to your character.”
“I do not question your words; go forward as I know it will be done with a true heart.”
“Then it will be done,” Anarelen came forward, as Boromir stood she kissed him once upon each cheek. “Namaarie, Boromir. Take care of Linaewen and Mr. Linaewen. Just blow that horn if need me. You know how to blow your horn; you just put your lips...” Anarelen stopped at the door, “oops, wrong movie.”
Boromir watched the short elf go, still confused about movies, and horn blowing.
He stood upon the White Tower,
Eyes gazing into the west.
Your face is fair, whispered the
Words in his ears.
Their love was new,
As the dew upon the grass
He told her of his dream,
And how he must go.
She said she would wait,
As the moon awaits the kiss of
The morning sun each dawn.
Their last embrace
Would have to sustain them.
As water sustains earth.
She pledged her love
Until she walked the earth
No more and beyond,
And he the same.
They knew their was no other
For them, but the one that stood
Closing his eyes to the sun,
He could smell the fragrance
Of her once more.
His skin grew cool with
The rising of the moon.
But his heart raged on,
Fueled by the fires of her love.
He stood upon the White Tower,
Captain of the Guard,
I will wait for you, whispered
The words in his ears.