The Captivity of Boromir by Varda

The Captivity of Boromir

by Varda

13; The Horn of Gondor

Denethor reined in his great dappled grey charger and looked back over his shoulder at his two sons.

'Well now, Boromir and Faramir, this is a chance for you both to show your courage!'

The two young princes, tall for their age but gawky and not yet grown men, urged their horses up beside their father and looked inquiringly at him. All around them the winter forest lay silent and still under a glistening white frost. The morning sun, like an orb dipped in blood, cast a red glow through the gaunt trees. It glinted on the bridle and harness of Denethor's horse, and on the hunting horn that he drew from under his heavy fur cloak and held out in front of his sons.
'Do you know what this is?' he asked them.

The two boys stared at the horn. It was encircled with a wide silver band, and had a silver tip, both dark with age, and it hung from a woven black and silver cord. They had often seen their father carrying the horn while out hunting, but he had never spoken about it before.

Now they sat shivering on their hunters while their father, his breath steaming like smoke in the frozen air, looked from one son to the other with a mysterious smile. He raised the horn and said;
'This is the great Horn of Gondor. Many ages ago, King Earnil the Second of Gondor had a Steward called Vorondil, the Hunter. Far away, on the shores of Lake Rhun, this Steward slew one of the wild kine of Araw. So great was the beast that he had this made from one of its horns. From the time even of the kings it became the custom for the eldest son of the Steward to bear it...'

Denethor here looked down at the horn and ran his gloved hand over it. He went on, seeming almost to be speaking to himself;

'The wild kine of Araw no longer graze in Rhun, and the kings are gone from Gondor. Yet still this heirloom is handed down from father to son in the House of the Stewards of Gondor....'

Boromir gazed at the horn, and a gleam of longing came into his eye. Faramir stared at it and wondered sadly why the wild kine had all disappeared. Then his father pulled the black and silver cord over his head and held out the horn to Boromir.

'Here, Boromir my eldest son and heir to the Steward's chair, take the Horn of Gondor!'

Boromir hesitated, as if he could not believe his luck, then put out his hands, blue with cold, and closed them round the smooth surface of the horn. At once he wanted to put it to his lips and blow till his breath failed. Denethor laughed.

'It is a fine thing, is it not? But you must not wind this horn at any time, Boromir. Only use it to announce your arrival as a prince of Gondor, or to call for aid when you are in great need...'

Sitting beside Boromir on his bay mare Rua, Faramir felt a chill fall on his heart. Just for a moment, he was keenly aware of his place as the younger, and less favoured son. Faramir wondered bleakly would he ever win favour in his father's eyes. But Denethor just looked approvingly at Boromir, smiling with fatherly pride.

Boromir however blushed and glanced sideways at Faramir. Almost forcing himself, he held the horn out to Denethor.
'It is a great honour, father! But I beg you to do justice to this noble heirloom and present it to me in a setting and a ceremony more fitting, when I am older and more worthy.....'

The mounted soldiers who waited at a respectful distance from the Steward and his sons drew in their breath in surprise; no-one crossed Denethor or questioned his decisions. For a moment there was a silence as frosty as the cold forest air. Then the men started at a great roar of laughter from Denethor. Leaning over in the saddle he slapped his eldest son on the shoulder.

'Boromir, Boromir! Never do I cease to marvel at your spirit! A more fitting ceremony? Ever you want to increase the glory of the Stewardship of Gondor. I can die in peace, knowing that no honour due to the Steward will ever be passed over, not while you draw breath!'

Then he gathered up his reins and waved a hand at the huntsmen.
'But you are wrong this time, Boromir. Truly you are worthy to receive The Horn of Gondor, and no place can be more fitting than here, in the great woods of your country, facing a foe just as canny and vicious as any orc....'

At these words both Faramir and Boromir grew tense and looked over their shoulders into the bare trees. Denethor beckoned to a huntsman who came up to his stirrup and bowed.
'Where is the boar?' asked the Steward. The man pointed to a great thicket of blackthorn and alder coppice that sprawled over a wide glade in the forest.
'He is in there, my lord. We beat the forest at dawn, and the dogs chased him into the thorn bushes. We have kept good watch, and he did not come out again.'
'Is he wounded?' asked Denethor. The man shook his head.
'Nay, my lord. He gashed and tossed a few hounds, but took no hurt himself. He is very great...'
and here the huntsman glanced doubtfully at the young princes.
'....and is very dangerous...'

But Denethor waved his hand.
'Away! You have done your duty, and done it well. Now it is for these princes to show their quality, and finish this beast. Get you and your men to stand guard on this side of the thicket. Beat your drums at my signal, and the beast will run out the far side....'

And here Denethor smiled at the two princes.
'...and then, my brave sons, you can deal with him. Hunting is a trial of skill for a soldier. Begone, and take up your positions!'
He looked sternly at Boromir and added;
'Only blow the Horn of Gondor at great need!'

The prince nodded solemnly and he and Faramir turned their horses and rode up the side of the great thorn hedge, out of sight of their father and the rest of the hunt. When they were hidden by the bushes, Boromir slowed his mount and turned to his brother.
'Faramir, I am sorry!' he sighed. 'Yet again father honours me without taking any thought for your presence, or your own worth, which is just as great as mine....'

Faramir smiled and shook his head.
'Don't trouble yourself over it, Boromir...' he said. 'It is only fitting; you are the eldest, and the heir. The Horn is destined for you. Father means no rebuke to me...'
But Faramir in his heart knew that his father lost no chance to show how much more he approved of Boromir than of himself. But he shook off that thought now and leaned over to look at the horn.

'My congratulations on receiving the Horn of Gondor, Boromir! Favourite or not, you had to earn that, my brother. It is very fine, is it not...?'

Boromir was still holding the horn. He raised it and looked it over, pretending not to be impressed. But Faramir could see his eyes shining with pride. He held it out to Faramir.
'Go on, take a look...'

Faramir reached over and took the horn and examined it closely. It had come from a great wild ox, and was elegantly curved and pearly white, except at the tip, where it darkened to ebony. It was burnished smooth by generations of hands, but also scored with many small scratches and deep cuts, as with something that had seen much violent use. The silver band round the rim and the silver cone on the tip were chased in ancient style, but so worn that the decoration was now indistinct. Looking closely, however, Faramir could just discern a pattern of stars and leaves. Nodding with approval he handed the horn back to Boromir. As his brother slung it carefully around his body, Faramir said;.

'It is a wondrous thing, indeed, Boromir, and well have you deserved it....' Then he looked into the depths of the thorn hedge.
'....but what about this big fierce boar?'

Boromir laughed.
'After fending off orcs, a wild boar should easy!' he said, but Faramir shook his head.
'Father never gives us tasks that are easy, Boromir. I say you go round to the far end and take up position there. I will stay here. There is a gap in the thorn bushes, probably a track used by the beast. We will cover any way he might take to escape.'

Boromir, who did not usually like to take orders from someone else, looked at the bushes with a frown. But at last he said;
'You are right; do you stay here, and I will take up position at the far end.'
'Hurry!' said Faramir. 'The drums will start any moment....'

Boromir dug his heels into the glossy sides of his great black charger and it bounded away through the trees, its hoofbeats muffled by the deep cover of fallen leaves on the forest floor. Faramir watched him go in dwindling light. The sun had gone in, and soft flakes of snow were wafting down through the bare branches. Faramir raised his face and felt them brush his skin like gentle fingers. He sighed and looked at the thicket.
'Better get back to the important business of killing....' he thought with resignation.

Faramir drew a long hunting spear from its sheath below the saddle. The weapon had a wide silver band and narrow steel tip. It was an heirloom no less than the Horn of Gondor, and had been used by the Stewards for hunting for many generations. Recently, though, the men of Gondor were too busy hunting orcs to trouble wild animals. Faramir hefted the spear and thought he should have known there was some other motive for this hunt than just killing boars; Denethor wanted to show how well Boromir deserved the Horn of Gondor.

The snow was falling more thickly now, and it was hard to see. The flakes stung Faramir's face and his eyes watered. He looked to his right, but could no longer see Boromir. From the far side of the thicket he could hear drums begin to beat....

Faramir gripped the spear more tightly. It would be better to dismount, but Denethor was not utterly careless of his sons' safety and had forbidden them to face wild boar on foot; it was too dangerous, he said.
'Let the horse take the charge, and you strike from above with your spear...'

Faramir stroked Rua's neck. The horse was restless; doubtless she could scent the boar. Faramir hoped it ran too quickly for him and got away. He would risk his father's contempt by telling him he had lost the quarry...

Suddenly something leaped into the gap in the thicket. Rua started and Faramir raised his spear.

But it was not the boar. Standing still, one slender foreleg raised, a doe stood between the blackthorns, gazing at Faramir with large brown eyes.

Instantly Faramir lowered his hunting spear. He stared at the deer, seeing her light frame trembling as she gazed up at him and past him into the snowy forest, gauging her chances of gaining freedom. Her graceful, silent presence reminded Faramir of what he had been told of woodland Elves.
'Go safely on your way, spirit of the forest...' he said to her '..I will not harm or hinder you..'

After gazing steadily at Faramir for what seemed an age, the deer, almost as if she understood him, stepped cautiously out of the thicket, paused, then with one bound reached the safety of the fern. Another bound, and she was almost out of sight...

Faramir smiled and sat back in the saddle. He was about to put his hunting spear in its sheath when suddenly the Horn of Gondor rang out through the forest, rending the snowy stillness apart.

Faramir tugged Rua's head around so sharply that the mare reared back on her haunches. But Faramir shook out the reins and when she regained her footing he spurred her towards the spot where the horn had sounded.

Snow was swirling thickly now, and it so blinded Faramir that his horse was almost on top of the boar before he saw it.

Faramir reined in sharply, struggling to control Rua and get a better throwing grip on the spear. The boar was just in front of him, in a trampled circle of withered fern. Beyond it was Boromir, just scrambling to his feet, the Horn in one hand and his hunting dagger drawn in the other. Somewhere off in the trees was Boromir's great black horse, galloping away in fright with a long deep gash on its flank. From the leaves and mud sticking to Boromir's cloak Faramir guessed that his horse had reared and thrown him when charged and raked by the boar's tusks.

What was worse, Boromir had thrown his hunting spear and missed; it was lying broken under the boar's hooves. Now Boromir was armed only with his hunting dagger. A smear of blood on his cheek, Boromir crouched ready to receive the charge of the enraged animal.

Faramir came on the boar from behind, but so intent was it on Boromir that it did not hear him. There was blood on its shoulder. Boromir's spear had nicked it, and now it hesitated before attacking again.
'Boromir!' shouted Faramir, causing him to look up. In that heartbeat when their eyes met Faramir saw that Boromir, desperate as he was, had no doubt that now his brother had arrived he would not perish under the tusks of a wild boar....

What happened next took no more than a second. Faramir was holding the spear too close to the butt, so instead of throwing it he set it in rest like a mounted knight and charged the boar. Aware of him only at the very last moment, the creature dodged to the side with a squeal of rage and hooked its great black head at Rua. The yellow, sickle-shaped tusks slashed the air but missed the horse, while Faramir's spear gouged a furrow through the bristles on its shoulder.

It hardly made contact with the beast's hide, leaving barely a scratch, but the beast was startled by Faramir descending on him from behind. At that moment too hounds began to bay on the other side of the thicket, and the boar, scratched twice by spear points and seeing freedom open up suddenly on one side, turned and darted down the track in the fern that the deer had taken. There was a drumming of hooves, and a crashing through the fern, and he was gone.

Brushing the blood from his cheek Boromir straightened up and stared at Faramir as he tried to calm Rua with a gentle hand on her neck. The baying of the hounds was coming closer. Rua settled down and Faramir leaned over and slid from the saddle and walked over to his brother. He stopped then, unsure of what to do. The two brothers looked at each other and suddenly broke out into nervous laughter, and embraced. Faramir nodded at the horn.
'You will get into trouble for blowing that' he said
'...Father said 'at great need'. I don't think he regards a raging wild boar as great need...'

Boromir laughed again, this time heartily. He slapped Faramir on the arm then his laughter faded away. There was a tear on his cheek and he did not speak for some moments.
'And you, my little brother!' he managed to say at last. 'Riding in with lance at rest, like a knight of old...!' He stopped, not able to speak any more. At last he looked down at the horn and said;
'It should have been given to us both, Faramir, or to neither, because you deserve it just as much as I do...'

The moment Boromir heard the crossbow arrow loosed, with that dull, deadly thump, he threw himself across the table and seized Saothar by the tunic to pull him out of the line of fire of the deadly missile.

But Saothar was sitting in a high-backed chair with wide armrests which pinned him in his place. All Boromir could do was pull him to one side. As yells of warning echoed round the hall, the crossbow quarrel flew the length of the feast table and landed with a sickening thud, piercing cloth and chain mail and gouging a bloody furrow in Saothar's shoulder to at last bury itself in the wooden chair back behind him.

All the company had now jumped to their feet and drawn their swords. The Tetrarch's Red Guard rushed forward from where they were stationed along the walls, and at the other end of the table Iarnlaw's Uruk-hai, the Lords of Death, drew their long black scimitars and advanced on the Tetrarch, trapped in his seat by the crossbow bolt. Some of the guests ran to defend the Tetrarch. But others again, the greater part, drew close to Iarnlaw and his Uruk-hai. So well had Sauron succeeded in corrupting the chieftains and captains of the Easterlings....

Boromir released Saothar's tunic and took hold of the shaft of the quarrel. Saothar had gone pale, and his face was twisted in pain.
'Are you hit?' gasped Boromir, pulling desperately at the thick wooden arrow. Saothar shook his head.
'No...just winged...but I can't move!'

At the far end of the table Iarnlaw was calmly reloading his crossbow while one of his Uruk-hai drew a sharp, curved scimitar and charged at them, his yellow fangs bared in a wordless scream. Taise drew her own sword and sprang to meet him, hissing at Boromir;
'Get him free and let us get out of this place!'

But Boromir, strong as he was, could by no means extricate the arrow that pinned Saothar to the chair. As he struggled with it the Uruk-hai covered the distance between them in a few strides and raised his scimitar to strike. But at that moment, wielding her long blade with both hands Taise swung it in a wide arc and in a blur of blood and bright steel the creature's head leaped from its shoulders, bounced onto the table sending dishes and goblets spinning and rolled onto the floor in a welter of blood and wine.

Screams now filled the hall as Saothar's Red Guards engaged the Uruk-hai in combat, and the lords of Rhun joined in as their loyalties, either bought by Sauron or not, impelled them.

Boromir, tired of trying to pull the crossbow quarrel out of the hard wood, released it and stepping back he drew his sword.
'Turn your face away!' he said to Saothar.

The young Tetrarch looked up at Boromir and there was fear in his face; was Boromir going to hack off his arm? He closed his eyes and looked away; he had no choice now but to trust Boromir of Gondor.

Quickly taking aim, Boromir raised his sword in both hands and brought it down with a whirr and a thump, slicing arrow-shaft, cloth and chain mail and nicking flesh to at last shear the crossbow quarrel off just above its tip.

Saothar fell forward on the table, but Boromir was beside him in a moment.
'Are you hurt?' he asked. Saothar clamped a hand on his shoulder to staunch the blood, shook his head and replied through clenched teeth;
'No...no, I'm all right....'

'Let us go, then!' snapped Taise, who was holding at bay two Easterling chieftains who sought to win Sauron's reward by killing the Tetrarch. Two against one, they tried to trap her and get in a stealthy sword thrust but Taise parried them, raised her sword and brought it down on the head of one of the chieftains, neatly cleaving his skull in two. The other scrambled back hastily and in that moment Taise turned and took one of Saothar's arms and Boromir took the other and they made a run for the door of the feast hall.

Iarnlaw had by now rewound the crossbow, and calmly and without haste he raised it to fire again. Between him and the Tetrarch was a milling crowd, swords flashing and men shouting and cursing. But Iarnlaw was not deterred; he coolly took aim, determined to slay his quarry before it escaped.

But in that moment the young captain of the Red Guard, Tuathal, ran after his tetrarch and old comrade Saothar, intending to cover his retreat from the hall by defending the door. The crossbow was released with the same deadly thump, and the quarrel sang across the turmoil of the feast hall, but instead of finding Saothar it buried itself to the fletches in the Tuathal's back.

Saothar was out of the door when he looked over his shoulder and saw Tuathal fall. Pushing against Boromir and Taise he ran back inside the hall and knelt down beside the young man, taking hold of him and calling his name.
'Tuathal! Tuathal! Speak to me....'

But the heavy crossbow arrow had pierced Tuathal's heart. Saothar turned him over into his back and looked into his face, but his friend's eyes had already glazed over and stared at him without seeing. Blood ran from the corner of his mouth.
'Tuathal!' cried Saothar, but before he could say anything more Boromir took him under one arm and hauled him to his feet. Taise took his other arm and they dragged him after them out of the hall.
'Tuathal...!' cried Saothar. 'He saved my life....!'
'I know....' said Taise. 'But he is dead, leave him!'

And half carrying Saothar, Taise and Boromir ran as fast as they could into the dark warren of passages and antechambers that surrounded the hall of the Tetrarch.

Now it was Boromir's turn to be glad that Taise was with them. She knew every twist and turn of this maze of passages and storerooms and led them on without hesitating. Usually these corridors were lit by torches in wall sconces, but now, whether by accident or design, all were quenched, and the three fugitives had to hurry forward in utter darkness. Far behind they could hear the confused noise of battle coming from the feast hall. At one turning in the passageway, where a single tallow lamp threw a sickly yellow glow, Saothar stopped and listened. His face, deathly in the leprous light, was shining with a cold sweat. Boromir looked at him, wondering why he had stopped. Saothar said in a hoarse voice;
'They are killing my guards, the Red Guards. They were my friends and they are killing them all.....'

Taise and Boromir stopped then too, and panting for breath they listened for a moment. Cries of defiance and the screams of the dying could not be entirely muffled by distance. Tears glistened on Saothar's face. Boromir said to him in a gentle voice;
'They were brave warriors, and they did their duty to save your life, the life of the prince of Rhun. Saothar, don't waste the time they bought so dearly, let us hurry from this place!'

Dragging his sleeve across his eyes Saothar pushed himself away from the wall and staggered on down the dark hall. When Boromir put a hand under his arm to support him he shook it off.
'I need no help!' he snapped in a shaking voice. Boromir and Taise exchanged doubtful glances.

After a few more turns of the passage Boromir said to Taise in a low voice;
'Where are we now?'
'Close to the stables' she replied. 'There are horses ready for us, if we can reach them...ah, here we are!'

Even Taise had begun to wonder had she taken a wrong turn. But now she dashed up to a barred outer door and unhitching a latch she pushed it open and they ran out into the cold, clean night air.

Their feet crunched on snow but above the sky was clear and ablaze with a myriad of stars. Taise beckoned the others.
'Hurry! The stables are across the yard!'

Out here the sounds of the fighting in the hall could not be heard, and there was only the quiet of midnight. Dark and silent as a shadow, Taise ran across the snow and unlocked the stable door. Saothar limped after her and Boromir brought up the rear with his sword drawn.

The door swung open with a loud creak. They all froze and listened, but there was no sound from the building behind them, and from the stables, warm and smelling of straw, there was only the rustle and stamp of the horses.

Taise ran down the stalls, ducking to look into each. They could not risk a light, and Boromir wondered how they could find anything, even a horse, in the pitch black, but then Taise emerged from the darkness with three horses in tow.

They were Easterling horses, tough steppe ponies with dun coats and black muzzles. Not large, but sturdy and with long sweeping manes and tails. They were already saddled and bridled, in the Easterling manner. One of them whinnied and Taise put a hand on its nose to quiet it.
'Can you ride, man of Gondor?' she asked Boromir and despite the darkness he knew she was smiling.
'Before I could walk' he retorted.

The horses pulled nervously at the reins. One, a mare with a white blaze on her face, was more placid than the others.
'Here, Saothar, take this one..' said Boromir handing him the reins.
'Lead it out into the yard and mount it there..'
He looked at Taise.
'How will we get out of the palace compound?'
'The gate is shut, but it should be unlocked....I hope..'
'I hope so too...' said Boromir.

Outside the stable Saothar, despite his wounded shoulder, grasped the high pommel of the saddle and swung himself up onto the horse. He was breathing hard with pain, and Boromir put up a hand to steady him, then gathered the reins of his own horse and mounted as well. Taise sprang lightly into the saddle after them and urging her horse to the front she led them down the long narrow yard to the outer gate.

They were crossing the open yard, the horses' hooves deadened by the snow, when suddenly a voice rang out, echoing round the courtyard.

'A nice little scene, indeed. Boromir of Gondor running away from his enemies...'

Saothar's horse, startled by the voice, reared and the young man had to clutch the high saddle to stay on the horse. Taise reached over to steady him, while Boromir looked around for the source of the voice.

Out of the shadows stepped Iarnlaw. In his hand was a sword with a long narrow blade that gleamed pale in the starlight. His mask hid his face, but Boromir knew he was smiling.

On the other side, the gate of the compound stood slightly open. Boromir turned to Taise.
'Take Saothar and get out of here! I will deal with this....'
'You can't defeat him on your own!' Taise hissed back, struggling to control her mount. The hooded and masked figure struck terror into the horses.
'You won't stand a chance...'
'Leave that to me!' snapped Boromir. 'You must get Saothar to Gondor! I promised his father I would bring him home.....'

And I know Gondor is where he belongs, he thought to himself.

In the starlight Boromir could see the indecision in Taise's face.
'But they will kill us in Gondor!' she protested. 'We are their enemies!'

At these words Boromir reached inside his tunic and pulled out what looked to Taise at first like a silver armband. The starlight glinted on it and she saw it was not a bracelet but a band for a hunting horn. It was smooth with age but with traces of engraving. Set in the silver were jagged shards of horn.

'This is all that is left of the Horn of Gondor..' said Boromir. '..it was broken long ago, in a moment of....treachery..'

For a second the shame and grief of that day when he had wrested the Ring from Frodo came back to Boromir. Just after he took it, an orc arrow struck the horn and smashed it to pieces. The horn had saved his life, but had shattered in the moment of his disgrace. He had picked up this band from the ground, and had carried it with him ever since.

Now he put the silver band in Taise's hand and looking into her face he said;

'Tell the men of Gondor that Boromir son of Denethor gave you safe conduct. Show this to the Steward, Faramir. When he sees it, he will believe all you say. He will know that only with my permission could you bear such a thing as the last shard of the Horn of Gondor....'

Iarnlaw was walking towards them slowly. Taise went to pull away but Boromir held her arm.

'Also....tell Faramir....tell my brother that Boromir died with honour...'