The Homecoming of Boromir
by Varda
16; The Greatest Danger
‘This is outrageous!’ cried Gimli, bringing his massive fist down on the council table with a shuddering crash.
‘Boromir betrayed the Fellowship, and his oath! He should not be
admitted to our counsels. Let him back into his city, if you will. Find
some chicken coop or pig pen for him to guard. But do not honour him
with a place at the head of our army!’
A tense silence followed the Dwarf’s outburst. Boromir had just
left the chamber, hurrying away with Gandalf to visit his brother
Faramir in the Houses of Healing. When the door closed behind him,
Gimli gave voice to his objections. He turned to Aragorn, his hands
outspread in a gesture of appeal;
‘It is for you to choose in this matter, Aragorn; you are the
leader of what is left of the Fellowship, even more than of this city.
But know this; only evil can follow if you let this traitor back into
our trust!’
Aragorn sat with a pale, sombre face as Gimli finished his rant and
thumped back down on his seat, still muttering to himself. At his side,
his face downcast, Legolas sat in silence, but everyone there knew that
Boromir had wounded the Elf to the point of death, and only by some
strange sorcery had he been brought back to life. Boromir’s attack on
Legolas troubled the chieftains of the West more keenly than any other
of his misdeeds after he took the Ring from Frodo. But for Gimli, it
put him beyond forgiveness.
Aragorn stood up slowly, as if a great weight sat on his shoulders. All faces were turned towards him. He said;
‘If the day should ever come that I rule Gondor as king, I will not
enforce my will against the wishes of the people. And so it will be
now; for my own part, I would welcome Boromir back into the city and
into our army. But others may not feel as I do…’
‘No, I do not!’ said Gimli loudly, rising to his feet again with a look of indignation.
‘Can I remind all here that it was this man who plunged his city –
and our cause – into dire peril. But what was worse, he attacked and
almost slew his companion of the Fellowship, Legolas….’
Gimli indicated the Elf, sitting with a pale and unhappy face at
his side. The Dwarf said no more, but all present felt a cold shiver at
the thought of Legolas’s journey beyond the gates of death.
Then Gimli spoke again.
‘…surely we cannot set such a dire example to our armies by
accepting into our ranks one who broke his oath so grievously? If
you…’and Gimli bowed to Aragorn.’…wish to allow him to fulfil some
duties, let him be left here to guard the city, as Prince Imrahil has
suggested we do not leave Minas Tirith completely unprotected when we
leave....’
Gimli sat down and in the silence that followed, Aragorn said mildly;
‘My friend, do you not see that much has befallen Boromir. Will you not withhold your judgment till his tale is told?’
Gimli turned his face to Aragorn and was about to reply when suddenly Legolas stood up.
‘I have heard enough!’ he cried. ‘Not for my sake will any further
harm be done to the alliance of the West, nor to our Fellowship. Maybe
Boromir does indeed break his sentence of banishment by returning. But
as Aragorn says, perhaps he has cause, and that must be heard before we
can judge him…’
Then the Elf turned to Gimli, sitting glowering at his side. There was a look of appeal on his face.
‘Gimli, friend and comrade. If Boromir had not attacked and wounded
me, would you be so fierce in your opposition to his return to our
ranks?’
Gimli sat with his eyes fixed on the table and his face like
thunder. Legolas waited, and after a long pause, Gimli said in a terse
voice as if the words were being ripped from him;
‘No! It is on account of what he did against you that I object....’
Legolas nodded then looked round at the princes.
‘Well then, it is for me speak of that debt, and I say that it is paid in full. I have no objection to Boromir coming with us. ‘
And he looked at Gimli and said with a sad smile;
‘And you must not on my behalf, Gimli.’
Previously the council, although faced with grave decisions and an
uncertain future, were at least united against a common enemy. Now
Boromir, merely by returning, had thrown allies and friends into angry
conflict. When Gimli sat down again, Prince Imrahil rose to his feet,
raising his hand as if appealing for calm.
‘Lords and princes, and friends...’ he said quietly. ‘Listen to me...‘
The company fell silent. Imrahil said;
‘What Boromir deserves is not a matter I feel I should comment on;
I am not his subject, nor one of his former Fellowship. In times gone
by he was a faithful friend and a valiant and noble prince of Gondor.
But I know…’
And here Imrahil glanced at Legolas and Gimli;
‘..I know that he has fallen from grace. But whether he should be
punished any further than he already has for his misdeeds, is in my
eyes something that should not concern us here, on the eve of a great
battle..’
All eyes were now on the Prince. He took a deep breath and said;
‘An hour ago, we were dismayed to hear Aragorn’s plan to straightly
attack the Black Gates; we argued that it would be certain destruction
for all our armies. Yet we allowed ourselves to be persuaded to this
desperate course of action. Now, however...’
And here Imrahil gestured to Gimli
‘..now some of us would refuse Boromir the right to accompany us on
that last campaign. What was an hour ago a death sentence that we
wanted to avoid at all costs, is now an honour that we would not share
with one who has disgraced himself.’
Imrahil raised his hands in despair.
‘Friends and allies, if we all go into the jaws of death, what does
it matter who dies with us, so long as they are willing to sacrifice
themselves for our cause?’
There was silence. Gimli sat still, his face going from red to
cold, angry white. Aragorn now got to his feet and bowed to Prince
Imrahil, who nodded and sat down. Aragorn looked at all the delegates
and said;
'My heart is with Prince Imrahil. Let us not forget that today’s
victory was won with the aid of those who once broke their oath…’
Aragorn paused, and everyone at the table thought with a shudder of
the Army of the Dead, the Oathbreakers of Dunharrow, roused to fulfil
their obligation to the throne of Gondor. Then he said with finality;
‘Boromir can march with us to the Black Gates....’
Ioreth paused at a low, oaken door bound with iron. She shielded
the wavering flame of the candle in her hand and looked up at Boromir.
‘Your brother is in here, my lord...’ she said hesitantly. ‘He is in a fever, and very ill, even to death...’
The woman hurriedly brushed away a tear. Her round, cheerful face
looked haggard in the flickering light; few among the Sisters had
rested much since the battle.
‘We had hoped the wizard Gandalf could bring Lord Faramir some healing’
Ioreth said, then sighed. ‘but it seems the prince is sick of more than
an arrow wound. Some hurt of the spirit, we think. Certainly, he is
tormented by terrible dreams, more than what a fever usually sends.
Pray you sit with him, Lord Boromir. You might call him back from his
nightmares....’
Boromir nodded, but did not trust himself to speak. He drew a deep
breath, then as the door was opened he summoned strength to prepare
himself for what lay beyond it. He stepped inside, and Ioreth closed it
softly behind him.
This was a small room set aside in The Houses of Healing for those who
were very sick and needed peace. It was a room for the dying, Boromir
realised with a chill on his heart. Clenching his fists at his sides,
he walked forward and raised his eyes to look at figure in the bed.
The room was lit by a single oil lamp that cast a pool of sickly yellow
light on a couch covered by a thick black bearskin. A young sister of
the Healers was asleep on a chair in the corner, her head on her chest
and a sampler of embroidery fallen from her lap onto the rush-strewn
white flagstones of the floor. Her presence unsettled Boromir, as he
had expected his brother to be alone. Ioreth must have forgotten the
girl was there. But Boromir had no desire to wake her. Stealing forward
he reached Faramir’s side and at last forced himself to look at his
brother’s face.
He drew his breath in sharply; Ioreth had not lied. His brother Faramir
had upon him that look that Boromir, a soldier and leader of men, had
often seen before; it was the blue-grey look of those close to death.
Those already half in a world peopled not by the living, but by the
dead, and by visions of a past that was also dead. Boromir felt his
heart crushed as if by an iron hammer.
Suddenly, Faramir moved. He pushed weakly at the heavy fur covering as
if it was too hot, and tossed his head. His lips were moving. Boromir
looked quickly round for some drink and saw a pitcher of water on the
table by the bed. But before he could pour out a cupful, he realised
that his brother was trying to speak. Boromir leaned closer to try to
hear what he was saying. But for all his straining, he could only make
out a few words;
‘Osgiliath is taken...overrun...a captain who will do your bidding...you wish....that I had taken Boromir's place....father!’
The last words were spoken in a voice so low Boromir had to bend
close to his brother to hear them. When he made them out he started
back and shook his head, tears in his eyes. Then Faramir began to
breathe fast and shallow; he had fallen back into the depths of sleep,
and spoke no more.
‘Can nothing be done?’ cried Boromir, looking round. The girl in
the corner woke, jumping to her feet in alarm, but Boromir just shot
her an agitated look and turned and strode from the room, intent on
finding Gandalf.
‘Can nothing be done?’ asked Taise, looking down at Merry where he lay in another room of the Houses of Healing.
Pippin sighed, then patted a seat beside his unconscious cousin’s bed.
‘Sit down, Taise. You look almost as bad as Merry...’
Taise was indeed exhausted after long days of riding and walking. She
smiled gratefully at Pippin and seated herself beside the hobbit, who
was sponging his friend’s face with a cold, damp cloth. Merry was a
strange, yellowish colour and one arm, heavily bandaged, lay outside
the coverlets. The fingers, sticking out from under the bandages, were
dark, as if the limb had been poisoned.
When Pippin had cooled Merry’s face he got up and bustled about the
tiny room, and came back to hand Taise a horn beaker. She stared into
it.
‘Go on, drink it!’ said Pippin ‘They brew very good ale here in Minas
Tirith. Not as good as the Green Dragon...’ Pip’s voice trailed off as
he began to remember the Shire. But a quizzical look from Taise made
him shake himself and hand her a rather stale bannock of bread as well.
‘They are pretty close with their commons in this city’ he said with a
frown. ‘Not like we are in the Shire, where second breakfasts are the
custom. Not to mention elevenses, mid-day snack, lunch, afternoon
break, high tea, dinner and supper...’
Taise held up a hand.
‘Enough! This cake of bread will do very well, Master Hobbit...’
then she gratefully wolfed down the bannock and took a gulp of the ale
and surveying Pippin’s tiny frame she said;
‘Where on earth do you little folk put all that food?’
Pippin drew himself up to his full height, but Taise still looked
unimpressed, so he just sat down again, somewhat deflated. Taise looked
at Merry’s sleeping face.
‘What happened to him?’ she asked gently, then when Pippin hesitated, Taise pointed to Merry’s hand.
’It looks like the colour of a limb that has been snake-bit, or of
a man poisoned by assassins. And yet you say he fell in battle?’
Pippin’s face was sad. He nodded.
‘Yes..’ he replied. ‘..but not in battle with any mortal enemy. My
cousin stabbed a great lieutenant of the Dark Lord Sauron himself, the
one called the Witch King of Angmar...’
Taise raised her eyebrows, and looked with renewed respect and intense interest at Merry.
‘You have heard of this fell lord?’ asked Pippin.
Taise’s face had become stern, and suddenly inscrutable.
‘Alas I have, to the woe of all my people.’ She stopped then, and Pippin went on;
‘My cousin wounded this ....Witch...this lord. Then the Lady Eowyn, niece of King Theoden of Rohan, struck him down. Because...’
And here Pippin turned his bright face eagerly to Taise as he said;
‘..it was said that no living man...’
‘No living man could kill him...’ Taise finished the sentence for
Pippin, who looked strangely at the Easterling girl. She smiled sadly
at Pip and said;
‘Tell me, little shire lord, did you see many Easterlings in this battle where your friend was struck down..?’
Pippin stared at Taise, and his face went red. Taise smiled grimly.
‘Thank you, little one. Your silence speaks more than words.’ She
stood up and ran a hand over her Easterling armour, glittering in the
yellow light of the lamp.
‘Can you find me some other livery, Peregrine Took? I am tired of being everyone’s enemy....’
Pippin jumped to his feet.
‘Of course!’ he said. ‘I know the way to the armoury! Just follow me...’
Then Pippin’s face clouded over. He glanced uncertainly at Taise. She picked up his look.
‘What is it, little one?’ she asked. Pippin went red.
‘Nothing!’ he replied. ‘It is only....I was wondering...how....I mean...’
And Pippin gestured in despair at Taise’s bright Easterling armour. The girl completed his question;
‘You want to know how I came to be in Minas Tirith, me, an enemy in enemy livery?’
Pippin nodded. Taise smiled grimly.
‘I came here with Boromir of Gondor.....’
‘Boromir has returned!’ shouted Pippin, then at once he clapped a hand
over his mouth. But he was too overjoyed to restrain himself, and
taking it away,he said in a hoarse whisper;
‘Boromir has come back? He is alive? Oh that is the most joyful
thing I have ever heard...’ then he added with a slight clouding of his
expression; ‘...unless I should hear that Merry has awakened.’
Taise was smiling.
‘You are happy that your lord has returned?’ Pippin nodded eagerly.
But then he sighed and his face fell. Taise looked inquiringly at him.
Pippin shook his head.
‘Nothing, it is just that....well, Boromir did not exactly leave with
everyone’s blessing. In fact, he was banished for doing something....I
better not say what he did. I'm afraid his return will cause as much
trouble as joy....’
Taise’s nodded and said;
‘That is what I thought would happen. But I told him to return anyway.’
Pippin was gazing at her with a look of confusion on his face.
Taise put a hand on the hobbit's shoulder and said with a grim smile;
‘Sometimes, little hobbit, the place of greatest danger is the only place we have left to go....’
