The Ring will come to Gondor by Varda

The Ring will come to Gondor

by Varda

Chapter Thirty-three: Who Killed Frodo?

Encumbered by the archaic armour and heavy black cloak of the Citadel Guard Altach struggled to carry Airdeall out of the tomb of the Stewards. Then she fainted from the pain of the sword thrust in her shoulder. As he tried to hold her up Altach shouted at the Palace Guard standing by watching him;
‘Is there not a man among you who will help me with the lass?’

The ruffianly crew looked at each other in amusement, but two or three of the younger soldiers sheathed their swords and ran forward and helped Altach to bear the now unconscious girl up the stairs to the watchman’s house. A trail of bright blood marked their ascent up the cracked, moss-grown marble steps….

Gradually everything outside grew quiet and the slamming shut of the great black-oak doors echoed away into silence. High overhead fluttered a pair of birds trapped in the dome of the House of Stewards. Boromir and Legolas were alone.

Boromir, still clad in the Steward’s gown of black velvet embroidered with silver thread in the pattern of a tree and seven stars, stood holding the great broadsword he had taken from Denethor’s body. The Elf, mastering his anger, stood by the tomb of Ecthelion, the Elven lance held lightly in his long slender hand, ready for battle…

‘You came here to kill me?’ Boromir repeated in a calm, unsurprised voice. But there was a dangerous gleam in his grey eyes.
‘Why should you want to kill me, Legolas? We are comrades…’

Legolas gave a bitter laugh.
‘You broke the Fellowship, Boromir. But that is not why I came to kill you…’
‘Why, then?’ asked Boromir, his voice growing harsher.
‘Because I took the Ring?’

The Elf gazed at the man then set the long, gleaming spear against the wall and folded his arms.
‘No, Boromir. I do not want to kill you because you took the Ring. That was the risk for everyone in the Fellowship, that it might claim one or other of us…’
‘Then why?’ asked Boromir, bewildered.

Legolas’s voice shook as he answered;
‘I took an oath to kill you when I saw that you had slain Frodo.’
‘I did not kill Frodo!’ said Boromir angrily. ‘I treated him with force when I took the Ring from him, but he got a few bruises and scratches, that was all….’

Legolas smiled then.
‘A few bruises and scratches? Nay, Boromir. You killed the Ringbearer, as surely as if you plunged a dagger into his heart… ‘

Boromir stood shaking his head. Then Legolas said;
‘Many years ago, this city was ravaged by a great plague, was it not?’
‘A plague?’ asked Boromir, even more baffled. ‘Yes but that was years ago, I don’t see what…’
‘Many took the sickness, but lived through it, did they not?’ Legolas went in, ignoring him.
‘Yes..’
‘And after what manner were they, in later years?’ asked the Elf.

Boromir began to see where the questioning was going. He said in a cold voice;
‘They were as the living dead; pale as ghosts, shaking with palsy, weak and sickly till they died, which was not much later than when they sickened…’

Legolas smiled grimly.
‘Well’ he said ‘…even so is Frodo. A creature smitten by a great sickness from which he will never recover. Like the dead he wishes he dwelt among, pale and ghostly and without hope, joy or life. That, Boromir, was your doing. And that is what I have come to avenge….’

To the Elf’s surprise, Boromir laughed.
‘Are you sure you have the right man? The one who is really guilty of killing Frodo? If indeed he is as good as dead’
‘Yes’ snapped Legolas.’You did this, when you took the Ring from him…’
‘No!’ Boromir shouted, making the arched ceiling of the Dome echo and the birds again fly around their circular prison, flapping against the cracked stone walls…
‘Who else, then?’ demanded Legolas.

Boromir raised both hands, as if in entreaty.
‘Think, Legolas, before you judge me. We were placed in the company of one bearing this ring of great power. No-one can stand against it. Yet it was given to a weak and tiny hobbit. Never could he hope to master what he was carrying…’
‘But he did master it!’ cried Legolas ‘..then you took it..’
‘Frodo was strong enough to bear it, but not strong enough to keep it!’ said Boromir. ‘He resisted its power, but could not resist any who came against him to seize it. No hobbit could, and even men, stout and brave, could only do it with difficulty. Isildur himself, with armies at his back, could not keep it in his grasp. Yet a tiny, weak hobbit was expected to hold onto it?’

Legolas was looking hard at Boromir. The Steward said in a calm voice;
‘There is no escaping it, Legolas; we were meant to fail. The Fellowship was meant to fail, and Frodo was meant to lose the Ring. The ones who are guilty of Frodo’s fate are the ones who sent us forth; Gandalf, Elrond and Galadriel…….’
‘This is madness!’ shouted Legolas ‘Don’t you see this is the Ring talking, Boromir?’
‘Perhaps it is!’ the man cried. ‘and ofttimes it has spoken true, although never to our advantage. Have you not asked yourself, why did these great ones not shoulder the task themselves?’
‘They feared the Ring would overpower them, as it overpowered you, Boromir!’ said Legolas.
‘Only they wield such power already that with the Ring they would conquer the world and be even greater and more terrible than Sauron…’
‘That is what they told us, indeed..’ replied Boromir, almost thoughtfully. ‘But is it true?’

Legolas did not answer. His mind was in turmoil. He knew this was madness, yet he searched in vain for words to counter Boromir’s arguments. Suddenly, the world seemed devoid of certainty….then the man said;
‘They could see, even at the Council, how I was drawn to the Ring, how much I wanted it for the protection of Gondor. Yet they let me join the Fellowship and go with you. Does that not strike you as odd?’

Legolas said nothing.

‘And there were others there with ambitions of their own; Aragorn had a claim to the throne, did he wish to use the Ring to gain it?’
‘No!’ said Legolas vehemently. ‘Aragorn’s only care was to protect the Ringbearer and guard him to his destination….’
‘Which was?’ asked Boromir icily
‘To reach Mount Doom and destroy the Ring…’
‘Impossible!’ shouted Boromir. ‘For a hobbit to enter Mordor unseen, pass legions of orcs and climb a mountain of fire and find the crack into which to throw the Ring? You talk of madness? That is the real madness!’
‘It was our only chance!’ cried Legolas. ‘It still is!’
‘It was never a chance!’ retorted Boromir. ‘The ring was sure to escape Frodo, and us too, and find another home…’
Legolas was glaring at Boromir, breathing hard.

‘Don’t you understand, old comrade..’ said Boromir sadly. ‘We were meant to fail…to let the Ring pass on, by one or other of us, to another owner…’
‘No!’ shouted Legolas. ‘The Ring has warped your thoughts, Boromir. This is all delusion….’
‘The fate of the Ring is stronger than us; it cannot be destroyed…’ said Boromir sternly. He took a step towards the Elf, as if trying one last time to persuade him;
‘Legolas, I gave the Ring to my father, and he used it to ruin our city. But when I took it back from him….’ Boromir’s voice faltered and a look of anguish crossed his face.
‘…my father was destroyed. The Ring is mine, I cannot give it up. Fate intended me to have it….’
‘I am not ruled by fate’ spat out Legolas ‘but by my own decisions. And now I choose to slay you. You are past all redemption!’

Suddenly Boromir put his hand into his shirt and drew it out; it hung from its silver chain, shining brightly in the gloom of the Steward’s mausoleum, so small, so powerful….Legolas stared at it for a moment, then said in a low voice;
‘You offer it in vain, Boromir. I am not tempted by the Ring…’
‘Then what drives you on to kill me?’ asked Boromir drily. Legolas shook his head.
‘Not….that. Revenge. Revenge for Frodo…’

But Legolas seemed to be wavering. Sweat gleamed on his face. Boromir said grimly;
‘Revenge is the language of the Ring, not of your people, the Fair Folk. It has reached even you, Legolas Greenleaf…’
‘No, no!’ shouted Legolas. ‘Give me the Ring, and I will give it back to Frodo…’

Boromir laughed then, throwing his head back and laughing till the tears ran down his face.
‘At last you come to it!’ he cried. Then he stopped laughing.
‘You want the Ring for yourself, Legolas…’

There was a long silence. Legolas was pale and his eyes shone with a dangerous light. At last he said sadly;
‘I do not want the Ring, Boromir, and I have never wanted the Ring. It passed beyond the desiring of the Elves many ages ago. Only for Frodo would I take it, but even to give it back to him, you would not part with it. You are forever tainted by it, Boromir. Before we begin our trial by arms, before I kill you, I here bid farewell to the Boromir I knew as loyal comrade and honourable captain. The Boromir I fight today is neither of those….’

Boromir stood in silence listening to the Elf’s words. His face was pale, but not with anger. He seemed to be torn between emotions and made no move as the Elf reached back and again took up the long black-handled spear and stood ready for combat.
‘If we fight, Legolas…’ Boromir said at length ‘it is you who will die, not me..’
‘Maybe…’ replied Legolas, and added insultingly ‘..but you are just a man.’
‘Don’t fight me…’ said Boromir again. ‘You are wounded, Legolas. Your right arm is useless..’
‘I am armed with justice’ shot back the Elf. ‘You are weighted down with lies, and with that murderous trinket of Sauron’s! Guard yourself..’

But before they could engage, Boromir raised the long black-steel sword he had taken from Altach. It was an heirloom of Gondor, made of etched silver and mithril. He said to Legolas.
‘Whatever you say of me now, we are old comrades, and in our last contest you deserve a fair chance. A spear is no good against a sword, especially borne with only one hand. Take this sword, as good if not better than this my father’s broadsword, and let us do battle as equals…’

And Boromir threw down the ancient sword and gave it a kick that sent it skittering across the white stone flagstones to come to rest at the scuffed doeskin boots of the Elf. Legolas bent swiftly to pick it up and hefted it in his hand. Accustomed to fighting with the bow, no sword felt easy in his grip. But it was better than the long cumbersome lance….

He laid the spear aside and gave a slight bow.
‘Very well, Boromir, and I thank you for your last courtesy to an old friend.
Now let us finish this business for all time….’