The Ring will come to Gondor
by Varda
Chapter Sixty-two: Let Us Be Friends Again
Boromir looked down at his sword, held ready to
strike at Gimli if the Dwarf attacked him again. He gripped the weapon
so tightly his knuckles were white…
The prince of Gondor shook his head in wonder and sorrow; had he really
tried to kill Gimli? But Gimli had tried to kill him…..raising his arm
slowly, as if in sleep, Boromir placed the sharp sword-tip in the
scabbard and slid the pale blue steel into the black leather sheath.
Then he looked up at Legolas and said in a low voice;
‘I have fought many orcs, Legolas Greenleaf, and men too, and slain
them. Easterlings, men of Harad and others, half creature and half
human. I know when I give the death-stroke, by spear or by sword. I
know that I surely gave it to you….’
Boromir walked towards the Elf. Gimli stood to one side, eyeing the
tall man suspiciously, fingering his axe, ready to spring to the
defence of Legolas. The Elf stood silently, waiting for Boromir.
When the man reached him, he raised his hand to touch the Elf’s
silver-grey tunic. From the flutter of movement in the corner of his
eye Boromir knew the townspeople who had retreated to the walls during
his battle with Gimli were watching intently. The hall was dim; soon,
had the Dwarf not attacked him, the lamps would have been lit. But all
the bustle and routine of the city had ceased while he stood face to
face with Legolas. Time itself stood still…..
In the fading light, Boromir looked closely at the Elf‘s tunic. There,
where he had stabbed Legolas, was a long jagged rent, stiff with dried
blood. Boromir felt a thrill of superstitious fear. He touched the
fabric with his fingers and felt the torn strands of the fine silk
shirt underneath. But then, suddenly, Legolas gripped his hand and
pulled it away.
Boromir started and tried to take his hand back, but the Elf held it
tight, and his strength was beyond even that of the tall, battle-hardy
prince of Gondor. Legolas’s hand was cold as ice, and looking down,
Boromir saw that the bones were visible through the translucent skin.
He looked up at Legolas’s face in horror…
The Elf gazed back into his eyes calmly, and for a moment Boromir
thought he was looking into two deep, dark pools, so black and
expressionless were the Elf’s eyes, that had once been grey and bright
as stars. Legolas’s face too was pale, like the hue of the moon when it
lingers above the horizon on a winter morning. Yet had Legolas lost
none of his beauty. Then the Elf spoke;
‘Do not fear, Boromir. I am not a ghost. I still am Legolas, your companion of the Fellowship…‘
‘That cannot be…‘ replied Boromir, too low for any, even Gimli to hear.
‘I smote you hard, a killing stroke. None rise after taking such a blow of the sword….’
‘And yet I did!’ broke in Legolas. ‘I am alive, Boromir. You do not behold a wraith, although I know that is what you fear…‘
Boromir looked at Legolas in alarm.
‘Can you read men’s minds now too?’
But Legolas merely smiled sadly.
‘Boromir, anyone could read your mind at this moment…’
Boromir shook his head in bafflement. Then he asked;
‘Have you come to seek vengeance for my violence towards you…?‘
The Elf no longer smiled. He said;
‘I did not return from the edge of night to waste time seeking
vengeance. Nothing of that matters to me any more. For what you did, I
freely forgive you, Boromir….’
The man‘s shoulders sagged slightly, and a look of relief came over his face. Legolas nodded and smiled;
‘Now it is I…’ he said ‘..who must ask forgiveness. For I took on
myself the vengeance that rightly belonged to another, Frodo, whether
he desired it or not. For that presumption I have paid, but not with my
life, not this time. Neither may you ever pay for any mistake with your
blood. For now, in my eyes you are forgiven, if it is of any value to
you. Forgive me in your turn…‘
Boromir was mystified.
‘Forgive you?’ he asked ‘Rightly gladly I would, but it is not required
of you. Nothing is required of you, Legolas, save to live, and call me
your friend once more. Do that, and all the swords and pikes of Mordor
can come against us, and I will laugh at them….!‘
At these words, at last, Legolas smiled as he had smiled when Boromir
knew him first, and a light like that on a winter lake shone on his
fair, pale face. He said;
‘Once, long ago before one stone of your city was placed on another,
the Elves and the men of Númenor were close in kinship and love. Let us
two then be friends again, for as long as our blood runs in our veins.‘
Boromir laughed at these words, and throwing his arms round the Elf he crushed him to his chest with a bear-like embrace.
‘Right gladly I swear it shall be so…!‘ he cried. But he noticed that under his fine Elven garments, Legolas was cold as stone…
Boromir let the Elf go and asked, with a serious expression;
‘Legolas, in what realms did you linger when you seemed dead to us? What visions did you bring back…?‘
Legolas gazed for a long moment into the distance as if recalling something, then he held up his hand and said gravely;
‘I may not tell you that, not now or ever, my friend. Enough to tell
you, that our doings and our words will echo in the lives of many who
live after our time is over, even in ages worse than this one.
Everything we do has such meaning…’
‘Strange tidings indeed!‘ said Boromir. ‘What do you counsel us to do, then?‘
Legolas replied with a strange smile; ‘I counsel that we do all we
swore to do at the Council at Rivendell; to help Frodo reach his
destination. After that….‘ Legolas here looked down at Gimli, waiting
and listening with impatience. ‘…even the Elves cannot say…‘
‘Well!’ grumbled Gimli ‘If the Elves cannot say, then let the Dwarves
say! We have spent too much time here in full view of every gawper in
the city; let us away…‘
‘Where to?’ asked Boromir with a smile at Gimli’s impatience.
‘Well…’ said the Dwarf with an exaggerated sigh ‘..before I was waylaid
by you two, I was on my way to see if Sam was any better. He took a
sore hurt in protecting Lady Eowyn…’
At once Boromir’s face grew serious.
‘That is true. I was there! I too wish to visit Sam, Gimli, but I have been told that Frodo is with him…’
Boromir’s voice trailed off into silence; unspoken between them was the
knowledge that it was better that Boromir and the Ringbearer were not
brought face to face again….then Legolas put a hand on Boromir’s arm
and said;
‘Come, Boromir. It makes no difference if Frodo is there or not. You will not betray your oath again…‘
Boromir said in disbelief;
‘Legolas, how do you know?‘
‘Man, I just know….‘ replied the Elf with a smile….
The lamps in the hall, newly lit, were casting a weak, yellow light as
the three made their way to the door of the room where Sam lay, in the
lower halls of the Houses of Healing. Shadows played tricks on the eye,
and the lofty hall with its twisting stone staircase and columned
alcoves seemed to whisper with hidden presences. Gimli glanced over his
shoulder as if he felt someone behind them. But Boromir boldly laid a
hand on the door, twisted the handle-ring, and went in. Gimli followed,
and Legolas entered last. They stopped inside the room, staring round
in horror and amazement……
After they ceased talking, Aragorn and Faramir stood in silence in the
great Hall of Minas Tirith. The last light of evening was streaming
through the high windows, shining on the marble floors and throwing
into high relief the profiles of the stone statues of Kings and
Stewards that lined the central aisle of the hall.
Faramir faced Aragorn, the man who was by right his king, and would
have spoken again. He had many questions he wished to ask….. but just
then came the rattle of the great oaken doors. Both men turned. The
doors opened with a groan and a creak. In the archway, clear against
the evening sun, stood Gandalf, the Wizard, supported by a slight
figure in the dark livery of an archer of Gondor….
Aragorn turned from Faramir and walked slowly towards the door. The
light for a moment dazzled him, and he raised a hand to shade his eyes.
He wondered did his senses play tricks on him; Gandalf had fallen in
Moria, slain by the Balrog who dragged him with it to his death. This
could not be him. But the figure shuffled forward, leaning on the arm
of the archer, and the doors swung shut behind and when the afterglow
of the sunlight faded from his eyes Aragorn saw clearly that it was
indeed Gandalf.
He walked up to the Wizard, astonishment on his face. Gandalf smiled at
him and nodded, and the man reached out and touched the wizard’s robes,
once grey, then white, now faded like funeral weeds of one long dead.
Neither grey nor white, but threadbare and ragged, with the light
streaming through them as if through strands of cobwebs in a tomb
suddenly broken open to the day…. Faramir came up behind Aragorn, who
at last managed to say;
‘I saw you fall, Mithrandir….I saw you die..’
Gandalf stood up as straight as he could, and lifting his hand from the
archer’s shoulder he nodded at Cathach, who stepped away. Then Gandalf
smiled again at Aragorn and replied;
‘I have come back, Estel, for my task is not done. I was not slain in
Moria, but suffered transformation. I was reborn as a White Wizard,
greater by far than than my old self. I was sent back to complete my
errand on earth. …’
Gandalf‘s smile faded. He went on;
‘…but, misled by pity, I have acted unwisely, it seems, and my power
has been taken from me again. Perhaps for a little while, perhaps for
all time if I am judged unworthy. I am no longer Gandalf the White, but
returned to Grey, or even Gandalf without any colour at all…..’
At this Gandalf glanced at Faramir, who bowed his head with a sigh. The Wizard said;
‘Do not grieve, Faramir, that it happened on your account. Wizards are
wiser than men, and my decision was right in my eyes, even at such a
cost….‘
But Aragorn could restrain himself no longer; he rushed forward and embraced the wizard.
‘Gandalf, my old friend, it IS you! What do I care what colour your
garments are? For all my lineage I would be nothing but a forest kern
without your guidance and trust. If I am worthy to be a king, it is
your doing! More than a father to me, welcome back, Mithrandir!’
