He fell into the pit while in the company of the Lady, and he wept, for what – he knew not. As he plunged deeper, every fibre of his body and soul turned to fiery ice; he wished for death, or life – he knew not which. His mind screamed in horror. Further and further he fell.

His heart cried out for help, but his mind knew he was alone. There would be no comfort, no pity. He clawed at the sides of the pit as he fell, but knew it was hopeless. The pit was in his mind and he could not escape it. ‘Father!’ Tears stung his eyes. ‘Faramir!’ The cry of a wounded animal fell from his lips. ‘Mercy!’

He put his hands over his ears, begging the Valar for surcease from the whispers that sliced and tore through him. Yet, they did not stop; they grew louder the more he moaned and cried. ‘Alone! Elbereth, I am alone and doomed.’

A hand touched his shoulder. The fall slowed, then stopped. He opened his eyes. He was no longer on the talan, but in a glade. Aragorn stood close by, watching him quizzically. “Rest, Boromir. There is nothing to fear here in the Golden Wood.”

He shivered, listened, and sighed. The whispers, at the very edge of sound, hid, but his heart heard them. He turned fear-filled eyes to the Ranger.

“There is hope, Boromir. You are not alone, nor is Gondor.”

“Nay. Evil I spoke of when we entered this place. You chided me. Yet, it is here.” His voice fell to a whispered gasp.

Aragorn sat next to him. “I will shield thee, if thou needest that.”

Tears trickled down Boromir’s cheeks. “There is no shield that can protect me.” He stood and walked into the forest.