Retribution

Boromir opened his eyes and found himself lying on a couch, staring at an impossibly high ceiling with no recollection of how he had gotten there. His last memory was running to Indis’ aid. They had been fighting in the Court of the Fountain. He remembered running his sword into one of Lord Amandil’s henchmen and then...

"Hello, Boromir."

The voice was unfamiliar, yet Boromir trusted it immediately. He raised himself on his elbows to see who had addressed him so familiarly and froze in surprise.

Sitting in an elaborately carved throne was someone he had never seen before. It was a man, or at least, he appeared to be. The man was tall, taller than his ada who was the tallest person Boromir knew. He was dressed in a dark grey ankle-length velvet tunic with three-quarter sleeves trimmed with blue-grey squirrel fur. Underneath he wore a grey figured watered silk shirt. Over all this was a black surcoat upon which was embroidered a tree in silver thread. It reminded Boromir of Gondor’s emblem of the White Tree, except this tree had leaves. The man’s blue-black hair was braided somewhat strangely, not at all like the Rohirrim, with various gemstones and beads sparkling in the light that was nowhere and everywhere. Boromir wasn’t sure he approved. On the man’s head was a circlet with a large ruby cabochon set within silver-wrought flames.

It was only as he sat up that Boromir realized that he himself was dressed formally in his Guard of the Citadel uniform and that surprised him. Ada only made him wear it whenever he had to attend a boring court function or feast. He looked at the strange man sitting patiently on his throne and blinked as memory slowly began to return. A look of shock spread across his face as he struggled off the couch. "Faramir!" he nearly screamed. "Indis!"

Námo, Lord of Mandos, was out of his throne immediately, taking the boy in his arms. "Hush, child," the Vala said. "All is well."

"Faramir!" Boromir cried, struggling in Námo’s embrace. "I have to save Faramir!" He was crying now, tears of shame and frustration. Námo merely picked him up and went back to his throne, cradling the weeping boy in his arms.

"Faramir is safe, Boromir," he said gently. "As is Indis. Do not fear for them, child. All is well, I promise you."

The warmth of the Vala’s words and the sense of security Boromir felt in Námo’s arms helped to calm him enough for him to realize where he was. He struggled out of Námo’s embrace, feeling embarrassed. Námo merely smiled as he allowed the child to leave his lap and stand uncertainly before him. Boromir took a glance about the chamber, wondering what was happening and who this stranger was.

"Wh-where am I?"

"You’re in the Halls of Mandos, Boromir," Nämo said gently. "Do you know what they are?"

Boromir nodded slowly, his eyes going wide. "I’m... I’m dead, aren’t I?" he whispered fearfully.

Námo nodded. "Yes, child. In the Outer World your body is even now being taken along the Rath Dinen to its final resting place in the House of the Stewards."

Boromir swayed slightly as the shock of the revelation hit him and Námo took his arm to steady him. The boy looked at Námo with some uncertainty. "I... I don’t feel dead."

Námo smiled. "That is because my presence lends your fëa the sense of solidity that your hröa once knew."

"Wh-who are you, sir?"

Námo ran a gentle hand through Boromir’s hair. "Do you remember your lessons about the Valar, child, and the stories your ada told you about the Doomsman of Arda?"

Boromir nodded.

"Well, I am he," Námo said. "I am Lord Námo, whom many call Mandos."

Boromir found himself slowly backing away, a look of horror on his face. Námo let him go, and the boy suddenly turned and ran, slamming into the couch and scrabbling on the floor before picking himself up and running again, though where he thought he could run to he did not know. He only knew he wanted to get away. He couldn’t be dead, he couldn’t. He was the Ruling Steward... Ada was counting on him to be there for Faramir and protect his little brother from bad people like Amandil. He couldn’t be dead.... if he were dead he wouldn’t be able to protect his brother... he had to find Faramir.... he had to....

"Stop, Boromir," came Námo’s voice, and it seemed to be coming more from inside him than behind him. The voice wasn’t loud or even angry, yet Boromir found himself stumbling to a halt, weeping in earnest now. He felt rather than saw Námo come behind him and take him by the shoulders.

"There is nowhere to run, child," Námo said quietly. "You cannot protect Faramir now. He is beyond your protection, but not beyond Eru’s. Accept that your part in protecting your brother is over and you have to let Faramir go."

"B-but he’s too little.... he doesn’t have anyone else," Boromir cried.

"He has Indis and Théodred and Éomund," Námo countered. "And one comes from the north who will bring him aid, as well." The Vala turned Boromir around and knelt before him, his expression kind and compassionate. "I know this is very frightening and confusing for you, but you’ve been very brave and I need you to be brave for just a little longer. Will you do that for me... for Faramir?"

"Wh-why do you need me to be brave?" Boromir asked, trying hard to stop his tears. His ada would be very disappointed in him if he could see him now. He wondered vaguely, now that he was dead, if he would see his ada again... and nana! That thought made him gasp with anticipation. Would he see his nana?

Námo smiled. "In due time, child," he said, standing, his mien turning grave. "In due time thou shalt be reunited with thy adar and naneth, but there is a task I needs must ask of thee, Boromir son of Denethor of the House of Húrin, Twenty-seventh Ruling Steward of Gondor."

The formality of the Vala’s language and the use of his titles brought Boromir up short and he found himself straightening, his expression (if he could have seen it) one that had often graced Denethor’s face when he was being the Steward of Gondor and not his beloved Ada. He replied in equally formal tones. "What wouldst thou have of me, my lord?"

Námo nodded at the boy in approval. "Come, I will show thee," the Lord of Mandos said and with a gesture ushered the boy towards a door that Boromir was sure had not existed before that moment. Boromir swallowed nervously, but allowed Námo to guide him. They left the chamber and walked along a corridor that seemed to him to stretch into eternity, for there seemed to be no end to it. At last, they came to another door, though Boromir was surprised to see that there was no handle with which to open it. Námo knelt down so as to be able to gaze directly into the boy’s eyes.

"Listen to me very carefully, child," he said, brushing a gentle hand through Boromir’s unruly locks. "You were not the only one to die that night, as I think you know." Boromir nodded, wondering where Lord Námo was going with this. "Beyond this door is one whom you know, one who did you a great injury. I am the Ordainer of Fate, and it is my task to usher the Children of Men to their final destiny, which lies beyond the Circles of Arda. I am not your Judge, for that right belongs to Another, but sometimes I am enjoined to act in Justice when one of the Secondborn commits heinous acts against the innocent."

Boromir gave Námo a confused look.

"Remember your lessons, child," Námo said with a smile. "Who are the Firstborn?"

Boromir’s eyes widened. "Elves," he answered. "Then the Secondborn are... Men?" Námo nodded, standing again.

"Yet it is not my place to judge any of the Secondborn," Námo continued. "That is your task, Child of Ilúvatar."

"Mine?" Boromir asked, his voice nearly squeaking in surprise.

"Yours," Námo said. "The injury was done to you. You are the one to judge."

"Bu-but I’m just a... a child! How can I judge anyone?"

"You are the Twenty-seventh Ruling Steward of Gondor, Boromir. As Steward, it is your duty to judge wrong-doers."

Boromir looked down at his feet. "But I’m dead," he whispered, sounding somewhat forlorn. "I’m not Steward any more, Faramir is. And... and I’ve never had to judge anyone before."

"Yet, you have watched your ada and Thengel King be judges when necessary, have you not?" Námo asked encouragingly. Boromir looked up and nodded. "Then you must remember what you have learned from them and do the best you can."

Boromir gazed into Lord Námo’s amaranthine eyes and found there support and comfort and... love. The depth of love that Boromir felt from the Lord of Mandos at that moment left him feeling stunned and he could only nod.

"One more thing, child," Námo cautioned him before allowing the door to open. "Nothing can hurt you anymore. Whatever happens, keep that thought ever present before you." Then Námo willed the door to open and the two of them stepped through.

Boromir found himself in a small chamber, dimly lit. There was nothing in the chamber, no chairs, no couch, yet it was not empty. Standing before a tapestry that Boromir could not quite make out was a man. There was something about him that struck a familiar chord in Boromir, a chord of fear, distrust, and pain. He faltered in his steps and looked up at Lord Námo, who was looking at the man.

"Amandil," Námo said quietly and Boromir gasped and started to back away in horror, but was stopped by Námo putting out a hand and resting it against his back.

The man slowly turned away from the tapestry, his expression somewhat blank, as if he were in a dream. He blinked several times before his eyes focused on the Vala and he quailed, taking a step back, but then he espied Boromir and his expression turned cruel as he sneered.

"At least you are dead as well, little man," he said and Boromir wanted to take a sword and thrust it into the man’s hateful, ugly face. "In that much, my master has succeeded."

"Wh-what do you mean?" Boromir whispered, stealing a glance at Lord Námo. The Vala gave him a look that was not at all comforting, yet, Boromir trusted it, trusted it more than the poisonous words of the traitor standing before him.

"It matters not," Amandil said with a leer. "With you out of the way, your stupid little brother will be easy pickings. Even Théoden King won’t be able to save him from my master."

"You’re lying!" Boromir suddenly screamed and started towards the man who began laughing cruelly, but Námo held him back and the boy forced himself to stifle his sobs.

The Lord of Mandos stared at the Man who had by then stilled his laughter in the face of the implacable silence with which the Vala enveloped them all and he began to look everywhere but at Námo. The Vala’s expression did not soften. "It matters not what is happening or not happening in the Outer World, Amandil son of Narmacil. You should be more concerned with what is happening here and now in this chamber."

"And what is that?" the Man sneered, though there was no force to it and his eyes held a trace of unease and fear.

Námo smiled and it was not a pleasant one. "Judgment," he said with great finality and suddenly two thrones appeared. One was the same throne Boromir had seen Námo sitting in when he first awoke in Mandos, the other was smaller and Boromir gasped. Except for its size it could be the Steward’s throne in Minas Tirith. Boromir gave Lord Námo an enquiring look as the Vala took his own seat and the Lord of Mandos nodded encouragingly. Boromir swallowed nervously as he sat down, feeling suddenly small and unimportant and... yes, he admitted to himself, scared. He suddenly wished his friend, Théodred, were there. Théodred would make some comment that would set Boromir laughing and he would feel better. Right now he just felt... young.

"And who are you to judge me?" Amandil asked.

"Oh, I am not your judge," Námo said serenely. He nodded towards Boromir. "The Ruling Steward of Gondor will judge you, as is only mete."

Amandil stared at Boromir who did his best not to squirm. The boy remembered the ugly and dangerous look in the man’s eyes and wished very much that his ada were there. Amandil threw back his head and laughed. "I see no Ruling Steward here, only a puling brat whom I should have killed along with his stupid brother."

Boromir suddenly felt anger, cold and implacable, fill him and he wondered at that. His anger was not for him, but for Faramir. He remembered the meeting with his brother and how their captors would not allow them to come close to one another. "What did you do to him?" he asked through clenched teeth. "What did you do to my brother?"

Amandil took a step forward, sure of himself before the boy. "Only what that son of a cur deserved. You at least showed some intelligence in not defying me. Your brother was not so smart and for that he suffered."

"What did you do to him?" Boromir asked again, his voice strained. He remembered the white, frightened face of his brother and he wanted to be sick, but didn’t think it was allowed. Besides, he reflected, he was dead. You couldn’t be sick if you were dead, could you?

Amandil refused to answer, and merely sneered at the boy. Lord Námo then spoke, addressing Boromir. "Faramir was physically abused, even as you were, child, but his injuries were more severe. Amandil and his men were not kind to your brother. They enjoyed tormenting him and frightening him."

"Why?" the boy asked. He could not understand. His ada had sometimes chastised him or Faramir for being naughty, but he had never punished them to the point where either boy feared their father. Denethor had been loving and kind to his sons and Boromir suddenly missed the feel of his ada’s arms around him. He struggled not to cry.

"Answer him," Námo said coldly and Amandil began to feel fear. It was not the fear he had felt when he thought his gambit to take the Steward’s throne had failed. This was a different kind of fear, older and more visceral. He swallowed noisily and found himself answering in spite of his best efforts to the contrary.

"Because it amused me to see one of Denethor’s puling brats squirming on the floor like a whipped cur."

The utter cruelty and the look of pleasure on the man’s face was almost too much for Boromir. Never had he encountered such willful cruelty in another and a cruelty directed, not towards those who could best protect themselves, like Éomund or even Indis, but towards children. Boromir did not know what he was to do or say in the face of such evil. He turned pleading eyes towards Lord Námo, who shook his head.

"Yours is the right of Judgment, son of Gondor," the Lord of Mandos proclaimed gravely. "I am merely here, in Eru Ilúvatar’s name, to stand witness to whatever judgment is meted out."

Boromir swallowed nervously. "He’s already dead, lord," he said in a voice that was full of doubt. "What further punishment can he suffer?"

Námo stared at Amandil and there was something in the Vala’s eyes that caused the Man to crumble to the floor in abject terror, yet Námo never made a move towards him. "He can be made to experience what you and your brother suffered, what all who fell within his power suffered for his greed and hatred towards the House of Húrin."

Boromir raised an eyebrow at that. "Truly?"

Námo nodded. "If that is your wish, child." He turned his gaze on the boy and something dark welled up within Boromir, something he did not recognize and which made him feel sick. He ignored it as he gave Námo a nod.

Námo stared at the boy for a moment, then sighed and Boromir wondered if he had somehow failed in some test. Before he could rescind his decision, though, Lord Námo stood and faced the still cringing Amandil, his expression stony. "Thou, Amandil son of Narmacil, didst betray thy oath unto Gondor and her rightful Steward in that thou didst conspire against Denethor and by thy betrayal encompassed his death." Námo’s voice was cold and unforgiving and Boromir felt faint at the sound of it. Amandil simply looked sick. "Thou didst also enjoin others in thy betrayal," the Lord of Mandos continued with merciless finality, "willfully and gladly inflicting abuse upon innocent children and allowing others to do the same. And these deeds were unlawful, whether of Ennorath or not of Ennorath. Therefore this doom is made: thou shalt suffer the pain and terror of all those who fell within thy grasp, from the least to the greatest, with the length of thy suffering determined by thee and by thee alone. When thou hast come to repentance of thy deeds thy sufferings will cease, but only then. In that time take counsel with thyself, and remember who and what thou art." He paused for a moment and then Boromir heard him whisper, "Valar valuvar."

Silence followed those words for a space of three breaths and then Boromir saw Amandil’s eyes widen. Suddenly the man threw himself on his back as he screamed and screamed again, writhing on the floor. Námo looked at him dispassionately for a moment then turned to Boromir, who stood rooted in deep shock. "Come, child," the Lord of Mandos said quietly, taking the boy’s arm and leading him away. The two thrones faded from sight and only Amandil was left in the room. As the door shut behind Námo and Boromir the man’s screams were cut off. The silence was almost unbearable. Boromir watched as the door itself faded away, leaving nothing but a blank wall. He looked up at Námo, his expression fearful.

"The door will reappear when he is ready to leave," Námo explained, his expression softening. "You did well, son of Gondor."

Boromir shook his head, looking down at his feet. "I failed," he rejoined, his voice tinged with regret and sorrow. "I... I do not think I would have made a very good Steward. Ada wouldn’t have done what I did."

"Are you so sure of that, iôn nîn?"

Boromir turned in surprise at the sound of the familiar voice, his expression brightening to glad surprise. "Ada!" he nearly screamed as he ran into his father’s arms. Denethor took his eldest son into his embrace and kissed him, rocking him gently as the boy suddenly began to weep.

"I’m sorryimsorryimsorry..." Boromir said.

"Sorry for what, iôn nîn?" Denethor asked as he continued holding his son in his arms.

"I... tr-tried to be good... b-but... he hurt Faramir and... and I hate him," Boromir stammered into Denethor’s chest.

For a moment Denethor simply rocked the boy in his arms, gazing serenely into Lord Námo’s eyes, a small smile on his face. Boromir did not see the love that flowed between Vala and Man, yet he somehow felt it, for his weeping slowed and he felt himself drifting, calm and no longer afraid. He had been bad, he knew that, but his ada was here to make it all right and that was all that mattered now.

"I want you to listen to me very carefully, Boromir," Denethor finally said, speaking softly. "You are a child and you are not expected to act as anything but a child. You are also a Steward of Gondor and you are expected to act accordingly. You sat in judgment against a traitor and you passed sentence on him. If we were in Gondor, Amandil would even now be swinging from a rope and he would still be dead. His punishment is not your responsibility. Your only task was to judge and to pass sentence. He only brought it on himself."

"B-but... I wanted him to suffer... I’m glad he’s suffering," Boromir protested, pulling out of Denethor’s embrace enough to look up at his ada. "I know I’m not supposed to wish people ill, but..."

"Hush now, child," Denethor admonished, placing a finger on the boy’s lips.

Boromir turned his head to look at Námo. "You’re disappointed in me, aren’t you?" he asked.

Námo raised an eyebrow as he gazed at the lad. "No, Boromir, I am not disappointed in you."

"B-but... you looked at me and... and sighed...." Boromir exclaimed.

"Because I grieved for the innocence I saw forever lost," Námo said sadly. "I sighed, for I would have spared you the necessity of having to judge Amandil, child. You should never have had to endure such a trial until you had come to a Man’s estate."

"You don’t think I’m... I’m bad?" Boromir asked hesitantly, trying to understand.

Námo smiled and knelt before the boy. "No, Boromir. I do not think you are bad. I think you are a very brave young man and I am very proud to have met you, son of Gondor." He leaned forward, and taking the boy by the back of his head, kissed him gently on the brow. He then released Boromir and stood, giving father and son an appraising look.

"Now it is time for you to leave the Circles of Arda, my children," the Vala said and there was an echo of bells in his voice.

"But I want to wait for Faramir," Boromir protested.

Námo shook his head. "Faramir will not come here for some time yet, child. You cannot wait for him here, but you can wait for him on the other side, and... your naneth waits as well." This last was said with a wry look. "I have been told by those in the know that making one’s naneth wait is not a good thing."

Denethor chuckled at that and ruffled Boromir’s hair. "Lord Námo is correct, iôn nîn. We don’t want to keep your naneth waiting any longer than necessary. Faramir will follow us when it is his time, never fear."

Boromir turned uncertainly to Námo. "He’s... all right, isn’t he? Faramir is all right?"

Námo placed a comforting hand on the boy’s head. "All is as it should be, child, with thee and with thy brother. Do not fear for Faramir, for while he is beyond thy protection, he is never beyond Eru’s. Remember that and have faith."

Before Boromir could respond a Maia appeared beside the Lord of Mandos wearing a white robe and black surcoat with an emblem of the Sun-in-Eclipse embroidered upon it. Námo gestured to his servant.

"This is Maranwë. He will lead you to where you must go." Then Námo lifted his hand in benediction. ""Namárië tenn’ Ambar-mett’ ar iEnvinyatië Ardo. May you know joy."

Denethor bowed to the Lord of Mandos and Boromir echoed him. Denethor then put out his hand and Boromir took it gladly. Father and son followed the Maia, disappearing into the mist that suddenly appeared all around them. Soon they were out of sight.

Námo nodded to himself in satisfaction then turned his attention to the hidden door, willing it to open. He stepped back into the chamber where Amandil now lay silent in the middle of the floor, staring at nothing, pain etched across his ugly brow. Námo stood over the Man and gazed at him dispassionately. Then he sat down on the throne that appeared behind him and smiled.

"Now Amandil," he said conversationally, steepling his fingers, "you and I are going to have a little chat."

Amandil’s gaze shifted towards the Vala and something in Námo’s eyes made him whimper and try to crawl away and then he was screaming again. Námo sat back and waited. Eventually the Man would stop screaming and then Námo would render true retribution against him. With patience Amandil son of Narmacil might eventually come to repentance, though Námo had his doubts. Still, he was in no hurry. After all, there were all the Ages of Arda before them both....

****

Fëa: (Quenya) Spirit, soul.

Hröa: (Quenya) Body.

Ennorath: (Sindarin) Middle-earth.

Valar valuvar: (Quenya) "The will of the Valar will be done".

Iôn nîn: (Sindarin) My son.

Namárië tenn’ Ambar-mett’ ar iEnvinyatië Ardo: (Quenya) "Farewell until World’s-end and the Renewing of Arda".

Notes: The ruby is considered the most powerful gem in the universe. It is a symbol of royalty and it gives the wearer the ability to see things in a true and correct manner.

In My Sword Sings, with Denethor's death, Boromir becomes the twenty-seventh Ruling Steward even though he does not officially take office prior to his death.

Some of the words of Námo’s doom upon Amandil are taken from the doom spoken against Fëanor at the time of his exile to Formenos. See The Silmarillion, "Of the Silmarils".

On the use of ‘Retribution’ in the title: The word retribution has several related meanings, but most people probably associate it with "vengeance" and may have objections to the use of this word as a theme for this story because of its negative connotations. Yet, it also means "justice, recompense, redress, satisfaction" and even "reward". In writing this story I have kept the "justice" meaning of the word in the forefront of my intent in describing the confrontation between Boromir and Amandil. I hope that I have succeeded. My thanks to Rhyselle for helping me to clarify my thoughts on this subject.