Chapter One – Awakening

Boromir lay still, willing his senses to return. He heard sounds, remembered sounds, but his mind felt addled. He could not understand what he was hearing. He sucked in a bit of air through his nose, willing his body to remain still, in case the enemy lurked about. His eyelids, heavy and protesting against his will, lifted. Sky, so blue it hurt, filled him with a giggling sense of joy. He could not remember the last time he felt joy. Tears spilled.

“I see you wake. Glad am I that you return to us. I feared you lost.”

Boromir turned towards the mellifluous voice. “Clearly you are an Elf, for I have only heard such beautiful tones when in the lands of Elves.”

“Are not the ears enough to convince you?”

The Elf that sat next to him smiled and Boromir’s heart lifted further. “Can you tell me where I am?”

“Do you know the name, Edhellond?”

“I do. But it has long been bereft of Elves, though my brother once swore he saw one of your kind here twenty or more years ago.”

“It was I and well I remember Faramir. He is well?”

“I know not.” Boromir felt the tug of despair fight against his new-found joy. “I have not seen him for nigh unto a year.”

“Here. Take a sip of this. Your mind wanders yet.”

“Is that what you call this sense of discomfiture? I call it addled.” He laughed. Surprise filled him. The laughter came from deep within. It felt good. “Cardinals!”

“I do not understand,” the Elf said.

“The sound. I did not recognize it, at first. I hear cardinals.”

“They love this valley. We are beset by them. If you would like…” The Elf stood and reached into his tunic. He pulled out a leaf-wrapped package. Opening it, he crumbled the enclosed biscuit and strew the bits before him.

Within a heartbeat, the glade filled with the reddest cardinals Boromir had ever seen. They swooped upon the crumbs with alacrity. Boromir’s smile broadened. “Thank you.”

His whispered words were heard and acknowledged with a bare bob of the Elf’s head.

The crumbs, eaten quickly, disappeared. The cardinals flew off, but their singing remained as they perched in the nearby trees.

Boromir leaned back in the cot and sighed. After a moment, his brow furrowed. “Am I dead? I remember arrows and Orcs -- and friends bidding me farewell.”

“You are not dead, though I cannot heal your wounds. My scouts found you at the mouth of the Great River. They brought you here for you were in a boat of Elvish-craft. Only an Elf-friend would be sent on his last journey in such a craft.”

“My last journey. So I am to die, here in Edhellond.”

“I pray not, Boromir. There is some magic here in this valley. Only the Valar know how or why. Those who come here do not die. However,” the Elf paused, “you cannot leave.”

“You would hold me against my will?”

“Nay. You would die if you passed through the mists that lead to the lands of mortal men.”

Boromir closed his eyes, contemplating the Elf’s words. “Can mortal men enter here and leave? If they suffer not from deadly wounds?”

“You think of your brother? Hoping you might see him again?”

“I do. Have you rummaged in my mind?”

The Elf’s delightful laugh filled the glade. “You are transparent when it comes to your thoughts. They spill from your mind and I force myself not to listen.”

Grinning as his face reddened, Boromir tried to sit up. Pain lanced out from his chest. His breath hitched. “Still wounded, though happy. It is a position I have not been in before.”

“The time you saved Faramir from death at the Great River. You felt it then.” The Elf broke off a bit of grass and chewed on it.

“How do you know these things?”

“As I said, your thoughts spill from your mind, though you would stay them.”

“I care not if my love for my brother shines forth. He is dear to me and my heart saddens at the thought of never seeing him again.”

“You will. Mortal men come and go here. It is only because you are mortally wounded that you cannot leave. I cannot send for Faramir at this time, Boromir. The battle for Middle-earth continues though you are no longer a part of it.”

“Aragorn! Merry! Pippin!” Boromir’s breath hitched. “The Ring. Does Frodo yet carry the Ring?”

“He does. I sense he draws near to his destiny.”

“Then I am glad. Frodo yet lives and that is a good thing. I…” Boromir blushed. “I tried to take It from him. I fear I might have killed him to acquire It.”

“Others have done worse.” The Elf placed a hand on Boromir’s arm. “A pawn does not know he is a pawn. You did what Frodo could not do. Decide his path for him.”

“The poor little thing. He was so frightened. I can see his eyes as I attacked.” Boromir shivered. “I cannot soon forget my actions, pawn though I may have been. But pawn to whom – the One we do not name or the Valar?”

“Does it matter? Your part in that story is completed. Rest a little, Boromir, and then join me for supper.”

Boromir could not disobey such a gentle order. His eyes closed of their own volition, but his ears listened to the song of cardinals. 

Chapter Two – Awareness

He smiled, opening his eyes, luxuriating in the sweet sound of cardinals. He sniffed and closed his eyes, hoping to catch the scent. Yes. It was the scent of daffodils filling the air, the kind of fragrant ones his mother kept in her garden. For a moment, he was overwhelmed with joy. He lingered in it, then opened his eyes. The sun appeared to be in the same place. Boromir sat up, aware the pain in his chest was lessened. He swung his legs over the cot and tried to stand but his mind still felt addled as dizziness won. He lay back on the cot and sighed.

“Another day and you will be walking.”

Boromir’s eyes flew open. “You return?”

“Why would I not? You missed the evening meal. I feared you would sleep another day away.”

“What?”

“The sun has set and risen twice since last we spoke.”

Boromir bit his lip. “I did not know. How long…” He breathed in. “How long have I been here?”

“Only a few days.” The Elf’s laughter filled the glade. “You are a stubborn man and continue to fight the healing this place would give.”

Boromir laughed. “I have indeed been called stubborn. More times than I care to remember. I will fight the urge to fight so that I may be healed.” Boromir watched as the Elf’s face fell.

“You will never be healed enough to return to your home, Boromir. Remember that. Ingrain it in your heart that you not be filled with despair. When you are able to walk about, and laugh without pain, the urge to leave will fill you. Then, truly, your fight will begin. I do not know what happens to those who try to leave. The mists cover them. There are screams.”

The Elf shuddered and that alone was enough to frighten the wits out of Boromir. “I will fight that urge.”

“And I will help you. When the battle for Middle-earth is over, we will arrange to have Faramir brought here so that you might visit. I do not believe he will be able to come quickly. He will have other duties.”

“Steward.” Boromir whispered the title. His brow arched. “Yes. My father will step aside. He could not live under Aragorn’s rule. But Aragorn would be a fool to name other than Faramir.” Tears welled. “My entire life, I have been groomed to be Steward. To follow in my father’s footsteps. I did not think I really wanted it, but now that it is lost to me, I find I sorrow. Mind you,” he smiled up at the Elf, “I am happy for my brother. He will make a good Steward. But I am sad for myself. What will I do here? In a place made for Elves?”

“You will heal and then we will talk. Might you be ready for a bit of porridge? It is filled with blueberries.”

“Might you have another biscuit? I would share this day with the cardinals.”

The Elf laughed and produced one. He crumbled it and the birds came, filling the air with their song.

“Your fingertips are hard, yet you have not the shoulders of an archer.”

“I am a harpist.”

“And so your name is?”

“Gannellas.”

Boromir smiled. “A joy-filled harpist.”

“You speak Sindarin well.”

“I learned it at my mother’s knee.”

“Sindarin blood flowed through her. I sensed it in Faramir, when we met. You have a smatter of it yourself.”

Boromir sighed. “Only a smattering? No wonder Legolas looked at me with disdain.”

Gannellas’ shoulders shook. “Thranduil’s son? His blood is not the purest. A smidgeon of Noldor.” The Elf held his nose.

Boromir laughed out loud. “I should have said much the same to him. I miss him. He is with Aragorn?”

“I believe he is. We are not aware of everything that happens in Middle-earth. I only know of Frodo because he carries It. It gives off an aura.”

Boromir shuddered. “Forgive me. The thought of It makes my blood run cold. I could not resist Its voice.”

A cardinal lighted at the foot of Boromir’s cot. It gave a sweet warble.

“Vána sends her love.”

Another shiver ran down Boromir’s spine. “I have not spent much time on obeisance to the Valar. She would still love me?”

“She is wife to the Huntsman, he who carries the Great Horn. As the carrier of the Horn of Gondor would he not take some interest in you?”

Boromir lay back. “I am weary. I cannot take in all you would share with me.”

“Sleep again, Boromir. I will be here when you wake.”

A low rumble shook the ground. Boromir’s cot swayed. He clutched the sides, eyes opened wide. “What is it? There are no volcanoes here,”

“I know not.” The Elf closed his eyes and turned eastward. A smile lit his face. “There is a great disturbance in the East. Can you not feel the wind?”

The cardinals’ song grew louder, triumphant.

“It is done.” Gannellas looked with wonder at Boromir. “It is destroyed.”

Boromir threw his arm over his face and sobbed.

When he composed himself, he found the glade filling with Elves. More than Boromir had ever seen in one place. He looked with wonder upon them. All kinds, he noted, some with red hair, some blonde, others silver. Some very tall and some of the height of a man.

They gathered in a circle around a fountain made into the likeness of a ship. Perhaps Amroth’s, Boromir thought in surprise.

The Elves began to sing a low beautiful song. One Boromir was not familiar with. It had not been one sung in Rivendell or the Golden Wood. A sense of joy, more than what he had yet felt, filled him so that his eyes overflowed and his senses reeled. A great pain filled his heart. It felt near to bursting. He did not think he could endure such joy, such pain. It was beyond what a mortal man could take in. His eyes closed. A blackness engulfed him, but he was not afraid.

Chapter Three -- Affected

“Are you well, Boromir? We did not know our song would affect you thusly. Forgive us.”

The sun’s descent into the West was almost complete. Boromir drew in a deep, shuddering breath as he gazed at it. For a moment, the memory of the song held sway. He closed his eyes, enduring the beauty and pain and joy. “Memory does not overwhelm me as the song did. I would not have missed that moment. I have never felt such joy.” He opened his eyes and looked at Gannellas. “No wonder Elves are beloved of the Valar.”

“The second-born are beloved as well, Boromir. The love of the One encompasses all. The Valar are blessed to know they are not the only Children of Ilűvatar to hold his love.”

“Does not the song affect you as well? How could you stand there and listen, be a part of it, and not be affected?”

“We succumb, in our own way. To praise the One with song is a gift. It makes me glad to know you were able to share it with us, if but for a moment.”

“It is true, then? The Quest is over. The Ring is destroyed?”

“It is true, Boromir. Whilst you slept, an eagle flew overhead and sang us a song of victory.”

Boromir choked. “Did the eagle say Frodo lives?”

“It called for rejoicing. Would the Valar send it if Frodo were dead? I think not.”

Boromir’s eyes sagged shut. “Thank the Valar.”

“I have.”

Boromir’s eyes flew open and he laughed. “Oh! That feels good.” He sat up. “The pain is gone. My wounds are healed. I can go home.”

Gannellas’ eyes widened. “No, Boromir. The wounds have healed for here, for Edhellond. They are not… Do not consider it.”

“But could it not be a gift from the Valar? With the Ring destroyed? For my part in the…” Boromir shuddered. “My pride will be the end of me. My part in the Fellowship brought only shame.”

“Nay, Boromir. The gifts of the One are for all. You played your part as ordained.”

“I will not let my pride, nor my guilt take away from the peace and joy of this place.” Boromir stood, swayed a bit, and took a step. “I am grateful to be here. To be with a friend.”

“I am that, Boromir. Come and walk with me until you need rest.”

“My heart is so full, I cannot fathom needing rest. Lead on, dear Gannellas. I will follow.”

They walked for an hour that day and Boromir found his strength returned in full measure. Gannaellas brought him to the place where the Elves took their daily meals, a large canopied area filled with tables and stuffed chairs. The tables were laden with all sorts of dishes. Most Boromir had never tasted. He gave a brief thought to the Hobbits and how they would have loved this repast.

He reveled in the diversity of the food before him, though his favorite was shrimp from the Bay of Belfalas. As he bit into each one, he remembered being at his grandfather's table, laughing at some joke his Uncle Imrahil told. Each day brought fuller joy.

But time passed, and a melancholy began to grow in his heart. He tried to dismiss it, joining Gannellas in daily walks. However, as the days and weeks passed, he found it more difficult to find the peace and joy that once had dominated his life here in Edhellond.

“Boromir?”

He looked up and found the Elf’s eyes filled with concern.

“What might I do for you?”

“I have not heard you play the harp. Would you?”

“Of course. I would be honored. I will meet you at your glade. I would have the cardinals that live there inspire me.”

Filled with excitement, Boromir found it hard to walk at a slow pace. He sat on his cot when he at long last reached the glade, and waited. Gannellas soon appeared, carrying a small lap harp.

“Do you have a song you would like me to play?”

“I know not Elven songs. Just a few that I heard while in Rivendell and Lothlórien. My mother used to sing a song. She told me it was a song of Mithrellas, passed down. I cannot believe a song could be remembered for such a long period.”

“Let me sing you the Lay of Mithrellas. Perhaps it is the same.” The Elf began to strum the harp’s strings and Boromir gasped.

“Boromir?”

“It is one and the same. She would sing it to Faramir and I. I…” He gulped. “Please, continue.”

Gannellas played the Lay, a smile upon his lips. “Forgive me,” he said when he finished. “I had not meant to cause you such pain. Your tears course down your cheeks. I will leave you.”

Boromir nodded in gratitude. Finally, he stood up and walked out of the glade. He walked for nigh unto an hour, never leaving the borders of Edhellond, but intent on a certain spot. He climbed to the top of the hill that overlooked the valley and sat. He scanned the view before him and cried out in his grief.

Swallowing a few times, he let the memories come. His grandfather, Adrahil, had brought Faramir and him to this place a long time ago. Imrahil had joined them. The valley had been deserted, or so Boromir thought at the time. Faramir had been bound and determined to see a real, live Elf. His brother had found ‘his’ Elf. Now, Boromir knew the Elf as friend.

He smiled. Faramir would be pleased that ‘his’ Elf and Boromir were friends. The sorrow that had been growing in Boromir’s heart spilled over. Faramir. Would that you were here. That you could see your Elf again. That we might listen to his harp and remember our mother together.

He bit his lip. Enough of this. I have been granted the boon of a second chance at life. Though it be here and not at Faramir’s side, it is still a great boon. He stood, brushed himself off, and walked down to the dining pavilion.

Chapter Four -- Accomplice

Boromir saw Gannellas and waved. The Elf stood and walked over to him. “Come and sit with me. I have someone I would like you to meet.”

“There are many empty tables today.” Boromir’s brow rose in question.

Gannellas did not answer. He led Boromir to the table he had vacated. A silver-haired Elf stood and bowed. “This is my friend, Mablung. He is Sindarin, also.”

“Mablung.” Boromir smiled. “There is a soldier in Gondor who is named Mablung. He is a stalwart man and a friend to my brother. It is good to meet you.”

“I am pleased my name brings good thoughts. Gannellas and I play music together. I play the flute. Do you play an instrument?”

Boromir laughed. “Nay. I wield a sword. Or I once did. I love music though and occasionally dance.”

“Ah! It would be great fun to have you dance to something Gannellas and I played. Might you join us some evening?”

“I would.”

“Get you some food, Boromir.”

“Thank you, Gannellas, I will.” He turned to the serving tables and prepared a plate. He brought it back to Gannellas’ table. After eating a few bites, he put his fork down. “Forgive me. I do not wish to interrupt, but where are the Elves? There were so many here until today.”

Mablung shifted and Gannellas took a sip of wine. “They have left for the Grey Havens. They are taking a ship West.”

Mablung said, “Now that Sauron is destroyed, many Elves believe it is time to go home.”

“Home.” Boromir’s brow furrowed. “But the Undying Lands were never home to the Sindar, if my memory serves me rightly.”

“Not all here are Sindarin. This place became a haven for many Elves.” Mablung drank his wine.

“Will you join us this evening, at your glade?” Gannellas asked. “We will bring our instruments. You can dance, if you wish.”

“I would like that.” Boromir smiled. “I do not think I will do justice to your music, but I will try to offer some modicum of entertainment.”

“We will meet you at sun’s set, Boromir. It will make for an enjoyable evening. Mablung, bring your double flute. I doubt much if Boromir has seen such an instrument.”

“A double flute?”

“You must hold your curiosity ‘til the evening, my friend.” Gannellas laughed.

Boromir finished his own wine and stood. He glanced about the pavilion one last time, noting the number of Elves within, then walked to his glade, a growing unease filling him.

Mablung arrived as the sun set. He embraced Boromir. “I am glad Gannellas will have a friend when I leave these shores.”

Boromir’s brow rose. “You would leave Edhellond? Is it not beautiful?”

“It will no longer be home, Boromir. When there are no Elves left, but those few who choose to stay, what joy will fill these borders?”

Boromir swallowed but Gannellas arrival stopped his next question.

“Here am I and ready to give you a treat, Boromir.” He placed a cloth-covered basket on the seat next to him and turned to Mablung. “Did you bring the double flute, my friend?”

The other Elf drew an instrument from a cloth holder. “Here it is and ready. You wish to play ‘O Queen Beyond The Western Seas?”

“I do. I doubt much that Boromir has heard this song.”

“I confess, I know not the title.” Boromir sat on his cot and waited.

The song began with Mablung’s flute. The hairs on Boromir’s arms rose. Truly, this is a song for a Queen, he thought. Gannellas harp came in on the counterpoint and Boromir was lost in a sea of praise and longing. When at last, too soon, the song was complete, Boromir opened his eyes. “Words cannot tell of the beauty of your music.”

Gannellas laughed. “Glad am I that we were able to share this song. It is one specifically of the Wood Elves.”

“Thank you.” Boromir sighed.

“You must repay us in kind, Boromir. You promised to dance for us.”

“I cannot dance to something so exquisite. Might you know a tune more suitable for a humble soldier?”

“I know such a one,” Mablung said. “The Song of Nimrodel.”

“Truly a fine selection. Light enough for even a soldier of Gondor.” Gannellas plucked a few strings.

“Forgive me.” Boromir interrupted. “When we entered the Golden Wood, we passed over a river by that same name. My wits are still addled. I cannot remember.”

“One and the same,” Mablung said. “Nimrodel was beloved of my king, Amroth. Mithrellas, your ancestress, was her traveling companion. Nimrodel was lost.”

“Another sad song?” Boromir asked.

“Nay. It is not the way of the Sindar to be dispirited.”

“Play on. I will do my best to accompany you in dance.” Boromir stood and waited.

The song began with the harp. The strings were pulled in a lively manner. After a moment, Mablung joined in.

Boromir smiled. This is something I can dance to. He twisted and turned and moved his feet to the music. By the time the song ended, he was breathless.

“Excellent dance, Boromir. We have another…”

“Nay, Gannellas. I am winded. I could not dance another step if I tried.” He laughed and sat upon his cot.

Gannellas brought wine and glassware from his basket, along with cheese and bread. “Perhaps once you have had a bit of refreshment, we can continue.”

After finishing the light meal, Boromir lay back on his cot and looked up at the stars. “They are beautiful tonight.” A tear fell.

“Boromir? Is there aught we can do?”

“Nay. I think of my brother. He loves the stars. We would sit, at the very top of the Citadel in Minas Tirith, and watch them. He would name each one for me.” Boromir swallowed. “I would sleep now.” He bit his lip. “I will see you on the morrow.”

Gannellas placed his hand on Boromir’s arm and squeezed it. “We will see you then.”

Boromir thanked them, then turned away. He heard them leaving, then stretched out again on his back and watched the stars ‘til he could hold his eyes open for not a moment more.

Chapter Five – Ally

Two days later, Boromir walked again to the top of the hill overlooking the valley. He settled his back against a tree and closed his eyes.

“Might I join you?” Gannellas’ voice asked.

Boromir opened his eyes and made to stand, but Gannellas stayed him.

“I would welcome your company, friend.”

“I am glad to hear you say that, Boromir. My heart has been heavy of late.”

“Because the Elves leave Edhellond?”

“Nay. Because you are sad. I can feel it.”

“I am sad, but that is a part of life, friend. Until I see my brother… Does he know I yet live?”

“I am afraid he may think you dead. Your friends sent you off in the Elven-craft bedecked as one mourned.”

“As I thought.” Boromir choked on the words. “If I might send a missive to him? Some token that I yet live. I lost my Horn. I know not when.” He looked down at his hands and splayed his fingers. “My ring. I could send my ring.”

“I do not think any would question the word of an Elf. A missive was sent.”

“How long ago?” Boromir felt his heart clench.

“When the Ring was destroyed.”

“And no response?” Boromir’s brow rose. “They are busy. They must repair damage done to the city, bring in food from the outer farms, if any food is left. Bury the dead. There are many duties for the Steward.”

“I agree. It must be a time of chaos for them, Boromir.”

“If Faramir lives.” Boromir clutched at the grass beneath him.

“If Faramir lives,” Gannellas said. “How are your lessons coming along?”

Boromir looked at Gannellas and smiled. “Poor Mablung. I think he pulls out his hair as I did these blades of grass.” He let the blades fall to the ground. “My fingers are large. They are difficult to move around the flute. I think it is not the instrument for me.”

“Then we must try the lute. What think you of that?”

“You are bound and determined to have me wield an instrument.” Boromir laughed. “I will try the lute. Is there an Elf here who can teach me?”

“I know the lute well. I will teach you.”

Mablung ran up the slope. “Gannellas. You are needed in the glade.” The Elf’s eyes shone and Boromir wondered.

“You may remain here, Boromir, if you wish. I must be away.”

“I would come with you.”

“Of course.”

Mablung ran down the hill and Gannellas followed his lead.

Boromir was sore-pressed to keep up with them. He stopped at the entrance to the glade. Horses, bearing the livery of Gondor, filled the area. Hope rose in his chest ‘til the pain grew so great he thought he would fall unconscious.

Taking a deep breath, he scoured the area. And found him! There stood Faramir. His back to Boromir. But Boromir would know him anywhere. He stood still, waiting for Gannellas to greet his brother.

“Faramir! It is good to see you again. We met a few years ago.”

“A few years to you, mayhap,” Boromir heard the laughter in Faramir’s voice, “but many, many years in my time.” He watched as Faramir gave a slight bow to the Elf. “It is good to see you again. You sent a missive to Minas Tirith saying I was needed. I will tell you, my heart near stopped when I saw it was from the Elf I had met here.”

“I think you heart will near stop in another moment, Faramir. I have someone I would like you to see.” Gannellas turned and indicated Boromir.

Faramir turned and gasped.

Boromir flew to him, flew into his arms and held him close, muffling the sounds of Faramir’s sobs in his shoulder, holding his own tears back as he always did when comforting his little brother.

“Boromir. Elessar told me you were dead.” Faramir’s eyes scoured Boromir’s face. “I saw you in the craft they sent you in. How is this possible?”

“First. Who is Elessar?”

“Ah. You know him as Aragorn, Chieftain of the Dúnedain of the North.”

“Aragorn. He survived.” Boromir’s heart lurched. “And Frodo?”

“Both live, Boromir. Aragorn has been crowned High King of Gondor and Arnor. Had I known you were here, I would have come weeks ago. The duties of Steward…”

Boromir interrupted. “He made you Steward? I am glad. I knew he had some wisdom in him. I would have cuffed him well had he named another.” Boromir slapped Faramir on the back. “Father stepped down without a scowl?” Boromir laughed, then stopped at Faramir’s look.

“Come away with me, Faramir, to the little hillock that once was ours. I have made it mine own again.” He nodded to Gannellas.

“One moment, Boromir. Your men would greet you.” Faramir stood back and let his two companions move forward.

Boromir looked around. “Mablung! Damrod! It is good to see you. You came through the battle untouched, I see. I am glad. Forgive me. We will talk later. I would take your Captain-general from you for a time. The Elves will make you comfortable.”

Boromir led Faramir up the hillock in silence. When they reached the top, Boromir sat and smiled at the look of wonder in Faramir’s eyes. “You recall this place?”

“I do, Boromir. So many memories.”

“Tell me of Father.”

“He is dead, Boromir. He gave his life for Gondor, as he had hoped to do.”

“In battle.” Boromir’s tears fell. “Before the Gates?”

Faramir looked away. “Nay. In the House of the Stewards. He was preparing me for interment.”

“Faramir. You were dead?”

“Nay. But Father thought I was as near death as possible. I had been struck by a Southron arrow and suffered the Black Breath.”

“Give me a moment, Faramir, to comprehend this. You were not dead and yet he took you to Rath Dínen?”

“Boromir, he was not in his right mind. He had been using the Anor-stone. He tried to burn me alive.”

Boromir lay back on the grass. He wept, shoulders shaking. “Forgive me,” he repeated, over and over.

Gannellas himself brought tea and biscuits. He sat next to Faramir and offered a cup. Faramir accepted it and drank.

Boromir stood and walked a distance from them. “Faramir. I am unable to leave Edhellond. I think it best you return to Minas Tirith on the morrow. When things have settled, return here. I will be waiting.” He walked down the slope and into his glade.

He heard Faramir call his name, but he could not look back. Bad enough that Father is dead. Now he does not have a brother either. One that can be by him. One who can support him. I must tell him and yet, how?  

Chapter Six – Acceptance

The song of the cardinals lessened as night drew near. Botomir stirred.

“The evening meal is being served.” Gannellas stood beside Boromir.

“Where is Faramir?”

“I left him on the hill hours ago. I have not seen him since.”

Boromir lifted his eyes eastward. “I best go to him. When Father was angry, Faramir could hide forever.”

“Are you angry with him?”

“Nay. I sorrow for him. I must speak with him. I have accepted my place here in Edhellond. I must help him accept my fate.”

“I will bring food here. In an hour’s time?”

“Best make that two.” Boromir smiled. “My brother and I have much to discuss. And thank you, again, for your friendship, dear Gannellas. I cannot imagine being alone now.” Boromir turned and trekked up the hill.

Faramir looked up, then turned his eyes downward.

“I sometimes treat you like you are still twelve and not Steward of Gondor.” Boromir sat. “I have something unpleasant to tell you. As I said, I cannot return to Gondor, but it is not for the want of it.”

“Gannellas told me.”

Boromir watched a tear fall down Faramir’s cheek. “I find Elves have no qualms when it comes to meddling in others’ lives. Legolas used to do it, too.”

Faramir laughed. “Hobbits must be related to Elves, then, for Frodo told me some things. I deduced quite a bit from his words and those he kept to himself.”

Boromir sprang to his feet. He paced, twirling his ring. “He had no right. I would have told you.”

“If you lived.” Faramir chuckled.

Boromir sat down hard next to Faramir. “If I lived.” He began to laugh and Faramir joined him. “And what might the Dwarf have told you?”

Both brothers guffawed at the thought. Boromir had to stand so he wouldn’t choke on his laughter.

Faramir stopped before Boromir did. “He said you were a doughty man and a great friend.”

“He would have.” Boromir sighed. “So you know all my failings.”

“If you consider them failings. Even Elessar understood.”

“Faramir, I have made many mistakes over the years. Losing Frodo’s friendship was the worst. He is a fair and noble Hobbit.”

“You have not lost his friendship. You have his love. He spent long hours consoling me while we both recovered in the Houses of Healing. We spoke of you often.”

“Tell me of that time, Faramir. With Father. Hold nothing back.” Boromir sat by his brother’s side. “Though I loved him well, I knew his weaknesses.”

Boromir listened for hours as Faramir told of hearing Boromir’s horn in the distance, his meeting Frodo and Sam, his disagreements with their father, and after many other events, his wounding and the aftermath.

Boromir listened in wonder. Faramir never wept but told him as if reporting to his captain. At last, Boromir could stand it no longer. He pulled his brother into his arms. “I am sorry. You should have gone on the Quest. I see it now.”

“Nay, Boromir. The Valar sent you. You fulfilled their purpose and paid with your life.”

“And you paid with yours, little brother.”

“If not for Elessar… I must return to Minas Tirith tomorrow, Boromir. Elessar marries his Elven princess and I have much to prepare. Look for me. I will return.”

“Let us down to my glade, as Gannellas calls it. Mayhap he and his friend, Mablung, will play their instruments for you.” He stood and walked with Faramir down the hill. “Gannellas insists I learn an instrument. Do not look so surprised, little brother.” He punched Faramir’s shoulder lightly. “I can learn to play something. How difficult can it be?”

Faramir’s laughter filled the glade.

Gannellas joined them an hour later. “You missed the evening meal, but I have brought some refreshments.” He opened a bottle of wine and handed glasses to them. He poured. “Here.” He offered a platter of cheeses and fruit. “I hope you do not mind. I asked Mablung to join us.”

The Elf entered the glade, carrying his bag.

When he opened it, Faramir’s eyes widened. “What is that?”

“A double flute.” Boromir stood and welcomed the Elves. “It is a unique instrument. You will love the sound.” He turned to Gannellas. “I would ask a favor? Might you play the Lay of Mithrellas for us?”

“Of course, Boromir.” Gannellas sat and plucked the harp’s strings.

Mablung blew into his instrument. “I am ready,” he said.

They began to play.

When they finished, Boromir wiped tears from his cheeks. He smiled and wiped Faramir’s. “I thank you, Gannellas, Mablung. That was beautiful. I have to say this. Though Mother sang without accompaniment, her interpretation was exquisite.”

“Of course it was. She sang from the life force of your ancestress. We are pleased we could bring back the memory.”

“Gannellas, Faramir leaves on the morrow. Is there aught he must do?”

 “What mean you?” Gannellas asked.

“Since I cannot leave, I thought, mayhap, that there was some ceremony he had to endure to leave?”

Gannellas smiled. “Nay. Faramir will join his countrymen and return to Minas Tirith. There is nothing special he must do.”

“Thank you, Gannellas. Mablung.” He watched the Elves leave then sat on his cot. “Look, they arranged for a cot for you. Lie in it and look up, Faramir.”

“The stars! They are brilliant here,” Faramir exclaimed.

“They are. I have forgotten a few of their names. Might you instruct me again, little brother?”

Boromir watched all night. When Faramir fell asleep, he noted and smiled. It felt good to lie near Faramir, as they did when children, and listen to the gentle breath of his brother. Valar, he thought, I will miss him.

The cardinals’ song woke Faramir. “You did not sleep?”

“I have slept for the last many months. One night without should not harm me.”

“I would you could come with…”

“Hush, Faramir. It is not to be. Accept that, little brother. We will see each other. I expect you to wear a path to Edhellond with the number of your visits.”

“I will. And so will Uncle Imrahil and Elphir, Erchirion, Amrothos and Lothíriel. Though how long Lothiriel will remain in Gondor, I know not. She seems smitten by a Rohirric king.”

“Éomer. Wonderful news. I will tease her, when I see her. Give my regards to Aragorn, Faramir. If he is able, I would be most happy to see him again.”

“I will give him your message.” Faramir embraced Boromir. “Be happy until I return.”

“You also, beloved brother, you also.”

Faramir mounted and rode off, turning twice to wave to Boromir.

Chapter Seven – An Attempt

A fortnight passed. Each day, for two hours, Boromir attacked the lute. It was not to be won over. At last, he gave up and went to Gannellas. He and Mablung were sitting in the dining pavilion. “I am sorry to say, friend Gannellas, I cannot make this thing sound better than howling wolves.” He thrust the lute at the Elf.

Gannellas smiled. “I have heard you.”

“Any Elf left in Edhellond has heard me. I am tempted to think they leave because of me.”

Gannellas laughed. “Boromir. You are a strange man. Full of pride, yet full of humor. I believe the flute is better suited to you. Perhaps we might find a larger instrument than the one you tried at first.”

Boromir sighed. “I could play a bell. I am sure I could play a bell. Just one. Perhaps with a small hammer.”

Gannellas laughter exploded through the pavilion. “Mablung, have you ever met the like?”

“Nay, Gannellas. Boromir has brought much laughter to this place.”

“Thank you, I think. I will try the blasted flute,” Boromir snarled, “but I can guarantee nothing.”

“Someone approaches.” Mablung stood and ran from the pavilion. In a few short moments, he was back. “Visitors, Gannellas.”

Gannellas stood and Mablung and Boromir followed him to the glade.

“Faramir!” Boromir shouted and ran to Faramir’s side before his brother even had a chance to alight.

“I brought a friend, Boromir.” Faramir jumped off his horse and ran to the horse next to his. “Your majesty,” he said and offered a hand.

Aragorn smiled and dismounted.

Boromir stood back, hesitant, not sure how Aragorn would greet him.

Aragorn strode to his side and embraced him, holding him tight, and whispering his name, “Boromir, my friend.”

A lump caught in Boromir’s throat. “My lord,” he said and wept.

“I am sorry we left you. If I had ever thought you were alive… Can you ever forgive me, Boromir? I am sorry.”

“Aragorn, I was dead. I was as dead as the Valar would let me be. There is naught to be sorry for.”

“You were not breathing. There was no sign. I waited, even, though the Hobbits had been taken. I had to make sure. All for naught. You were alive when we sent you over the Falls.”

Boromir felt Aragorn’s shoulders slump. “My lord, my friend. You did what was ordained for you. I am where I am supposed to be. Nothing was done by chance. Do not hold yourself liable. It is I who must ask your forgiveness. If I had not tried to take the Ring…”

“Chance. Nay, Boromir. I understood. I will let my shame and guilt wash away. But now,” the King of Gondor and Arnor smiled, “you are returned to me. Merry and Pippin insist you come back immediately. They have stories to tell you.”

“Faramir.” Boromir looked on his brother with surprise. “Did you not tell Aragorn of my plight? Aragorn, I cannot leave Edhellond. My wounds seem healed, but Gannellas assures me they are not. If I pass from these borders, I will surely die.”

“We have brought someone with us,” Aragorn said, “who might be able to tip the scales in your favor.”

Aragorn stood aside and Boromir saw the Elves around him bow. “Lord Elrond.” Boromir could hardly speak for the surprise and hope that sprang into his heart.

“Boromir.” Elrond walked to the Man’s side and put his hand on Boromir’s shoulder. “Estel has told me of your dilemma. If the Valar are willing, we will bring you back to Minas Tirith. Alive.”

Boromir hung his head. “I…”

“I know what you have done, Boromir. Let us leave it at that. Now, Gannellas, might we bother you for some refreshment. Estel has had me riding since I met him in Erech.”

Boromir fell in step behind the two Elves, next to Faramir and Aragorn. “Aragorn, I am grateful you came. I did not expect this. Are you not to marry the Lady Arwen soon?”

“Midsummer’s Day. We have time. I was somewhat concerned until Lord Elrond suggested he use the Paths of the Dead. It took much time off his travels.”

“The Paths of the Dead.” Boromir shuddered. “How is that possible?”

“I will tell you more, once we are back in Minas Tirith. I expect to spend some time renewing our friendship, Boromir. Now, Faramir says there are shrimp here?”

Boromir entered the dining pavilion amidst much laughter.

When the party was sated, Elrond stood. “Gannellas. We are grateful for your hospitality, but we have come for a specific purpose. Might you have some quiet corner where my son, Estel, and I might take Boromir?”

“Of course, my Lord. Mablung, please take Faramir and his escort to Boromir’s glade.”

“Nay!” Faramir jumped up. “I will not leave him again.”

“Faramir.” Boromir went to his brother and embraced him. “I trust Lord Elrond with my life.”

“As do I, but I will not leave you. Please, Boromir, do not ask this of me.”

“Boromir. Let your brother join us.” Elrond turned and followed Gannellas from the pavilion.

Aragorn took Faramir’s elbow. Boromir took his other arm.

After a short distance, Gannellas stopped. “Will this suffice?” He stood before a small pavilion and pulled back the drapes. Inside, a cot was set up along with two chairs.

“We will need more than two chairs,” Elrond said. “Would you join us, Gannellas? Have one of the Elves fetch your harp. We will also need water, hot and cold, and bandages. A goodly number.”

Gannellas nodded and sent for his harp and the other things Elrond asked for.

Boromir entered, his heart in his throat. As much as he wanted to believe he trusted Elrond, he knew the extent of his injuries. He also recalled the shudder that had accompanied Gannellas’ mention of the screams of those who attempted to cross the mists. He lay on the cot, taking in deep breaths.

Chapter Eight – A Star Shines

Boromir lay still. Aragorn stood on his left and Lord Elrond stood on his right. Faramir stood by the door.

“Estel. I would have you and Faramir hold Boromir’s shoulders. I do not want him to move.” Elrond directed them to their places.

Three Elves entered bearing the water, the bandages and Gannellas’ harp.

Gannellas sat at Boromir’s feet. “Is there a particular song you wish me to play, Lord Elrond?”

“Nay. Let the Valar use you as they will.”

“Gannellas, my friend,” Boromir asked, “would you play the Lay?”

“I will, Boromir. I will.” He began to pluck the harp’s strings, though he did not sing.

“Stay with us, if you would?” Lord Elrond asked the other Elves. “The procedure will not be pleasant. Lord Boromir might become… violent. We will need your hands to hold him so that he not injure himself further.”

Boromir started, but Aragorn grasped his hand, and Boromir relaxed.

“My friend,” Elrond looked down upon Boromir, “Estel and I will begin with healing songs. I fear they will not be enough and that we might have to use Songs of Power. If that happens, I do not want you to fear. They will not be directed at you. Your wounds will reappear as they did at Parth Galen. The pain will be difficult to bear, but I have faith in you, Son of Gondor. I know your blood flows with the blood of my brother, Elros. If you need to cry out, do not hesitate. Know, Boromir, that I will do everything in my power to help you.”

“It is all I can ask.” Boromir swallowed. “Do what you will.” He turned to his brother. “Faramir, please hold my hand. If I do not survive, hold no guilt for yourself. You chose rightly, asking Lord Elrond to help me. Whether his help is sufficient matters not. The Elves are leaving this land. I cannot live here alone and I would not ask you to stay with me.”

“I would stay, Boromir, whether you asked it or no. You do not have to do this.”

“I do, little brother.” Boromir smiled. “We cannot ask Lord Elrond to journey so far for naught.”

Faramir laughed though tears coursed down his cheeks. “I love you, Boromir.”

“I love you, my brother, my dearest friend. Forgive us, Lord Elrond.” Boromir looked to the Lord of Imladris. “Do what you will. Aragorn, thank you for this.”

Aragorn nodded and held Boromir’s right hand. He placed his other hand on Boromir’s shoulder.

Faramir took Boromir’s left hand and brought it to his cheek, kissing the back of it.

Elrond nodded, and as Gannellas began the Lay of Mithrellas, Elrond began to hum. Aragorn joined him a moment later.

Boromir’s eyes closed. He waited and listened. The humming evolved into words. He heard the drapes of the pavilion rustle. He could hear the wind pick up outside. The birds of the valley were still. He missed the song of the cardinals.

After another moment, Boromir felt heat in his side, a scorching heat that began below his ribs and radiated upwards towards his heart. Another spot of heat developed in his right side. It, too, radiated upwards. Again and again, pinpricks of pain lanced through his body. Boromir blinked his eyes, realizing the pinpricks were exactly at the spots where arrows had struck him. He shuddered at the remembrance.

“I am here,” he heard Faramir say, but the pain now encompassed his whole body. Wave after wave assailed him. He tried not to cry out, but when the killing blow became fire, he shouted, “Aragorn!” His eyes flew open.

Elrond’s voice rose until it hurt Boromir’s ears. Aragorn sang beside him. The two began to shimmer. It was not a duel, as Finrod had with Sauron, but rather a combining of fëar, one to another. The power of the Song swished the drapes from side to side. The wind outside the pavilion howled. Gannellas stopped playing. The Elves on either side of Elrond fell to their knees in wonder. Faramir cried out.

When Boromir came to, he heard the cardinals singing. His body hurt as badly as it had done when he had lain, dying, above the Falls of Rauros., but his heart held joy and hope. He looked about him, unsure exactly where he was. Faramir sat next to him. His head lay in the crook of his arm, and his arm lay on Boromir. Boromir smiled.

“I see you wake. Glad am I that you return to us. I feared you lost.”

“Gannellas. It is good to see you. I must yet live?”

“You do,” the Elf whispered. “I would not wish to wake Faramir. The Song took many hours. He is exhausted.”

“Did it do what we hoped it would?”

“I cannot say. I do not think even Lord Elrond can tell you. Suffice it to say, it was quite an experience. I wonder if you can now play the flute, the magic was that strong.”

Boromir laughed, then clutched his side. “Laughter is not the prerogative of a wounded man.”

“Boromir?” Faramir looked up, then started to jump. “Arm fell asleep.” He shook out the offending appendage. “How do you feel?” he asked when life began to return to his arm.

“I hurt. All over. Faramir. When I was wounded, nay killed at Parth Galen, I had such despair. I could hardly breathe for it. I knew Gondor would fall. I knew it, in my heart.” Boromir swallowed hard. “I lost all hope. Now, my heart sings for it. Can you fathom such joy? I cannot.”

Faramir laughed as tears fell. “I can imagine it for I see it in your eyes. Oh, brother. I am happy for you.”

“Where are Lord Elrond and Aragorn?”

“They left this morning. I must leave by tomorrow at the latest. The wedding is planned, of course, but…”

“There are always things that go amiss. I understand, Faramir. Did Lord Elrond tell you when I might leave here?”

“Your wounds are fresh. Lord Elrond believes the Valar heard the Song and placed our petition before Illúvatar. But the wounds will not heal quickly. You must stay here at least a fortnight before attempting to leave. I will return, before that time, and we will leave together.”

“Or I will die in your arms.”

“Where are the hope and the joy you spoke of, Boromir?” Faramir smiled. “We will leave together and dance for the Hobbits.”

“Pippin would like that. He would hope I would fall on my face.” Boromir laughed, then coughed. “I cannot laugh.” He held his sides.

Chapter Nine -- Accounts

“Would you care to play the flute, Boromir?”

“Nay, Gannellas. I will try it again, later.”

“I would like to give Faramir a concert when he returns.”

“Think you I can learn in such a short time? I tried before.”

“Yes. This is the new instrument. What think you of it?” Gannellas held out a long black instrument.

“It is beautiful. The fingering looks to be further apart.”

“It is. Try it. The notes are the same on this flute as on the one you tried earlier.”

Boromir took the instrument from Gannellas and held it to his lips. He breathed into it and a pure clear note sprang forth. Tears filled his eyes. “It is magnificent. I can easily touch the holes.”

“And the time you used to learn the other is now well spent. Let us try the little song Mablung tried to teach you.”

Boromir brought the instrument to his lips again and began to play. Gannellas plucked his harp.

Mablung came into the clearing and clapped when they were finished. “Wondrous, Boromir. I should have thought of the larger flute. You play it well. Given another hundred years and you will be proficient.”

Boromir laughed. His sides no longer hurt. He knew he would be able to ride, once Faramir returned. In fact, he was chafing at the bit. He wanted Faramir here now. He wanted to leave.

“I would that I were here to hear you, Boromir. I am leaving on the morrow.”

“Mablung. You have been a dear friend. I cannot thank you enough for what you have done. I will miss you.” A terrible thought struck Boromir. “Gannellas? Are you leaving tomorrow? Mablung is your friend. Will you not go with him?”

He watched the sadness grow in Mablung’s eyes. “My brother will not travel with me. Mayhap we will meet later.”

“Your brother? Gannellas is your brother?”

Mablung smiled. “He is. My older brother. “

“How can you leave without him? Gannellas? Can you not sway him from this decision?”

“I would not, Boromir. As you would not sway your brother, if such a time came. The West calls to him and he must answer. We will have a feast tonight. The last one, I think. Many Elves will leave on the morrow.”

“How many will stay?”

“One.”

“Gannellas. You cannot mean to stay here because of me. Faramir will come. I know he will. Do not stay on my account.”

“It is for my account that I stay, Boromir. Your laughter has swayed me. I find I cannot leave this land, yet. I love it. I want to see more. If you would allow me, I would like to spend the next years with you.”

“I would allow it. I would be happy. Legolas and Gimli became dear friends while we were on the Quest. They spoke often, as we camped by the Anduin, of traveling the land, seeing the caves of Aglarond, and the forests of Fangorn. Legolas even talked about bringing Gimli to his own home, in Mirkwood, to meet his father. They might… If we ask politely, they may let us join them.”

“I thought you wanted to be with your brother?”

“I do. But not at first. I have thought long on this, Gannellas, as I recovered. Faramir is Steward. I would stand back and let him be what he was meant to be. If I stay, he might look to me for counsel. I would give it, but would he rely on me too much? Aragorn would sense it and come to me with the issues of the land. I cannot let that happen. Gannellas, if I live when we leave this place, I would spend the next few years away from Gondor. Let Faramir grow. Father never let him grow. It is the right thing to do.”

“I understand, Boromir. But Faramir will not be happy.”

“He will be happy that I am alive. And we will see each other. I just will not live in Minas Tirith. Not yet.”

“Where will you live, brother?”

“Faramir!” Boromir jumped to his feet. “When… I did not hear you arrive.”

“We came over the ridge but an hour ago. I was surprised when no one greeted us.”

“There are not many Elves left in Edhellond, Faramir. Most will leave tomorrow.”

“I am sorry to hear that. Though I would have you come home with me. Tomorrow, if you are ready.”

“I am more than ready. Faramir. Wait! How went the wedding?”

“It went well and all are happy. I came here as soon as Estel and Arwen left for Edoras. You have missed the Hobbits and they are put out with you. They expect us to join the entourage as soon as possible.”

“They go to bury King Théoden?”

“They do. And then on to Isengard. Once there, they will bid each other farewell. The Hobbits insist you meet them before they leave Edoras.”

“Would we take the Paths?”

“I think it best. I have not much time. I must return to Minas Tirith, but you could go on. Return after they depart Isengard.”

“Yes. I would like to see them again. Do Legolas and Gimli go with Aragorn?”

“They do. I think Gimli promised Legolas he would accompany the Elf to Fangorn. They will probably leave Isengard and head for the forest.”

“Then on the morrow, we will leave for Erech. Gannellas will join us.”

“Gannellas?” Faramir asked.

“I wish to stay a bit longer, here in Middle-earth. Might I accompany you?”

“Of course.”

The evening went by quickly as Faramir told of Aragorn’s wedding, the Hobbits trouble making, and the fireworks that Mithrandir set off for the happy couple.

“It is time you retired, Boromir.” Gannellas stood. “We have a long ride ahead of us and you will need your strength.”

“Yes, Gannellas. Faramir, will you join me?”

“And watch the stars with you?” Faramir yawned.

“And sleep.” Boromir laughed and clapped his brother on the back. “Let us go watch the stars. Good night, Mablung. Will you be here in the morning?”

“Nay. We leave before first light.” He stood and Boromir embraced him. “I will miss your flute, Boromir. Keep it close and practice every day.”

Boromir smiled. “I promise. Safe trip to you, Mablung. I do not think we will meet again. Know that you are dear to me and I will not soon forget you.”

“I will not forget you, Boromir, Son of Gondor. Take care of my brother.”

“I will.” Boromir turned and followed Faramir. Faramir fell asleep as soon as he lay on his cot. Boromir stayed awake for hours, the shadow of the task before him running through his mind.

Chapter Ten -- Accomplished

Boromir, Faramir, and Gannellas broke their fast in what remained of the dining pavilion. It had been stripped bare. Boromir shuddered. The skeletal remains reminded him of what he might become this day.

Faramir stood. “I think it is time we left, Boromir. We have a long ride ahead of us. We should try to reach Erech by tomorrow.”

“The horses are packed and ready, Boromir. Let us leave here.” Gannellas smiled. “I packed your flute.”

Boromir smiled back, though he knew the smile did not reach his eyes. Fear’s tendrils ran from his heart through his veins and to his extremities. “I thank you, friend.” He tried to imbue a touch of sarcasm in his voice, but failed miserably.

Faramir stepped to his side. “It will be well, Boromir. You will pass the borders of Edhellond and live. I know the Valar heard our plea. I know they did.”

Boromir nodded. “Of course.”

“Now, friend,” Gannellas grasped Boromir’s shoulders. “We will do this together. We will lead the horses behind us and walk together through the mists. If aught happens to you, it will happen to us all.”

“I do not want that.” Boromir’s voice was firm, he was relieved to note. “I will walk through the mists first. When I call for you, you will follow me. Come.” He made as if to walk, then jumped on his horse and clicked, glad for the discomfiture on Gannellas’ face, but sorrowful as he watched Faramir’s fall.

It is the only way. I cannot have Faramir die by my side. Nor can I have him watch me die.

“Boromir!”

He heard Faramir’s cry, but spurred the horse onwards. As he reached the borders, he saw the mists, swirling ahead of him. A chill filled the air. He saw his breath before him. Now or never, he thought and kicked the horse’s withers. The horse tried to rear, but Boromir would not let it throw him. “We go through this together. You have naught to fear. By the end of this journey, you will either be relieved of your burden, or you will find I am hugging you with joy.” He snapped the reins and rode into the mists.

The cold took his breath from him. Is this how I am to die? Bereft of air? He shuddered and his horse shied to the left. Boromir tightened the reins and drew his horse back to where they had veered off the path. “Hold steady, friend. We will get through this.” He rode on, drawing on whatever courage he had gained through the years.

“I will trust, Elrond. Whether I live or no, I will trust that he did what was needed. If I am to live or die, I have done what the Valar wanted from me. Look,” he laughed out loud, “I am talking to myself. I haven’t talked to myself since my first battle. I was so afraid. My knees knocked together so loudly, I was sure the enemy would hear.” He looked down at his horse. “My talking calms you, does it? It does me, as well. I never told Faramir of how frightened I was. He looked up to me. In my pride, I did not want to be found lacking in his eyes. It would have been better if I had told him of my fears. It would have prepared him for his own first battle.”

Boromir squinted. “Does it look lighter to you? I think I see daylight.” He gasped. “We have done it. We have reached the other side. There is the coastline. Do you see it?” He slipped from the saddle and knelt on the ground. Cardinals sang nearby. A horn sounded in the distance. “Oromë?” The horn sounded again and Boromir’s heart lifted. “Thank you,” he whispered.