Disclaimer: LOTR belongs to the creative genius of JRR Tolkien, not me.

A/N: With many apologies for the delay.

From the Shadows

Chapter 15

A tendency towards understatement was a common trait among Elves that both Aragorn and Bormir had become accustomed to after living amongst them for some time. However, what had initially been a source of irritation, especially on Haldir’s part as far as Boromir was concerned, had now become a source of amusement for both he and Aragorn. Neither could contain their laughter at the looks of astonishment on the faces of the others as they topped the rise and reined their horses to a halt.

Faramir and Dareth turned as one to face the Elf when they saw the scene before them. Legolas had described it in far too inadequate detail to suit either one.

True there were many market stalls, but perhaps ‘very many’ would have been a better description and the myriad of colourful banners and welcoming crowds also numbered far more that the Elf’s words had indicated. To Faramir’s eyes it appeared likely that every inhabitant of Minas Tirith, as well as those from the outlying farmlands and villages were at the gates awaiting Boromir‘s return.

“Do my eyes deceive me or have many more people arrived in the last few minutes,” Dareth queried drily.

“Boromir is obviously well loved by all.” Legolas commented, choosing to ignore the hint of sarcasm in the man’s voice.

“Indeed he is and he was sorely missed,” agreed Faramir's moved close enough to his brother to place a hand on his shoulder. Boromir acknowledged his little brother’s unspoken pain with a comforting smile.

“Then perhaps we should delay no longer to join the celebration,“ Aragorn suggested. With a gesture of his hand he indicated that Boromir should take the lead.

“Nay, ‘tis your place as King.” As eager as he was eager to return to his city, it was the manner of his return Boromir found uncomfortable and he certainly felt he had no right to take the place of honour.

Every other time Boromir returned he had been hailed as the victorious general bringing home his warriors after another battle won. He would have not hesitated to ride proudly through the gates, head held high as he acknowledged the accolades of his people. This time such was not the case, he was no longer the General, the conquering hero. He was simply a man who could barely hold his shield, or wield his sword in his own defence. A man who, Like his father, had been seduced by the power of the Dark Lord and betrayed the trust of those he called friend. He was proud of nothing that had transpired since he journeyed to Rivendell, except the knowledge that all he had lost of himself had not been in vain. Although battle scarred, Minas Tirith still stood and his people were free from the darkness that had so long threatened to destroy them.

“You are wrong my friend, 'tis yours. Look around you, do you not see the smiles and tears of joy on the faces of the folk gathered here? Can you not hear them calling your name, wishing you well?” Aragorn asked, his words almost drowned out by the tumultuous sound of voices welcoming home their lost son. Someone in the crowd had spotted the group of riders and the news had spread like wildfire. Banners were waved wildly as the people began a chant of “Boromir! Boromir!“

Shaking his head as if in disbelief at the truth he could not deny, the slightly overwhelmed Lord of Gondor glanced at his brother who offered an encouraging smile. A smile that turned into a burst of laughter when Dareth, seeing his friend’s hesitation, took matters into his own hand and slapped Boromir’s mount firmly on the rump. The action startled Aragorn and Legolas almost as much as it did Boromir, however it achieved the desired result and the Lord of Gondor lead them towards his city, his home.

Making his way through the welcoming crowd had taken far longer than Boromir ever recalled it having done so in the past. Stopping as he did time and again to speak with friends, acquaintances and sadly offer his sincere condolences to the widows and children of so many of his soldiers who had bravely given their lives in the battle to save the city had been the cause of the delay. One he had neither the heart nor the desire to forgo. As he passed through each gate he felt a little more of his energy draining away, the pallor in his face and the sweat on his brow not going unnoticed by his companions. He barely managed to remain in the saddle as they rode into the courtyard, and had it not been for the support of Faramir on one side and Dareth on the other, he was certain he would have fallen when he tried to dismount.

Aragorn noticed his friend’s distress and insisted he immediately retire to his chambers to rest. Although he realised the wisdom of doing just that, Boromir found himself drawn to stand before the white tree. His hands were shaking badly from exhaustion, yet he nonetheless found the strength to bow reverently to the symbol of the King as he reached out to lightly caress the new bloom. For a moment his fingers could not seem to reach, and the image of a sinister shadow that was cold and black sent a shiver of fear down his spine. Trying more desperately, he managed to caress one of the soft petals and the images that now filled his mind changed to the misty faces of unknown kings, the ruins at Amon Hen.

“You are safe, you are home, son of Gondor,” a voice he recognised as that of Elros whispered reassuringly in his ear. It was the last voice he heard before he collapsed.

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Boromir struggled slowly to consciousness, awoken not by the sunlight that was streaming in the window, but by a sound he never thought he would hear again. The sweet sound of the silver trumpets calling him home. ‘Was he home?’ wondered his clouded mind as he listened as the trumpets called him once again. He slowly ran his hands over the bed covering that smelt and felt exactly as he remembered, and he reached over to where his night table should be. He was relieved to find it was there, so he must be in his own chambers, unless he was still back in Haldir’s talan and simply dreaming of home. He could look to make certain but preferred for now to keep his eyes closed, afraid to open them and be disappointed.

“Good morning, Boromir. Are you feeling better?” That was definitely Faramir speaking and it was also definitely his brother’s hand that gently touched his brow. A very relieved Boromir opened his eyes, squinting a little before he was able to focus clearly.

“I feel quite well rested,” Boromir replied, realising that he did in fact seem fully recovered. “Thanks to one of Aragorn’s potions, no doubt.“ He surmised, judging by the rather unpleasant taste lingering on his tongue.

“I am afraid so, but if you are well enough I have brought you something to eat,” Faramir replied indicating the tray he had placed on the night table.

“Just some hot tea for now.” Faramir helped his brother to a comfortable sitting position and handed him a mug of herbal tea.

Boromir sipped the hot liquid as he looked around his chambers. He was a little surprised but very pleased to find that everything was exactly as he remembered.

“I never felt you were really gone, so I ordered your chambers be kept as they were,” Faramir explained, instinctively answering the unspoken question in Boromir’s eyes. “I missed you Boromir. I am so glad you came back to us.”

“I missed you too, little brother. I am very glad to be home,” Boromir replied, drawing Faramir into his arms. No words were spoken, nor needed for the next few moments as the two brothers simply held each other.

“So will you have the strength to attend a welcome home banquet tonight? ?” Faramir asked as he pulled away allowing Boromir to get out of bed and begin dressing. If the banquet was anything like the far too elaborate, not to mention tedious affairs he had endured in the past, Boromir decided he was not really interested in attending.

“I think not, but I would not refuse a dinner with any of my soldiers who still remain.”

“Are you sure?” Faramir asked, concerned that such company would only serve to remind his brother of the skills he could no longer boast of possessing. Boromir guessed his thoughts and smiled sadly.

“I may no longer be a capable soldier.... or their General,”

“Do not say that, you...” Faramir interrupted, his next words silenced by Boromir’s stern gaze.

“It is the truth, at least for now.” Faramir accepted that with a nod but was secretly pleased to hear the unspoken hint that perhaps his brother might be able to regain some of his skills. “As I was saying, those under my command served me well and they are good honest men. I prefer their company to many of those who are likely to be seeking favour in Aragorn’s court. I will leave such functions and those who attend them to the King and his Steward,” he said. Faramir looked up sharply at the bitter sounding words but smiled his relief when he caught no hint of envy, but only a glimmer of mischief in his brother's eyes.

“I will go and see to the arrangements at once. I almost forgot to mention that Aragorn wishes to speak with you. He was at your bedside most of the night so perhaps you should wait until he takes some rest,” Faramir said as he took his leave.

Boromir nodded and walked over to the window. He was not surprised that Aragorn had taken the role of healer, or that he had watched over him as he had done several nights at Amon Hen. What had surprised him was the two men who had been at odds from the day they met had now become close friends. In part that was surely due to the common goal that had brought the Fellowship together in the first place, but it was also a mark of the trust and respect they each had earned as they journeyed towards the final battle.
Aragorn had shied away from taking his rightful place as King, a decision Boromir had found very hard to accept or understand. So it was that Boromir had felt closer to Legolas and later Haldir because just as he would have died defending Minas Tirith, so would they have done to defend their homes. A far greater sacrifice in some ways for an immortal being, than a Man Bormir now understood, but the loyalty and devotion to their homes and their leaders was the same for both races. And they certainly had a common enemy in both the dark lord and the one ring.

The evil that had resided in Mordor was gone now and as he looked out the window towards that dark land he was relieved to see that the skies were once more clear and bright. No dense grey clouds lingered over the land but there was still one in Boromir’s heart. Denethor. For all his faults Boromir had, as had Faramir, loved his father and after his own experience with the power of the one ring, Boromir could not bring himself to totally condemn his father for his actions. The good in him had been forced into silence by the ring, his mind was no longer thinking clearly and he believed he would have killed Frodo in his efforts to take it from him. So it must have been with Denethor.

There was nothing that could be done to change anything that had happened, but Boromir knew there was one last duty he had to perform. A not so simple act of forgiveness, and a last goodbye.

It was with a heavy heart that he made his way to his father’s resting place.