Chapter Three

The papers on Frodo’s lap went flying. The inkwell tipped over and spilled unnoticed onto what he had just written. Light flooded into his world. He looked in awe and wonder as the man weakly moved his head and moaned.

“Boromir!” Frodo cried in joy. “Boromir!” The hobbit barely knew what to do. He clasped the warrior’s hand and stroked at his brow. “Can you hear me?”

Boromir’s lips parted but he did not speak. His hand wrapped just slightly around Frodo’s.I must get Elrond! the Ring-bearer thought. But first he had something to say, something he may not have another chance ever to say. He leaned close to Boromir’s ear. “I forgive you,” he murmured and hoped the man heard and understood. Then he fled from the room.

Several Elves were standing nearby and stared at the madly dashing hobbit. None spoke until Gandalf saw him.“What in the name of wonder are you doing, Frodo Baggins? You run like the whole host of Mordor was after you.”

“He’s alive, Gandalf! He’s alive!” Frodo cried as he sped by, not slowing down more than an instant. “I must find Elrond!”Bilbo was the next to see his wildly running nephew but got no more news than Gandalf had.

It was not until Frodo entered the silence of Elrond’s house that he skidded to a stop and stood gasping. The Elf-lord looked up in wonder from the text he had been studying and waited patiently and silently while the hobbit caught his breath. It was not like Frodo to come without knocking and waiting for an invitation to enter. He was never denied, but he had not broken such manners before.“How may I help you, Frodo?” Elrond asked at last. “What is amiss?”

“He’s alive, my lord! He’s alive!”“Who is?”

“Boromir!”The Elf raised an eyebrow. He had lived long enough that there was little that could surprise him, but this most definitely did.

Frodo took him by the hand and began to tug him away. “Could you come to see him, please, my lord?”Knowing better than to refuse, Elrond allowed himself to be led away. Along the way, they picked up Gandalf and Bilbo who were still standing where Frodo had sped past them.

“What is this all about, my lad?” Bilbo said.“He’s alive!” Frodo cried again.

“Yes, I think we’ve established that, but who in the Four Farthings are you talking about?”“Boromir! Boromir!”

Both of Gandalf’s brows raised. Bilbo’s mouth dropped.Frodo tugged Elrond faster and the four of them entered the silent house. The younger Baggins jumped from foot to foot like a lad at Yule, while the others stood by in silent wonder as Elrond approached the man. Frodo took Boromir’s hand again and stroked his forehead.

“I can’t believe it, I can’t believe it,” he said and tears began to stream down his cheeks and fall upon the man.It was raining. That was the first thing Boromir was aware as the black night receded and a grey dawn replaced it. How long had he been asleep? Why did he hurt so much? The pain was almost enough to draw him back into the darkness or to wish that he could hide back there. What had happened? Ah, yes, the halflings...they were in danger...the Orcs...so many of them...the arrows that plunged into him...the blinding pain...the agony mastered to defy his enemies again...the torment doubled as another arrow sliced into him....the breaths that were so hard to take...the sword arm that he could barely move...being driven to his knees...hearing the cries of Merry and Pippin...knowing he was not strong enough...that he had failed...that he would never see his home or his brother or father again...that he would not be there to fight for his city...that he had betrayed Frodo and his companions...that all was over...

The Elf-lord moved to Boromir’s side. “Come back to the light, son of Gondor. The Shadow has departed. Let it no longer remain upon you. Come back.”“Yes, Boromir,” Frodo pleaded softly and clenched his friend’s hand a little tighter. “Come back. Your city did not fall. There is a king again. Faramir is prince of Ithilien and a happy husband. Come back.”

Boromir’s hand tightened around...around what? It was small and warm, whatever it was. Not Aragorn’s hand, but hadn’t that man been the only witness to his end? The hobbits he had futilely defended had been taken. After the Orcs had moved off with their prizes, he was left alone to contemplate his folly, his pride, his madness, his failure. Each of these pierced him deeper than the arrows of the enemy, then his thoughts began to scatter as the darkness of the void approached. He had seen its coming many times, too many times, in the eyes of friends and enemies who had fallen in battle. The night that swallowed all, the dimming of life and light. He had held beloved brothers-in-arms as they had breathed their last and known no more. A moment before they had been struggling against the night, against their agony, seeking to take just one more breath, to gasp out one more word, to not leave the world. But all had lost their battle. The night had won as always. And he learned himself at last how that felt. How terrible it was to die so fast and not fast enough. To have pain be the entire world, to hear screaming and realize it was oneself, whether that was only inward or filled the battlefield. Boromir had heard enough, seen enough to know what was coming, but it was so different. What lay beyond? It was the one thing he could never find out, the one thing he wondered as he closed eyes that would see no more and wept over a still body that could no longer feel his embrace. Almost at the edge of Frodo’s sight, he felt a shimmering of the light around him and a solemn reverence filled him. Elrond and Gandalf paused a moment as they become aware of the Powers that now gathered around Boromir and strengthened him for his journey back to consciousness. Elf-lord and Maia bowed and they nodded in acknowledgment. The Ring-bearer bowed his head to touch Boromir’s. “Hold on,” he whispered. “Hold on. You’re almost there.”

Almost there. Boromir heard those words. Almost where? What was this waking beyond death? None could tell. Only those who had passed beyond could know of it and they could give no testimony to the living. He held the hand around his a little firmer. Whoever it was he welcomed its company as the dark continued to recede and the light became stronger. He could almost make out shadowy figures around him. Peace came to him and his painful breaths came a bit easier.His eyes fluttered open. He blinked several times to ease the blurriness around him and turned toward the one he felt nearest. His mouth opened and closed but no sound came out. Slowly his eyes focused and he saw Frodo. Darkness danced around him again. His failure was now complete. The Ring-bearer had also died with him, and with him, his world. Gondor was no more. There was nothing left. Death consumed them all. He wanted to scream but only a faint groan came out. He wanted to crawl back into the black, but the hand that held his kept him grounded in the growing dawn. He hated it. He wanted to fall back into the abyss. What else was left? What punishment awaited him that could be worse than knowing he had secured the deaths of all friends and people? He pulled weakly on the hand that imprisoned his.

“You’re alive, Boromir!” Frodo said softly. “You’re alive.”Alive? What was that joy he heard that fell upon him like rain after a drought and filled in the cracks that had broken upon the parched ground of his heart and soul? He focused again on the little being beside him and was astonished to find the source of the joy and the rain.