“All that lies north of Rohan is now to us so
far away that fancy can wander freely there.”
Boromir, ‘Farewell to Lórien’, The Fellowship of the
Ring
Boromir rode across the Ford towards Rivendell, and as he headed along the subtly-hidden path pointed out by his companions, he was taken aback by the gentle feel to the air. He had been too weary to notice anything unusual about the Elves’ valley when escorted to Rivendell that fateful day when Lord Elrond had convened the Council. However, autumn had now settled over the northern lands with a cold frost, and although the breeze flowing through the valley was cool and invigorating, it was softer than “outside”, and lacked any edge of chill. There were many stories in Gondor about Elves and their sorcery, and he wondered about the source of their power.
Faramir would fit in easily here, he mused. His imagination brings him often to places like this, and he dreams of lands and peoples we believed to be legends only.
Weeks ago, during his first experience riding with Elves, Boromir had felt uncertain of his place, and expected that his skills and manner would be severely assessed. After their first, fierce encounter with wild wolves, he sensed he had passed some type of test, and was pleased to be welcomed into the small company's frequent patrols. Warriors were much alike everywhere, he realized: keen-eyed, alert, skilled, and -- even with a language barrier -- able to jest and tease in ways he understood. He had missed the company of warriors on his long journey north, and as different as Elves were from Men, he soon felt more at ease amongst them.
On this patrol, they had crossed paths with a group of Northern Dúnedain. Upon learning from them that Aragorn had returned to Rivendell earlier than planned, Boromir found himself also eager to return to the valley. There was much he wished to discuss with this northern Ranger.
He saw his borrowed horse to the stables, where graceful Elves took his mount with soft murmurs and gentle hands. He had picked up a bit of their language in the past week, and his words of thanks were met with approving smiles.
It had been glorious to ride again, and the horses kept by these folk were strong and beautiful. There had been some hint that the Ring-bearer and the wizard would be walking – walking! – south, a ludicrous idea he hoped that, by now, had been discarded by wiser heads. There was simply no time for what he had heard the Halflings call a “walking party”, especially since he and Aragorn planned to accompany the Ring-bearer for many leagues. He was needed in his city, and longed for home. He would ride triumphantly through the gates of Minas Tirith with the heir of Isildur bearing a sword out of legend, the Ring-bearer at their side, his father’s face smiling at last…
As Boromir strode back towards the House, he was startled out of his thoughts by the tableau before him on the expansive front lawn. The Ring-bearer was walking towards the largest tree, and beneath it his servant was talking to one of the younger hobbits… Peregrin, most likely, although he still had difficulty distinguishing him from Meriadoc at a distance. The large cloth on which the two sat was crowded with baskets and bottles and platters – an afternoon picnic, it seemed. The Dwarf was speaking with the Prince of Mirkwood, who stood between two Elves he did not recognize. But suddenly, his brain processed the more unlikely aspects of what his eyes were telling him: the Ring-bearer was limping slightly, and there was a bandage wrapped about his left calf. Samwise had a bandage wrapped about his head. The Prince of Mirkwood was not so much standing as being supported by his fellows, and the Dwarf, whom he had never heard speak a word to the fair folk save a few polite grunts, appeared to now be giving orders to the other Elves, who appeared to be agreeing with his suggestion as to where the Prince should be escorted. The blond Elf’s unbelted tunic revealed a bruised and bandaged chest, and one leg was splinted. It was obvious that he was recovering from serious injuries.
“Welcome back, Boromir!” Peregrin called out. “Join us for tea!”
Samwise looked in his direction, but almost immediately dropped his eyes and began to rub his head.
“Lie down for a bit, Sam,” came Frodo’s gentle voice. “The sun is still too bright for you.”
Boromir realized that the afternoon sun was directly behind him, and must have caused the hobbit pain to look upon it. After a brief protest, Samwise dutifully lay down, and Frodo cast aside his walking stick and awkwardly sat beside him.
“Right there,” came the Dwarf’s booming voice. “No, closer to the tree. He needs to touch it, you understand. Sit right up against the trunk, laddie. Master Took, is there any cheese left in this jumble?”
“What has happened?” Boromir called out anxiously, striding up to join the small group. “Were you attacked?”
“Frodo was,” Pippin said promptly. “Right through the rocks, can you believe it?”
“Rocks?” Boromir asked, puzzled. He knelt next to Pippin. “Explain yourself, little one. From what direction did the Enemy assault you? Why was the Ford not guarded when I crossed?”
“It is guarded, son of Gondor,” one of the Elves said softly, “but they would not have shown themselves to you without need; nor hindered from crossing someone whom they recognized. Does this suit you, Master Dwarf?”
“It suits me,” Legolas declared. “Thank you.”
“I'm so glad you're getting better, Mr. Legolas,” Sam said with delight. He sat up suddenly, and Frodo steadied him. “He saved my life, Mr. Boromir! So did Mr. Gimli.”
“It was dreadful, Boromir!” Pippin said excitedly. “Gandalf says one of the Black Riders sent a spell right into the cave, and Frodo was hurt, and it collapsed right on top of Sam and Legolas, and Merry and Gimli helped dig everyone out before the flood came, and there's a feast tonight. You returned just in time! Was the patrol interesting?”
Boromir looked from one face to the other, his head whirling.
“Peregrin,” he said slowly, “I was absent from this valley for only six days.”
“Has it been that long?” Frodo asked, frowning.
“All kinds of things can happen in six days,” Pippin was saying earnestly. “Between leaving the Shire and meeting Strider in Bree, we almost got eaten by a tree, and then the Barrow-wights wanted to… well, I’m not really sure what they wanted, but Frodo summoned Tom Bombadil, and everything was fine, except that our clothes went missing. Tom gave us our swords, though. We did get the loveliest mushrooms from Mrs. Maggot, so it wasn’t all bad. Oh, I forgot, you probably heard all about that at the Council… to which Merry and I were not invited. Here, try these honey-dipped apple slices; you look a bit peaked.”
“Don’t mind Pip’s way of telling a story,” Frodo said to Boromir with a smile. “He tends to get his foot hair in a frazzle sometimes.”
“He does?” Boromir asked, looking involuntarily at the hobbits’ unusual feet.
Sam chuckled, and Pippin turned from rummaging around in one of the baskets to glare at Frodo.
“Don’t you start saying that, Frodo Baggins,” he declared. “Tooks have very distinguished foot hair. Tell Sam to stop laughing.”
“If anything Sam does or says displeases me, cousin,” Frodo said calmly, “I will let him know.”
“All right then,” Gimli said to Legolas. “You should be comfortable here until those nervous healers haul you back inside. Imagine forcing a Wood-elf to stay indoors for so many days, fever or no fever! Now let the hobbits feed and fuss over you. I am off to finish the bridge, and then everyone can visit the cavern whenever they wish; it is still quite beautiful, just… different.”
“Found it!” Pippin unearthed a wheel of cheese and handed it to Gimli.
“Bridge?” Boromir asked weakly.
“Aye,” Gimli said, stroking his beard. “’Tis not a deep river, but it is swift, and treacherous. But there is nothing to fear; a Dwarf-built bridge will last until…” He grinned down at Legolas. “…this tree calls out a greeting when I pass by.”
“Then it will last a very long time,” Legolas said with a straight face.
Gimli roared with laughter. “You are feeling better, laddie! Back to your annoying, cantankerous ways, I see. Now, what time is this feast?”
“At the second hour past sunset,” Legolas replied. “It would be earlier, but I understand the hall needs to be restored to its usual state.” He winked at Sam. “As you know, over the past few days someone took it upon himself to strip the House of every ornamental tree and pile them on top of me.”
“Such ingratitude!” Gimli muttered. “I take full credit for your swift healing, Master Elf.” Tucking the cheese and a water bottle into a pouch, he strode off eastwards, humming to himself.
“Some cake, Boromir?” Frodo asked. “Now then, what happened was--”
“Boromir!” came a voice from the veranda. Everyone looked up as Aragorn came towards them, carrying a small pile of folded cloth.
Boromir got to his feet. Whether Aragorn’s claim was true or false, he was still a captain of the Rangers, and merited respect for that alone.
“I am glad to see you,” Aragorn said gravely, coming to Boromir's side and clasping his arm. “I hoped to speak with you again before I left.”
“You’re going away again, Strider?” Pippin asked.
Aragorn smiled gently at the hobbit’s crestfallen expression. “Not until tomorrow; I will return as soon as I may. I wish to ride with the Dúnedain once more before we begin our journey.” He knelt to place a neatly-folded shirt in Sam’s lap. Shaking out Pippin’s scarf, he wrapped it around the young hobbit’s neck. “Arwen bid me return these to you. Pippin, I daresay your scarf has not been this clean since before we met. And Sam, I hope you find that the mending meets with your approval; my lady saw to it herself.”
Sam’s jaw dropped, and he clutched the shirt reverently.
“Will she be at the feast?” Pippin asked hopefully.
“Pippin, that is hardly polite,” Frodo frowned. “The Lady’s plans do not need to be shared with us.”
“She is spending the day with her father, and they will both attend,” Aragorn told them.
“I've been wanting to thank Lord Elrond for all he did,” Frodo said. “Sam and Legolas and Gimli would be dead if not for him.”
“Were you all injured?” Boromir asked.
“Oh, he didn't heal them,” Pippin said.
“It's just that we would have been drownded,” Sam explained.
“Has it truly been nearly a week since the cave-in?” Frodo asked wonderingly. “When will Sam and I have our sutures removed?”
“They itch,” Sam added.
“I am utterly confused,” Boromir announced to no one in particular.
“Just a few days longer, Frodo; Eriniel will see to it.” Aragorn stood up, and turned to address Boromir. “May we have speech together before you rest?”
“Of course,” Boromir said at once. “I met some of your Men in the Wild, and bear messages for you.” As he and Aragorn walked towards the House, Aragorn leaned close to him and spoke softly.
“Know you anything of riddles, Boromir?”
“Seeking the answer to a riddle is what brought me here,” Boromir reminded him.
“Indeed,” Aragorn chuckled. “Even so, take heed, son of Gondor: be wary of any hobbit who wishes to wager with you in a game of words. They are crafty.”
“They seem very simple folk; even the Ring-bearer appears quite unversed in things of great consequence,” Boromir objected.
“Do not mistake innocence for ignorance,” Aragorn advised. “As you have just reminded me, even the Powers speak in riddles.”
“Are you equating the Powers with those Halflings?” Boromir asked in amazement.
“Not exactly,” Aragorn smiled. “However, even Gandalf admits that there are things about hobbits even he does not understand. You would do well not to underestimate them.”
“Noted,” Boromir promised. “Now, what was all that about a cave-in?”
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