In the safest place in Middle Earth, Boromir could not find rest. Among the leaves and starlight, he could still see fire, shadow and death. The Ring’s words echoed in his head, increasing as each step brings them closer to Mordor and Minas Tirith.

His head lifted from his hands, he would not sleep tonight either. Seeing that the hobbits were at rest, he arose and began to walk. His feet found a path and the elven voices in the trees grew fainter. In his mind, a thousand thoughts whirled round and he could not focus on any of them. There seemed to be no solution and for the first time in his life Boromir felt the loss of control and his inability to truly handle the situation. His fingers raked through his hair as he contemplated it all. Under the immense pressure, the son of Gondor was breaking.

               “Have you come expecting a happy reunion?”

Fair though she was since the day he’d met her, his heart  was no more than a red block of ICE. Numbness flowed in his veins, and vengeance in his mind. What once was a venerable ruler became nothing more than a dark husk of an Elf. Even his love for his queen had withered away, and her return meant little. 

       She was not fast enough. 

Rising from his throne, the hilt of his sword cool against his palm, he slid the blade back to its sheath, though it was more of a threatening gesture.

                                         “Too late, I’m afraid.”