Here There Be Unicorns

It was the first true rest the company had found since they set out from Lothlorien. While the days on the river were quiet and much less fraud with danger than their journey before, what lay ahead had the group tense and watchful and the dark shores of the river that were gliding by seemed all too dark to their eyes, with enemies that might lurk just out of sight. So Aragorn was grateful for the narrow island midriver that promised a safe and fairly undisturbed rest for the night. 

Gimli was setting a hidden fire in a hole he had dug, to roast whatever game Legolas might have shot during the day. A few huge boulders that the river had carried along its path eons ago supplied additional cover against unfriendly eyes.Frodo and Sam were sitting quietly, after Aragorn had escorted them ashore and advised them to stay in the shadow of the giant stones sitting deep in the river sands. Looking around he saw Boromir was still with the boats, lifting Merry and Pippin onto the safe sands of the island, and securing the boat for the night. He seemed in a brighter mood than he had been in days past, a fact Aragorn had come to notice. Was it that he knew himself drawing closer and closer to his homeland, or was it simply that the calm journey had allowed him to be less on edge for a change? Aragorn knew he had spent too much time studying the Gondorian already, because the other man turned and cast a questioning glance his way. 

“The river seems quiet enough,” he observed, “we might see a good night’s rest before we reach the waterfalls.” There was no enmity in his voice, it seemed that Boromir had finally accepted their decisions, or maybe made up his mind to whatever he wished to do, once they reached Rauros. 

“You too seem calmer tonight,” Aragorn observed, not quite sure whether he should begin this conversation or not. Getting along with Boromir was like trying to befriend a cave-bear, never knowing when he’d be friendly and when he’d growl. 

Surprisingly Boromir shrugged. “That elven land sowed more doubts in my mind than was good for any man, now that I see more clearly, I know my path.” He cast a sidelong glance at Aragorn. “You were strangely familiar with the golden woods.”

Merry, who had been helping Pippin to wring out his wet cloak, chuckled. “It’s the homeland of his great-mother-to-be, Boromir. If you are sweet on a lass, you have to know the smials of all her assorted relations, if you want to get anywhere with it and I bet it is the same for elves.” 

Aragorn tensed slightly, less because of the very open mention of his betrothal to Arwen, a betrothal that still might end, should she accept to leave Middle-Earth for good. They had not parted on easy terms in Rivendell. What truly made him tense was the topic brought up in front of Boromir. The one time the topic had come up in Rivendell, Boromir had coolly observed that any King returning from foreign parts to reclaim a long lost throne, would be smart to marry inside his new nation, otherwise he’d make enemies from the start, not to mention avoidable mistakes. It was not entirely untrue and had disquieted Aragorn more than a little when he first heard it. He had no wish to discuss it yet. 

Luckily Boromir must have sensed his discomfort, for he turned towards Merry entirely. “You seem to know a lot about courting yourself, Merry,” he slightly ribbed their comrade. “will you tell us of the lass waiting for you back home, along with all her probably long and complex ancestry?” 

“I am not yet old enough to marry,” Merry replied, blushing a bit and ducking his head. 

Pippin jumped up beside him, always ready to rescue his friend. “Sam was awfully sweet on Rosie Cotton when we left,” he said with a wink. “not that Frodo showed any inclination to marry, he was like Bilbo in that regard.” He looked at the others, at Gimli and Legolas. “What about you? I think Bilbo mentioned somewhere or sometime that you were married Legolas.”

The elf arched an eyebrow at Merry. “I was promised to an elf warrior named Tauriel for a while, but… her heart changed, and when her heart died she left these shores. She fell for a… dwarf, who cared little about her and who was slain in battle shortly after.”

Gimli glared at the elf, bristling at the words. “Watch what you say, Master Elf, the dwarf you speak of was a friend, and he died a hero. He did not ask for your elf-lady to fall for him.” He growled pushing a stick into the embers of the fire. “And before you ask, young Hobbit, I do not see what business it is of yours to know about my family either.” 

Pippin, realizing the danger of Gimli and Legolas ending up arguing again, turned away swiftly. “What about you, Boromir? You have spoken of your father at times, but of little else?”

Aragorn, who knew Boromir had a brother, expected an answer in that direction, yet Boromir looked to the ground for a moment. “My wife passed away fourteen years ago, Pippin, she died in childbirth.” he said eventually, sitting down at some distance from them. 

The young Hobbit titled his head. “You must have been awfully young when you married her, if you have been a widower for so long already.” He piped up.

“I was nineteen when we married,” Boromir’s answer was made in a low voice, “and for the two years we had, we were very happy.”

Aragorn had tried to stop Pippin’s questions but the answers had silenced him too. He had not imagined Boromir married, or having lost his wife so long ago. It was a sad fate, one that had seemingly left its traces on their comrade. He wondered if Boromir’s stern demeanour at times were the marks such loss had given him. For a moment he was tempted to ask about the woman their friend had loved and lost, but something held him back and made him not speak the words. Had he known these were their final hours together, he might have asked. 

***

Less than a day later Aragorn stood at the rushing shores of Anduin, watching the boat vanish into the darkness. Boromir was dead, fallen in the battle against the Uruk-hai, what had transpired before Aragorn could not begin to guess. Frodo was gone, beyond their reach and Merry and Pippin were captured, darkness brewed before them and behind them. And Boromir… was lost, fallen, he’d never return home to his beloved city. Aragorn’s shoulders bowed, he could not shake off the guilt, the silent question why he had failed to save their friend. He could not even remain here and mourn, they had to hunt down the Orcs before they got too far with their prey. He turned around Gimli and Legolas awaiting him, they had to move south. The darkness awaited ahead.

___________________________

Small afterword: this was to be the opener for a story, where Boromir actually had a son. (It never made sense to me, that he was not married, with the House of Stewards being that depleted.) The story was meant to have Aragorn reach Gondor, and encounter Boromir's son, a warrior of 21 years old. Artamir constantly reminds Boromir of his father, due to the way, he fights, looks and speaks, though Artamir sides with Aragorn from the start. The story was meant to go beyond the war of the Ring, and into Aragorn's rule. Aragorn learning that Boromir's son is not an heir to the role of steward, because Boromir married a soldier's daughter and not a Lady. Faramir becomes the next Steward, Artamir the Captain of Aragorn's personal guard. Aragorn and Artamir easily become friends, though Aragorn struggles, unable to tell Artamir how exactly Boromir died. Aragorn does not have it in his heart to tell Artamir that his father broke in the end. The stories was meant to show Aragorn struggling with that truth, but as Artamir never asks, he feels he does not have to tell him, especially as it is clear Artamir loved his father very much.

During that time there are rumours time and again, that Boromir may be alive, and return, as no one really knows how he died. One time Aragorn witnesses Artamir shooting down such a rumour, by confronting a bard peddling those stories. Aragorn observes that situation from the shadows (he still is a Ranger!) and after it is done, one of the older soldiers and Artamir converse, and the soldier says the rumours will never end, and he is surpised Artamir is convinced his father is dead, at which Artamir reveals that the night his father died, he had a dream - he was fighting Orcs on the banks of the Anduin river, and in the dream he had the sense that if he somehow made it, if he somehow managed to break through, he might reach his father in time, but ultimately he could only witness his death. Aragorn realises Artamir has known the entire time, forced to witness his father's passing in a prophetic dream (which as he would later learn became Artamir's recurring nightmare, coming back again and again ever since.).

“Boromir,” Pippin asks, very solemnly, as he watches the man sharpening his dagger one evening. “We don't know much about the big folk, as you know. I hope you won't be offended if I ask – are you considered ugly, among your people?”

Across the fire, Gimli chokes around his waterskin. Boromir himself is so shocked by the question, he almost slices his hand open on the dagger.

“Ugly?!” He repeats, in a voice well above his usual vocal range. Pippin has the good grace to look mildly apologetic.

“It's only that you aren't married!” The hobbit says hurriedly. “At your age, isn't that quite unusual, for a man? I thought there must be a reason!”

Boromir opens and closes his mouth. He is so flabbergasted he almost doesn't know what to say. All he can come up with is – “Aragorn isn't married, either!”

“Yes, but he's a Ranger. Doesn't stay in one place for long, does he? It's not exactly conducive to marriage,” Merry interjects. Apparently it's a ‘gang up on Boromir’ night. “And he betrothed, so that's sort of half way to the real thing.”

“Well, you never know – I might have a lady waiting for me in Gondor,” Boromir sniffs, knowing that he's turning redder and redder by the moment. “And to answer your question: no, I am not ugly!”

“They call him Boromir the Fair, in Minas Tirith,” says Aragorn, choosing to pile in on the conversation. “From what I hear, he is the most eligible bachelor in the city.”

“So he doesn't have a lady-love, then,” Pippin grins. “Never mind, Boromir. After the quest is done, we will find you a fine bride!”

“A hobbit maid would suit him nicely, I think. The height difference would be awkward, but she would teach him not to brood so much.” Merry agrees.

Gimli and Legolas both howl with laughter at this suggestion, while Boromir fervently wishes that the ground would swallow him up. Merry and Pippin are already running through the eligible young ladies of the Shire, arguing over who would make the best bride for Boromir. They even drag Frodo and Sam into the conversation, which is fortunate, for they soon begin to tease Sam about his Rosie, and forget all about the previous conversation.

Aragorn gives Boromir a consoling pat on the shoulder. “You really are quite a catch by Gondorian standards, my friend. Do not let it worry you. In any case, whoever says that every man must marry?”

When they stopped at midday, Boromir's eyes followed Aragorn as the Ranger sat a short distance away from the others, his back to the Company, in self-imposed isolation. Boromir thought for a moment as he dropped his pack and shield to the ground, then walked over and sat beside Aragorn.

"I had not realised," Boromir began, looking off into the distance, "How much I had come to rely on your hope until you lost it."

Aragorn glanced at him, startled. "Is that how you see it?"

"Do you deny it?"

"I have not given up."

"I did not say that you had," returned Boromir calmly. "I do not think that you will. I said only that the hope has gone out of you."

Aragorn sighed and lowered his head, raking his hands through his hair and rubbing at the base of his skull as if it ached. Hesitantly Boromir raised his hands to Aragorn's shoulders and found them stiff and set. He pressed his thumbs into the tight muscles and Aragorn straightened in surprise, then leaned back into the massage gratefully, a long, drawn-out groan escaping his lips.

Boromir had to smile at the wealth of appreciation in that sound, glad he had thought to offer this small service, and concentrated on smoothing out the knots of tension in Aragorn's shoulders.

Aragorn closed his eyes, relaxing into the skillful strength of Boromir's hands. "Shall I tell you something ironic?" His mouth twisted wryly. "As a child, I was called Estel, which means 'hope' in the Elvish language." He paused, remembering that long-ago time. "It was deemed safer, after my father was killed and I was taken to the safety of Imladris to be fostered by Lord Elrond, that no word of the continued existence of an heir to Isildur reach the Enemy's ears. It was not until I was a man grown that I learned of my true name and identity, and at first I thought it was a glorious heritage."

"But sometimes," guessed Boromir softly, when Aragorn fell silent, "You weary of being your people's hope, of the expectations laid upon you. And you wish you could be just an ordinary man."

Aragorn twisted around and met Boromir's eyes, seeing the understanding there. "Yes," he said quietly. "You know what it's like, don't you?"

Boromir nodded. As heir to the Steward of Gondor and commander of her armies, he too often felt that the welfare of his people rested largely upon his shoulders. "I would not choose to be other than who I am," he said, "But there are times when I envy the simple soldier who has only to obey orders and not make the decisions, nor bear the responsibility for failures."

"I cannot see you tamely following another man's orders," Aragorn teased.

"It depends on the sort of person giving the orders," said Boromir sagely. "I can take orders from someone I respect and admire without any problems, and have done so in my time. After all, even sons of the Steward don't start out as captains."

Aragorn smiled. "But they make good ones, I warrant."

"None better." Boromir grinned back at him.

Aragorn laughed at the confidence in that prompt answer, and testingly rolled his shoulders, welcoming the relief from the stiffness that he'd almost grown used to. "That feels much better; thank you. And thank you for the talk as well."

Boromir started to get to his feet. "I know I'm not Gandalf," he said awkwardly, "But for what it's worth, if you need a friend to talk to, to share your concerns with..." His voice trailed off.

"It's worth a great deal to me," said Aragorn without hesitation. "And I am glad indeed to know that I can call you friend. It is something that I have wished for. With Gandalf gone...I feel that the success of failure of this quest depends on the choices that I make," he admitted. "With the path to success so narrow, if I but steer us slightly wrong..."

As there had been three ways to get beyond the mountains, Boromir thought. One had been attempted and failed, the second achieved -- but only at great cost. What, he wondered, would have been the outcome if they had made for the Gap of Rohan, as he had urged? Would the Company even now be safe and whole? Or would worse have befallen? He felt a fresh stab of sympathy for Frodo, whose choice it had been to take the path through Moria. The hobbit must blame himself for Gandalf's death, as Boromir would have done in his place. It was the price of command, one that Boromir knew well.

"There are eight of us," said Boromir firmly. "And we all have voices to say yea or nay to any path that you might choose. You need not take on that burden alone."

Aragorn's mouth quirked. "You sound remarkably like Gandalf." He climbed to his feet. "I shall try to heed your words, o wise counselor."

Somewhat embarrassed, Boromir nevertheless sketched a brief bow. "At your service," he said lightly, though he could not but think that someday that could be his job, to be not the ruling steward of Gondor but one who counseled its king. He thought of having someone besides his brother to share the burden of leadership with, someone he respected, someone who was willing to listen to him and take his counsel seriously, and...it was not such a bad image, after all. He glanced at the rest of the Company, who were busily eating their lunch rations. "Come, before our share of the food ends up in the Hobbits' stomachs."

Boromir's tone was light, bantering, and Aragorn chuckled as they walked back to the others. For now, at least, their path was decided -- they would enter the golden wood of Lothlorien. Boromir misliked the choice, for in Gondor the elven realm was held to be a perilous place, which none could enter and emerge unscathed. But Gandalf had planned their route that far ahead at least, and Aragorn assured him that they would find safe haven there. Boromir was not convinced, but he would follow -- with his sword loose in his sheath and its hilt ready to his hand.