For days he rode, and still he saw no sign of the elf. The ground was soft, for he was following the bend of the river, and at no point did he doubt that this was the way Legolas had passed. But just when he was sure that he would be in his sights, another empty vista would open before his eyes. It was frustrating, and Boromir's nerves were highly strung with the possibility of seeing his love again, and of what his reaction might be. Dare he hope against hope that this time, his answer would be different? At first, flushed with Aragorn's reassurance, he had been confident. But now, after hours on the road alone, with nothing but his fears to grate at him, he was not so sure.
It was then that he heard a strange sound, like the cry of a wild animal, but yet not so. Slowing down, he looked all about him carefully, and his hand was at his sword hilt. Ahead, the river came to a wide and shallow bend, where the water flowed more slowly. A grove of trees stood some way from the bank, and it was these that Boromir kept watch on, for he knew that there were unknown beasts in the woodlands that might be a danger to him. Yet nothing stirred among them, and for a moment he relaxed, until he heard that strange wailing sound again. Curious and a little fearful, he made his way forward at a steady trot.
"Oh, by all my gods!"
There on the ground before him lay a golden haired figure, blood-stained and unconscious. At first, he had felt like a knife had gone through his heart, because he thought that Legolas must be dead – but then, he had seen his chest rise and fall, and he knew that his worst fears were unwarranted. Beside him, small and wriggling, was a baby new-born. It was his cries which had caught Boromir's attention. And in a flash, his mind had pieced together the puzzle, and there could be no doubt about what had happened, or what it meant.
"Legolas! Legolas, can you hear me?" he cried out, but the elf was motionless and insensible. Boromir himself felt almost as stupefied. He could see with his own eyes what had happened, and he could understand perfectly well how it had come about, but he still could not bring himself to believe it. And then came the horrible thought - that Legolas must have known all along – that Legolas had kept the pregnancy secret from all of them, and would never have told him if he hadn't found out like this.
"The wretch, the poor wretch!" he thought aloud. "Why on Middle-earth did he say nothing?"
But it had been done. Boromir knew that the baby at his feet was the son of the Lord of the Nazgul, and, although he regretted this to his dying day, his first thought was to dash out its skull against a rock. But it was so weak, and so helpless, that he could never have done so. And yet, what could he do? He must attend to Legolas, for he had clearly been weakened by the birth, but the child was his priority: it was raw and exposed out in the open, and any manner of creature might come up and devour it. He would have to take it and keep it safe for now.
At first, when he stooped to pick it up, he shuddered with revulsion, but then he saw the child's round dimpled face and bright eyes and his heart melted. As he lifted the tiny baby, it giggled and cooed at him, and he could not help but smooth back its soft dark hair with one broad finger. Carefully he began to wash it in the stream. It seemed to enjoy the rush of water around it, and laughed with pleasure. Even in the midst of such a situation, Boromir smiled with it. He dried it out on the grass, and wrapped it carefully in some clothes from his pack.
"Take it away from me," said a hoarse voice suddenly behind him. Boromir startled, not so much because the elf was now sitting up and aware, but because of the bitterness in his voice. Legolas was not even looking towards them.
"Why did you never say anything?" he replied, ignoring the demand.
"Take it away," he repeated, still turning his back. "Throw it in the river."
"Legolas!" He came forward and tried to hand him the child, but the elf moved his head so that he could not see the baby.
"Legolas, please!" Boromir stared at his pale face in dismay.
Suddenly, the elf began to sob. His shoulders shook as he buried his head in his hands, and the long hair covered his face. "I cannot look at it, Boromir. I cannot. It is his. How can I – how can I?"
Boromir lifted back his hair and crouched in front of him. "It is no fault of this child's. It was conceived in cruelty and shame, and it was born alone in the world. Will you abandon it too?"
There was no answer. "Will you, Legolas? A child is a gift. Will you turn it away?"
Legolas looked up at last. The baby gurgled and reached out to him, and he took it in his arms and wept. "My poor son," he whispered.
"He is not poor. He is blessed, to have such a parent." Legolas kissed the boy's forehead tenderly, his tears falling on him, but shook his head.
"How can anyone accept him, when they know what blood flows in his veins? They will cast him out, and shun him. It were better he died."
"Can you let him drown or starve, then? Look at him."
"You know I cannot! I can do nothing but love him. So many times, I thought of cutting myself open so that I would miscarry – but I could not bring myself to, because I knew I would love him so dearly. I knew that even if he were spurned and despised, I would stand by him, and be with him always."
"Then love him, Legolas," said Boromir gently, and embraced him. They sat for a while, as Legolas cried on his shoulder and caressed the child in his arms.
"You should have told us," said Boromir, full of hurt. "How long have you known?"
"Since the beginning. That is why I lived, even after such dishonour was done to my body. I knew that I nourished another within me. But only Galadriel saw what had happened."
Boromir shook his head and groaned. "And you kept it to yourself, all this time? You carried on fighting, and put yourself in danger?"
"I do not carry a child like a woman. It did not hamper me."
"That is not the argument, Legolas! You keep everything safe and secret within you, so that to others you are cold and hard as ice! And yet, you suffer all your trials alone. Why can you not open your heart to any other – why will you not let me help you? When you were raped, you hid your grief as best you could, so that we would not be over troubled. You were injured, but you made the best of it, and you marched despite the pain. And now, now this!"
Legolas made no reply, but sat in silence. Boromir continued in a gentler voice: "Had we known, we would have taken you to your father at once."
"I fear that even he will never open his arms to this child," said Legolas.
"How can he? But see how sweetly and how innocently he looks up at us now, knowing nothing of his rank parentage! Will my love be enough to save him from his tainted blood? It tears my heart in two, Boromir, to have such joy for my firstborn, and to have such abhorrence for how he was fathered!"
Boromir could think of little comfort to offer. Instead, he looked closer at the baby that Legolas clasped tight to his breast. The child was helplessly loveable in his tiny form, so small that his elven parent had showed no signs of his carriage. His soft hair was dark but his open eyes were a familiar green, the same sparkling orbs that seemed to be windows into a forest where the sunlight fell dappled. Although he did not possess the strange beauty of his father, he had a face full of good nature and warmth.
"Your son seems to be pleased, at any rate," said Boromir, watching how the babe cooed and laughed. "Come, Legolas. Are you hurt much? Let me bathe you, and keep you warm. I have some broth I can heat in my flask, and I will get you blankets, and you can rest more comfortably."
So saying, he guided Legolas to the shelter of the trees further in from the riverbank, and lit a fire to warm up some water in a shallow basin. The elf seemed half in a daze, and let Boromir wash him, and sat passively as the man wrapped both him and his son in heavy rugs. Night had well and truly fallen by this time, and the two of them sat huddled together beneath the elms in front of the fire.
Legolas was lost in his son's face, stroking him tenderly and whispering to him in his own language. He had never felt so strong an urge to protect someone, for the child had become in an instant the most precious thing to him in the world. So innocent was the baby in his arms that he could barely believe that his father was a creature so merciless and wicked. He sighed deeply and turned to his companion.
"You came back then, to find me?"
The man nodded. "I could not let you go. I had to see you once more. But I little thought that this would be what I found." He looked at the baby, and said quietly:
"Is this why you refused me? You knew that you carried another man's child."
Legolas wrung his hands. It was piteous to see distress in a warrior so courageous and self-possessed.
"I am so sorry, Boromir. I could not have dragged you down with me, into shame and disrepute. But this is the way the fates have turned. I will not grieve any more for what has happened. Only I must keep it secret. I can tell no one of his true father, not even my son himself, for it will destroy him. But I will be there to care for him whenever he needs me."
Boromir looked at the determination in his weary face. "But what if you were not alone?" he asked.
Legolas turned to him, not understanding. "What if I made my offer again? If I asked you once more to be my husband, what would you say?"
He looked at him as if he did not believe his words. "You could not be willing to wed me, knowing that this child is not your own."
"You are wrong. You thought I would not marry you because you had been assaulted, but that is not true. And you think I will not marry you because of your son, but that is not true either. I love you, Legolas. And I will love him, as well."
The elf was confused and overwhelmed by Boromir's words, and he looked at the ground in hesitation. The man took his hand and spoke to him gently.
"Think of it. If you go back now to your father, how will you explain to him the birth of this child? If his true blood is discovered, he will be cast out. If you lie, and say he is the son of a commoner, born out of wedlock, then his name will never be respected. So tell him this: tell him I am the father, and he will know me as a man of high rank. And I will wed you, and take this babe and treat him as my own. He will have all the privilege of good birth, and none of the malicious rumours of tainted parentage will stain his name. He will be steward of Gondor at my death, and rule the greatest city of men, rather than wander the earth in exile."
Legolas did not reply immediately after Boromir's speech. He looked a while into his son's eyes and thought on his future. There was no doubting the truth, that if no one came forward as the father of the child, the slur on his name would last forevermore. He would struggle to make his way in the world. But if he was brought up as a man of Gondor, he would grow up secure and carefree, and live contentedly. Legolas knew that this child's happiness was all that he desired. He could not bear for him to know the sickening truth, and have to live with the taunts of others, rejected by both men and elves.
And yet, there was a reason why he had rejected the marriage offer once before. In truth, he did not know if he loved Boromir. How did a person tell if they loved another or no? An elf's love was eternal and undying, as strong as the earth and as deep as the Sea. Was he prepared to take Boromir as his lord and his love, and honour him with his body and his soul's devotion? He did not know. But this much he was sure of: the man beside him was kind, and loyal, and although he had his weaknesses, his heart was true. Above all, Legolas knew that he would treasure his son as if he were his own. So he turned to him, and said: "Do you truly mean what you say? Your people might despise you for marrying a male elf, and you would die knowing that your heir was not of your own blood."
"I do mean what I say." He held the elf's chin gently in his hand. There was a pause before he answered.
"Then so be it. If you wish to take me as your husband, I will accept you, Boromir of Gondor."
With those few words, Boromir felt a warm joy fill his heart, and he embraced the elf, and made his vows.
"Then I bind you to me in troth, Legolas Greenleaf. You will be a jewel amongst the people of our city," he promised, "and have all that you could ever desire. I will spare nothing for you, nor refuse you any gift. You will be honoured beyond any prince of Middle-Earth."
"I bind myself to you in turn, but I have no need for such extravagance," replied Legolas, smiling as if he were suddenly shy. "I ask only for your goodwill to my son, and your oath that he will come to no harm at any man's hands."
"That is assured," said Boromir, "for he will be as my own." He took the baby tenderly and kissed his forehead. "He will never want for anything, as long as I live."
Legolas looked at Boromir with the child, and was touched by how lovingly he held him.
"Then you should name him," he said, "for he will carry on your line." The man was surprised at the honour.
"I will call him Anarion ('treasured')," he said proudly, "for he was born into this world unwanted, but now he is here, he will be treasured and beloved by both of us."
Legolas nodded. "It is a good name." He took back his son. "Come, little Anarion. It is time to sleep."
And then he began to sing, in that lovely and unearthly voice that lulled the babe to rest, and blew like a summer breeze through the green forests. Boromir fell under the spell of the haunting melody, and his eyelids felt heavy. His last thoughts were blissful and content, as he dropped to sleep: he would bring a family with him back to Gondor, and the golden-haired angel beside him was his own at last.
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