When daybreak fell, a tall proud figure rode gallantly out of the city gates upon a dark stallion into the north. The winds blew full and fresh into Boromir's face as he galloped with speed, for these lands were all well known to him, and had been since the time of his childhood. He had always relished the outdoor life – it had a savage beauty which seemed to remind him of the stories of old that he loved: stories of battles long since fought, and men who had risen to glory through deeds of renown. If truth be told, the young nobleman had always envisioned his own name in the songs of the great, and thus he strove so that men might praise his boldness and daring in all ventures.
Boromir stopped to rest his horse now and again, where the pathways were sheltered and the going less clear. When darkness fell each night he would sleep in the open, beneath the stars, for the weather was mild and fresh; the quiet and solitude were a comfort to him now, for he had spent much of the last year in defence of the borders of his land, and had lived with all the noise and chaos of battle.
Fondly he would think of his brother, now left in command of the troops. Unlike his father and most of his people, he thought Faramir a far better man than himself, and he was certain that in time he would prove his worth. For his part, he knew that Faramir reverenced him as his elder, and had done so since their mother died young and left him to Boromir's care. He thought now of how eager he would have been to visit Rivendell and see the elves. Yet in his own mind, there was little curiosity or excitement. He had never before spoken to one of the fair folk, nor seen them in their own homelands, but to someone of such straightforward and frank approach, their knowledge and power held neither fear nor fascination. Boromir saw the world simply, and he knew his own place in it well. Thus he felt himself to be content, and he continued his journey at ease.
It was darkening as he came at last to Rivendell. Behind him the wide plains opened themselves to the sun as it sank red and blazing towards the earth. The sky was blushed with the soft fire of it last rays, as if the very air itself held on to the dying light. That night the breeze was mild and sweet in the land of the elves, and the scent of the dry grass rose up to meet the now weary traveller. All about him, he seemed to hear the sound of a thousand humming voices, as if the land had let forth strains of its own music, and he listened as he went on to the Last Homely House.
When he reached the stables where he tethered his horse, he could see that the lights from the house streamed like gold from the many windows. The trees gave off a heavy scent around the courtyard, and the leaves and blossom drifted off their boughs into a stone bowl full of water that stood at the entrance. Above it were carved two tall and dignified figures, which Boromir recognised as those of Earendil and Elwing. He passed into the main entrance, where he was met at the door.
"Your name, sir?"
"Boromir of Gondor," he said. The elf bowed his head and opened the doors, whereupon he was ushered into a vast hall with high ceilings, full of light and laughter. He looked around as he saw that the room bustled with elves, men and dwarves, sitting at long tables which groaned beneath the weight of fruit and flowers and jars of wine. In the corner, a band played merrily as other guests danced away the night. It was a sight indeed, for Boromir had spent the past days alone in the deserted forests and vales. He was a little bewildered by this crowd of people unknown to him, but glad to sit down and partake of a large and hearty supper. Quickly, several elves offered him food and welcome, while another assured him that he would tell Elrond of his arrival and yet another went to fetch the ale he called for. It was with pleasure that he kicked off his boots and sat down to rest in the warmth, and he was at leisure to look around him at the peoples who had gathered that night at the house of Rivendell.
If Boromir had tarried awhile at the stables, he may have seen another traveller alight there upon a horse later that night. The rider slipped from the saddle as lightly and as easily as a shadow, and moved with grace and silence to the stone figures that stood above the water bowl. He was cloaked in grey, tall and slender as a willow, yet as he bent his head to lift the water to his brow, it seemed that his hair gleamed like white gold beneath his hood. For some minutes he stood with his head bowed, murmuring the ancient elvish chants in gratitude for his safe passage. Then he turned and swiftly secured his steed, with many gentle words spoken in a strange and sweet sounding tongue.
By this time of night, the corridors and hallways lay almost deserted when the traveller entered the house of Elrond. There was no movement save the flickering of candlelight in the stone recesses, the flames shining gold into his long hair as the elf took off his hood.
As he did, a tall, dark figure crossed his path and startled, as if he did not believe his eyes.
"Legolas? Can it be you?" And he laughed in delight.
The fair-haired elf smiled as Elladan embraced him, saying: "It has been too long, friend, since I have seen you. I have been so long absent from this blessed place."
"Your presence here, Legolas, make it more blessed still. You are more beautiful than even I remembered. But come, you should not have entered so silently and without ceremony. Let me take you to my father, and you will receive the welcome that a prince deserves." So saying, he put his arm around his guest and led him to the banquet, from whence the sparkle of many lights and the riot of voices arose.
Boromir still sat quiet in his chair as he sipped his ale. Even to one such as he, born into the pomp and splendour of the court, the feast of Elrond was a sight of wonder. The music played spirited and fast, the cups overflowed with wine and the many-coloured sashes of the dancers swirled as they circled the long tables heaving with delicacies. As he looked, he saw Elrond seated at the head of the table, with his two sons and daughter in attendance, and beside them an elf with long fair hair.
It was with great wonder that Boromir beheld this guest, for he seemed in his eyes to shine with an unearthly beauty like a star fallen to the ground. His white skin was purest alabaster, unstained and untouched, and his eyes were mossy green, as if the lushest leaves of the forest had been reflected in those orbs. His delicate, high-cheekboned face was full of a wild and haunting passion that the man had never seen before. Boromir watched, rapt, as Legolas turned to Elrond and greeted him. The sunshine in his sweet voice rang in Boromir's ears as clear as a bell across the vast hall.
"Such a creature," he murmured below his breath, transfixed until the servant returned to fill his cup.
"Who is that elf yonder," asked Boromir, "whose beauty would shame Luthien herself?"
"That is Legolas, my lord, son of Thranduil king," replied the servant.
"He is the pride of Mirkwood."
"Ah., I should have known it. See how he holds his head, how he bears himself, as one of royal blood." Boromir paused a moment, before asking:
"Surely a youth so pleasing must have been promised to some great elven king?"
"That I do not know sir," replied the servant, and left. Boromir's eyes stayed upon the prince, who was talking to his fellows, and did not turn to see this one man sitting alone. It was a great pleasure for him to see again the friends he had known since childhood, now that he was approaching maturity in elven-years. Though in age he had far outlived any human upon the earth, his time in Mirkwood had been spent in preparation for royal duties and he had been sheltered from the world beyond his home. Thus it was that though his knowledge of lore was deep, and his skill with weapons formidable, still he had about him an innocence and simplicity that charmed all around him. To ride swift through the trees was his greatest delight, as he shared that joy which all elves took in the world around them. But as one trained to use his eyes and ears in battle, his glance fell onto others rather than himself, and of other men's stares he guessed little. He was helplessly innocent of his own loveliness.
Even now, dressed as he was in his simple green travelling clothes, he shone bright against the company around him. In his face, he showed the goodwill that came of spending his life amongst the friends and family who loved and cared for him. It was in peace he slept that night, while Boromir was left to brood restlessly the hours of dark.
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