Out of the Great Sea to Middle-earth I am come. In this place will I abide, and my heirs, unto the ending of the world.
So this is the sound he spoke of, the clear ringing of the trumpets in my ears. It still feels like a dream. But the shiver that runs through me is real. The wind is chilly up here, though the sun is shining – as well it should on the day of the crowning of the King. You would expect some warmth where so many people have gathered. But I am standing on the stairs alone, facing the crowd, and I shiver in my noble clothes. A ranger's coat would suit me better in this weather, but there is no going back to that, ever. And I have accepted that. Accepted to be the King. This is what I have been fighting for, and I should feel as happy as the cheering crowd, and proud to be the centre of their attention.
The wind grows heavier as I look across the yard. I see the withered tree before me, and the dead trunk makes me feel sadder than I ever have felt. Though I shouldn't, for I have it in my hands to restore Gondor to its old glory, now that Sauron is defeated. A tree stands for strength, and this one, for that of Gondor. Like the White Tower of Ecthelion, gleaming like a spike of pearl and silver – poetic words from a warrior. I remember every one of them. I saw the tower as clearly then as I now see it before me when Boromir described it. But that was only a dream. A dream we shared, for that was the only thing we had in common – the believe in the rise of Gondor. But I stand here alone, and though I see the tower and hear the trumpets, it is not the dream come true. The tower where the Steward's son used to stand in the morning to see the banners caught high in the morning breeze is as bare as the tree.
The wind has turned, bringing a chill from the east. My heart feels cold as a stone. I shiver as I remember the golden warmth we shared in the comfort of Lothlorien. After the dead dwellings of Moria, the woods were a sensation of smells, of colours, of eternal growth. It was a comfort to see that not all could be destroyed, not all trees would wither. Nor would all hope. Hesitant as he had been to enter them in the first place, the charm of the Golden Woods affected Boromir greatly. He could find no rest there. I did not come for a conversation when I urged him to get some sleep, nor did I expect that he would want to have one with me, of all the members of the fellowship. So it was almost a shock when he talked to me of his most secret feelings. I realized I had never heard him speak of himself as a person, only of Gondor, before that.
Nowhere else would he have confided in me, or let me see his tears, me, whom he considered his rival all the time. For once, he did not hide behind his shield and the steel of his armour, but let me see his real self, the lonely man behind the noble profile that looked so proud and stern. His voice was full of passion then, and his eyes burned with a hope I had not seen before, a hope that the Lady of the Golden Wood had rekindled.
I felt the sudden urge to hold him, and comfort Boromir the Bold, fair Lord of Gondor, like a child in my arms. For it was comfort that he needed. I realized only then how desperate he had been, that he had had no hope left before that, not for many long years, nor had his people. And I understood his bitterness. For me, there had always been hope, no matter how small. But he had never even known Estel existed. Galadriel had shown him there was still hope. But I cannot see it, he said. And he looked at me. I said nothing, for he had to find out for himself. And then I saw it in his eyes. He had realized, for the first time, that his hope, Gondor's hope, lay in me. That he only had to trust me, and share what little hope I had.
But hope was a weakness in a man like him, and when he let me see it, I did not realize that others would do so, too. After years of harshness, he had let down his guard, and Saruman took advantage of that as soon as we left the shelter of the Golden Wood. Lothlorien had been perilous for him indeed, only I had not realized how much danger lay in such feelings, in hope restored to a man who had done without most of his life. The Dark Lord waited for the chance to find a path to the heart of a man, to that what he most deeply desired. And I had helped to open up that path though I myself had not even trod it.
I have seen the White City, I had said to his question, when I meant: I understand how you feel. But we were both clumsy with words, and a warrior's body may talk bolder than his tongue dares. And I felt the heat of his emotions as we sat close. I felt almost embarrassed, so much that I did not even dare to look into his face as he spoke, trying to control my own emotions and keep my voice level. I was surprised to realize how my body reacted to his. Lothlorien made us feel alive again, like sap rising again in frozen trees. There, nothing ever seemed to wither, everything to be forever. Even our feelings. I should have been more open then, but how could I know there was so precious little time left. I thought we still had a long journey before us. But I made up for it, as if I had known we had only this one night left where others had a lifetime.
The night we shared together at the rapids. You insisted that we rest there for the night, even before I could suggest it, supposing I would urge the company to go on though the night had fallen. How wrong you were in that, my brother. You could have done me no greater favour, giving me time to continue where we had ended in Lothlorien. All day, I had been anxious whether our still fragile friendship would hold when we were beyond the spell of the Lady that opened all hearts. But we had been separated by the waters of the Anduin all day, except when we carried the boats around the Falls of Rauros. The load had been much too heavy to make use of our recurrent trips around the falls for conversation, and all I had heard of you all day had been your heavy panting over the rush and roar of the rapids. And as things were then, after Lothlorien, even that I enjoyed.
I smile as I remember how you teased the Dwarf about his sturdiness to find out if we would have some moments of our own. But he was barely awake enough to hear you. We were even more weary than the rest after making the journey thrice, the boats on our backs, still we did not rest when they had fallen asleep exhausted. At night, the sound of the waters grew louder, and we only had to walk a few steps to hide behind the mist from the rapids that shrouded the River. And there we continued our talk.
I asked if you had been bewitched by the Lady, as you had feared. "Unscathed, but not unchanged, as you said," you answered, "for I found hope, and I found you." "And can you find rest then this night?" I asked. You smiled, a slow smile, and the first one for me in all the weeks of our journey. "If you help me again," you said. Hope had lit a fire in your eyes, and I could feel its warmth when our eyes met. Life seemed to be forever then, above the roaring waters. The white tree of Gondor – I saw it in all his beauty and strength then, white skin covered with a moist sheen from the spray of the falls. His strength matched the force of the falling waters, and I felt like drowning in its current. But you held me safely above the waters of the big River.
Next morning, on the Anduin, I could feel your gaze upon my back, like sunshine in spring. Though we were busy all day steering our boats, and exchanged no words, still I felt your affection. Now that you had accepted me, and promised to stand by my side, I could not wait to get to Gondor. When we passed the Argonaths, the waters were much to loud for you to hear my words of joy. But as I turned to look at your face while we passed between those close walls, I could see your lips move as you smiled at me. And I knew your words, though I never heard them. "The Lords of Gondor."
That is how you saw us – noble and tall, standing side by side to guard the White City as the Argonaths of old. The Lords of Gondor have returned- your words are still in my ears, louder than the shouts of the crowd. But it is only me, who stands here alone on the threshold of the Citadel on the highest level of Minas Tirith. You told me how the people would greet us when we returned together. How can they cheer for me now, still a stranger to them, instead of crying for the Lord that did not return? The one that guarded the city all these years, even before his failing father, and who finally gave his life for them? Boromir the Tall, the Fair, the Bold, he was called. Have they already forgotten him? For them, he went away, never to return, and his end will forever be a matter of legend. But I was by his side when he died. And it did not feel much like a legend then. To me, this is no tale by the fireside, cleaned of the filth and pain felt in reality. It was so hard to let him pass. There has not been a night when I have not dreamt of the sound of his horn, calling me to his help, and always, in every dream, I was too late to safe him. As I was in life.
I smell the blood again, but that is no wonder, for the whole city is still reeking of it. It will take many rains to wash the red stains from its white walls again. They look dead pale now, reminding me of your face as I held you. I could not bear to see your strength fade, until there was none left, just your aching flesh trembling under my hands. And I still feel the shiver that went through your body as the final breath left it. Then, your body felt slack – relaxed, not dead yet. Not then. Only when we laid you to rest in the boat that was to be your coffin, and I struggled with clumsy fingers to undo the laces of your bracers did I fully realize that this was the end. Legolas offered to help me, but this was something I wanted to do by myself, though then I did not even know why I wanted to keep them. Only later, as we continued our journey, did I realize what they meant to me. The sword, the horn, the shield – all this belonged to you alone. But our feelings for the white city were a thing we shared, and the white tree was the symbol of our common hope. And not only that. To me, it stood for your strength, and that of your love for your home, a strength I greatly admired. The Lord of the Tower of Guard, you stood strong while Gondor was falling.
Today, the city is crippled as the tree that is its symbol. I know it would grieve you to see it thus. How sad it must have been to see this tree each day, in such a sharp contrast to the emblem shown on your clothes, your banners, everywhere you went. No wonder there was no hope left in anyone in Gondor. Even now, after the battle we have won, it saddens me to see the dead tree. Above the cheers of the crowd, I think I can hear the wind howling through the bare branches. It is a loud and lonely sound, that pierces right through my heart. And I know what it reminds me of.
I had planned to help you deliver the fair city, and instead had come to lead the battle on my own, with all the other Lords of Gondor gone or put out of action. And I led it well. Yet I can feel no glory in our victory, nor happiness yet, only a burden on my shoulders. It is the same burden that you have carried for years, my brother, under harsher conditions, and I am glad that there is something I still share with you, the obligation to the city and its people that was your driving force all your life. You had the strength to carry responsibility for others – in a situation that could not be more desperate – as I did before the battle. Now I understand that you held nothing but contempt for one who would not even try for fear of failing.
I kneel, and feel the weight of the crown on my head. It is not heavy, and it is another, unseen burden that bends me down. "Now come the days of the King," I hear Gandalf say, "may they be blessed." I feel a bit dizzy, as if the wings on my head were about to unfold, and the wind would take me and carry me away from the height were I am standing. If only it would. Take me where my heart dwells forever, south to the mouth of the Sea.
You went on your last journey, facing the sky, so I could see your face until the last moment, when the current took you. And I remember you like that, as if asleep, nothing more. It comforts me to think of you not left behind in strange earth, but as one going home on your own, taking the low road, to the white city. And to hear that Faramir saw you on the river, that you had travelled safely, against all odds, and passed the white city before you reached your final destiny by the sea. Though you could not see it, or hear the trumpets, nor wipe your brother's tears from his face as he cried for you. At least part of your dream came true, as you returned to your city, instead of rotting in foreign ground, a ground fouled by the beasts that slew you. It was enough that your sword was still red with their blood as we left it like that, to tell of your valour even as you fell.
I stand up, the King of Gondor, the winged crown on my head, the wind from the west in my hair. This is the picture you must have seen when your eyes were breaking, and you called me my King, your face wet with the tears dripping from my eyes – as they do now. I do not care, for many will remember the slain in this moment full of emotion. I rise, and know I have to address the people now. But how can I do this, while my heart is filled with grief? The sounds of the crowd rise like the tide of a wave. I clear my throat.
"This day does not belong to one man but to all. Let us together rebuild this world that we may share in the days of peace." I will say no more, for the words fail me. My heart is heavy, and they shall not know it. This must be a day of new beginnings, for these people need comfort as much as I do. But this is all I can give them at the moment. This, and the promise that Erendil gave when he began his reign. "Et Eärello Endorenna utúlien...Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar tenn' Ambar-metta!" Out of the sea we have come, and for the sea our hearts yearn forever. But I will keep the promise, though I would rather leave for the sea. But even the King is not bound to the circles of this world forever, and beyond them will be more than memories.
I pass through the crowd, looking for an emotion in the faces of the many friends that mirrors my own. In Faramir's eyes I see the same pain I feel in my heart, for we both have lost a brother. And he a father in addition, long before the Steward finished his life. I see tears in …owyn's and Faramir's faces. But they have each other for comfort. And though many have lost loved ones in this last battle, today the people want to forget. As I would, if I only could. But this is the very moment you conjured up in your dream, the one vision we shared, and it makes me realize how much I miss you. I have dreaded this day. But nobody will understand that, for they do not know how close we got after entering Lothlorien. Nobody, except, maybe the Elf. There is something in Legolas' eyes as he faces me now, in spite of his bright smile, that tells me he knows how I feel. "Hannon le," I thank him as we hold each other for a moment.
Then he steps aside, and I see somebody I did not expect. The Evening Star shines still, even in broad daylight. I am glad that she lives, and she is here. In her hand is the banner she brought as my prize, and a sign of Elrond's final consent to our marriage. But I cannot enjoy this day, nor rejoice at my meeting with my fair Elven Lady. Yet it is a comfort to see her face. She looks different as she lowers her face - have we become strangers? I reach out to feel her, see if she is real, and before I know it, we are kissing in front of the crowd. She feels frail and soft, quite the opposite of the strong warrior that conquers my thoughts, and it is as well. Yet I will not forget the strong hands that held me, the brush of his hair in the breeze from Rauros caressing my face as we looked out on the fall in the drizzling rain of the morning. I release Arwen from my arms. The banner is waving into my face, with the image of the white tree in full bloom, boughs swaying in the wind as if they were alive. But that is just an illusion. The white tree of Gondor has died.
In the moment of glory, of Men's highest triumph, I feel cold and lonely, and as dead as that tree. My King – those had been his last words. And this the King would be forever. His.
Site Info
We are the home of 1292 authors from among our 2552 members. There have been 2904 reviews written about our 3820 stories consisting of 10734 chapters and 29400445 words. A special welcome to our newest member, Rosamundeb.Categories
Skin Change
Donate
Help us keep one of the oldest running LotR archives available to all. Even the smallest donation helps!
Many thanks to our previous donors!
Many thanks to our previous donors!
