Title: For Gondor: Dispute at Helms Deep  
Author: SkaterBoy (ImaSkaterBoy@hotmail.com)  
Pairing(s): Boromir/Aragorn, Boromir/Legolas  
Rating: R  
Summary: Boromir challenges Aragorn after their victory at 
Helms Deep.  Part 2 in the For Gondor series.  
Disclaimer: Not mine.  What, you think I would’ve let 
Boromir die?  
Warning: violence, mild language  
Authors Note: alternate TTT beginning; there was no battle 
after which Aragorn was thought dead.  ~Indicates thought~  
Archive: Boromir, A Hero's Journey; all others, please ask 
first  
Feedback: highly appreciated  
 
*Dispute at Helms Deep*  
 
Legolas hailed Aragorn in the stony corridor.  He waited 
while the Ranger argued with Theoden, urging him to send to 
Gondor for aid.  But the stubborn King refused.  “Where was 
Gondor when our enemies closed in around us?”  He railed 
against Gondor, and Legolas was only glad that Boromir was 
not there to hear his beloved country so abused.  
 
Aragorn was finally dismissed by Theoden, who would not 
give the frustrated soldiers more time to prepare for the 
war.  They needed provisions, time…  
 
“The man is mad.”  Legolas nodded in agreement as they 
walked Helms Deep together.  “He made more sense when 
Saruman controlled him.”  Aragorn grumbled for a bit, then 
remembered that Legolas had been trying to get his 
attention.  “Was there something you wanted to tell me?”  
 
Legolas reached into his pocket and pulled out the 
Evenstar.  Aragorn winced.  “What is it, Estel?”  
 
Aragorn sighed.  “Arwen left.  She is sailing for Valinor.”  
 
Legolas put an arm around Aragorn.  “I am sorry.”  
 
Aragorn shook his head and shrugged off the Elf’s arm.  
“Don’t be.  I’m not.”  Legolas gave him a strange look.  “I 
don’t want to talk about it, Legolas.  I have enough to 
worry about.”  He moved past Legolas.  
 
“What should I…”  
 
“Throw it away.  Wear it.  I don’t care.  I don’t want to 
see it again.”  He stalked down the corridor, leaving 
Legolas to stare after him with pity.  
 
* * * * *  
 
Boromir was restricted by Theoden.  The King told him, in 
no uncertain terms, that being the High Captain of the 
Guard of Gondor held no rank with him.  He didn’t consult 
with Boromir at all, only dismissed him as though Boromir 
were one of the farmer’s sons he dressed up as a soldier 
and sent into battle.  
 
How could a King be so cowardly?  The Man refused to take 
any advice, to send for any aid, because of some petty 
rivalries.  Didn’t he realize this was an attack on the 
race of Men, and by not sending for aid, by scoffing at the 
help of Elves and Dwarves and Gondorians, he was allowing 
their world to be crushed?  They were outnumbered more than 
ten to one using mere statistics.  And if you only counted 
the soldiers in Rohan’s army that actually fought worth a 
shit, they were outnumbered at least two hundred to one.  
His damned stubborn pride would kill them all.  
 
Boromir did not favor Elves by any stretch of the 
imagination, but he would never have risked his men for 
something as stupid as pride.  He was sincerely glad when 
Haldir’s army arrived, and wanted to slap Theoden in the 
face at his false camaraderie.  Hours ago he had refused 
Aragorn’s suggestion to send for aid with great sarcasm – 
“And who will come?  Elves?  Dwarves?”  Absolute hypocrisy.  
 
Boromir fought at the front lines.  He helped Aragorn and 
Gimli hold back the Uruks as Theoden hid behind the walls 
of Helm’s Deep, supervising.  He struggled to share a 
strategy with the soldiers who surrounded him, but they 
only followed Aragorn’s lead, those who listened to 
anyone.  It was utter choas.  They fought the Uruks on the 
ground as Legolas fought with Rohan’s soldiers from the 
Deeping Wall, throwing back ladders, fighting by sword 
those that scaled the Wall, shouting to their comrades on 
the ground.  
 
He saw Legolas’ face when Haldir was slain by the Uruk-
hai.  Boromir might not care for Elves, but the pain he saw 
there was genuine.  He reminded himself once again that had 
it not been for Legolas, he would be dead now.  
 
He plunged back into the battle with strength he didn’t 
know he had.  At some point, he had stopped fighting 
against the Uruk-hai and started fighting for the Men at 
his side, the Elves and Dwarf behind him, the Elf and Men 
on the Wall.  He fought for  Gandalf, he fought for the 
Ring Bearer and Sam, he fought for the Halflings in 
Fangorn.  
 
He fought for himself and he fought for Gondor.  He fought 
against those who would usurp him – each Uruk-hai was his 
personal enemy.  Aragorn.  With every stroke of his sword, 
with every slain Uruk he fought Aragorn, he felt his hate 
grow and his conviction rise.  No one would take his 
Kingdom.  No spoiled Man who acted like an Elf, talked like 
an Elf, knew Elves better than he did his own Men.  No Man 
who hid his entire life in Rivendell, only to emerge as the 
leader of the Fellowship and play the hero, leading the 
Ring to Mordor and taking Gondor by right.  By right!  What 
right had he?  
 
And he sliced through the Uruk-hai, one by one, finally 
finding release for the anger that had threatened to 
consume him since Elrond’s Council.  Aragorn had left him 
for dead.  It would have been easier, wouldn’t it, to take 
Gondor with the Steward’s heir gone!  Aragorn was just like 
Theoden.  Just like Lurtz.  A coward.  Coward!  Killing him 
a thousand times, a thousand satisfying times, taking 
Gondor back with his blade, his blood-drenched blade, sharp 
and smooth and deadly.  No one would take Gondor.  Not so 
long as Boromir lived.  
 
* * * * *  
 
They had emerged victorious.  The words sounded hollow in 
Aragorn’s head.  There was no victory.  Only frightened 
boys fighting for their lives, against an evil they didn’t 
understand.  Only Elves fighting a cause outside of their 
own.  Only women and children threatened in the basements 
of Helms Deep.  And Theoden.  
 
Theoden of Rohan was a coward.  A stubborn coward who cared 
only for himself.  He had not raised his sword until too 
late in the battle.  When he was King, Aragorn promised 
himself, he would lead his Men into battle, giving orders 
from front and center, setting an example for his 
soldiers.  Giving them a reason to be confident.  Giving 
his subjects a reason to believe in him.  He would never 
have made the stupid decision to hide in the Deep.  It was 
the riskiest thing he could do, and Theoden did it.  He 
accepted no counsel.  What kind of King does not listen to 
his own people?  
 
Aragorn joined in the nursing duties.  Now only two kinds 
of people existed: sick and well.  Those who were well 
tended to the sick.  Aragorn was well, as were Legolas, 
Gimli, and Boromir.  Each did his part to help the healing 
process of those who were injured in the war.  There were 
Men from Rohan and a few other kingdoms and Haldir’s 
Elves.  The Head Elf himself was mourned by all in his 
company and Legolas.  Legolas sang cheerful-sounding songs 
as he tended the sick, but Aragorn understood the words and 
knew they spoke of grief and loss.  
 
* * * * *  
 
Legolas was surrounded by death.  Not only Men had died 
today.  Lorien Elves had died today.  Elves who should have 
lived for a thousand more years.  More than a thousand 
more.  Haldir was dead.  Haldir.  Their leader.  His 
friend.  
 
He began the lament in the Deep.  Only Elves and the 
ocassional human could understand it.  The Elves who had 
not died and who were not mortally wounded recovered 
quickly those first few hours, much more quickly than the 
humans.  Each Elf that went from sickbed to nursing duty 
joined Legolas in his lament.  Soon Helm’s Deep was filled 
with song.  
 
 
Boromir was pulled off his shift the second day.  He had 
refused to sleep and rarely ate.  The Steward’s son would 
not admit it, but he was afraid that if he slept he would 
not again awake.  So he dove into his work.  But when 
Legolas ordered him to take a break, he had no choice.  
 
He took the food offered him and found a vacant corner on 
the Deeping Wall.  It was almost silent but his ears rang 
with sounds of battle.  He pressed his head back against 
the cold stone, trying unsuccessfully to rid his mind of 
the noise that plagued him.  During the battle, when 
adrenaline was high, he relished the sounds of swords 
striking swords and the inhuman screams of the Uruks.  
 
Now, he did not want reminders of battle.  He wished for 
silence, peace.  He yearned to awake in Rivendell, in a 
comfortable bed, beside Aragorn.  
 
~Where did that come from?~  He frowned.  ~ I do not wish 
to lie with Aragorn.  I wish to kill him.~  
 
But Boromir was too tired to analyze his unusual thoughts 
and fell asleep against the Deeping Wall.  Sleep brought 
him no peace.  He dreamed of battle and the Ring and 
obligations that pulled him in all directions.  He dreamed 
of stealing the Ring from Frodo and using it against 
Aragorn.  He dreamed of Lurtz’s arrows in him again, of 
dying alone, of being buried with Elves, too far from 
Gondor.  He reached for Gondor in his dreams but he could 
never survive the journey.  He died a thousand times in his 
dreams that afternoon, feeling the pain of every arrow, 
every slice of the sword, every crushing bone as he was 
hurled into pits of rock.  The Fellowship was always there, 
watching, not saving him.  He died for the Fellowship even 
though he didn’t want to.  Even though he had only 
volunteered to join the Fellowship that he might defeat the 
Man who would take Gondor.  He died for the Fellowship, and 
in dying for the Fellowship, he died for Gondor.  
 
* * * * *  
 
Aragorn wasn’t sure what had happened.  One moment he was 
traveling toward the room with medical supplies, the next 
he was up against a wall, a dagger to his throat.  He 
reached for Anduril but his hand met with air.  He suddenly 
remembered leaving his sword with the rest of the 
Fellowship’s weapons.  They always removed their weapons 
before entering the sick rooms.  
 
“What do you want?”  He spoke forcefully despite feeling 
overcome by fear.  He had no mode of defense save for his 
hands.  
 
“Gondor,”  the voice growled into his ear.  He immediately 
knew it was Boromir, would have known even without the 
voice.  
 
“Boromir.”  The blade was pushed harder against his 
throat.  He couldn’t breathe.  He lifted his hands but they 
were quickly pushed away.  “Please.  Let us talk.  The-”  
The blade restricted his windpipe.  He felt the skin 
break.  He felt the sting of metal against the open wound 
and he felt light-headed.  
 
Aragorn tried to look at Boromir, but could not without 
turning his head.  ~Please, Boromir.  Do not let this go 
any further.  I have no desire to take Gondor from you.  I 
don’t want you to be my enemy.~  
 
“You wish to talk?”  Boromir’s voice trembled with anger.  
He slowly pulled the blade away from Aragorn.  “Talk, my 
liege.”  The sarcasm didn’t reach Aragorn as he slid to the 
floor, gasping for breath, holding his hands to his neck.  
Boromir grabbed him by his shirtfront and shoved him 
against the wall, threatening with the point of his dagger.  
 
Aragorn tried desperately to regain his breath.  The wind 
was nearly knocked out of him from the force of the wall.  
“Boromir… not your enemy… please.”  Aragorn closed his 
eyes.  If he could regain some equilibrium, he could 
overpower Boromir, take the dagger.  He would have to move 
quickly.  Boromir had the advantage of surprise, but 
Aragorn knew how to be swift, how to reverse positions of 
weakness to positions of strength.  If there was one thing 
he had learned from the Elves, it was how to take advantage 
of an opponent’s hesitation.  
 
~Boromir is not my opponent.  It is only an accident of 
birth that makes us so.  How can I convince him that we 
need not fight one another… that we can rule Gondor 
together?~  
 
Blinded by his anger, Boromir was not prepared when 
Aragorn, who appeared to be incapacitated, took his dagger 
with one quick hand while pushing him face-first into the 
wall with the other.  Aragorn expertly held him against the 
wall with that  same hand and positioned the sharp side of 
the blade at Boromir’s jugular.  
 
“I do not wish to fight you, Boromir.”  Usually a sarcastic 
comment would have come from Boromir at this moment, but as 
he was presently wondering if Aragorn would actually kill 
him, he dared not.  He, too, attempted to find a weakness 
in his opponent’s stance, in order to free himself without 
injury.  For now, he decided to respect the blade.  
 
“You are not a very honorable soldier if you go about 
attacking unarmed men, son of Gondor.”  The insult was 
drowned out by the reference to Gondor.  Boromir saw red 
for a second, before realizing that Aragorn spoke to him 
with respect, not mocking.  
 
“I know you want the best for Gondor, as do I, Boromir, 
even if you will not believe me.”  Aragorn withdrew the 
blade from its dangerous location and stepped quickly to 
the other side of the corridor.  Boromir wheeled around, 
seething.  Aragorn pointed the dagger at him.  
 
“If you wish to fight me for Gondor, then I shall agree to 
a duel.  But I would prefer to discuss it, to see if we 
might come to some compromise.  I did not choose to be your 
enemy, Boromir.  Circumstances chose thus, and I would that 
it were not so.”  
 
Boromir watched with amazement as Aragorn turned the dagger 
around in his hand, holding the blade in his palm.  He 
offered the weapon back to its owner in an incredible 
display of trust.  
 
~I can kill him right now.  It would be so easy.~  But 
Boromir pushed back those thoughts and accepted the 
dagger.  He was somewhat uncomfortable with the way this 
encounter had ended with Aragorn in control and logical, 
making Boromir seem a raving idiot.  Boromir backed away, 
looking at Aragorn’s too calm eyes and too confident 
stance, and had to hold himself from bolting.  When he 
rounded the corner he collapsed against the wall, angry and 
very confused.  
 
 
~to be continued~