Lord of the Rings Brother, Captain, King

Brother, Captain, King

Summary: At Amon Hen, Boromir succumbs to one temptation while defeating another.

Disclaimer: _The Lord of the Rings_ does not belong to me, else I wouldn't be writing fan fiction, now, would I? All the dialogue was copied straight out of the movie.

Purpose: Teitho challenge February 2014: Temptation. Sort of a condensation of the character development of Boromir in the movie between his lines "Gondor has no king. Gondor needs no king" and "I would have followed you, my brother, my captain, my King."

Rating: PG-13, for violence and a character death.

Characters: Boromir, Frodo, Aragorn, mentions Legolas, Galadriel, Denethor, Faramir, and Gandalf.

Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Friendship

Movie-verse, with borrowed book-verse elements

A/N: I noticed while I was revising this that the mention of Frodo practically offering the Ring to Aragorn in Rivendell was of an event that occurred in the book but not the movie. I decided to leave it in, though. Also, I am aware that Aragorn did not make a claim to the throne of Gondor before Boromir's death. However, most of this is told from Boromir's point of view and it always seemed to me that Boromir acted like he had made that claim, so I assumed that as far as Boromir was concerned he had. Also, I apologize if "Gondorian" is not actually a word. I think it's only used in fan fiction...

_No temptation has overtaken you except what is common to mankind. And God is faithful; He will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, He will also provide a way out so that you can endure it._

_~1 Corinthians 10:13_

In the dark times of the War of the Ring it was rare to see travelers between countries, and still rarer for said travelers to be heading South and East. Thus, had anyone been there to see, the sight of three Elven boats floating down the Anduin River with eight passengers would have come as a surprise. This fictitious observer would have been even more surprised if he had been able to see the passengers closely. An elf and a dwarf sat together in the last boat, quite at ease in each other's presence. Four hobbits were divided between the two lead boats, and in each boat with them sat a man. Both men were tall and broad-shouldered, both steering their boat down the River with great skill. The man in the second boat, however, was distracted. Most of his attention was focused on one of the hobbits in the first boat.

Boromir of Gondor, son of Denethor the Steward, was only half aware of the monotonous task of adjusting his paddle constantly, steering the boat safely down the Anduin. His attention was fixed on Frodo Baggins, the Ringbearer. The hobbit who carried all their fates. So much depended on him. And yet it seemed that their party would not even consider traveling to Minas Tirith, where it was safe, where the Ring could be protected. It would make a good base of operations for the Fellowship, but they would not be going there.

Boromir's attention drifted from Frodo and fixated on the back of the one who had made this decision, the other man in the Fellowship, Aragorn son of Arathorn. He wondered when he had garnered his respect for the rugged Ranger, the man who claimed to be Isildur's heir. Though some conflict on this point still existed, he esteemed him a great deal more than he had when the Quest began. He felt he could even call the man his friend. There remained the matter of his claim to the throne of Gondor, of course. Boromir knew it to be more than an idle claim. He had seen the evidence; the shattered Narsil and the majestic Ring of Barahir, and he had heard the testimony of Elrond and the other elves. At first Boromir had followed his initial impulse and dismissed the claims as falsehoods, exaggerations, or mistakes. Objects could be stolen. Lies could be told. But as time passed, he had been forced to set those doubts aside and view Aragorn fairly. Not Aragorn as the King he claimed to be, nor Aragorn as the Ranger he appeared to be, but merely Aragorn as he was to an unbiased viewer. Valar knew he did not want to do it; it was tempting to just disregard the Dúnadan as a madman or a usurper. But he watched the other man's bearing, his actions, and his character, and he liked what he saw.

Oh, Aragorn had his faults. When he was right, which he always was, he seemed almost a little smug, like he would very much like to say, "I told you so," but he never did. Sometimes Boromir almost wished he Ranger also had an annoying habit of contenting himself with a single cloak when everyone else (except for Legolas, but he was an elf) was wrapped in nearly every garment they owned, making the tough Gondorian warrior feel inferior. On the other hand, Aragorn seemed to have some aversion to overmuch pointless conversation. He would not discuss the state of the weather unless it had some significance. He was almost insensitive, he cut straight to the point, he said what needed to be said, and Boromir liked that about him, especially since through it all he still managed to be polite and kind. He had never met a man quite so remarkable before.

Boromir clumped people into four categories in his mind. In the first dwelt the Useless. People who refused to work fell into this category, along with people who were overfond of the sound of their own voices and people who did things for the sole purpose of drawing attention to themselves.

The second category contained the Evil. Men who joined with Sauron, Orcs, the Balrog, and basically anything that could be described as ill-meaning and unclean comprised this group.

The third was the Mysterious. Elves, Dwarves, and anything he did not understand but dared not call Evil fell into that category. It was tempting to assume such things were evil because they were alien, but Boromir had always prided himself on not leaping to conclusions. It would be a disgrace, he felt, to make a wrong judgement based on a misunderstanding.

The final group was the one he referred to as Honorable. He was one of these, along with his father, his brother, and most of the Men he knew. Legolas and Gimli had both made it to this group from the Mysterious in the time he had known them. But Aragorn, he was something else. He definitely did not fall into the first or second group, but he seemed to go into both the third and fourth. Resisting the urge to fling him into the Mysterious and then avoid him as much as possible, the Steward's son had striven to know him better, and even though he was still Mysterious, Boromir now felt he understood the man somewhat.

One thing he understood for certain; Aragorn opposed Sauron, and would continue to do so for as long as he lived. His reasons were not entirely clear, but Boromir knew they were good, and perhaps not so very different from his own.

* * *

Two days later, Boromir had almost forgotten his musings on Aragorn's character. A far more compelling temptation than disregarding the Ranger's good qualities had permeated the Gondorian. He lunged forward, grasping for the small hobbit in front of him. Everything else seemed to fade into a fiery orang mist as he focused his entire attention on the short being. "The little nuisance!" he thought. "Why does he not see the logic behind my argument? Sauron cannot be defeated by conventional means, and hope is fading fast." How anyone could deny the chance of poetic justice when they used the Enemy's own device against him was beyond the Gondorian's comprehension. With the power the Ring would give them, victory would be assured! Nothing stood between him and that power except for Frodo. He had to get it from the little beast.

Abruptly, Frodo vanished. For a moment Boromir was confused by this turn of events, but then he recalled the old hobbit Bilbo's story; how he had thought the Ring's only purpose to be invisibility. That particular function was not often discussed and thus had slipped his mind. Frodo must have donned the thing! "I see your mind!" the enraged man shouted. "You will take the Ring to Sauron and betray us all!" Why else would the little traitor use the blasted thing? "Curse you! Curse you and all the Halflings!" He staggered about, searching the air with his hands blindly, seeking to grasp the elusive hobbit. Then suddenly he tripped over some invisible root or stone and fell flat on his face, where he lay still for a few moments.

"Boromir, Boromir!" He could still hear the mocking voice that he had not noticed before echo in his mind. And with sudden clarity he knew it for what it was; the deceptive voice of the Ring, calling to him, tempting him. "Boromir, I can save you people," it had said. "I can end this war, if only you claim me. The others are too stupid and weak, but you are strong. You could handle the power."

And in that moment Boromir recognized the Ring for what it was and had been all along - a liar. He now knew that he could not handle the power, nor the responsibility. Had he not taken it upon himself to protect Frodo? And yet only moments ago he had assaulted the hobbit and tried to steal the One Ring from him. He planned to use it for noble purposes, perhaps, but he no longer deceived himself that his good intentions would have endured. His conscience screamed at him to do something - anything - to ease the burden of being aware of his crime. Yes, the Ring had called him, but it had been he who made the ultimate decision to listen to its deceptions. Without bidding, Aragorn came to his mind. Would the battered Ranger have attempted to take the Ring, as the son of Gondor had? Boromir did not believe so. He had no need. Frodo had practically offered it to him in Rivendell.

Boromir pictured Aragorn in his mind and imagined him stumbling across the scene that had so recently played out. He wondered what the Dúnadan would have done about it. He knew the answer. The Ranger would have leapt forward at once to stop Boromir. Taken by his madness, the Gondorian would have drawn his sword, and barring the unlikely event in which he killed Aragorn with the first blow, a duel would have ensued. If all else failed, the future King would have slain the Steward's son.

And he would have been right to do so.

A sob racked the man's body, followed by a shiver as his hands tightened around clumps of dirt and leaves. In Boromir's place, Aragorn would not have demanded the Ring, would not have assaulted Frodo, would never have answered the wicked object's deceptive call. Deep in his heart, Boromir knew that the Ring had been focusing all its seductive efforts on him for weeks, but it did not excuse his actions. The Ring had been allowed at least as much time in close quarters with Aragorn before Boromir had ever entered the picture, and the Ranger had endured stoically. Boromir released a shaky breath at the realization. Aragorn was simply a better and stronger man than he was.

Boromir had harbored a secret longing for the Ring for some time, but had kept it to himself. Galadriel had warned him about his desire when she spoke inside his head in Lothlorien, telling him that any action he took on it would lead to his downfall, but he had not listened. After all, what did an Elf-Queen miles away know about the plight Gondor was in? If anything could save his city of Minas Tirith, it was the Ring, he had been certain. Yet somehow, Aragorn had not been. The Ranger was wise, perceptive, and it seemed he lacked the arrogance that had led to his ancestor Isildur's downfall. A man of values, who fell into the category of Honor far better than Boromir did after his crime. Far better, as well, than his father the Steward, who had sent him on this quest for the sole purpose of bringing the Ring to Minas Tirith; a purpose Boromir had held every intention of fulfilling until only a few moments ago. He had tried to obey his father's command, and he knew now that he was fortunate beyond belief that he had been unable to do so. If he had succeeded - the man dared not think of that. His confidence in his father was sorely shaken, and Boromir searched desperately for something solid to cling to. And then suddenly, he knew what he could depend on. Aragorn was a firm rock, a man who would never give a command such as the one he had so closely escaped obeying. And Aragorn was a strong leader worthy of being followed.

* * *

Pain. Pain was all Boromir felt as he attempted to keep his balance. He barely noticed the third arrow as it pierced his chest, only adding to the cruel sensation that was already overwhelming him. He collapsed gasping to his knees, unable to remain upright any longer. Vaguely, as through a mist, he saw the two hobbits he had been sheltering draw their swords and leap forward with a defiant shout, but their attack was short-lived. Uruks lifted them off their feet and carried them away, despite their struggles, and then the entire contingent of enemies began to move off, paying Boromir no more heed than if he was just another rock littering the woods. The man gasped for breath, out of hope and desperately waiting for them to leave him to die in peace. Though he was no healer, he knew his injuries were fatal. Now, he could only cling to the hope that the orcs would be content with mortally wounding him.

Finally, the sound of their march faded, leaving Boromir in despair. A tall, evil-looking uruk-hai smiled cruelly as he notched an arrow to his bow and drew the string back, taking aim at the man, who was helpless to avoid the missile. "Very well then," Boromir thought. If that was the way it was going to be, he would at least die with what few scraps of dignity he had left. Did the beast expect him to beg for mercy or show fear? He would be disappointed. If nothing else, Boromir of Gondor would die with honor, facing his end without cowardice. The odd drew his bowstring back with agonizing slowness, reveling in the pain of the dying man before him. At any moment now, he would release the arrow and all would be ended. Boromir struggled to meet his tormentor's gaze as his strength deserted him.

Aragorn plowed into the orc from the side, sending the bow flying and the arrow shooting wide of its mark. As man and uruk began to battle each other, Boromir collapsed. Enduring the pain was becoming harder by the second. As he panted for each increasingly elusive breath, he found his thoughts absurdly centering on the battered Ranger who now struggled against his would-be executioner not far away. His mind traveled back to before the Fellowship had left Imladris. What was it that he had heard one of the elves call Aragorn - Asdil? Estel? Yes, Estel, that was it. It had sounded distinctly elvish to Boromir's ears, which made sense enough, but he was very curious about the reason for Aragorn's Elvish name, so he had asked Mithrandir about it at his first available opportunity. The Istar had informed him with a twinkle in his eye that _estel _was an Elvish word that meant "hope." At the time, it had seemed odd to the Gondorian that Aragorn should be called that by the Elves, yet with the clarity that approaching death brought he suddenly understood.

Aragorn was the heir of Elendil. Boromir had denied this at first, then when he could deny it no longer he had ignored it. But now he allowed the fact into his calculations, and everything became clear. The Elves all attested to it, and they had certainly lived long enough that they would know, and they did not have the appearance of liars. And then there was the Ring of Barahir and the Shards of Narsil, heirlooms no one could deny. As he fought for another breath that he feared for a moment would not come, Boromir finally forced himself past all the doubt and jealousy and admitted what he now knew to be the truth: Aragorn was the rightful King of Gondor. For a moment in time, Boromir's past actions, his father's opinion, the Ring, his imminent death, and indeed all the war in Middle-earth simply did not matter to him. Only the fact that Aragorn was King mattered, and the son of the Steward clung to it, his last hope. Aragorn was his last hope, the only light in the darkness that covered the world.

Then, suddenly, Aragorn was at his side, leaning over him and probing the arrow wounds with skilled healer's hands. A sense of urgency struck Boromir as he remembered what it was he was dying for. "They took the little ones," he choked out.

"Lie still," Aragorn instructed, still preoccupied with the other man's injuries.

"Frodo - where is Frodo?" Boromir found it difficult to force his own lips to form words.

"I let Frodo go." The Ranger stopped inspecting the injuries, perhaps coming to the same conclusion that had been apparent to Boromir when the second arrow struck its mark: the wounds would take his life.

"Then you did what I could not," Boromir gasped. "I tried to take the Ring from him." The admission was a surprising relief.

There was no condemnation or pity in the King's voice, only acceptance. "The Ring is beyond our reach now," he said.

"Forgive me - I did not see - I have failed you all."

"No, Boromir. You fought bravely. You have kept your honor." Aragorn's hand closed around one of the arrow shafts and the Gondorian gasped in pain as he began to pull it out.

"Leave it!" he choked. "It is over. The world of Men will fall, and all will come to darkness, and my city to ruin." Boromir had faith in Aragorn, but how could anyone stand against such relentless Evil as now rose in the East, as had defeated him and laid him low?

Aragorn met his eyes as he responded, softly, yet with conviction. "I do not know what strength is in my blood, but I swear to you I will not let the White City fall, nor our people fail."

Boromir thought of the many times he had felt anger at the Ranger who claimed to be King, yet seemed not to trust his own people any more than he would a rabble of Orcs. Now he understood Aragorn's reluctance to entrust the Ring to Minas Tirith. It was not that the man had never felt the call of the Ring; merely that he had resisted, and thus he better understood it, his own limitations, and those of his people. And if anyone was to be King of Gondor, then it was the battered Ranger who knelt before him now. Now he understood that, and accepted it for the truth it was. What had led him to his anger and reluctance, he wondered. Arrogance, perhaps, and bitterness, but he suddenly remembered the point upon which the two men had disagreed first and repeatedly. It was the Ring. The Ring always had come between them, whispering doubts into his mind and fostering the heated words and snapped responses. But he also realized that he had fought past that now. Even on the River a few days before he had looked at the issue objectively and begun to fight his way through the haze the Ring had planted in his mind. No matter what crime the thing had compelled him to do, he had at least defeated it in this: the temptation to label Aragorn a liar and usurper was completely gone from him. He could at long last see the man before him for what he was.

"Our people," he gasped, testing the sound of the words. They sounded good. "Our people." As he strove for his last reluctant breaths, he groped with his hand, diverting his attention to the right. Aragorn followed his gaze and gently reached over, placing the hilt of Boromir's sword in his hand, then guiding it to Boromir's chest where the dying man clasped it tightly. The Gondorian's eyes lost their focus for a second before locking Aragorn's gaze in a burning stare that the other man returned with equal intensity.

Boromir put forth his last strength into the effort as he searched for the words to express himself in his final moments to Aragorn. "I would have followed you my brother, my Captain... my King."

With those words, Boromir of Gondor, member of the Fellowship of the Ring, breathed his last, and at his end, Hope was there beside him.


End file.

Lord of the Rings, Friendship, Hurt-Comfort