Eldarion snuck away from the city at times, wandering the kingdom alone, leaving behind his burdens. When the winged crown came to him at last, his solitary rambles were curtailed severely. He wondered how his father bore it, going from his freedom as a Ranger to the constriction of being High King of Gondor and Arnor.
He found that he could still steal away as far as the river, however, and when his heart told him that his mother had died at last, it was to the River of Gondor that he turned his weary spirit.
The murmuring waters numbed his mind and he allowed his grief to break free of its careful constraints. Afterwards, he lay exhausted on the grassy verge, feeling the cool night air, constantly moving with the water.
He sat up and was shocked to see a small grey boat, caught in an eddy close to shore. He waded into the water, but when he drew near, he could see that the boat was empty save for a pale clear light that filled it like moonlight on still waters.
Eldarion knew all of the tales of how peace came to the West and how his father won his love and his throne. He dreamed the tales in true-dreams brought by his blood, Elvish mixed with Westernesse. He had dreamed of all the heroes of the War of the Ring. He had seen Frodo's anguished crawl through fire; had witnessed his father facing down the king of the Dead as well as Sauron himself. He saw Eowyn and Merry slaying the Witch King and Faramir's desperate attempts to save his city on his own.
The clarity of his vision made him wonder if indeed this had been a dream. But his clothes were wet and he did not think he had been sleeping.
He knew this tale too, of course, but this was Faramir's dream, not his. He pondered as he walked back to the city why this sight had been given to him. He never dreamed this event before, and he had never thought about it. He had deemed the story a minor footnote in the War of the Ring, the tale of the Steward's son who had never ruled and had died before the war truly began. He had been a member of the Fellowship, but he had been killed by Uruk-Hai, the only one of the nine so lost.
Eldarion had pitied the old Steward for his grief, but had not thought that the man was important to anyone else.
The next night, Eldarion avoided the River, but his dreams were full of Faramir's saddened gaze. And the next night, he saw his father, buckling on worn vambraces with the White Tree embossed on the leather. Elessar was gazing inward and tears streaked his face.
Finally, on the third night, Eldarion surrendered himself to the strange compulsion and returned to the River. He sat on the bank, seeking the small Elven boat, but he saw nothing. His mind gradually lost its focus and he allowed the purling ripples to soothe him.
When he looked up, the boat was there. He again waded into the water, expecting to find it empty as before, but was surprised to see the figure of a warrior lying in the pale light, as though asleep. The man was golden-haired and brawny, clad in rich clothing and bearing a broken sword.
Eldarion tentatively reached out a hand to touch the vessel and was shocked to find solid wood under his fingers. The warrior opened his eyes which were like clear green jewels drowned in the water.
"I promised," the man whispered. "Will you help me?"
Eldarion released his hold on the boat in his startlement and it drifted out of reach. He could not decide whether to try to catch it or to let it go. The current took the decision away from him and whirled the boat down the flowing water.
He returned to the city and to the bewilderment of his wife and councilors, spent the day in the library, perusing old scrolls and reading the memoirs of those who had lived through the War.
He read Faramir's account of meeting the Ringbearer in Ithilien and his dream of his brother's funeral boat. Faramir's words agreed with what he had seen at the River. He found his father's journal there, and he read Elessar's thoughts on the War, a small smile lifting his lips as the words on the page brought his memories of the man.
Eldarion came to the tale of the breaking of the Fellowship and the departure of the Steward's son. Elessar had recorded the funeral song created by himself and Legolas, but afterwards were words which confused Eldarion, "Beyond the world is more than memory. So I must believe, lest this grief slay me."
He left the library disturbed, unsettled, and fled to the gardens outside the royal chambers. The words of his father's echoed those that Elessar had given to Arwen when he died. But they clearly referred to Boromir of Gondor, coming thus as they did in the narrative of his death.
Eldarion had thought that Boromir had been nothing but an aggravation to his father, questioning his decisions, agitating the Ringbearer, and ultimately proving to be the weakest and most unstable member of the Fellowship.
Yet here was a proof that Boromir had meant more to his father, that his death had profoundly affected Elessar.
The King slammed a fist down on the railing surrounding the garden in frustration. He was no child, but a man full-grown with children of his own, yet he found the knowledge that his father had kept things secret from him unpalatable.
He waited for nightfall and then walked slowly to the River. He stared into the ripples, allowing the soft music of the water clear his mind. He refused to judge either man, but let the calm of the River flow through him.
The answers slid into his mind as though he had read them in the scrolls, but they no longer troubled him. His father had loved, and been loved by many in return; one more did not matter.
When he looked up, it may have been minutes later, or it may have been hours, but he saw the landscape with an unnatural clarity, and on the River, as he had hoped, was the grey Elven boat. He waded into the stream and his skin seemed particularly sensitive to every wash of water against him and his hearing had sharpened along with his nose. The whole event had a stark lucidity that told him that he had somehow tapped unknown resources of his Elvish blood.
The King reached the boat and was relieved to see that the sleeping warrior lay in it once again. He grabbed the gunwale and slowly towed the boat to the shore. The man opened his eyes and watched silently until the keel scraped the rough shingle.
Eldarion secured the boat and then turned to Boromir of Gondor. "What did you promise?
"That I would wait for him, that I would be there when it was his time," the warrior responded.
"Why do you haunt me? He is dead."
"He did his job too well. Minas Tirith is full of life and the laughter of children once more. And the living no longer suffer the dead."
"And thus you need my help to fulfill your vow?"
Boromir nodded awkwardly from his reclining position. Eldarion reached for him to help him out of the boat, but his hand passed through the eldritch warrior. He summoned his previous mental clarity and when he tried again, he was able to touch the man and he guided him until he was standing on the ground.
"Do not let go of me," Boromir pleaded. "I cannot stay without your aid."
"I will help you, if you answer my questions," Eldarion replied.
"Yes, of course. Ask what you will."
"Why are you here and not passed beyond the circles of the world?"
Boromir sighed, "The gift of Ilevitar to Men may not be rejected. But for the anguish I suffered and my repentance, I was granted leave to wait."
"For my father." Eldarion stated it flatly, without emotion, although one corner of his mind wondered at this curious conversation with a dead man.
Boromir looked as though he expected the obvious question to follow, but Eldarion realized that he understood everything. Boromir's expressive face had given him the answers that he needed and when placed along with his father's words, he clearly understood the terrible fate that had separated the two lovers for all these long years. And he wished to give them back what chance had taken away.
"Come with me," he said, leading his strange companion back to the city.
Boromir was quiet as they walked, not looking around, but turned inward, brooding it seemed. Eldarion kept his mind focused on his tenuous connection with the warrior. The moon rode low through a break in the cloud cover and a mist followed them up from the River, giving a lambent glow to the buildings in the White City.
The wind picked up slightly, coming from the West, with a faint hint of salt. Boromir raised his head, inhaling it as though he could still breathe. His steps seemed to quicken.
"The West Wind has been my constant companion, and it will take us on our journey," he declared, his eyes sparkling.
The mist deepened, in spite of the wind, and by the time they reached the sixth circle, it had cast circles of moisture around the lantern lights. The dark doorway leading to the Rath Dinen loomed through the fog. Eldarion opened the door, holding tightly to Boromir.
They quietly approached the tomb where Elessar had laid his life down. The effigy lay on top of the vault and Eldarion recognized that the vambraces carved into the marble were the same as those he had seen on his father in his dream.
The King and the ghost stopped, looking down at the peaceful marble face. But then the form seemed to shimmer and there was another man lying there, clad in rough clothes and with untrimmed hair.
Eldarion saw that he was not looking at King Elessar anymore, but instead before him was Aragorn, the Ranger who was as free as a wild thing. Aragorn opened his eyes and glimpsing Boromir standing before him, got to his feet.
"You waited," he said, his blue eyes glowing.
"I promised," Boromir said solemnly.
Aragorn looked at his son, eyes questioning. Eldarion let his love shine forth from his eyes, hoping that his father would know that he approved. He raised the ghostly hand still clenched in his own. He focused his senses and grasped Aragorn with his other hand. He drew the two insubstantial hands together, where they met and clasped. Eldarion released them and stepped back.
Aragorn turned to him with a world of gratitude in his gaze. Eldarion nodded and smiled. Boromir grinned at him, a cocky grin, full of mischief.
Aragorn pulled Boromir to him and they embraced, lips meeting, bodies molding together. Eldarion saw the unquestionable passion and joy between them.
But then a rogue swirl of wind somehow entered the tombs and the figures dissolved into the mist that had crept in. His last view of them was Aragorn's fiercely possessive face as he claimed another kiss from Boromir.
The King slowly walked back to his castle, alone, but peaceful.
In the water where I center my emotion
All the world can pass me by
Fly away on my zephyr
We're going to live forever
Summary: A Minas Tirith ghost story: In the Fourth Age, Eldarion finds a mystery.
Rated: PG
Categories: LOTR FPS Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 1954 Read: 1010
Published: 15 Aug 2009 Updated: 15 Aug 2009