![[I saw three ships]](../img/2009icon.png)
Aragorn knew who Boromir was before they met. For long years ago, he had known Denethor, son of Ecthelion, Steward of Gondor, had fought beside him in battle, until a fateful day when Ecthelion’s favour had been given too freely to the stranger known as Thorongil, over even his own son.
Then the whispers began, subtle and cold, and finally Aragorn, Eagle of the Star, departed from the city with his men, bound for a fate that would lead to their victory over Umbar and Aragorn’s sudden disappearance into the East. He would not return to Minas Tirith for many years. His last sight of the city was Denethor’s face, standing high on a battlement, arms folded, and his face was the face Boromir now wore. Time might as well have stood still, were it not Denethor’s son he spoke with rather than Denethor himself.
Aragorn knew Legolas before the Council of Elrond, for he had been of help in securing the Gollum-creature once Aragorn had arrived in Mirkwood bearing him. They had formed a fast friendship, and Aragorn had confessed the secret of his birth to the Elven prince, knowing that in this bright young face there was no danger that his secret would be unsafe. When Aragorn meant to depart, Legolas had accompanied him to the borders of Mirkwood, and there kissed him with a prince’s kiss and with a blessing sent him onward. It was a great delight to see his friend again, even if the news he brought was bitter.
Boromir knew not who Aragorn was, a Man there, reading with one eye and with the other watching him and the Sword That Was Broken that the dream-rhyme spoke of. It was a blade still sharp, that could still seek to hurt, but even then, little more than a collection of musty shards. Boromir trusted in his own sword more than the swords of the long-lost kings of men. But soon, he learned of Aragorn’s history, and though he could scarce believe it, found himself seeking out the Elf who spoke of it.
The Elvenfolk were strange to Boromir. Their magics were mysterious, even more so than those of the race of Men, and their songs were haunting. He had never thought it likely to meet one, and here he was in their house. He sought out Legolas before their journey began, struggling to find him among faces that looked all alike, high and noble, above his own.
“What know you of Aragorn?” he found himself asking almost immediately once Legolas had greeted him. He was met with a raised eyebrow.
“Why do you seek information of me, and do not approach the Man himself?” Legolas asked in return. He set aside the scroll he held and stood to his feet, facing Boromir.
“In the Council, you spoke for him,” Boromir said. “I thought you might do so again.”
Legolas smiled briefly. “Aragorn is the son of the Kings of Men, descended in direct line from Isildur. He is betrothed to Arwen, daughter of Elrond, but may only wed her when he attains his throne.”
“My father and I would be those who could stand in his way,” Boromir said, realising why Aragorn deflected the talk from himself at the Council.
“Would you, Boromir son of Denethor son of Ecthelion? Would you do so?” Legolas asked.
“He would have to prove his claim,” Boromir said. “And my father will not give up power easily.” He glanced out the window, where he could see five hobbits, talking and laughing. “If I would, I know not.” He took a long breath, almost a sigh. “And yet, something in my heart is drawn to him.”
“You would not be the first, Boromir, Man of the Land of Gondor, to feel thus, nor will you be the last.” Legolas gestured to another window, where Aragorn and Arwen, arms wrapped about each other’s waists, could be seen walking toward the small group of assembled hobbits. “Many who meet him find they love him, and they would follow him.”
“Are you among that number, then, Legolas of the Greenwood?” Boromir asked.
“I am proud to count myself so,” Legolas said. “But he is not the only Man my heart feels drawn toward.” Legolas paused, and looked at Boromir, significantly, who shook his head.
“Why does your heart feel drawn toward me?” Boromir asked. In secret he had admired the Elf’s form, and in truth, came to him rather than to Aragorn because he feared the Elf less, strange though he was. Aragorn was both Elf and Man, a being of two worlds, belonging to neither truly, a figure of awe at times despite his self-effacing manner.
“Because I find you beautiful,” Legolas said calmly, and then claimed Boromir’s lips with his own. Boromir gasped, but let the Elf kiss him. Over his shoulder he could see Aragorn look toward the window. As his eyes slid shut they exchanged a glance, and Boromir could not read what Aragorn’s thoughts might be.
Three days later at dawn the Fellowship departed from Rivendell. After the echoes faded from the sounding of Boromir’s horn, and the road began at last to make its length felt, Boromir found himself beside Aragorn, who gave him a sidelong glance but remained silent. For nearly an hour they walked together, bringing up the rear of the company, before Aragorn spoke.
“What did our friend Legolas say of me?” Boromir stole a brief look at Aragorn’s face, but again it was not possible to tell what the Man might be thinking.
“He said that his heart was drawn toward you,” Boromir said softly. “That he loved you and would follow you.”
“And what of you, son of Gondor?” Aragorn asked, looking Boromir full in the face now. “Will you follow me?”
Boromir took a deep breath. “I will confess that I too find myself drawn to you, but I know not if I will follow you, as a soldier follows a King. Not yet.”
In the next moment, Boromir could feel Aragorn’s finger on his lips, silencing him. “For that there will be time,” he said. “For now let us be as soldiers fighting together for a cause that is just.”
“To that you have my agreement,” Boromir said.
When they made camp, Boromir sat up with Aragorn for part of the first watch, as he would not watch this time. With them too Legolas sat, for he did not require sleep in the same way that the rest did and had already volunteered to take the middle watch.
The rest of the company slept sound in their blankets, save for Sam who now and then stirred restlessly, reaching out to touch Frodo, and once satisfied, sinking back into sleep. The fire burned low and Boromir stared into it, meeting Aragorn’s eyes across the coals. In them a fire burned too, and Boromir found himself stepping around the fire to kneel beside the rock where Aragorn was seated.
Aragorn set his pipe aside and bent down to Boromir, a hand sliding into his hair, and kissed the Man. No words were needed. When the kiss broke, Boromir could feel Legolas behind him, leaning over his head, and in his turn kissing Aragorn. He looked up at them and caught his breath, for that was a sight not to be missed.
In the group of those sleeping, someone stirred, and Legolas released Aragorn. Boromir stood, placing one hand on the shoulder of Legolas and the other on the shoulder of Aragorn. And so it began.
Aragorn and Boromir shared a set of blankets the next time they slept, speaking to none of the rest of the Company about it. Once Legolas, having watched, had roused Gimli for the middle watch, he slipped down between them, and together in silence they shared kisses and caresses, without words.
So the days and nights went on, walking steadily southward through the mists and fogs of that land, in the cold of winter. Night came early and left late, and they made slow but steady progress southward. On the morning of January 8th a brighter sunrise greeted them, for the mists had cleared at last and they stood many thousands of feet above the Valley of Rivendell. Boromir looked back at their path, seeing an ocean of fog behind them. Ahead were sharp, white rock formations like the ancient bones of giants and far in the distance stood snow-topped Caradhras, cruel Caradhras.
That day was the day the crebain came and disturbed their rest. From then on, they felt themselves to be watched and so Aragorn, Boromir, and Legolas did not come together for more than very brief embraces or kisses. Boromir took the two young hobbits, Merry and Pippin, under his especial charge, while Aragorn began to stay close to Frodo at all times, as if fearing what might become of him. Legolas found himself speaking more to Gimli and to Gandalf. And so this course of affairs went on until they were through Moria, until Gandalf had fallen, and they had reached the leaves of Lothlorien, safe within its borders.
And even then, it was not the same. Boromir had begun to give thought to a fear about the fate of the Ring, Legolas was among his own people and seemed to have no time for his companions, and Aragorn was full of doubt and grief. Although here they had all the freedom and privacy they could wish, they were all three together for a single night only once in the time they stayed in Lorien.
Boromir knew this passion they felt was a fragile thing. It met their needs now, but would it be cast away like a forgotten childish treasure, or over-ridden by the wider Quest? Certainly his thoughts turned more to the Ring now than to Aragorn or Legolas. He felt himself slipping from their grasp. And the journey down the River only made it worse. Legolas now spent most of his time with Gimli, strange though that might have been, and Aragorn was too weighed with grief and indecision to take comfort in kisses and caresses. Boromir, for his part, was driven by a strange restless temptation he did not understand fully, the desire to protect his homeland mingling with his desire to see and touch the precious Ring, to place it on his finger.
One night, February 20th, as they camped on the bank of the river, Boromir sought out Legolas and said not a word, but embraced him. Together they tumbled to the ground, and their kisses were rough and desperate, the Elf who looked so delicate matching Boromir strength for strength. When they roused from passion, Boromir could see Aragorn seated afar on a rock, regarding them silently. There was no expected condemnation in his gaze, but a deep loneliness and grief touched his features. Boromir stirred from the place where he lay, and Legolas followed his gaze, but moved not.
Boromir walked toward Aragorn, holding out a hand. “If you wish it, friend, I offer you what comfort my body can give,” he said in Aragorn’s ear.
“Would that you could give me comfort!” Aragorn said, not unkindly. “But my heart is too heavy to bear it. I am glad that you and Legolas take comfort where you can. For great need we shall all have of it, in the journeys that lie ahead for you, and for me.”
Boromir said no more, but laid a kiss upon Aragorn’s head and turned back to Legolas.
In the days to come, they were all divided from each other once again, with no time to even talk together without others overhearing. And so came that fateful day at Parth Galen, when Boromir’s desire for the Ring overcame his better nature, when his struggle to redeem himself cost him his life, when at the last he confessed that he would have followed Aragorn withersoever he should go, and died without looking upon the face of Legolas once more.
And that day Aragorn and Legolas sang a song in his memory and in his honour, and they sent him o’er Rauros Falls in a light elven boat, from thence into legend and mystery.
On the battlements of Minas Tirith a statue stands, of finest marble new-hewn. It is said that the King himself, on each 26th day of February, comes down to lay flowers at its feet, and in grief touches the marble hands of the Man with the Horn of Gondor.
It is said also that Legolas of the Greenwood comes oft to visit this sacred place, and places an arrow from his own quiver there in honour. And there he weeps, and sings a song so fair that all who hear it weep as well.
And when the story of the Quest is told in Minas Tirith, there is only grief for Boromir. For so loved was he, by King, by Elf, by the people of Minas Tirith, that even betrayal is forgiven and only a hero is remembered. And while the King Elessar lives, a watchman will stand on the Tower of Guard, to ever northward gaze.
![[fin]](../img/2009banner.png){kind=small}