In Spirit - A Boromir Fanfic

[Tûrethir]

Hi there,

I thought I'd post my LoTR fanfic here. It's a Boromir-AU fic, and whilst it doesn't stay completely in line with Tolkien's rules (I'm more of a movie fan than a book fan, so I chose to write more from those), I thought it would be a fun area to explore. I hope you enjoy it! It's a WIP, and more should be coming shortly.

Rough Synopsis: Boromir finds himself aware of his existance after his death, but, he asks himself, why?

In Spirit – Chapter 1: “Memories”

The violent noise of metal against metal could be heard then - a harsh sound full of fury and menace, drowning out the noises of the wood, of the roaring of the falls, of anything. The single note of a horn blasted through the dense forest, echoing from every branch and bough of the trees. The sound trailed off abruptly, rapidly, and then…nothing. Or so it seemed.

“Thus passes the heir of Denethor…”

Was this just another echo? A sound that was not its own, that belonged to another? These words made no sense to him. He was spinning, reeling; nothing made any sense anymore. Where was he? He didn’t know; he didn’t care. That sensation was there; he was in motion, in turmoil, but still the strange feeling that he was lying down, unmoving. There was no light, and no sound. Yet somehow, through all this confusion, the words still came to him;

“This is a bitter end…”

End? To what? The questions confused him, but he had no time to concentrate. A searing pain was rushing throughout his tortured mind. And no matter now he tried, it would not leave. Desperately, he tried to cry out, for somebody to help him. But no sound came, as much as he begged it would. Realising it was to no avail, he felt himself collapse internally, and all was completely silent.

A different feeling came over him now; one of being utterly alone. There was a more familiar, welcoming feeling, however; he was beginning to be able to see small spots of light dancing in front of his eyes, as if awakening him. As he lay there, the light became brighter, but always retained a reddish-tint, as though he were viewing it through closed eyelids. He lay there for several minutes before regaining both the courage and the strength to open his eyes, in fear of what he might see.

He was lying beneath the outstretched branches of an old tree, on which very few of last summer’s leaves remained. The branches were gently swaying, creating mottled patterns of light on the surface. Having finally come to his senses, he weakly sat up, for he still did not seem to have much strength in him. He did not know what had caused this delirium, and in truth was not too eager to find out. Nevertheless, he checked himself over. His forehead did not feel especially hot, and he could find nothing seemingly wrong with him. He cleared his throat, and shakily got to his feet, his horn knocking against his side. His horn! He took it with his hand, inspecting it for damage. Nothing, not a crack. So, it must have been a dream then, he thought, relieved. The urgency of the horn’s call had indicated desperation, and the suddenness of its finish…

He shuddered. It was foolish to even think of such things. What mattered now was finding out where he was, and what had happened.

He almost cried out when he noticed what was before him. A mass of over twenty Orcs lay outstretched on the forest floor! He remained instinctively still, despite the shock, for at first, he did not know if they were dead or alive. But something told him he knew they were lifeless, before he had to make certain of this. He looked hastily over the wretched creatures. To his surprise, their hands held no weapons. This was extremely startling. Why had a large group of Orcs journeyed the great distance to Amon Hen bearing no arms? Had these been the ones who were following them? Following them…

These thoughts brought the Fellowship to the front of his mind. Aragorn had said that they were being tracked. Where were the others now? Surely they would not have left him on his own. Turning away from the grisly sight, he decided to look for them. It would do no good for him to be alone, especially if the threat of an Orc attack still loomed. Maybe then, when he was reunited, he could find…answers.

As he wandered, half in a state of delirium, his mind foggy and clouded, his thoughts drifted back to the Orcs, sprawled mercilessly across the forest floor. What had they been doing there? And, more importantly, he thought, what had he been doing there? Groggily, he muttered to himself whilst stumbling over the leaves.

“An Orc burial ground…” he said cynically, stepping over a stray log, “…a fine place for the son of a Steward to…rest!” He rolled his eyes, wondering what could have possibly brought him to sleep anywhere near the foul creatures. He certainly did not remember his decision to rest there, and this only confused him more. He cringed at the very thought, and it made his skin prickle. He tried his best to remain looking unruffled, however; for all he knew, he could meet with his companions at any minute.

He still felt frail and weak as he walked down the steep hill. The hillside was blanketed with old, brown-coloured leaves. As he moved, he heard no sound of them crackling or rustling under his weight. This had him slightly worried; maybe he was more unwell than he had first believed. Hurriedly, he made his way to the bank. After all, that was the place of which his last memories remained.

He remembered leaving his shield propped up against a wall of rock near the thin beach. Clinging to these hazy memories, he stumbled down through the woods onto the fine sand, unfocusedly searching for the precious possession. He saw nothing. There was the wall of rock, just as it had been, but…nothing. What of his companions? The boats? Were they still there? Staggering along the beach, he noticed something. One of the Elven boats was resting half-in, half-out of the lake, the water lapping gently at its sides. He could see by the imprints in the sand that another of the boats had been rapidly heaved into the water. His vision was incredibly hazy, and strive as he might, he could not see to the eastern shore.


Continued in next post...

[Tûrethir]

This frustrated him intensely. What was the meaning of this so-called illness? He should be with the Fellowship, not aimlessly hunting around on his own. He jerked his head impatiently, scowling and cursing under his breath. And that is when he saw them. Standing solemnly by the bank, he recognized them immediately, and wondered why he had not noticed them before.

He approached them quickly, eager to find out what events had led to this unusual situation. On the sand near them lay a strange structure – a wooden bier, tied together with tight cords, which looked to him very much like the strings of bows. It caused him to stop abruptly in his tracks. The sight of the thing filled him with fear; it could only mean one thing. One of his companions had fallen.

He shot a glance upwards; Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas. Yes, they were there. But what of the hobbits? Since his waking, he could not shake off the feeling something terrible had happened to Merry and Pippin. Over the long and tiresome journey they had become his closest companions. He had always felt an outcast and yet still, privately, a worthy member of the Fellowship, even if others did not think as much of him. He begged secretly that the bier was not meant for them.

The structure looked too large for a single hobbit, which filled him simultaneously with both fear and hope. Could it have been Samwise? Or even, by some cruel chance, Frodo? He had always thought Sam was slightly suspicious of him, though he saw not the reason. His incredible dedication and protectiveness of the Ringbearer led him to believe they could have come to no harm; Sam would not have allowed it.

Cautiously, he approached his companions, now noticing the third boat on the waterside. He maintained his distance, however, as this was as painful for him as it was for them. He had witnessed many men fall in battle, and yet the sight of death would never cease to appal him. That, he thought bitterly, was something no man could come to terms with. Now he saw how Aragorn was clutching something tightly in his hands, looking mournfully down at the object.

The article, Boromir noticed, was silver, tipped with black, banded with gold. Instinctively he reached for the horn resting by his side, fear gripping his soul. No, it could not be! He grasped the horn and stared bewildered at its silver shape, the gold bands, at the menacing black tip. His face twisted with anguish, he looked up at his companion, who was now gently laying the very same object into the Elven boat. Terrible thoughts racing through his mind, Boromir rushed forward, staring fearfully into the vessel.

What he saw would forever reside in his mind, alike to a cruel, merciless nightmare, which could never be forgotten. The figure in the boat was himself, but lifeless, dead. The sheer sight of this caused him to grip the nearest tree, incredibly nauseous, holding his hand to his mouth as if he were going to vomit. He remained gripped in this horrible position for maybe a minute or more, before turning back to the boat.

The weapons of the Orcs he had slain were laid in the boat along with him, as was the missing shield and the remnants of his great sword. Steadying himself, Boromir looked down at his sheath, seeing to his surprise the sword still there, in its rightful position, and as he drew it, seeing also that it was completely unbroken. He did not understand this, any of it. It was impossible! Long had dreams haunted him, but why so cruelly? It seemed as if he could never rest, as if he were always pursued by nightmares. Yet this seemed so real. No, he reminded himself, this cannot be. And yet still the sinking feeling that this was true, that this was actual reality, resided with him. And still the echoes came.

“Thus passes the heir of Denethor…”

No! Those words! Had they truly fallen upon deaf ears? He remembered them as clearly as before, but now they made some sense. As these painful revelations weighed down on him, other memories, previously lost, came flooding back.

“I tried to take the Ring from Frodo…”

Only now did he think of Isildur’s Bane. Curse the Ring! Long had it tormented him, occupied his every thought, tortured him. The mockingly spiteful voices had appalled yet enchanted him with the thought of power. Power to save his beloved City. The others could see it. He knew this. But he had ignored them, instead following the alluring voice that was breaking him apart, crippling his mind… only when it was too late did he realise his foolishness. And they had predicted it would take him, and lead him to his demise. How could a Captain of Gondor have fallen so piteously? Was he so shallow, so weak-minded? Curse it! Curse the Ring!

He buried his head in his hands, running his fingers frantically through his hair, trying to come to some explanation, some conclusion. None came. He had fallen; he knew it was reality. And Minas Tirith would fall with him. Even dreams could not convey this. And the pain; the sharp, sudden pain when the arrows had hit, that came back to him too. He needed no answers now; they had come of their own wretched accord.

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Finishes in next post

[Tûrethir]

Only one question remained unanswered. Why? Why did he remain? Why was he lingering here, when all else had left him? He walked miserably to his three companions, attempting not to look at the sorry sight of the funeral boat. Perhaps, by some miracle, he could talk to them; explain that he regretted his actions, that he had not seen the danger of the Ring. Perhaps that was why he was here.

“Aragorn?” he said submissively, unable to pick up any strength in his voice. The Ranger did not respond. Nevertheless, he tried again.

“Aragorn…” Louder this time. Yet still no reaction. The man merely stood there, staring out across the lake, seemingly at nothing. Boromir’s heart sunk.

“So it is of no use,” he said to himself, his voice wavering a little, “and they will never hear me.” Looking across at his companions, he noticed the elf tilt his head a little, as if in confusion. Raising his hopes a little, Boromir walked to his side.

“Legolas?” Again, that slight motion in the eyes. The elf shuffled uncomfortably, moving his hand a little. He gave Aragorn a quick glance. The man noticed this, and inquired immediately.

“What troubles you, Legolas?” he asked in a concerned tone. He knew privately that they might not have the strength to fight off another Orc attack.

“Do you not hear it?” asked the elf worriedly. “There are whispers in the air. Something is nearby, though I know not what.”

“Could it be Orcs?” Aragorn hissed, glancing around.

“Nay,” said Legolas thoughtfully, “it is not an evil presence.”

However, the thought of anything nearby troubled Aragorn, especially if even an elf could not detect what it was. He turned back to the boat, still resting on the shore. Bowing his head a little, Aragorn paced to the boat’s side and gripped it forcefully. Legolas and Gimli walked down to aid him drive the vessel into the water. One large push was all it took for the boat to be carried away by the current.

The Sun seemed to bathe Tol Brandir in a golden pool of light, as it did his companions, still standing mournfully on the shore. The great falls roared, the sound emanating for miles around. Boromir watched as he saw the boat disappear, slowly, silently, and then altogether quickly as it slipped into the billowing mist and foam. He almost would have fallen backwards, were it not for his senses alerting him in time. Emptiness was a difficult feeling to deal with. He buried his head in his hands, and tried not to think about the boat, the falls, and least of all, the lifeless corpse which had stared blankly up at him.

“No,” he said slowly, carefully, “I am here. I still have thoughts…and memories…therefore, in part, I am alive…” He sighed, regrettably. Reassurance may have aided many soldiers in battle, but it did nothing for him here.

“But then again,” he reminded himself sourly, “they were not dead.” The last word came sharply and forcefully from his tongue, seemingly lingering in the air, even seeming to taunt him, if that was possible. Possible, he thought, raising his head slightly, that word I do not understand any more.

Tears started to sting his eyes. He blinked quickly to banish them, and again stared down at the ground. Aragorn’s voice startled him, causing him to lift his head. Looking at the Ranger through glassy eyes, he knew something was coming, though he dare not think what.

“We must find our remaining companions,” said Aragorn sternly. “We can do nothing for Frodo and Sam now; they have chosen to go to Mordor alone. Perhaps by chance we will meet them again, but that is beyond our control.”

“So we follow the Orcs, then,” grunted Gimli. “I daresay I would like to give some more of the foul creatures a taste of my axe.” He held up the fine weapon triumphantly. Boromir would have laughed…

Pain! A sudden, sharp stab of pain pierced his heart, more terrible than he could ever imagine. He clutched his chest, collapsing, crying out in horrible, twisted tones. Crumpled over on the shore, he could hardly breathe; each stifled breath seemed more difficult than the last. He felt himself weaken, fade – indeed, this must be the end. The end… his vision was darkening, the voices of his companions became muffled, low, and deep. He had the strange sensation that he was falling. Maybe now his torment would be over.

He could only hope…

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OK, that's chapter 1! I'd be interested in any comments you have. If you'd like to see more, I'd be happy to post it! (I have up to chapter 4 done so far, and half of chapter 5).

[Pirate]

very well written. I enjoyed it. I feel like I've read it beofre. Did you ever post it on FanFiction.net?

[Tûrethir]

Thank you, Pirate! I did indeed post it on FF.net, under the username EmberDragon.

[Tessar]

Hummmm, an interesting idea! Some how I can't see the horn following him into the spirit world though .


Other than that not a bad set up at all, and a good read.

[Tûrethir]

Thank you, Tessar! It's much appreciated. The Horn comes into play a bit later in the story.

I think I'll post the ff.net link here, so you can easily access the rest of what I've written so far. I'm particularly pleased with chapter 5.

Click here

Hope you like!!

[Rosie Gamgee]

Totally SWEET!! I love it! Keep writing!!

[Tûrethir]

Thank you, Rosie! And thanks for your lovely comment on ff.net! I really appreciate it! I'm thinking of writing a bit more right now, as I've been inspired!

[Beruthiel's cat]

I finally got the chance to read your chapters and I found your story to have a very interesting premise. At first I was not too sure it was going to work, but my doubts pretty much evaporated as I continued reading. Your style is very polished. The story is well written and well thought-out. You seem very comfortable in Middle Earth and are telling the tale of Boromir's after-death with confidence. You seem to know where you are going with this, and it shows.

Please continue to post the progress of your work. I'm enjoying it so far!

[Nurvingiel]

This is an extremely well-written story. The only small thing is that I agree with Tessar about the horn. If it's important later, maybe you could say something indicating how much more important the horn was to Boromir, explaining a little more thoroughly why there's a 'spirit-horn'. I thought your story was great! I added it to my favourites at ff.net, keep up the good work.

[Rosie Gamgee]

Originally posted by Tûrethir
Thank you, Rosie! And thanks for your lovely comment on ff.net! I really appreciate it! I'm thinking of writing a bit more right now, as I've been inspired!

You're welcome. Please, indeed, write more!! (If you don't I may come through this moniter and demand that you do! ) Anyhow, I am off to see if you've added anymore to that other site- forget it's name just now.

[edit]: ack! Back, and you haven't added a thing. Hm, how does one get through a moniter...?

[Tûrethir]

Thank you everybody for your kind comments You have no idea how much they mean to me!

Just posting to tell you that I have updated the story on ff.net with a new chapter. I haven't quite finished the chapter yet, but I felt there was enough to post on the site.

Click here

[Rosie Gamgee]

Ooo! Yay, more! Very cool! Is he going to Helm's Deep?

[Tûrethir]

He is indeed! I have written almost up to that part now, but I need to write a bit more before I can post Chapter 8 on ff.net.

[Rosie Gamgee]

Ooo, fun!! Hurry, hurry! This is getting good.

[Tûrethir]

Hey there ^_^ Just wanted to let you know that I've posted a new chapter of the story on ff.net now, so it's ready for reading!

[Rosie Gamgee]

Oh, awesome. I love this story! Keep it up- lol!