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...