Post by Admin on Jan 2, 2021 22:12:43 GMT
Author: Chiara Cadrich
Summary : The end of Boromir's grief causes many changes.
Rating : 13+
Thorongil advanced under the dark high vault of Rath Dinen. Several majestic busts stared down at him with a sharp look, draped in their gypsum robes. His steps awakened the echoing whispers of the Kings, as if each sovereign revealed to his neighbor, the visit of an offspring.
On the death of Ecthelion [1], Thorongil had barely been allowed to attend the funeral. Now, before leaving the kingdom, the ranger felt the need for a last farewell to the old ruler.
The line of the Kings and Queens descending from Anarion, along with the Stewards of the house of Mardil, rested in this sanctuary, in the heart of the mountain. High marble-laced canopies protected the granite effigies of the great captains and loremasters, who had held the scepter of Osgiliath. Each stele pictured the struggle of centuries, the long defeat, and the renewed hope of men. A stone banner set with pale gems, ran from arch to arch, as a pledge of an everlasting resistance to Mordor. The hieratic basalt figures seemed to silently order the visitor, to take his share of the glorious burden.
Yet, at the heart of the colonnades of mourning gray, a tiny bright color flame throbbed, caressed by a diaphanous ray, that snowy mount Mindolluin spouted through a skylight. A tiny ruffled shape, curled up on itself, sobbed at the foot of Ecthelion’s catafalque.
Small Boromir, crushed by the solemn stony gazes, embraced his flayed legs with his arms, his face hidden in his lap.
Was not this chance meeting, the reason why his inner voice was so insistent Thorongil should pay this last visit? Aragorn smiled sadly at the effigy of Ecthelion, whose eagle gaze seemed to soften.
The ranger sat next to the boy, who was shaking with silent sobs.
Looking into the distance, Thorongil waited until the child would speak by himself.
After a moment, the boy shot him a sideways glance, and discreetly wiped his tears away. Noticing the worn outfit of the adult - battered leather and faded ranger cloak - he asked:
- Are you leaving, Thorongil?
- Yes, I came to say goodbye to your grandfather.
- ... Do you think he can hear us?
- Of course. And I can hear him, too, sometimes.
- You can hear him? How?
- I come here, like you did. I silence the hubbub my heart. And then I imagine he’s quietly sat at his study, among his favourite books, near your grandmother’s portrait. Then I listen carefully… and sometimes he speaks to me.
- Do you think he would speak to me too?
Thorongil put his arm around the small shoulders:
- I am sure of that. Breath deeply, close your eyes and think about him… Imagine he is listening… What have you come to say to your grand-dad?
Again the locks of his eyes gave way, flooding the childish face:
- I don’t want him to be gone!
Thorongil cuddled the child and waiting he calmed down.
- Your grandfather would have liked to stay, but his body was too sick. Now he is resting in the palace of heroes...
- Mom told me. But I miss him so much... He always took me with him. He told me about the Kings. He cared about me. Now he’s gone, and Dad’s in charge of everything. Mom and Dad do not laugh anymore. They no longer take care of me. So when I'm all alone, I come here...
- So this is what you wanted to tell your grandfather... You know, you should grant your parents a little time to get used to all this. You know they are sad too. Maybe you should tell them.
- Well I'm sure that will not change anything at all: since the baby was here, they were only concerned by him! There’s no point having a little brother!
- … I think your grandfather has heard you. And he doesn’t completely agree with you. He says a brother is of great use. Listen…
.oOo.
You’ll clown. He’ll laugh and uproar.
He’ll cry hard tears. You’ll sing nursery rhymes.
You’ll climb trees. He’ll follow you, no matter the danger.
He’ll fetch some wood. You’ll light the fire.
You’ll miss your hunting target. He’ll set snares.
He’ll find mushrooms. You’ll discard the poisonous ones.
He’ll be hungry. You too.
You’ll teach him caution. He’ll teach you patience.
You’ll let him win the race. He’ll let you win at chess.
You’ll be hurt. He’ll give his blood.
You’ll calm his doubts. He’ll explain your dreams.
You’ll tell him war. He’ll tell you peace.
You’ll keep his secrets. He’ll honor your promises.
You’ll show the vault supported by the arch. He’ll reveal the vault supporting the stars.
You’ll play tactics. He’ll study strategy. But none of you will manage to understand girls.
You'll finish his harangues. He’ll finish your poems.
You’ll take the high. He’ll rebel.
You two will quarrel. And will reconcile before your father.
You’ll love the bright day. He’ll prefer the sweet night.
But together you’ll revere Gondor, as necessary to each other, as both to your homeland.
.oOo.
The ranger examined little Boromir’s dubious face. The boy had not understood everything.
Yet deep in his pupil, a spark betrayed kind of a jubilation, sort of a feverish expectation, at the prospect of such an exhilarating birthright, such a surprising sharing, and maybe all these petty exciting troubles, which punishments would be eased, since shared!
Thorongil drew the boy up. After a brief heartened look and a little hello from the hand at Ecthelion’s severe statue, they went out of the hallowed ground.
- You know, little brothers, that’s sometimes tricky: the more you look after them, the more you want to take care of them! You may have no time left for your parents...
.oOo.
NOTES
[1] When their grandfather Ecthelion deceased, Boromir was six years old, and Faramir one year old.
Summary : The end of Boromir's grief causes many changes.
Rating : 13+
Thorongil advanced under the dark high vault of Rath Dinen. Several majestic busts stared down at him with a sharp look, draped in their gypsum robes. His steps awakened the echoing whispers of the Kings, as if each sovereign revealed to his neighbor, the visit of an offspring.
On the death of Ecthelion [1], Thorongil had barely been allowed to attend the funeral. Now, before leaving the kingdom, the ranger felt the need for a last farewell to the old ruler.
The line of the Kings and Queens descending from Anarion, along with the Stewards of the house of Mardil, rested in this sanctuary, in the heart of the mountain. High marble-laced canopies protected the granite effigies of the great captains and loremasters, who had held the scepter of Osgiliath. Each stele pictured the struggle of centuries, the long defeat, and the renewed hope of men. A stone banner set with pale gems, ran from arch to arch, as a pledge of an everlasting resistance to Mordor. The hieratic basalt figures seemed to silently order the visitor, to take his share of the glorious burden.
Yet, at the heart of the colonnades of mourning gray, a tiny bright color flame throbbed, caressed by a diaphanous ray, that snowy mount Mindolluin spouted through a skylight. A tiny ruffled shape, curled up on itself, sobbed at the foot of Ecthelion’s catafalque.
Small Boromir, crushed by the solemn stony gazes, embraced his flayed legs with his arms, his face hidden in his lap.
Was not this chance meeting, the reason why his inner voice was so insistent Thorongil should pay this last visit? Aragorn smiled sadly at the effigy of Ecthelion, whose eagle gaze seemed to soften.
The ranger sat next to the boy, who was shaking with silent sobs.
Looking into the distance, Thorongil waited until the child would speak by himself.
After a moment, the boy shot him a sideways glance, and discreetly wiped his tears away. Noticing the worn outfit of the adult - battered leather and faded ranger cloak - he asked:
- Are you leaving, Thorongil?
- Yes, I came to say goodbye to your grandfather.
- ... Do you think he can hear us?
- Of course. And I can hear him, too, sometimes.
- You can hear him? How?
- I come here, like you did. I silence the hubbub my heart. And then I imagine he’s quietly sat at his study, among his favourite books, near your grandmother’s portrait. Then I listen carefully… and sometimes he speaks to me.
- Do you think he would speak to me too?
Thorongil put his arm around the small shoulders:
- I am sure of that. Breath deeply, close your eyes and think about him… Imagine he is listening… What have you come to say to your grand-dad?
Again the locks of his eyes gave way, flooding the childish face:
- I don’t want him to be gone!
Thorongil cuddled the child and waiting he calmed down.
- Your grandfather would have liked to stay, but his body was too sick. Now he is resting in the palace of heroes...
- Mom told me. But I miss him so much... He always took me with him. He told me about the Kings. He cared about me. Now he’s gone, and Dad’s in charge of everything. Mom and Dad do not laugh anymore. They no longer take care of me. So when I'm all alone, I come here...
- So this is what you wanted to tell your grandfather... You know, you should grant your parents a little time to get used to all this. You know they are sad too. Maybe you should tell them.
- Well I'm sure that will not change anything at all: since the baby was here, they were only concerned by him! There’s no point having a little brother!
- … I think your grandfather has heard you. And he doesn’t completely agree with you. He says a brother is of great use. Listen…
.oOo.
You’ll clown. He’ll laugh and uproar.
He’ll cry hard tears. You’ll sing nursery rhymes.
You’ll climb trees. He’ll follow you, no matter the danger.
He’ll fetch some wood. You’ll light the fire.
You’ll miss your hunting target. He’ll set snares.
He’ll find mushrooms. You’ll discard the poisonous ones.
He’ll be hungry. You too.
You’ll teach him caution. He’ll teach you patience.
You’ll let him win the race. He’ll let you win at chess.
You’ll be hurt. He’ll give his blood.
You’ll calm his doubts. He’ll explain your dreams.
You’ll tell him war. He’ll tell you peace.
You’ll keep his secrets. He’ll honor your promises.
You’ll show the vault supported by the arch. He’ll reveal the vault supporting the stars.
You’ll play tactics. He’ll study strategy. But none of you will manage to understand girls.
You'll finish his harangues. He’ll finish your poems.
You’ll take the high. He’ll rebel.
You two will quarrel. And will reconcile before your father.
You’ll love the bright day. He’ll prefer the sweet night.
But together you’ll revere Gondor, as necessary to each other, as both to your homeland.
.oOo.
The ranger examined little Boromir’s dubious face. The boy had not understood everything.
Yet deep in his pupil, a spark betrayed kind of a jubilation, sort of a feverish expectation, at the prospect of such an exhilarating birthright, such a surprising sharing, and maybe all these petty exciting troubles, which punishments would be eased, since shared!
Thorongil drew the boy up. After a brief heartened look and a little hello from the hand at Ecthelion’s severe statue, they went out of the hallowed ground.
- You know, little brothers, that’s sometimes tricky: the more you look after them, the more you want to take care of them! You may have no time left for your parents...
.oOo.
NOTES
[1] When their grandfather Ecthelion deceased, Boromir was six years old, and Faramir one year old.