Back next

Thoughts

Section LXXXIX-Boromir

How did you find me? You seem to be gathering wood, but why so far from camp? Did you follow me? Why? To what purpose? Protection?

My thoughts race at your unexpected appearance. I push away the annoyance of being interrupted in the midst of my own debate. I am too weary to sense much beyond the feather-light touch of fear.

Your words flow over me and mix confusingly with my own broodings, tumbling around in my mind. What are you saying? Did I truly hear you suggest other paths -- other ways? Surely, by now, you know the answer. You cannot mean what you are saying, can you?

“I know what you would say, and it would seem like wisdom, but for the warning in my heart.”

Yes! Warning! Do you realize what you are saying? It is madness, indeed, of the most dangerous kind. Why do you not understand? What words would convince you?

“There is no other way.”

Defend your people, you say? You would destroy them with the Ring.

I struggle not to jump as you throw down the wood you gathered.

Lend It?

“No!”

Of their own accord, my feet take several steps back. I remind myself, you are an honourable Man.

Thief, no, but...

“You are not yourself.”

Do you not hear the bitterness in your voice? And something more...

My heart whispers of danger and yet some part of me trusts you still.

Chance? I’ve little chance at all. How often have I wished for death to find me? When my parents drowned? Weathertop? Moria? Yet I linger, and It weighs ever heavier about my neck.

Happenstance? Gandalf told me I was meant to have It. Some part of me wishes briefly It fell into your hands instead of mine, for then the burden would not now be mine at all, and yet -- and yet, I hear the desperation in your voice, and know everything we both love would be lost, if my wish were granted.

Give it to you?

“No!”

My heart pounds in my ears. If I could only shout above the whispering of the Ring; help you see the truth! But no more words do I utter, my throat tightening, cutting off my voice. The wild fury in your eyes, has it ever been reflected in my own?

Anguish tightens my chest. Boromir! Boromir, you do not know what you are saying.

Gandalf admonished me to never put It on, but how do I escape? I cannot get away... There is no other way...

Fear lends swiftness to my flight in my grey-shadowed world, with your curse ringing in my ears.

Why did I not leave sooner? If only I left sooner...

Boromir, I’m sorry.