In the Midst of Things: 1. In the Midst of Things

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1. In the Midst of Things

When he came back to the City they welcomed him. They gave him their love...and he returned it. 

There was always a space however, between him and those he touched, between him and the City. Its beauty somehow always out of reach, stolen from between his fingers.

Nobody understood at first when he said he needed to leave for a while. Faces went pale with anger and hurt,  but he got their acceptance in the end, if not their understanding.

He left one day at dawn. Boromir knew he needed to spend some time alone - with that man who came back. 

On the Talan 

A carved border ran gracefully along the edge of the talan, and on it stood a tall cup. It was filled with rainwater and the overhanging foliage threw quivering shadows into the evening-dark liquid. 

Like the talan the cup was simple, but exquisitely made, moulding perfectly into Boromir's hand. As if it had been left there for him...but that made no sense at all. 
The rainwater tasted of mallorn. A ghost of a taste...a presence slowly seeping out of this world.

He would rest here, and this time that soft probing voice wouldn't enter.
She had left, the Lady of the Wood. 

At Caras Caladhon

Boromir entered the open gates and walked into the not unwelcoming emptiness, teeming with life that had been. 

He stopped at the foot of the great mallorn and looked up at the outline of her dwelling, where she had stripped him bare with her gaze, making his defences slip...leaving him feeling belittled and humiliated.

Now, as it unravelled, he saw the true beauty of her forest, in a way he was unable to then. And that mournful insight was perhaps, paradoxically, a gift.

Boromir pulled his cloak around him and turned to leave.
He hoped she'd found peace, wherever she was. 

Like an Emerald Ghost

Boromir sat close to his fire by the Anduin when the wind rushed out of the trees like an emerald ghost.

It bit his neck, tugged at his hair and hammered its fists into the small of his back -  tore at the corners of his tightly wound cloak, making them flap aggressively, like the wings of caged birds.
It dived into the fire, scooped up handfuls of flame and flung them across the river in a shower of sparks. 
Finally the wind ceased, its rage spent... 

It moulded itself gently to Boromir, brushed a kiss across his weather-beaten face...and withdrew.

November Sun

A low sun has uncoiled his shadow into a long ribbon along the ground. He feels the pull of it...
He left to spend time alone with that stranger who came back, fill the space between him and the world. And now he is the midst of things. 

Perhaps he on the talan had looked into a rainwater-shard of her mirror...  He was healed by the touch of the unravelling and unpredictable elemental world she left behind. A touch as merciless as her unpeeling gaze once had been. 

Boromir smiles and raises an imaginary glass, in the direction of the sea.

This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.

Story Information

Author: Wormwood

Status: General

Completion: Complete

Era: 3rd Age - Post-Ring War

Genre: Other

Rating: General

Last Updated: 01/26/11

Original Post: 01/26/11

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WARNING! Comments may contain spoilers for a chapter or story. Read with caution.

In the Midst of Things

Ellynn - 27 Jan 11 - 4:24 AM

Ch. 1: In the Midst of Things

Beautiful drabble-series. I especially love description of the wind in the fourth drabble, and the very end.

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