 SERIES: "Boromir's Elves" (5/WIP) Prologue: Volume Two of the Chronicles of Aster, found in the great and ancient library of the White City, Minas Tirith, tells a story of one of the heroes of Gondor and his adventures before, during and after the War of the Ring. This hero was a member of The Nine who went out from Rivendell to destroy the One Ring before it could fall back into the hands of Sauron. He was Boromir, son of Denethor, and he was believed killed during the journey to Mordor while trying to defend two hobbits, members of the Fellowship, from marauding Orcs who bore the mark of the white hand. The traditional tale has Boromir felled by Orc arrows and his body set upon the Great River Anduin in a boat holding his shield, his sword and the Horn of Gondor, which had been split in two during his final battle. When members of the Fellowship last see Boromir, his boat is headed toward the cataracts of Rauros. The Chronicles pick up the tale after Boromir has been set adrift, when his body is discovered by a group of elves who live in a cave beneath the falls. These elves are rarely found in any of the histories of Middle Earth, and their very existence holds a sense of legend. The Elves of Rauros were descendents of the Nandor who had taken to the woods and settled near Lorien. At the beginning of the Third Age, several dozen of these sylvan elves had broken off and founded a colony of their own, which became a sort of elven cult later spoken of in whispers as the Worshippers of Man or Man-Loving Elves. Gifted with the secret of male procreation, they were known to take a man as their king and to mix their blood with his. Before they found Boromir, their number had dwindled greatly, many having been killed by Orcs or dangerous beasts in the surrounding woods. Several had pined away and died after the loss of their most recent lord many years earlier. Without a new Manlord, the Elves of Rauros would soon cease to be. When one of their number found the boat containing the son of Gondor, their fate was left to be decided by he alone. They were forevermore to be known as Boromir's Elves. Part Five, The Protector For the six days their new lord had lay convalescing in the cave, Berion had taken the sword and shield outside and practiced using it. At first he simply got used to the weight and balance of the heavy arms, holding the sword in his right hand and the shield in his left, close to his body. He thrust and jabbed at imaginary opponents, and moved protectively away from the attacks of these phantoms. Later he actually chopped at the bushes and rotten stumps around the riverbank, amazed at the sharpness of the weapon as slices of his targets went flying through the air. For an hour a day, Berion would just run carrying the heavy implements. He would strap the shield across his back and hold the sword in his right hand, moving as quickly as he could through the tall grass and over the rough ground around the woods. His lungs worked like a bellows as he forced himself to continue past his natural ability. He was determined that when Naegion returned, he would find him a better warrior than ever before. The first few days of his practice, his arms and shoulders ached. Berion, who required even less sleep than most elves, often wandered through the cave and walked around outside at night, a victim of his own restless energy and the pain in his limbs. As his muscles slowly adjusted to the weapons, he was forced to massage them himself, as Elnestor was often busy with or distracted by Lord Boromir's recovery. He sometimes walked the long distance inland to a pool of hot water fed by a nearby spring where the elves liked to bathe and frolic, especially in winter. Here he immersed himself and allowed his arms, legs and back to relax and rebuild their overworked tissue. By the sixth day, Berion could easily heft the shield and wield the sword. He had learned to swing about quickly, slashing the air around him. His natural athleticism allowed him to try things a man in armor would not normally attempt, rolling and flipping, tucking the sword inside the shield to keep from accidentally cutting himself. Brogadan was aware of Berion's obsession, but he said little about it. Every evening the implements belonging to Boromir would be back in their place by the door of the cave, just as every morning they would disappear with Berion. Somehow Brogadan seemed to sense that their new lord would not disapprove of the elves learning to defend themselves. And he, Berion, was their protector, as his name affirmed. Smaller than both Brogadan and Naegion, he made up for it in his energy and tenacity. By the fourth day, Boromir had started sitting up and conversing at great lengths with the elves, mostly with Brogadan and Elnestor. What the new lord thought about the elves and their ways, Berion had no idea. He had little experience with men himself, except to sometimes run from them, and he stayed away from the inner chamber where Boromir lay, preferring to spend his time practicing outside. The fact was, while it was the way of the Elves of Rauros to worship a man and take one as lord, men could be very dangerous, especially when they traveled in groups and came upon one or two elves alone in the woods. The beautiful elves, nearly naked or clad in very little, seemed to some men to have been served up like meals, offered up for their carnal use, and it was a temptation these hungry men could not withstand. The elves, being untrained to arms and having only poorly-made bows and spears, were no match for the metal implements of men. Running away and hiding was the only sure way to avoid being raped and perhaps killed. Some had not been able to avoid these encounters. Brogadan himself had been beset on by a party of three men, and he had been lucky to survive, as Berion knew. It frustrated Berion that this experience had only served to make Brogadan more serious and quiet, not more fierce and determined. And so he had become a follower of Naegion, who had openly declared his intention never to submit to a man, even if he were the Lord of the Elves. On the day Brogadan approached Berion with an even more serious expression than normal, Boromir had been with them for a week, and it was now clear he would survive his wounds; how well he would recover remained to be seen, and Elnestor had now advised that the weak man be taken on short walks out of doors, in order to strengthen his lungs and bolster his spirit. "Our lord needs to get outside the cave. And he'll need to be watched every minute," Brogadan said, looking pointedly at the sword in Berion's hand. The weather had been fair of late, promising an early spring, and as often was the case, Berion was completely naked, his dark eyes and thick dark brows standing out against the perpetually light skin of his face. Anyone looking at him and noticing the ears that curved to a distinct point amidst the thick tendrils of his unkempt brown hair would correctly guess him to be half-elven. In fact, he was the product of a Manlord, as all the Elves of Rauros were. But with the shield and sword in hand, this naked elf looked like some creature yet undefined. "I'm ready to protect him," Berion declared. "I've been practicing with his weapons, and I know I could fight for him if need be." Brogadan looked worried, and he stood and stared toward the crest of the hill where the river prepared to fall into the massive Cascades of Rauros. Even where they stood, they could hear the distant roar of the water, a sound usually muffled by the thick rock of their deep cave. "I don't know if he'll stay with us, Berion. He's a warrior. He's already restless, wondering what becomes of his comrades and the war that's brewing." "War?" "Yes. Middle-earth is in a terrible state, and evil forces are everywhere, he says." Berion stepped toward Brogadan. "You usually think these things have nothing to do with us. Why do you care?" Brogadan's brown eyes were fierce as he stared at Berion, who found himself surprised and aroused at his leader's intensity. "We need him, and we need to support him!" Brogadan said hoarsely. "We need to care about the things he cares about! He is our lord, Berion. He is our future." "He hasn't accepted that role, yet, has he?" Brogadan shook his head. "He's undecided, and we are careful not to entreat him too much. He's still weak, and to have all these elves in his charge is much to ask of him." "Where is he from?" Berion asked, suddenly curious. "Gondor." The word fell between them like the leaden rain of winter. Their last lord had also been from that land, and he had chosen to return to it and leave the elves alone. A sort of dark sureness filled Berion, a cynicism sometimes fatal to an elf. He grimaced. Naegion was right. The Elves of Rauros could not pin their hopes on the devotion of a man. Behind them, Elnestor and Himmion had helped Boromir out of the cave; supported between them, Boromir was gazing about himself, squinting, as though he had never seen the light of day before. He was clad in the clothing they had found him in that first day, which had been cleaned and expertly repaired by Fael, the best tailor among them. When Boromir saw Berion holding his weapons, he looked surprised at first, then started to grin. Berion stood as straight as he could. "I'm learning to use them. At first they were heavy." Boromir nodded, studying Berion. "What's your name? Do I know you?" "I was one of the elves who first brought you to the cave. I am Berion, which means 'protector.'" "Well, Berion, show me what you can do. I'll sit here and watch." With the help of Brogadan, Boromir lowered himself with a groan to a seat on a large stump. "It's a fine day," he commented, almost to himself. "A fine day to be alive." Berion swung the sword, making crosses in the air in front of him; the muscles of his right arm worked with his effort. He circled and spun about, jumping and rolling, showing off his athleticism. "That's good, boy!" Boromir said enthusiastically. "Now move your feet in smaller steps, almost like a dance, forward and back and side to side." Boromir started to clap out a rhythm. Berion did as he was told, quickly adjusting to this repetitive pattern. "You should get to the point where you don't even think of your feet. They move like this of themselves, while you concentrate on the shield and sword," Boromir instructed. "Raise those both higher, by the way, and approach your opponent a little sideways, never straight on!" Berion started to smile as he followed Boromir's coaching. His dark hair flew out behind him, and his eyes fixed fiercely on the empty space in front of his sword. "You're going to be a great warrior," Boromir said. "You have a love of the fight." Berion stopped, lowering the shield, his breath coming hard. "Do you have a bow?" Boromir asked. Berion nodded. "A poor one." "The elves I've seen were especially skilled with that weapon . . . I'd like to see you with a good practice partner. Hopefully I'll be up to that soon." Elnestor crouched next to Boromir. "Are you feeling all right, my lord?" "Don't coddle me, Elnestor," Boromir complained. "I'm fine." Elnestor looked crestfallen, and Berion let out a short laugh. "You're a precious thing to these elves. They have to guard you like gold." Boromir's greenish eyes sought Berion's face. "For them and not for you, young elf?" Berion felt himself flush. "I didn't mean--" Brogadan stepped forward, his face angry. "Berion is impertinent, as usual. Don't pay him any mind." "Wait," Boromir said, reaching out and staying Brogadan's approach. "I want to speak to this elf." Berion looked down at the ground, wishing himself far away. "Did you bring the weapons from my boat?" he asked. When Berion nodded, he said, "And what became of my horn? Was it in the boat?" Berion glanced up into the face of Brogadan before answering. "It was broken -- broken in two. I threw it in the river." "Ah." All four elves watched as a sad, far-away expression crossed their Manlord's face. For a few minutes, the only sound was the distant rumble of water and a distant birdcall from the deep woods. Then Boromir looked up and captured Berion with his eyes. The plucky elf could not look away, nor even shift in his stance. He stared back. "I'll teach you to fight, young Berion. And we'll make a new horn, several of them. We'll be able to call one another whenever a need arises, and you as protector will be able to defend your elf brothers." Berion caught his breath, feeling his blood rising. For the first time, four of the Elves of Rauros were witness to one of their new lord's most potent skills, his gift of speech. And somehow, being caught up in the hypnotic effect of that gift, the elves were subtly reminded of other potent weapons wielded by men, especially the elemental promise of their loins. Berion dropped to his knees on the ground in front of Boromir, laying the sword and shield aside. "I would be honored to have you teach me, Lord," he said. "I'm a quick study." Boromir smiled at him, and this smile was the final weapon the man needed to disarm Berion completely and secure his fealty. "We'll start tomorrow," Boromir said. "We'll choose a few others to practice with you, and we'll make ourselves some wooden swords." Berion's eyes shined up at Boromir; he was unaware of the presence of the other elves, much less the satisfied look on the face of Brogadan, the leader. "As you wish, Lord," he said. "We are your elves. We serve only you." The End, Part Five Part Six |