𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 || 𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐁 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐊

ʙᴏʀᴏᴍɪʀ - ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ

Genuinely forgot I had so many pre-written Boromir chapters left which is why you're getting a very long one now. over 3k words! amazing.

This is also an apology for making you guys wait for so long. my excuse is work and also i watched ted lasso which consumed my brain lmao.
anyway have fun with this!!

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In the light of the setting sun, the Golden Hall of Meduseld gleamed like a jewel. It was a sight for sore eyes.

Pressing one hand to his chest, Boromir gave a relieved if rattling sigh. Edoras remained unchanged. A constant where the rest of the world as well as Boromir himself had been irrevocably transformed. The air still smelled faintly of horse and hay and the wind continued to whistle through the city walls, mingling with the chattering of people and the snorting of animals to create a melody that was intrinsically Rohan.

All was as it had been when Boromir had last come through some six months ago.

Boromir stumbled forward. His knock on the gates was carried away by the wind and for a moment, he doubted whether anyone could have heard it at all. The gates of Edoras were not made for knocking. But after just a few seconds, a voice rang through the air.

"What business have you in Edoras?"

Boromir took a step back and raised his head.

"I am Boromir of Gondor," he called up to the guard on the walkway above. His mouth was dry, and he had to swallow. "The steward's son. My business is with the king."

There was a beat of silence before the guard disappeared out of sight and the gates creaked open. Boromir stepped through. The guard stood just inside, waiting for him.

"Lord Boromir," he greeted, holding out a hand in greeting. Boromir grasped it at the forearm. "I am Háthain, son of Hámód. We had almost thought you lost after the horse we lent you returned riderless."

"There was an incident on the road, near Tharbad," Boromir replied, falling into step with the guard. "And more on the way back."

The guard nodded. "Hence your late return. We are glad to see you alive, my lord."

The friendly clap on his shoulder almost sent Boromir to the ground. His vision whited out as pain bloomed from his shoulder and spread through his chest. A wheeze left Boromir's lungs, entirely without his volition.

"My lord?" he heard the guard ask when the ringing in his ears finally faded. "Are you alright?"

"I may have need of your healer later," Boromir admitted with a gasp. "But I must speak with King Théoden first."

Háthain's brows were furrowed behind his helmet, one of his hands hovering over Boromir's arm. He held the guard's gaze and straightened his stance. Finally, Háthain nodded.

"As you wish."

They continued their way up the hill. Men, women and children went about their business alongside them, cleaning clothes, leading horses, playing. The city was less busy than it had been in autumn, though. Now, at the beginning of spring, that struck Boromir as strange. Even with the ever rising threat of Orcs in their lands, would not more people flock to the safety of the capital?

"The king has been unwell of late," the guard spoke up again, interrupting Boromir's train of thought, "and I must warn you that visitors are not welcomed as they once were."

'It can hardly be worse than the welcome at Moria,' Boromir thought to himself, waving off the well-intentioned warning. No man was fully his true self while sick and Boromir was the last person who could judge him.