𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 || 𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐁 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐊

ʙᴏʀᴏᴍɪʀ - ᴘᴀʀᴛ ғᴏᴜʀ

Long time no see! I have nothing to say for myself, beyond that which would incriminate me even more in my inactivity. BUT s2 of Rings of Power brought back my LotR brainrot in full force so I decided I might as well post again.

To make it up to you, this is a LONG chapter.

There's some Sindarin in this, the translation of which you will find at the very end of the chapter, should you belong to those of us who are not, in fact, fluent. All translations are supplied without liability because I also don't speak Sindarin.

Have fun!

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Even several days after they had reunited, it was hard for Boromir to believe Gandalf was alive. When he had first seen the wizard, clad in all white and standing by Théoden's side in the throne room, Boromir had almost fainted. For a moment, he had wondered if perhaps he had died that day at Amon Hen after all.

And now that Gandalf was gone again—on what business, only he and the Gods knew—Boromir was not entirely sure he had not been dreaming.

It did not help that they had spoken only for a short while—Boromir with a thousand apologies ready to burst forth, and Gandalf with his usual type of grumpy encouragement, and an apology of his own.

They could not go to save Robb, he had explained, not when all of Rohan needed their help to fight Saruman. Not when they did not know for certain where to search for him, or whether he was alive at all.

Boromir had looked around the room then, had seen Aragorn's lowered eyes, Gimli's tight grip on his axe, and the way Legolas' lips had thinned. He had felt a yell climb its way up his throat, had felt tears rise in his eyes and fury in his chest. But Boromir had tamped them all down.

He knew they wanted to help Robb, he truly did. They had all come to like, perhaps even admire him. For someone so young, Robb was remarkably mature. For a king, he was remarkably selfless. And he had suffered more than anyone Boromir knew. For that reason alone, they should have done everything in their power to get him back. Robb did not deserve to be left at the mercy of their enemies.

And yet, neither did the people of Rohan. As Robb's friend, Boromir wanted to drop everything and rush to save him immediately. As a captain, a leader, he could not in good conscience leave thousands of men, women, and children to face certain death for just one person. Even if it was his fault Robb had been taken.

And so, Boromir had closed his eyes and nodded.

Since then, the anger and despair had been a constant fire in his heart. Every second without a distraction saw him grinding his teeth, or clenching his fists around the reins of the horse he had been given for the trek to Helm's Deep.

The scenery had passed by Boromir in a blur, only briefly interrupted by conversations with Gimli, Legolas and Aragorn about the upcoming battle, with Théoden about his father, and with Éowyn about their brothers. They had all been tense, and had failed at hiding it.

They had done well enough at pretending in front of the people, of course—still did. But as soon as their scared, trusting gazes had no longer rested on them, the confident façades had started to crack. Boromir could feel it in himself even now, and see it on the faces of his companions.

Ironically enough, Théoden and Éowyn still appeared to be the ones with the most composure. Perhaps it might have been different, had Robb been with them. Certainly, Boromir would have been in better spirits.