Tolkien Tales

Reunion

Boromir never spoke on the trail. A silent, taciturn man, he rebuffed all efforts of the Fellowship to draw him in. Ever present before him was his family's requirement and his own vainglorious belief in the superiority of the Stewardship and his father's good intentions. More than that, he found it difficult to balance the difference between the glorious kings of old, descended from the Elves, to the scruffy wilderness-weary Ranger who steadfastly led the way through the ancient lands of Eregion. 

The hobbits found it difficult that he wanted none of their chatter and had no concern about the need of second breakfast. Frodo was thankful for this though Pippin and Merry were miffed that he did not want to be friends with them. Sam, sensing Frodo's discomfort with the powerful Captain of Gondor, did not even try to make friends with him, aware that it wasn't necessary and his duty was to Frodo and to the pony, Bill.

However it peeved and worried Aragorn that he could make no headway with the Gondorian. He was not ungrateful and willingly accepted Aragorn's leadership. He never made any comments that threatened the goodwill of the Company.  An excellent swordsman, he made a good sparring companion and beyond this, Legolas seemed to feel that he was a loyal compatriot. But still the silence of the Captain.

***

But then as they huddled in the cheerless hollow where the cold winds and snows of Caradhras could not entirely reach, the silent Captain spoke. Ere he did so, he turned his features to rest upon those of the smoking Aragorn, the evanescent smoke and small ember lighting up the gray-green of his eyes and the sparkling silver in his beard. Perhaps it was his profile that prompted the man to speak, perhaps it was the need for warmth and memories that encouraged his sudden confidences.

" I had a wife." 

Though Frodo had been dozing and the Company were in various stages of cold discomfort, a warmth flooded through all of them when Boromir spoke and they turned to look at him in amazement. 

Aragorn coughed and even Gandalf who could never be surprised unless by a dragon turned to look speechlessly at the laconic Boromir.

" She was one of the Rangers of the North. I met her just before my mother died. Though grief shortly tainted my youth, she brought with her the bright light of the North and the glorious snow which cleanses everything that it touches. She was a mystic to us all, a creature of mythology and yet I could not keep myself from falling in love with her. We would haunt the watches of Ithilien, make certain that no harm could ever fall upon our sleeping people and in the deepest nights, we would laugh and pleasure and wonder at the joy that we had before us."

Then he fell silent again, his mind untroubled by what he had revealed, and he did not sense that he needed to speak anything other than what he had. It did not even enter his mind that the Fellowship would puzzle his words over again and again, wondering what had happened to this mystery wife of Boromir. Had she died? Had she left him? Had tragedy befallen?

Aragorn alone was silent, remembering the maiden as Boromir did. He was also able to puzzle out why Boromir had spoken when he did so. The night was cold and the snows fierce, their bombardment something of mystery and legend, magic affecting the ancient forces of nature. And she, Feredisagaur, had been something of legend and mystery herself. He recalled her emerald green eyes and the long wolf cloak she would wear about her shoulders, and underneath the cloak of wildness, was the haunting song and belief in Eru. That they all had purpose and a glorious reunion awaiting them. Cold had no power over her and she would walk for miles only to shot a wolf between the eye. She had always had an enamorment of wolves. 

***

Throughout the terrible silence of Moria it had become apparent that everyone was talking only to alleviate the ancient stillness of that dismal abode of Dwarves. Gimli would chant about the hospitality that they had been wont to give and would rejoice in the power of Dwarven delving. Legolas spoke ardently of the rich, heady wines of his homeland and would long for the thick boughs of the trees that had sired him.