Change One Thing, See What Happens

Adraefan

47. Final Chorus (Another Beginning)

Years later
Thain Pippin, little minstrel-hobbit-lord, would always say,
“Oh, aye, Boromir,
I knew him well.
Boromir the Brave we called him,
or Boromir the Mad.
Either way, a true friend.”

Years later
Meriadoc the Magnificent would blow smoke rings,
and laugh,
“Oh, aye, Boromir,
I knew him well.
Boromir the Fair we called him,
or Boromir the Drunkard.
Either way, a good Man.”

Years later
Dínendal, Returned Elf of Eryn Lasgalen, would shrug,
and sigh,
“Oh, aye, Boromir,
I knew him well.
Boromir the Bold we thought him,
or Boromir the Exile.
Either way, a noble spirit.”

Years later
Gimli, son of Glóin, Lord of the Glittering Caves,
would snort and grunt,
“Oh, aye, Boromir,
I knew him well.
Boromir the Tall they called him,
or Boromir the Fool.
Either way, a doughty warrior.”

Years later,
Aragorn, King Elessar Telcontar, would nod-sage,
and whisper-wise,
“Oh, aye, Boromir,
I knew him well.
Boromir the Strong we thought him,
or Boromir the Changéd.
Either way, a light to Gondor.”

Years later
Faramir, Prince of Ithilien, would sigh
and murmur,
“Oh, aye, Boromir,
he was my brother.
Many names they called him,
e’er our argument, our honor, our embarrassment,
e’er our leader, our fallen soldier.
It matters not now, all that has passed.”

And the suns rise and set
burning away into the horizon
flattening out, melting with it, red
casting everything in gold
from the green corners of the Shire
to the White Towers of Gondor
and deep into the scorching deserts of Harad
all melting gold

everywhere rising and setting suns
days stretching thin into long weeks
months years
the mortals age…

Boromir…

Where did this all wisp away, Valar-Gods?
You left us hanging on a hinge
the story’s fabric suddenly unraveled into a single thread
that we hold onto now.

Well?

Back home, hard-drinking hopeless,
living like a Begging Prince?
Or away, disguised, adventure drifting
blown away by winds and whims
so that, eventually, Minas Tirith resigns
its good-bad son, its former hero, its fast-becoming-legend
to some unknown fate?
(Ah, if e’er there was a Man born for pain, it was he!)

Well?

Valar, it all depends on You,
the Mighty Fourteen
which way You shrug
and cast the Omnipresent Gaze
to shift away from This onto That
making Boromir’s heart swell
with such emotion, such searing burns of love
of hate, of violence and stagnating torture
of peace and the glittering wide joys
of this and that
the tragicomic
the INCONCEIVABLY MORTAL –

Well? Well? Well?

Back home or cast adrift?

“Ah…”
Manwë smiles sly.
“That is another story entirely.”


The End

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.

In Challenges

Story Information

Author: Aeneid

Status: Reviewed

Completion: Complete

Rating: Adult

Last Updated: 10/20/05

Original Post: 08/10/04

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