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~*~
“I will go to my people,” Boromir offers immediately.
Aragorn nods. “They must be warned.”
Gandalf offers them a melancholy but understanding smile.
“No, you are needed elsewhere, Aragorn,” Gandalf replies. “And while I understand your desire, Boromir, you would slow us down. Shadowfax can carry myself and Pippin with ease. He could not carry you and I as well, especially in the case of attack.”
Boromir bristles at the thought of Pippin going along. The Hobbits have seen so much already. Pippin didn’t need to go. He could stay here, safely with them. The idea distracts him enough that he loses the opportunity to make his own case.
“Pippin must accompany me,” Gandalf says firmly, as if understanding Boromir’s thoughts. “Sauron has seen him. He needs to move if we are to keep the enemy guessing.”
Despite hating the idea with every fiber of his being, Boromir reluctantly agrees. Pippin cannot stay in Edoras.
“Be safe, little one,” Boromir says softly to Pippin as he helps the Hobbit prepare to leave a short time later.
Pippin tries hard to be brave and Boromir’s heart aches anew.
“I don’t know what will happen when we get there, but is there any news you wish me to pass on?” Pippin asks as they head for the door.
There is much Boromir wishes to say to his father, but it all needs to be done in person. His brother is another matter.
“If you see my brother Faramir, tell him Rivendell is everything he dreamed and more,” Boromir says. “And tell him I miss him. I hope to see him soon.”
They meet Gandalf and Merry just outside the Golden Hall.
“I could follow,” Boromir points out.
Gandalf sighs. “We haven’t the time for such preparations.”
Boromir disagrees but he steps back and lets Merry walk beside Pippin down to the stables. He won’t deny the cousins the chance to say goodbye. There was no telling when…if they would meet again.
~*~
“A normal horse could not have kept pace with Shadowfax,” Aragorn reminds him.
As he watches Gandalf, Pippin, and Shadowfax, Boromir knows that does not matter. His people need him. While he understands why Gandalf must hurry, Boromir knows there is still time. After all, if Rohan is to be any help, they need to muster the Rohirrim. That takes time. Days of time just to do that and then they still would need to ride to war. With even the swiftest horse that Theoden could lend him, Boromir could not keep pace with Shadowfax. But he could still follow.
“Boromir,” Aragorn says softly.
Turning to face him, Boromir studies his king carefully. He’s given his vow of loyalty, of obedience. He will not make himself an oathbreaker already. But perhaps he can still sway Aragorn.
“I needn’t keep pace,” Boromir begins slowly. “Merely follow.”
Aragorn frowns. “Going alone is dangerous.”
Inclining his head, Boromir acknowledges the point.
“It would be, but with Gandalf and Pippin already on the move, who would expect me to follow?” Boromir asks. “The enemy will track them. No eyes would be on me. My people…our people need me.”
Aragorn considers this for a long moment.
“If I ask you to stay?” Aragorn inquires.
His heart aches but there is only one answer Boromir can give. He’d made a vow not once but twice and he will stand by it. Even if it hurts.
Bowing his head, Boromir replies, “I will obey, my king.”
A calloused but gentle hand tilts his chin up as the other closes over his shoulder.
“You are still healing from wounds that were nearly mortal,” Aragorn points out. “You are more vulnerable than when you traveled to Rivendell. It’s nothing short of a miracle you survived fighting at Helms Deep. Are you certain that you are fit to travel all that way alone? Not knowing what will await you when you arrive?”
Boromir takes a heartbeat to just breathe. If Aragorn is asking this, then he isn’t going to just dismiss Boromir’s desires out of hand. He’s at least willing to listen. That’s something. If he makes his case and still his king refuses, at least Boromir will have given it his all.
“I am,” Boromir assures. “Our people need me to be.”
Aragorn looks at him with sad but understanding eyes. “I would rather you be at my side. But if you are certain this is the path you must take, I will not refuse you.”
Dizzying relief rushes through Boromir.
“Thank you,” Boromir says, relief and gratitude coloring his tone and his face both.
Carefully, Aragorn draws their foreheads together.
“When I arrive at Minas Tirith, I expect to find you waiting, Boromir,” Aragorn orders.
It may be a foolish promise to make, given that he likely rides to war, but Boromir cannot resist.
“I will be there, my king,” Boromir vows.
Aragorn squeezes his shoulder and says, “Then we best gather provisions and see to your horse.”
He’s on his way barely an hour later.
~*~
Have you ever been called home by the clear ringing of silver trumpets?
It seems so long ago now that he asked Aragorn that question in Lothlórien, and yet it’s been only a matter of weeks. Boromir’s whole world has shifted since then.
Boromir itches to be home but he knows he can only push both himself and his horse so far. Aragorn’s caution about his fitness was not unwarranted. Ideally, it would be months before Boromir saw fighting again. He knows that he will, at best, have a week or two before all out war is at his door. He cannot risk his ability to fight by pushing himself too much now.
As he tries his best to sleep, he reminds himself that even if he himself is a few days away, Gandalf and Pippin should arrive at Minas Tirith the following afternoon. His people would be warned.
~*~
He hears the trumpets on the wind as he approaches Minas Tirith. Oh, but he’d almost started to think he’d never be greeted by them again.
“Lord Boromir has returned!”
The call ripples through the guards and he knows his father will hear in mere moments.
The gate opens and he clatters through. He pauses only briefly to greet the guards at the lowest level of the city.
“My lord!” one calls.
Boromir musters the energy for a smile and waves to the men.
“I must see my father, but I shall return to speak with you all later,” Boromir promises.
He is Captain of the White Tower. These are his men. He has not forgotten that while he was away.
The men accept his promise with ease, and he turns his horse towards the path to the Citadel.
“Boromir!” he hears as he dismounts in the courtyard.
Pippin sounds surprised, not that Boromir expected any different. Boromir looks up to see the young Hobbit and Gandalf staring at him.
“I could not keep pace, but I am needed here,” Boromir explains.
Gandalf frowns. “Aragorn needs you.”
Boromir shakes his head. “He does not need me with him. He has what support he requires. I did not come without his blessing, though he was reluctant to give it. These are my people, Gandalf. I will leave their protection in this hour to no one else.”
Gandalf sighs heavily but nods.
“Very well,” Gandalf allows. “We’ve had an eventful day and a half. We’ve much to tell you.”
Nodding, Boromir replies, “Once I’ve seen my father.”
Pippin fidgets and it draws Boromir’s attention back to him.
“They thought you dead,” Pippin says.
Boromir freezes. “They what?”
Gandalf tries to shush him but Pippin does not heed him.
“They found your broken horn and your shield on the Anduin,” Pippin explains.
Running a hand over his face, Boromir sighs.
“We set the boats adrift down the river to make sure the enemy could not use them,” Boromir tells him. “My horn was broken so I put it in the boat. I hadn’t the strength to carry my shield across Rohan at the time, so I left it too. I never thought they would be seen.”
Pippin looks at him with pained eyes. “Merry and I thought you lost too, until we saw you at Isengard. Those wounds…”
Boromir reaches out and places a hand on Pippin’s shoulder.
“I know,” Boromir replies. “And I regret you carried that sorrow. But I am mending.”
Looking away, Pippin asks, “And if battle really does come?”
Boromir will not lie to him, even if it brings more sorrow.
“I will do as I must,” Boromir admits. “But I hope we have a little time at least.”
Pippin swallows hard and nods, trying to be strong. He is, so much more so than Boromir had expected of any of the Hobbits at the start.
“I must go to my father,” Boromir says again. “I will find you after.”
He turns and enters the Citadel, bracing himself for seeing his father.
The silver trumpets may have called him home, but there was much still to do.
~*~