It was the dream that spurred me on and the pounding headache that always
accompanied it. It was like the morning after a night of drinking wine that
had not fermented enough. A throbbing behind the eyes. But it was not
alleviated much by headache powders or tisanes. It had almost a will of its
own and would disappear when and where it willed.
Like the dream itself.
Father said to seek for Imladris or Rivendell, the Elvish refuge of Master Elrond, a great scholar of lore and healer, if truth be known.
I laughed to myself. Perhaps Father did not believe so much in the dream but in the fact his son and heir might be showing signs of madness. And that would not do for the future Steward of all of Gondor. He must always be an inspiration to the people and his behavior above reproach.
So, I find myself now after many weeks ride at the edges of Rivendell. And poor Dullan, my stallion. He has put up with a long and dark trail through places neither of us knew existed.
But this too will hold me in good stead as a future Steward. Travel expands a man's boundaries, and so I will tell my father when I return to the White City.
I do not know how the elves that stopped me at the borders of their lands knew who I was, but I was hailed as soon as I had crossed within their realm. I put a hand to my sword and looked about.
Three elves with bows in hand, though no arrows notched in their strings, stepped out suddenly and though Dullan almost unseated me by rearing, the elves lay hands on him and he calmed immediately. I did not even have to pull back on the reins.
"Hail and well met Boromir, son of Denethor. You are welcome here. Our Lord expects you." From between two scarlet oaks, a fourth elf appeared bareback on a silvery grey mare and said,
"Come, I am Velerinal. I will lead you to the Last Homely House."
Since that was my destination, I made no objection, but bowed slightly to him and said, "Lead on sir elf."
When I turned to see where the others had gone to, I could find no trace of them.
And my companion, other than to give me the barest of instructions, said nothing further.
Two hours went by in this fashion until the trail began to crest a high ridge and descend.
"Below us you see the refuge of Rivendell. You will be made welcome there."
I stared a moment at the uncommon construction of the buildings and terraces. I could see winding paths and unusual stonework peeking through the autumnal trees. It was nothing like anything I had seen in Minas Tirith, not even in the Old City.
I shivered. I looked around for my guide, but he, like his brethren, had disappeared.
I do not know if I like these elves or not. Not much good has been said of the elves in general and especially of those closer to my home, those of the Golden Wood. They are secretive and ghostly and do not welcome strangers.
These elves had met me with fair words. But fair words may hide foul heart they say.
I urged Dullan down the sharply inclined trail and once in the sharp river valley within which this Last Homely House is nestled, I gave Dullan his head and we took the now stone lined path across a narrow bridge and into a courtyard.
I pulled up my horse and looked about. All was quiet, the stones littered with dry gold and brown leaves. It looked almost deserted. And then a dark- haired elf (Actually all the elves here have been dark-haired and greyish- eyed.) came and put a hand to Dullan's bridle.
"Welcome Boromir, son of Denethor. You are expected." He bowed slightly as I dismounted. And I hate to say, I was a bit shaky when I touched the stones. My headache had come back in full force. Though it usually appeared only when I had the dark dream that had spurred me on to this unsettling place.
I rubbed a hand across my forehead, then adjusting my shield and the Horn of Gondor, I took Dullan by the bridle and said, "I would prefer to see my horse settled myself, if that is all right."
The elf bowed again and I followed him to the stables.
They were large and made of stone and Dullan and I were led to a big box stall full of sweet smelling hay. A blanket lay folded on a shelf along with a bucket of oats and many currying combs and brushes.
I got to work.
Satisfied that Dullan would come to no harm here, I patted him on the nose, adjusted the blanket slightly over his withers and gathered my belongings.
Now, I looked for direction to this Master Elrond. He who would hopefully interpret this compelling dream.
As I entered the courtyar within which I had first dismounted, another elf came slowly down a flight of stairs before me, wearing an over robe of grey over darker trews. His hair was long and unadorned. He held out his hand and said, "I am Erestor, counselor to Lord Elrond. He is tending to an ill guest at the moment. Let me welcome you to the Last Homely House. Come Boromir, you must be weary from your long ride to this place. A hot bath and some refreshment await you. "
An ill guest? Hm. Well the trip here had indeed been perilous. Perhaps there had been a mishap on the road.
It is said that trouble follows sickness.
Wearily, I followed the elf into the House. How cunningly the hallways are designed! An intruder would easily be lost and I myself was afraid I would never find anything or anyone here if left to my own devices.
Before the elf left me I said "As soon as Lord Elrond is free, I would have speech with him."
The elf merely bowed slightly and left.
I looked about the guest chambers and was pleased with them, though I was surprised at all the arches that lead outside to a terrace and there were no curtains or glass or shutters on them, though the room was a pleasant temperature. And the fire was not even lit.
A hot bath did await me however, as well as a tray with merely fruit and cheese and some kind of tea. I ate some of the cheese, but the rest of the food was not to my liking. Too light and insubstantial.
After the bath, which was very relaxing, I decided I would rest some, as I was weary and the bath had relaxed me further.
I had ridden far and though I knew my business was urgent, a short rest would be welcome, especially if this Lord Elrond was otherwise occupied.
I stretched out on the comfortable bed and closed my eyes.
The dream was very vivid this time and the Broken Sword glittered in shards before my eyes, almost too bright to see. I reached for the hilt, but missed and nicked my finger on the blade.
For some reason, the cut throbbed painfully and woke me from sleep. I lay tangled in my blankets, though I do not recall wrapping myself in them. I was sweating again and my head pounded heavily. I quickly looked at my hands. There was no wound or blood. Getting up unsteadily, I went to the washbasin and pitcher on a narrow table between arches and poured water over my head.
The headache made even the pale twilight hurt my eyes.
I went to my rucksack and found the pouch containing the powders our family healer had sent with me. Taking a nearby goblet, I decided to be generous since my journey was over for the time being. I poured a healthy amount into the goblet and then added a little water. I was a bit surprised there was no wine or ale put out. Water was only for traveling. Civilized people left ale or wine for their guests.
Shaking my head slightly, and even that made me wince, I swallowed the draught in one gulp and then threw myself back on the bed.
Half asleep, I shivered suddenly so I pulled the blanket over me and sank into welcome darkness.
It was night, and I awoke to the faint sounds of singing and the rushing of water over stones.
Turning my head, I saw one lone candle burned at my bedside, but even that hurt my eyes. I put a hand over my face and sighed deeply. Instead of relieving me of this nightmare that I carry in my mind like a pustule that needs to be lanced, Rivendell is making me feel worse.
I let me hand drop and my heart almost stops: There is someone in the room with me!
I roll out of bed and immediately pull my sword free of its scabbard (it was leaning against the small table with the candle.
"Who are you and what are you doing in my room?" I am disgusted with myself. I sound like a breathless, beardless.boy.
The figure says nothing but moves closer to me. I back into the table and raise my weapon.
"Fear not Boromir. I am Elrond."
The elf steps to the edge of the wavering candle light. He is tall. Taller than I and is dressed in long dark grey robes, his hair is also unbound and lays halfway down his chest.
His eyes! His eyes glittered reflecting the candle flame. They were compelling, and unsettling.
So compelling I did not realize I had given up my sword to him and was sitting on the bed.
Smoothly re-sheathing the blade, the tall form then leaned over and lay a hand on my forehead. I flinched, but the hand stayed put.
Lord Elrond stood and looked at me narrowly. "You have a slight fever Boromir. Have you been ill on your journey here?"
"I-no my lord. I am not ill. Not exactly." I pull my eyes away and they drop to the floor. "I have had a dream that brings terrible headaches. It is the reason I have come. I need surcease from the images." I rub my face tiredly. "They destroy my sleep and eat at the edges of my sanity." I dropped my head in my hands.
Why was I telling this to him like a terrified child? We should be meeting somewhere, in daylight, in a study. Not in the deep watches of the night, I frightened and he.well he rather a disturbing, somber presence.
"It is the dream's doing my lord, I am sure. I have a powder from my family's healer. I took some earlier."
I stand a bit unsteadily and go to the pouch, which held the drug. I wordlessly hand it to the healer who takes a pinch and delicately tastes it.
He looks at me and smiles slightly. "This is an adequate remedy. If you will allow me however, I can make something a bit stronger. And it will stop the dream, at least for the night."
Nodding because the pounding is still present, the elf leaves as silently as he had appeared.
I look at my sheathed sword.
I must be very, very careful here.
Like the dream itself.
Father said to seek for Imladris or Rivendell, the Elvish refuge of Master Elrond, a great scholar of lore and healer, if truth be known.
I laughed to myself. Perhaps Father did not believe so much in the dream but in the fact his son and heir might be showing signs of madness. And that would not do for the future Steward of all of Gondor. He must always be an inspiration to the people and his behavior above reproach.
So, I find myself now after many weeks ride at the edges of Rivendell. And poor Dullan, my stallion. He has put up with a long and dark trail through places neither of us knew existed.
But this too will hold me in good stead as a future Steward. Travel expands a man's boundaries, and so I will tell my father when I return to the White City.
I do not know how the elves that stopped me at the borders of their lands knew who I was, but I was hailed as soon as I had crossed within their realm. I put a hand to my sword and looked about.
Three elves with bows in hand, though no arrows notched in their strings, stepped out suddenly and though Dullan almost unseated me by rearing, the elves lay hands on him and he calmed immediately. I did not even have to pull back on the reins.
"Hail and well met Boromir, son of Denethor. You are welcome here. Our Lord expects you." From between two scarlet oaks, a fourth elf appeared bareback on a silvery grey mare and said,
"Come, I am Velerinal. I will lead you to the Last Homely House."
Since that was my destination, I made no objection, but bowed slightly to him and said, "Lead on sir elf."
When I turned to see where the others had gone to, I could find no trace of them.
And my companion, other than to give me the barest of instructions, said nothing further.
Two hours went by in this fashion until the trail began to crest a high ridge and descend.
"Below us you see the refuge of Rivendell. You will be made welcome there."
I stared a moment at the uncommon construction of the buildings and terraces. I could see winding paths and unusual stonework peeking through the autumnal trees. It was nothing like anything I had seen in Minas Tirith, not even in the Old City.
I shivered. I looked around for my guide, but he, like his brethren, had disappeared.
I do not know if I like these elves or not. Not much good has been said of the elves in general and especially of those closer to my home, those of the Golden Wood. They are secretive and ghostly and do not welcome strangers.
These elves had met me with fair words. But fair words may hide foul heart they say.
I urged Dullan down the sharply inclined trail and once in the sharp river valley within which this Last Homely House is nestled, I gave Dullan his head and we took the now stone lined path across a narrow bridge and into a courtyard.
I pulled up my horse and looked about. All was quiet, the stones littered with dry gold and brown leaves. It looked almost deserted. And then a dark- haired elf (Actually all the elves here have been dark-haired and greyish- eyed.) came and put a hand to Dullan's bridle.
"Welcome Boromir, son of Denethor. You are expected." He bowed slightly as I dismounted. And I hate to say, I was a bit shaky when I touched the stones. My headache had come back in full force. Though it usually appeared only when I had the dark dream that had spurred me on to this unsettling place.
I rubbed a hand across my forehead, then adjusting my shield and the Horn of Gondor, I took Dullan by the bridle and said, "I would prefer to see my horse settled myself, if that is all right."
The elf bowed again and I followed him to the stables.
They were large and made of stone and Dullan and I were led to a big box stall full of sweet smelling hay. A blanket lay folded on a shelf along with a bucket of oats and many currying combs and brushes.
I got to work.
Satisfied that Dullan would come to no harm here, I patted him on the nose, adjusted the blanket slightly over his withers and gathered my belongings.
Now, I looked for direction to this Master Elrond. He who would hopefully interpret this compelling dream.
As I entered the courtyar within which I had first dismounted, another elf came slowly down a flight of stairs before me, wearing an over robe of grey over darker trews. His hair was long and unadorned. He held out his hand and said, "I am Erestor, counselor to Lord Elrond. He is tending to an ill guest at the moment. Let me welcome you to the Last Homely House. Come Boromir, you must be weary from your long ride to this place. A hot bath and some refreshment await you. "
An ill guest? Hm. Well the trip here had indeed been perilous. Perhaps there had been a mishap on the road.
It is said that trouble follows sickness.
Wearily, I followed the elf into the House. How cunningly the hallways are designed! An intruder would easily be lost and I myself was afraid I would never find anything or anyone here if left to my own devices.
Before the elf left me I said "As soon as Lord Elrond is free, I would have speech with him."
The elf merely bowed slightly and left.
I looked about the guest chambers and was pleased with them, though I was surprised at all the arches that lead outside to a terrace and there were no curtains or glass or shutters on them, though the room was a pleasant temperature. And the fire was not even lit.
A hot bath did await me however, as well as a tray with merely fruit and cheese and some kind of tea. I ate some of the cheese, but the rest of the food was not to my liking. Too light and insubstantial.
After the bath, which was very relaxing, I decided I would rest some, as I was weary and the bath had relaxed me further.
I had ridden far and though I knew my business was urgent, a short rest would be welcome, especially if this Lord Elrond was otherwise occupied.
I stretched out on the comfortable bed and closed my eyes.
The dream was very vivid this time and the Broken Sword glittered in shards before my eyes, almost too bright to see. I reached for the hilt, but missed and nicked my finger on the blade.
For some reason, the cut throbbed painfully and woke me from sleep. I lay tangled in my blankets, though I do not recall wrapping myself in them. I was sweating again and my head pounded heavily. I quickly looked at my hands. There was no wound or blood. Getting up unsteadily, I went to the washbasin and pitcher on a narrow table between arches and poured water over my head.
The headache made even the pale twilight hurt my eyes.
I went to my rucksack and found the pouch containing the powders our family healer had sent with me. Taking a nearby goblet, I decided to be generous since my journey was over for the time being. I poured a healthy amount into the goblet and then added a little water. I was a bit surprised there was no wine or ale put out. Water was only for traveling. Civilized people left ale or wine for their guests.
Shaking my head slightly, and even that made me wince, I swallowed the draught in one gulp and then threw myself back on the bed.
Half asleep, I shivered suddenly so I pulled the blanket over me and sank into welcome darkness.
It was night, and I awoke to the faint sounds of singing and the rushing of water over stones.
Turning my head, I saw one lone candle burned at my bedside, but even that hurt my eyes. I put a hand over my face and sighed deeply. Instead of relieving me of this nightmare that I carry in my mind like a pustule that needs to be lanced, Rivendell is making me feel worse.
I let me hand drop and my heart almost stops: There is someone in the room with me!
I roll out of bed and immediately pull my sword free of its scabbard (it was leaning against the small table with the candle.
"Who are you and what are you doing in my room?" I am disgusted with myself. I sound like a breathless, beardless.boy.
The figure says nothing but moves closer to me. I back into the table and raise my weapon.
"Fear not Boromir. I am Elrond."
The elf steps to the edge of the wavering candle light. He is tall. Taller than I and is dressed in long dark grey robes, his hair is also unbound and lays halfway down his chest.
His eyes! His eyes glittered reflecting the candle flame. They were compelling, and unsettling.
So compelling I did not realize I had given up my sword to him and was sitting on the bed.
Smoothly re-sheathing the blade, the tall form then leaned over and lay a hand on my forehead. I flinched, but the hand stayed put.
Lord Elrond stood and looked at me narrowly. "You have a slight fever Boromir. Have you been ill on your journey here?"
"I-no my lord. I am not ill. Not exactly." I pull my eyes away and they drop to the floor. "I have had a dream that brings terrible headaches. It is the reason I have come. I need surcease from the images." I rub my face tiredly. "They destroy my sleep and eat at the edges of my sanity." I dropped my head in my hands.
Why was I telling this to him like a terrified child? We should be meeting somewhere, in daylight, in a study. Not in the deep watches of the night, I frightened and he.well he rather a disturbing, somber presence.
"It is the dream's doing my lord, I am sure. I have a powder from my family's healer. I took some earlier."
I stand a bit unsteadily and go to the pouch, which held the drug. I wordlessly hand it to the healer who takes a pinch and delicately tastes it.
He looks at me and smiles slightly. "This is an adequate remedy. If you will allow me however, I can make something a bit stronger. And it will stop the dream, at least for the night."
Nodding because the pounding is still present, the elf leaves as silently as he had appeared.
I look at my sheathed sword.
I must be very, very careful here.