King's Courtesan - Chapter 9 (Part 2 )

[aubreym]

(Grumbles about 'Too Large Posts".  What the hell ever.)

Warning - This chapter is NC-17, and has a little bit o' BDSM for fun.

Chapter 9: Sundering (Part 2)

When Legolas arrived at the clearing where the Fellowship often took meals together, he was surprised to discover that a feast had been prepared. Lights were hung from branches of the mallyrn, casting pools of light and shadow over the shifting crowds below. Elves were dressed in their finest, minstrels had gathered and they played softly in the background. It was an atmosphere completely different from the mourning when they arrived. Tables had been moved to the edges of the clearing and they fairly bowed with the weight of the platters they held. The air was redolent with the scent of food – thick slices of meat, soft cheeses, bread still warm from the oven, fresh greens and autumn vegetables – potatoes, celery root, carrots, squash – flagons of lightly spiced wine and water fresh from the stream. At one end all of the desserts even a hungry hobbit could desire – honey cakes and buttery pastries and rich, sweetened iced cream, sliced apples drizzled with honey and strawberries in cream. Legolas was not surprised to find that all four hobbits and Gimli had already arrived. They waved him over, faces wreathed in smiles, but as he crossed the clearing the revelers shifted, revealing Boromir. He stood on the sidelines, watching. He held neither food nor drink, so Legolas filled both plate and goblet before making his apologies to the hobbits and joining Boromir where he stood alone.

 

Boromir waved away the offered plate, but took the goblet and drank deep. “I am not hungry... for this,” he said once the cup was nearly drained. His eyes were bright and they held no lingering hint of weakness.

A heat gathered in Legolas, answering the implicit challenge. “Melisande did not accompany you to the feast?”

The grin that flashed across the Man's face was sharp. “We passed time together this afternoon. She is a most pleasant elleth,” the word sounded a bit awkward on his tongue, but there was no discomfort in his stance. “Sweet, like this wine. But tonight I find myself wanting a somewhat stronger brew.”

Legolas gave an answering smile, though the expression did not reach his eyes. Desire remained, burning in his blood even now, the pleasure he had taken in the relationship had gone, evaporated like the morning mist by the first strong rays of sun. For his mask had dropped once again – tight and blank, allowing only the smooth expression of the courtesan to show. Not that it mattered, he would not allow Boromir to notice. He took a slow bite of strawberry, licking the mingled juice and cream from his lips slowly. Boromir watched, hunger in his gaze.

“I believe I can find you something strong enough to satisfy your needs,” Legolas replied. Boromir took hold of his elbow possessively and as Legolas followed his gaze, he saw Aragorn weaving his way through the revelers to their side.

The time in Lorien had been a benefit to him indeed – he carried his head high and moved with confidence, no longer bowed by the loss of Gandalf. Carefully, Legolas disengaged himself from Boromir's hold, the slightest of challenges in the movement. Boromir's eyes flashed with a hint of anger and something else, an acceptance of the challenge? But he did not touch him again, merely stood a step closer as Aragorn closed the distance between them.

He greeted them warmly, then asked, “I trust Haldir spoke to you Legolas?”

“He did.”

“Very well. Boromir, I was unable to find you. The Fellowship sets out at dawn tomorrow. If you have need of anything before we depart, be sure to take care of it this evening.”

Legolas felt Boromir go stiff beside him, bristling. “This is a decision you came to on your own,” he asked.

Aragorn raised a brow, for a moment looking surprisingly like Lord Elrond. “No, this is a decision made with the counsel of the Lord and Lady.”

Boromir barely contained a snort of derision.

Aragorn's other brow rose and his voice went deceptively soft. Legolas could still hear the steel running through his words. “Is there a problem?” It was clearly not a request for input, but Boromir answered anyway.

“You seek counsel from Elves, but not from one of your own people. Do you not believe I might have wisdom to share?”

Aragorn nodded, but slowly. “I believe you do. However, I did not know you had knowledge of this area of Middle Earth to suggest when might be safest for us to travel,” he said with surprising mildness.

Color rose in Boromir's cheeks, but he held to a civil tone. “I have no knowledge about time, but I do about path. We should turn our steps toward Minas Tirith...”

Aragorn held up a hand. “This is neither the time nor the place for such a discussion. This is a feast, a celebration and it would not honor our hosts to mar it with heated conversation.”

Boromir clenched his jaw but nodded. He turned away for a moment to collect himself, and as he did, Legolas slipped the missive from his pocket and handed it to Aragorn, who nodded slightly. When Boromir faced them once again, Aragorn mouthed polite farewells, then disappeared back among the elves.

Boromir's breath escaped him in a furious rush. “He acts as though he is already King. As though he was given leadership of our company when Galdalf fell. I have just as much right,” he was saying when Legolas reached over and pressed one finger to the Man's lips, turning the quelling motion into a caress.

“This is not the time to think of him, either,” Legolas said, keeping his voice pitched low and tinged with promise.

This time it was Boromir's turn to cock a brow, but the look in his eyes was not one Legolas had ever seen in Elrond's. “No,” Boromir asked, lips moving softly against Legolas' finger. “Then what, exactly, should I be considering?” His breath ghosted across Legolas' wrist and he shivered.

“This,” he said and, placing his hand behind Boromir's head, drew him close and kissed him. Boromir's taste was spicy sweet with the lingering hint of wine and he kissed slow and deep. There was hunger in the kiss, but an appetite only beginning to grow. Legolas would whet that appetite until Boromir could not stop himself from devouring whatever Legolas set before him. And then he would be sated and Legolas could turn his attention elsewhere.

The evening passed in a strange flow of time, some moments passing like the blink of an eye, others stretching impossibly long. Either way, the night revolved around Boromir. Wherever Legolas found himself – sharing a drinking game with Merry, Pippin and Gimli, sharing a tale of elvish legend with Frodo and Sam – always he was aware of Boromir's gaze upon him like the warmth of fire on bare skin. Among the ethereal beauty of the elves, Boromir was eye catching; he was ruggedly handsome with his wheat-gold hair spilling over broad shoulders and grin flashing teeth through his beard.

Though Boromir refused to dance with him, males did not dance with males in the society of Men, he encouraged Legolas to join Melisande in a song. Legolas agreed. He had assumed Boromir would be watching the elleth, every time he turned to face the Man, his focus was intent on Legolas, drinking in his movements, the sway and turn of his body. The dance he shared with Melisande ended, but Legolas danced on alone.

Under the power of Boromir's stare, Legolas felt his body ease and flow, as though he were made up of only water. The music stirred him, centered him until he felt the forms of sword play, the positions of desire, the pattern of sunlight on leaves, the sound of wind through the long grasses of the plains in the steps of the dance. And deep within, the beating of his heart and the flood of blood through his veins, the same as flowed through Boromir, Aragorn, Celeborn, Galadriel, Elrond, Elrohir... And for that moment, in the midst of the dance and the music, Legolas understood what it was to be one iwth the song of Eru Iluvatar - but before he had more than tasted it, the song ended and the sensation faded, leaving him once again only Legolas.

Even so, the slightest vibration still shivered along his skin and – unable to bear the separation between them a moment longer, Legolas crossed to Boromir's side and knelt at his feet. “Do with me as you will,” he said softly, for the Man's ears alone. “This night I am yours in whatever way you desire. You need not ask. Command me. I am yours.”

Boromir barely let him finish speaking before he grasped Legolas' arm just below the shoulder and pulled him to his feet. Legolas went willingly, compliance written in every line of his body. Boromir's eyes burned with blue flame, his cheeks flushed.

“Mine,” he growled low in his chest, and crushed Legolas to him in a bruising kiss that left Legolas swollen-lipped and gasping when he was finally released. Without another word, Boromir stalked toward their talan, not once glancing behind to ensure that Legolas followed. There was no need. Legolas did.

It felt as though there was a tether connecting him to the Man, one that stretched taut but did not break, drawing him relentlessly forward. Not that he would have struggled against it, even if he could. Legolas wanted this, possibly as much as Boromir himself.

Though Legolas was only a few steps behind, when he reached the talan, Boromir had already pulled back some of the vines, allowing a shaft of Ithil's light into the room, where it pooled on the floor. Boromir sat in one of the chairs that had been pushed back into a corner of the room. His face was mostly hidden by shadow, but even so Legolas could see the spark of his eyes, the gleam of his teeth as he bared them in a feral grin. Boromir was predator – it was written in the absolute stillness of his body. Even from across the room Legolas could fee the alert tension of his muscles – a panther before it pounced.

Legolas' mouth went dry and his heartbeat quickened. Could Boromir hear it from where he sat? The thought sent a dart of heat through him to pool in his groin. He was prey, a deer caught helpless in the hunter's sights. He hesitated in the doorway and Boromir noticed him do so. His grin widened and he motioned him forward with a single crook of his finger.

Legolas glided toward him, but stopped as he reached the glow of moonlight. Here, he reached up and unclasped his tunic, shedding it and shirt slowly. Boots and breeches followed until he was left completely naked and exposed. Then he knelt once again, head bent slightly so his fair framed his face in two gold curtains. The wood of the floor was smooth beneath his knees, the slight breeze though the tree cool over his heated skin. He held himself as still as Boromir, as one of Elrond's statues in his garden.

Then, movement. Though he could not see Boromir any longer, only the place of light and dark where moon and shadow met, he could hear the rustle of the Man's clothes as he moved, the soft scrape of his boots as he approached. Legolas expected him to appear before him, but he did not, shifting position to end up behind him. The slightest of tremors began in Legolas' fingers and spread quickly up his arms and over his whole body until he shook gently, like the leaves of the mallorn that held them.

Boromir drew close, closer until Legolas felt the heat of his presence against the skin of his back, though the Man did not touch him, not yet.

“This is nothing more than a game for you, isn't it.” Boromir's voice was pitched low, deep, and his breath teased the skin of Legolas' nape.

Uncertain as to whether it was truly a question, Legolas held his silence, mindful of Erestor's rule – silence until asked a direct question – the only rule he knew in this place.

Boromir's fingers closed on the back of Legolas' neck, callouses rasping against over-sensitive skin. “Answer me when I speak to you.”

Legolas swallowed once, gathering himself. “No, it is not,” he managed to say. “My Lord.”

“You dare to argue?” The fingers tightened, five pinpoints of heat and Boromir shook him, just on this edge of hard. “You think I don't know what you are? What you do? I've seen the way Aragorn looks at you. I've seen you return his stare. Yes, I know. You are wanton, elf.”

Legolas would have ducked his head further, had Boromir not still held him firmly. As it was he felt heat rise though his body and knew he blushed.

“You flush like an innocent.” There was laughter in Boromir's words, dark as his tone. A promise of punishment to come and Legolas found himself growing hard. “Somehow I believe you lost your innocence long ago. If ever you began so.” He released his hold on Legolas, then placed his hand on the crown of his head. A sensation of warmth flowed from that point of contact until Legolas was suffused with heat, desire, swift growing need and a small moan slipped from him.

“Even now I feel you wanting.” Boromir's voice dropped to no more than a whisper. “Come, show me why you deserve to have your longing relieved.”

Legolas turned under Boromir's hand, still keeping his head down. He bowed still further, offering a kiss to each of Boromir's boots in turn. Then, kneeling up once more, he reached out to unlace Boromir's breeches, but the Man caught his wrist in a grip so tight that Legolas' bones ground together. His eyes went wide, his gaze darting up to meet Boromir's – but still he grew even harder, the need aching through him.

There was a flash of acknowledgment in Boromir's eyes, an understanding and more, pleasure, that Legolas enjoyed this game as much as he did. In that moment, as understanding passed between them, Legolas surrendered fully. Boromir saw that too, in the sheen of tears that gathered in Legolas' eyes unbidden, in the lines of his body, in the jut of his cock. And Boromir threw his head back, laugher rang out, bright with triumph. “Ah,” he said at last, mirth still sparkling in his eyes. “I see what it takes to make you mine.”

Without another word he drew Legolas to his feet, still holding tight to his wrist. He twisted Legolas' arm so it was pinned behind his back, the tightening in his shoulder making Legolas gasp. Boromir urged him forward, toward the center of the room where the trunk of the mallorn rose through the talan. He pressed Legolas against the tree, the bark a strange mix of rough and soft, slipping and scratching against his cock. Legolas turned his head and rested his cheek against the tree, feeling the sap moving slowly through and beneath that the deeper thrum of Lorien's magic. He closed his eyes and did not move, even as he heard Boromir moving in the room, rustling in his pack.

There came the soft rasp of rope around his wrists, and a tugging sensation. Boromir drew his hands up until they were stretched as far above his head as he could reach, nearly making him rise onto his toes. Then the rasp of rope around his ankles – he could neither walk, nor free himself. Legolas was completely immobile. “Please,” he moaned into the tree.

“What's that? Did you speak without my leave?”

Legolas swallowed and shook his head.

“Liar,” Boromir replied and Legolas heard the snap of leather on leather. A belt, he realized an instant before it whistled through the air and laid a bright strip of red fire along his backside.

Legolas cried out once – pain and need and surrender and joy mingled.

“Yes, cry out for me,” Boromir said as the belt sang again.

Legolas' voice came hard on hte heels of the snap. Hot pain pleasure ache yes this is what he needed Boromir needed give him give up give it all let it go let it out flow into the tree under his cheek into the one with the fire into fire flowe into fire and burn burn burn until you are nothing but ash and the cool clean breeze blows you away and you are gone.

Though his voice grew hoarse, still Legolas called out until the belt no longer fell and the only sounds in the room were the harsh panting of Boromir's breath and his own sobbing gasps. He sagged into his bindings and then they loosened and Boromir gathered him in his arms.

“Beautiful, you are beautiful like this, Legolas.”

It felt like the first time he heard his name from the Man and Legolas floated in a place of warmth, a place of safety. Boromir laid him gently on the bed, face down so the sheets would not irritate the welts on his backside.

A trickle of oil between his cheeks, preparing the way and Legolas shifted slightly to allow Boromir better access and then the Man was inside him, thrusting deep and hard and much too slow and Legolas was sobbing with need and Boromir was filling him harder faster more and his hand reached under to grasp Legolas' aching cock and it was all so much and so close and then Boromir brushed against a strip of fire at his back and pain and pleasure burst through him, stars behind closed lids and Legolas cried out as he climaxed, spilling his seed over Boromir's hand and the Man was just behind him, spilling into him with a groan.

Before sleep claimed him, Legolas felt Boromir's hands gently spreading salve over his welts and the pain dulled into an easy warmth and Legolas heard him whisper 'thank you' and then he knew no more.

Sometime in the dead of night, among the darkest hours before dawn, Legolas dreamed. It was a strange dream, a jumble of images he could not understand, even upon waking. The heavy thud of many booted feet all running swiftly, the cry of a raven, a hand reaching for a gold ring which disappears, the high song of a released arrow, and then the rushing of a waterfall, blotting out all else. Legolas blinked in the darkness, tense in Boromir's arms. There was something coming... something... but understanding hovered just out of his reach. And then Boromir released him, stirring awake. The time of departure drew near.

At first, as they readied themselves for the next stage of the journey, Legolas worried that he would have to put some distance between himself and Boromir after the intensity of the night before. But, to his surprise, Boromir spoke to him only in the most cursory manner. Even as Boromir answered a question Legolas asked, his eyes seemed distant, focused on something Legolas could not see. As Legolas pulled tight the ties of his pack, he glanced across the room at Boromir, who was adjusting the elvish cloak gifted him. Legolas took a breath to explain that their time together would have to change. He did not believe that Boromir saw him as anything more than a release in the hinterlands when there were no women about, but he wanted to explain – somehow.

Before he could speak, however, Boromir turned and left the talan, boot heels sounding dully on the planks of the stairs. Legolas shouldered his pack. He would speak to him later, when they stopped for the night if they had no moment before then.

The Fellowship's departure was warmer than their arrival. As Aragorn and Legolas checked their supplies once again, making sure they had everything they needed for the next leg of the journey, many elves stopped to offer farewells to the hobbits. Gimli stood a short distance from Galadriel, his eyes shining as he looked upon the Lady of Light. Melisande had come to see Boromir on his way, ostensibly to check his health one last time.

Legolas found himself starting at every footstep that approached – glancing up with trepidation until he realized. Tathar was not going to come. Even as he relaxed at the realization, his stomach went cold. Had things truly gone so ill between them that his brother would no longer speak to him, even to bid him farewell? He pushed the thought from his mind as Galadriel beckoned him to join her.

“For you, Legolas,” she said smiling, “ a bow of the Galadhrim to honor the skill of our Woodland kin.” Their hands brushed as he took the bow from her – a beautiful weapon, carved and polished to a sheen – and in that contact her voice spoke within him. “Do not forget that you have talents beyond those you use in the bedchamber. There is more to you than that alone, though that is a gift if you use it properly.”

Legolas bowed his head in acknowledgment of the Lady's wisdom, but also to the flush he felt staining his cheeks. “Thank you, my Lady,” he said, managing to hold his voice steady.

She touched his shoulder and he looked up at once. Her eyes were warm and kind though beneath there was strength and a clearer sight than he could grasp. The Lady of Light did not speak lightly he saw. Thank you, he said again, but soundlessly – this time the gratitude was bone deep and there was no shame.

The weight of her gaze stayed with him as the Fellowship took their final leave and made their way to the Anduin. But the farther away they traveled from the golden mallyrn the dimmer grew the memory until it was subsumed in the darkness that had been growing in his mind since he woke.

They reached the Anduin just as the world was turning the light grey of pre-dawn, mist curling above the water. Three boats bobbed gently on the current, tied to a tree at the edge of the water. The silence that had wrapped them since they passed the borders of Caras Galadhon held true even now and they boarded the boats without words. Boromir rowed away first, Merry and Pippin in the bow. Gimli boarded the second boat and Legolas stepped in behind him. For a moment, though he had trod but lightly, the boat rocked upon the water, tilting to one side then the other, and to Legolas it was as though Arda itself moved.

Gimli glared at him, though there was a twinkle in his eye. “Be careful, Master Elf. I do not relish the thought of a bath so early in the day.” And with those words it was as though a spell had lifted. Legolas regained his balance and they pushed off from the shore.

“Though you may not desire it, it smells to me like you could use it,” Legolas responded and rowed into the midst of the river, sharing good natured jests with Gimli as they went.

Aragorn lead them down river through the morning and into the afternoon, not even stopping for the midday meal. They each ate from the travel rations as they grew hungry, and even the hobbits did not complain, as the need for speed was clear to all of them. All kept careful eyes on the banks of the river, watching for the orc they knew would follow. Even though not even Legolas' keen eyes could pierce the gloom, still they watched, growing silent again as afternoon drew on toward evening. At last Aragorn rowed to shore, suggesting a rest as they waited for night to continue their journey. Their path would take them across the Emyn Muil and through the Dead Marshes. Though Gimli argued this decision at first, Aragorn prevailed.

The hobbits went to their rest quickly enough and Gimli leaned back against his pack, puffing on his pipe and muttering under his breath about stubborn Men. Boromir settled to one side of the others and began to test the laces of his vambraces. Aragorn took the first watch, beginning a circuit around their temporary camp. Legolas, unable to sit any longer after so many hours in the confines of the boat joined him. They walked together in silence for some time.

Each of Legolas' senses was focused, stretched to its limit. His ears strained for a sound out of place, but he heard nothing more than birds in the trees, small animals rustling in the underbrush and the lap of the river against the shore. His gaze moved restlessly through the bracken, but there was no sign of anything amiss. He detected no scent of orc on the wind. Even so a chill crept up his spine, raising the hair at his nape and setting his nerves on edge. Aragorn, however, seemed relaxed though alert. At last Legolas broke the silence.

He put a hand on Aragorn's arm, stopping him, then leaned close, feeling as though something might be listening. “We should leave now,” he said quietly.

Aragorn looked at him curiously. “Orc patrol these shores. We must wait for cover of darkness.”

“Tis not orc that concern me,” Legolas said, coming clear on this point as he gave the words voice. “There has been the shadow of a threat growing in my mind and even now it draws near.”

Aragorn put a hand over Legolas'. “I will be wary. We will keep two people on watch as we wait for night to fall. Boromir and Gimli can take the second shift. I understand your caution, but you must also understand mine.”

Legolas nodded; he did. It was not easy to move such a large group undetected – especially with those who where untutored in the ways of stealth, as the hobbits were. Aragorn continued his circuit, but Legolas retraced his steps. He would offer a warning to Gimli and Boromir and let them know about their watch and continue his own perimeter search to meet Aragorn in the middle. He had not yet reached their camp when he came upon Boromir.

The Man's eyebrows were drawn together in a dark scowl. “Where have you been,” he demanded.

Legolas blinked. “I was accompanying Aragorn for a moment,” he said with some surprise. He had not known Boromir was watching his movements. It was strangely unsettling.

“You were gone for more than a moment,” Boromir said suspisciously.

“What concern is it of yours,” Legolas snapped, temper rising. Did the Man honestly believe he could not move without escort?

Boromir grabbed his wrist, fingers pressing into bruises he'd left in their play. Legolas could not suppress a tiny gasp. Boromir grinned, but there was no humor in the expression, and no play. “You said last night that you are mine, elf. Do not forget it.”

Ignoring the flare of desire that rose unbidden to urge him to lean closer to the darkness radiating from Boromir, to offer himself once again to the play of power that made him shiver even now – Legolas wrenched away from Boromir's hold. Summoning the mask once again, he leeched the heat from his body and summoned the chill of winter. When he spoke, his voice held ice. “I gave myself to you for one night. Do not presume that you could have me for longer. I am an elf, not one of mortal-kind. While I have allowed myself to dally with you, our time together draws to a close. We took our relase together, do not try to make it more.”

Boromir's face went red, then white and Legolas tensed for a blow that never fell. Instead the Man stalked away deeper into the wood. Legolas released a breath he had not realized he was holding. Ai, but he had botched that. He should have expected that Boromir would not walk away so readily. He would have to figure out a way to repair the relationship. Though Thranduil preferred him to focus on Aragorn, Boromir would still need a focus other than the Ring. It would take a delicate balance, especially to keep Boromir from knowing what passed between himself and Aragorn.

Legolas' thoughts were still occupied with the need for reconciliation as he returned to camp, so he thought nothing of the fact that Frodo had gone exploring alone. The halfling probably needed to stretch his legs too. Later, he realized he had let his focus on the surroundings fade as he mulled the situation. Perhaps things might have gone differently otherwise.

He had not gone far when he heard the sound of metal ringing against metal and Aragorn's shout. He raised his head and caught the noxious scent of orc. He raced toward the melee before he thought, readying his bow as he went. He barely registered the sound of running feet as Gimli joined him.

Aragorn was surrounded by orc, battling furiously. Carcasses already littered the ground at his feet and his clothes were spattered with black blood. Legolas loosed his first arrows, striking down two and then Gimli waded into the fray with no hesitation, ax swinging, severing the head from one goblin and buring itself in the chest of another.

Legolas caught Aragorn's eye briefly, and then the fight closed over him. The sounds of battle were a song in his ears, fury pounding through his veins and lending him a speed and strength he rarely found otherwise. They would not be defeated – not so early in the Quest. Arrow after arrow sped from his bow, finding their target. All thought was banished, beyond the need to protect those he served.

Once he glanced to the side and saw Aragorn pinned to a tree by an orcish shield. Legolas notched an arrow and let fly, killing the attacking orc just before it managed its own killing blow.

Sweat dripped from his forehead into his eyes and he continued to fire, not caring that his supply of arrows dwindled – so too did the creatures they faced and he still had his knives. Suddenly he heard the high, wild call of a horn from some distance away. “The horn of Gondor,” he shouted to Aragorn, to Gimli. Not waiting for either of them, Legolas forced his way through the remaining orc, knives flashing – striving to reach Boromir.

Four orc blocked his path, weapons drawn and pressing in. Heart pounding, Legolas thrust and slashed, dodging and parrying blows. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Aragorn running past him. Legolas hacked the arm from one orc and hewed the head from another. But the remaining two merely stepped over their fallen companions and came at Legolas with sword and knife.

A brief flare of fire ripped across his left arm as one blow struck home, but Legolas barely noticed, turning it aside before it went too deep. Then Gimli was beside him and one of the orc fell with his ax in its chest. As the last orc turned to meet the new foe, Legolas buried his knife in its back up to the hilt. Without hesitation he wrenched his weapon free and it gave a horrible sucking sound. He cast Gimli a grateful glance before racing after Aragorn.

The horn, however, had fallen silent.

The sight that met his eyes when he reached the small clearing stopped him in his tracks. His throat closed and he swallowed against the ache.

Aragorn knelt over a fallen body. Boromir. Three black fletched arrows sprouted from his chest. As Legolas watched, Aragorn pressed the hilt of Boromir's sword into his hand.

“I would have followed you, my brother,” Boromir said in a voice thick with pain. “My King.”

Unable to watch any longer Legolas turned away. But before he did, he saw the light shining from Boromir's eyes, and heard the truth in his words. At some moment between their argument and his final battle Boromir had freed himself from the Ring's hold, allowing them one last glimpse of the true Steward's son. The Man who fought with everything he had to defend his beloved city and his people. Who gave his life to keep safe the thing that had brought him to ruin. There was strength in Boromir, a trueness of heart that could not be completely swallowed by shadow.

Legolas closed his eyes, grasping for his mask to push away the grief. But even so, he saw the light in Boromir.