Boromir's Return -II- Book Four of the Tales of the Fourth Age Series

Chapter One: The Valley

TA 3019, April 19th

Boromir started awake, gasping for air, eyes wide with panic. The hobbits! They'd been taken!

His eyes darted all around, straining to see which way they had gone, but he quickly realized that he was not where he had been: This was not Amon Hen.

It looked to be a cottage of modest size, made from rough-hewn logs, with a planked wooden floor. A hearth crackled somewhere out of view, warming the air and filling it with the scent of pine. There was a chair next to a small table at the foot of the cot he found himself laying in which was butted up against the wall.

Fear clutched his heart; had he been taken prisoner, too?

Boromir tried to sit up but found he did not have the strength to do so. Lifting his arms, he balked in horror at how thin they were. He was not skin and bones, but he also not what he was.

Confusion made his head swim, his vision spun. "Where am I?" His voice was hoarse and cracked.

"You are in the Valley of Athae," a voice responded from somewhere beyond Boromir's sight.

"Who are you?" asked Boromir, fighting through his parched throat.

Footsteps sounded and drew closer until a man came, seating himself in the chair at the foot of the cot. The man looked at him with dark brown eyes, the color reminding Boromir of freshly tilled earth. His head was clean shaven, but he sported a thick beard that was tinged with reds, browns, blondes, and greys.

The man sat back in his chair, stretching his long legs out in front of him, folding his arms across his chest. "My name is Údar," replied the man.

"Water," Boromir asked, no longer able to think past his dry mouth.

The man, Údar, stood and walked out of Boromir's view, the splash of water reaching his ears before the man returned. He set a cup down on the table next to the chair and looked at Boromir. "You will need to sit up," Údar said.

Boromir groaned. He could barely lift his head, how was he going to sit up?

"I can't," he whispered.

"I will help, but you must try," Údar said, looping his arms under Boromir's armpits. "One, two, three."

With one big heave Boromir was moved upright, finally able to gulp down a pitchers worth of water before leaning his head backward, sighing. Údar returned to his seat, watching Boromir intently, his bright gaze seeming to pierce him. It was unnerving.

"What do you remember?" Údar asked, grabbing a pipe and preparing it.

Boromir thought about it for several minutes, trying to put the jumbled pieces together in his foggy mind. "I remember...fighting orcs, I think." His brow lines creased as he struggled to concentrate. "Merry and Pippin were there, too."

He looked at Údar, sorrow filling his eyes. "They were taken."

Údar nodded, now puffing on the newly lit pipe. "What else?"

"I died."

Údar blew out the sweet-smelling smoke but said nothing.

"How am I alive?" Boromir demanded weakly, feeling a lethargy threatening to take him.

"That's a conversation for another time when you've recovered your strength," Údar replied around the pipe in his mouth.

Boromir didn't argue that point as he slipped into blissful sleep.

Údar watched him for a while, then stood to get dinner for them both; first, he'd have to catch it.

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The doe bent down to drink from the fresh water of the lake that filled the center of the valley, its ears rotating in an effort to hear approaching danger.

It didn't hear the 'twang of the bow until it was too late.

Údar spent the remainder of the afternoon cleaning and dressing his kill with well-practiced precision. He took his time, knowing that his guest wouldn't be going anywhere any time soon in his current state; even if he was healthy, he couldn't leave until the approved time which wouldn't be for some time.

The fire had died down by the time Údar returned, and he chastised himself for forgetting to build it up before he left. He frowned; dinner would be late tonight.

Údar threw off his forest green cloak and walked outside, grabbing a rough-handled ax and began chopping more wood; it made a satisfying thunk as it split log after log. Just a few more, he thought.

A cry carried on the breeze reached Údar's ears, sending a chill down his spine, and an ache in his heart. Nalwen. He shook his head, trying to push aside the painful memories. He didn't have time to think about her, he had a mission to complete.

Still, he couldn't shake the loss that weighed on his heart.

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The smell of venison brought Boromir out of his sleep, hunger causing his stomach to protest loudly. How long had it been since he had a meal? He glanced down at his shrunken form; probably a while.

"I was wondering when you were going to wake up."

Boromir looked left, straining his neck around to see Údar turning the meat over a spit, the smoke escaping out a small hole in the roof. The aroma of herbs made Boromir's mouth water.

"Would you have continued to starve me if I hadn't?" the accusation clear.

Údar barked a laugh. "If you're referring to the fact that you've lost nearly forty pounds over the last two months, I can hardly take credit for that." He turned, an amused expression on his face.

Boromir felt the blood drain from his face. Two months?

No, it couldn't be; it couldn't have been so long!

"You've been brought back from the dead by the power of Iluvatar," Údar said, turning the meat again.

"Why?" the question just above a whisper.

Údar turned again, eyes gleaming. "Because, Boromir, son of Denethor, your story is not yet over."

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*Athae means 'healing'.

Little shorter chapter this time.

Looks like Broamir is in rough shape and has been out for a while! Talk about a power nap.

The picture up at the top would be how I imagine the valley to look. If you look at a map of the Ered Nimrais, this valley would be near Starkhorn, high up into the mountains. We'll find out more about this valley later on.

I wonder who Nalwen is???

And Iluvatar is involved? hmm...

Thought? Theories?

Comment below and let me know!