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

Chapter Four: The Black Blade

T.A 3019, August 25th

Boromir stood outside behind the cottage, stripped down to his breeches and boots as he prepared to fell the tree he'd been working on for the last few hours. It was unnaturally warm being this high up in the mountains, but he'd given up trying to make sense of it all; it only made his head hurt.

He used his frustrations as fuel to give him the energy he needed to finish his task. Thrice more he landed the ax before he heard it crack and creak as it began to fall; Boromir sighed heavily with relief.

He dragged the ax over to the log where his muddy-red tunic lay in the sun, then set it down. Picking up the jar of water he'd brought along, he gulped it greedily and refilled it from the well before dumping the rest of the bucket over his head, letting the coolness wash over him.

Boromir sat on the log, his gaze drawn to the scars on his chest and abdomen; they were still healing, he knew, but they were still not easy to look at. All three were reminders of his failures.

Quickly pulling his tunic over his head and tying it off with a leather belt, he returned to the cottage, hoping Údar would there; the man had been gone two weeks now.

He was disappointed to find that he had not returned, so he resigned himself to lunch alone, with only his thoughts for company.

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Boromir startled awake in his chair, looking around in confusion. When had he fallen asleep?

He looked down at his half-eaten meal, now cold, suggesting that it had been for some time. Had he been that tired?

The meal of cold meat and cheese was not as appetizing as it had been warm, though he wouldn't complain; at least he had food.

He was struck, though, by the sudden need to flee. Anxiety made his stomach turn, his hands became clammy, and sweat dripped down his brow. It was as if there were eyes all around, staring lidless at him.

Boromir wished that Údar had left a means of defending himself, preferably a sword because he did not yet have the strength to use the bow like he once had.

That's when he saw it.

Across the room, leaning up against the far wall was Údar's sword. Reason should have warned him that something was amiss, for Údar never left without it.

The feeling of an impending attack was palpable now, nearly overwhelming, threatening to claim his mind. He reached out to grab the hilt, realizing a just a moment too late that he didn't recall moving.

Boromir's hand gripped the hilt, and every sense screamed at him to let it go, to get away from it, but he seized it tighter as he drew the black blade; he felt a presence seep into his mind.

Ah, thou hast reclaimed me, warrior of old.

The voice echoed in his mind, making him cringe. "Who are you?"

I hath many names, Boromir of the Fellowship, but thou may giveth me a new one.

Boromir could feel the malice and thirst for blood sweep over him, seeming to radiate from the blade itself. "Why are you in my head?"

I hath come to help thee, Boromir, Mightiest of Heroes.

"How?" The question escaped his lips before he could think.

Thou dost desire to save thy city, dost thou not? No mightier blade is there than I! Many are the foes I hath faced that lesser swords hath splintered and shattered against. Thou could be Boromir, Savior of Gondor.

A shiver ran down Boromir's spine, though whether from fear of delight he could not tell. A warning pricked at the back of his mind, like a dim star through cloudy skies: he'd been here before, heard similar things; only then it had been a Ring.

"No." He willed the words out through gritted teeth, sweat dripping off his nose.

Fool! boomed the voice, like thunder clapping. Thou art Boromir the Weak, Betrayer of Friends, Traitor of Gondor!

The words rang in his ear and in his heart, and he felt his resolve weaken. He could turn this around, master the blade, win the hearts of his people; of his father. He could even surpass his father's expectations and then overthrow him, then take his rightful place as king!

"No!" he shouted, shaking his head. "I will not listen to your lies!"

Then thou art lost, Boromir the Fatherless, Faithless Friend, spat the voice.

"I may be lost," he growled, squeezing the hilt, "but I am not so lost that I would become your servant for a false glory!" He rammed the sword back into its sheath.

The presence vanished in an instant, leaving Boromir staggering as stars burst in his vision. It took several minutes before they cleared, and when they did, he saw Údar standing in front of him. He placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Peace, you have done well. You have passed your first test."

Boromir rubbed the few remaining stars out of his vision. "Test?"

Údar took the sheathed sword from him, strapping it back around his waist. "Yes, it was a test. I needed to know if you would make the same choice you had before." He smiled for the first time since Boromir had met him. "I'm proud of you."

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Hey guys, shorter chapter this time. Tried really hard on the Early Modern English to get that right, so hopefully, it worked XD lol

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