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

Chapter Fourteen: Home Again

Fo.A 2, July 24th

"We should be back in Hobbiton by nightfall," Boromir said. He rode at the front of the group, Anglachel strapped to his back. It had not attempted to speak when he had recovered it, for which Boromir was grateful; he had enough on his mind without adding that.

"I could use a mug of good ale," Sam said wearily. "A proper crime that the Green Dragon was burned down, it is."

"A loss to all hobbits, to be sure," Frodo agreed. "But we shall go back to Bag End, I'm sure Uncle Bilbo hid most of the better wines somewhere where the Sackville-Bagginses couldn't find them or I don't know him at all!"

They all laughed, for it did sound like something the old rascal would do, and they were more than willing to help Frodo in the search.

The weather proved to be fair, warming their spirits and renewing a sense of hope for the future. Urged on by the golden rays, they made better time than Boromir had hoped, for it was nearly supper time when they rode into Hobbiton. The devastation hit them afresh in the bright light of the sun; the grass was brown, the ground blackened, and many homes destroyed. Pippin bit his tongue to keep from crying out and wept silently behind Sam.

As they rode through the town, the hobbits came to look at them, gawking. By the looks on their faces, Boromir concluded that they hadn't expected to ever see them again. All eyes turned to Frodo atop his pony and Arabella behind him. The gathered hobbits cheered and rushed forward, pulling Frodo and Arabella from the animal's back and hoisted them up on their shoulders.

More and more hobbits were coming to see what all the fuss was about, and as soon as they saw who it was, they rushed off in groups of two or three. Boromir was wondering at the strange behavior until he saw them returning a short time later bearing tables, chairs, linens, cutlery, baskets of food, and rolling large kegs of ale. Before long, all were sitting down to a feast and celebrating.

Boromir, much to large to sit at one of the tables, seated himself in the grass as a young hobbit girl brought him a plate and a mug. "Thank you, little one," he said, smiling. The young girl smiled back and ran away giggling to a group of other hobbit children. Boromir laughed, feeling a sense of peace and happiness he had not known in a very long time. He thought that he better understood why Gandalf had talked so fondly of Hobbits and the Shire.

Sam left the table where Frodo sat and wandered over, sitting down next to Boromir. He was quiet, and Boromir wasn't quite sure what to expect.

"You're not the same man you were four years ago," Sam said softly. He looked at Boromir with his good eye. "You were willing to die again to stop that crazy elf. Why?"

Sam's question and statement took Boromir by surprise. He considered it for a moment. "I made a promise, Master Gamgee, that day in Rivendell. One that I broke. I was given a second chance to make good on that promise, and I intended to keep it."

Sam nodded, looking at the friends who had gathered there. "You're a good man, Mr. Boromir, and a good leader. The Shire will rest easier knowin' that you're here, I reckon." Sam stood, facing Boromir with an outstretched hand. "Friends?"

Boromir swallowed the past the emotional lump that had suddenly formed in his throat, then smiled as he took Sam's hand. "Friends."

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After the impromptu celebration and everyone had made their way back to their homes, Boromir sat outside Bag End smoking his pipe, an idea forming in his mind. If the city of Annúminas were rebuilt, it would give Gondor a fortress in the north, as well as a way to watch over the Shire; and when the worst happened, as he had seen it would, there would be a place of safety for all. Aragorn would have to approve it of course and choose people to lead in this massive undertaking, but Boromir was confident that he could be persuaded.