Boromir wandered around that night. Visiting every room that was open to him, speaking with many people and looking over many items and artifacts that were displayed along the walls.
One room and man in particular had caught his attention. Wandering around, Boromir had found himself on a large balcony-like platform. A mural on one wall showed the scene of Isildur taking up his father’s sword and cutting off the dark lord Sauron’s finger, the ring falling from it to lay on the ground next to Isildur. Across from the mural was a statue. A maiden was holding a tray with the broken sword lying across it.
Boromir noticed a man sitting against a pillow on a stone bench. The man had been reading, but was now watching Boromir with intense eyes, “You are no elf,” Boromir said, he had not seen this man in the courtyard before, and wondered who he was.
“The men of the south are welcome here,” the man replied, opening one hand in friendship.
Boromir nodded, “Who are you?”
“I am a friend of Gandalf the Gray.”
Boromir understood now, Gandalf had arrived before the rest of them had gotten there, he figured this man must have arrived before them too, “Then we are here on common purpose,” he hesitated, “Friend.”
Looking around again, Boromir saw the broken sword on the statue. Boromir walked to the sword, feeling a pull to it that he couldn’t explain, and picked up the hilt piece, “The shards of Narsill,” he said to himself, forgetting about the man that still watched him, “The blade that cut the ring from Sauron’s hand.” Running his finger over the blade, he cut himself, “It’s still sharp,” he said looking at the small cut on his finger. Realizing that the man was still watching him, he looked back. The man made him uneasy, he just stared at him as if to say, `Go away and leave the sword alone.’
“No more than a broken end,” he said, and hastily placing the sword back on it’s platform with the statue maiden, he turned to leave. The sword, however, did not remain in its rightful place. As he walked away he heard it fall to the floor, pausing as if to turn back, he though better of it, he would feel foolish if he returned, and he didn’t like to look foolish in front of anyone, especially not a man like the one back there with the statue.
Walking away as quickly as he could without running, Boromir planned to return to his room. Rounding a corner, Boromir ran over a woman, “I’m sorry,” he apologized, helping her up from the ground, “I did not see you.”
The woman looked up, and then he realized it was not a woman, but an elf maiden. Her blue eyes piercing through him with a kind, warm gaze, “It’s perfectly alright,” she replied, still looking up at him. She was only a few inches shorter than he was, with light brown hair and a soft smile, “My name is Listala. Who are you?”
“My name is Boromir,” he managed to say. She was beautiful. He knew there had to be some word to describe her other than that, but he couldn’t think of it. He wasn’t even sure it was a word in a language he knew, but whatever it was, it was her. He felt himself staring and managed to pull his eyes away from hers long enough to look out a window and see two figures standing together on a bridge before he turned back to her.
“Where were you going so quickly, Boromir,” she asked. The way she said his name made him feel alive, like he could do anything, even erase all evil from the world, if she would just say his name again.
“I was,” he began, then realized he didn’t have an answer. Think, he told himself, but his mind was backing up. Most of his brain was too busy still trying to find a way to tell Listala how beautiful she was.
Listala laughed, “I see, well, then I guess I should let you go. I wouldn’t want to stand in the way of your important engagement.” She started to walk away, but Boromir didn’t want her to go, he never wanted to be away from her again. Gently grabbing her arm, he pulled her back to face him, “Please,” he said, “Keep me company, there’s no reason for either of us to wander these halls alone.”
Listala smiled, “Very poetic,” Boromir felt himself blush, “I suppose I could walk with you,” slipping her arm into the crook of his elbow, she moved to stand next to him, “So, where shall we go?”
“Anywhere you like,” he told her, as they started to move forward.
“Very well than,” she said, looking around, “It’s not a long walk to my uncle’s courtyard,” she looked up at him, “There are many flowers there that only bloom at night, if you would like to see them, we could go there.”
” I would be honored,” he replied, and letting her lead him through halls with more important and special works of art or historical items that went unnoticed.
“Let’s see those Legolas obsessed girls top this one,” Renee said, sitting back and admiring her work. She was actually a Legolas fan herself, but she had gotten tired of the same old thing, Legolas falls in love with the person writing the story, only it’s not really them, and the go through the whole LOTR story together. Renee wanted something new, something no one else had done yet, and now she felt like she had it, “This should do it,” she said, beginning to type again.