A Gold Belt for Boromir

By Carolyn Golledge

Note this is book based, not movie based. Tolkien has Galadriel gifting Boromir with a gold belt. In the movie it appears he receives nothing other than the elven cloaks given to all members of The Fellowship. They however also received personal gifts. Perhaps Jackson thought it would look strange to have Boromir receive such when all but one of the others are given practical gifts. My take on Sean Bean – Boromir’s reaction. C.

Sunlight glittered from the magnificent trees of Lothlorien and was reflected from the waters of the Anduin. Here, on a mossy bank, Boromir sat bemusedly examining the gift given him by the Lady Galadriel. A gold belt. There was no doubting its beauty, indeed it was difficult to tell the difference between the skillfully etched leaves that adorned the gold and those that shone and shivered above him in the cool breeze. And there could be no doubt as to its value both in the cultural artistic sense as well as purely mercenary concerns. But – a gold belt?
Around Boromir the rest of the Fellowship, aided by a few Elves, were packing food and other items into the small boats in which they were to travel on the Anduin. Boromir was looking forward to the break from walking and also, on water it would be much easier to keep an eye out for the enemy. Aragorn had passed on to him Celeborn’s warning that they were being tracked by a new nastier version of Orcs that could move in daylight. Just what The Fellowship needed. About as useful on this journey as a gold belt!

Everyone else had been given some practical gift – Legolas had received the finest bow, quiver and arrows that Boromir had ever seen. Faramir would near pass out with joy if such had been presented to him. For Frodo there was a crystal vial of some strange liquid light that apparently would shine in the darkest of places and times. Most useful. Gimli had been asked what he would like and had suddenly come over all poetic and was too shy to speak his wish in front of an audience. That alone was amazing. Gimli was about the least shy being Boromir had ever met! And he was still keeping quiet about his gift.
But Boromir had perhaps found Sam’s reaction the most amusing, and touching, as Samwise was as ever completely honest. “Don’t you have any more of those nice, shiny daggers?” Indeed! Though that Elven rope also looked most useful. Daggers – for Merry and Pippin. It was a sad thing to see hobbits presented with such and know it was a practical gift. Boromir still dared hope they would not need to use the blades which they had proudly shown him immediately after the gift giving. And he was proud of them, too. They had learned much of swordplay from him in the long weeks of their journeying.

Boromir turned a little from his seated position as he heard familiar footsteps approaching. Aragorn had received nothing from Galadriel – if a kiss on the cheek from so awesomely lovely a lady could be so negated. But the Man had later received from Celeborn the most savage yet beautiful weapon Boromir had ever had the pleasure of holding. At least for a moment or two as Aragorn passed on the warning given along with the blade. Uruk-hai; created by Saruman to be even stronger and more fearsome an enemy. That blade would be most useful. But not so a gold belt.

Boromir shook his head ruefully as he looked back at it once more and was promptly dazzled by the play of sunlight on its surface. A beautiful thing, he had to admit.

“Not too much in any one boat, now, Gimli,” Aragorn instructed and got the expected huff in reply. “I know a thing or two about loading and stress and weights, Aragorn! Dwarven miners lives depend on such!”

Boromir smiled as Aragorn merely offered an apology rather than pointing out that over-loading a boat was another thing entirely. As he reached Boromir’s side, the Man looked down at him with a rueful smile, sharing their familiarity with dealing with Gimli’s pride. Aragorn cocked an eyebrow by way of silent comment on the gift Boromir held across his lap. The Ranger’s expression also denoted he had correctly read Boromir’s bemused reaction to Galadriel’s choice of gift for a military commander. Then again, Boromir supposed, maybe it was meant to be worn when he became Steward.

That thought brought immediate pain as the images returned. When Galadriel looked long into Boromir’s eyes he had seen in vivid detail a horror that had previously only visited his darkest dreams, and there had appeared in blessedly veiled and confusing form. But in Galadriel’s eyes Boromir saw that which he had most feared all his life – Minas Tirith in flames, breached by Sauron’s invading hordes, her main gates a shattered ruin lined with the dead broken and bloodied defenders. And from there it had only gotten worse, if such a thing were possible. Boromir shuddered and felt suddenly nauseous. Faramir, badly wounded, but alive and helpless atop a burning pyre. That vision had almost driven him to crying out and falling to his knees. Then he had seen his father’s mad eyes, and a horrible death, a shroud of flames. Forcibly, Boromir drove the hated images back. He drew a gasping breath and became suddenly and embarassingly aware that Aragorn was now kneeling at his side. Apparently his friend had already asked once if Boromir was all right.
Boromir drew a long steadying breath and fixed his eyes hard on the gold belt by way of avoiding Aragorn’s astute gaze.

“I am well,” he said, trying to laugh off his friend’s concern and not doing it very convincingly. “I was just wondering about this.”

“This?” Aragorn said, the concern in his voice a little eased but still far from fooled.

“My gift.” Boromir forced a smile and dared look up at his friend. There was such caring and affection in Aragorn’s blue eyes that Boromir found his smile relaxing into genuine happiness. It was always a revelation and a warm surprise to Boromir, the way Aragorn respected and liked him. After all, their first meeting under Aragorn’s true name had not exactly started out well! That memory chased away all else and Boromir chuckled softly. Aragorn smiled easily at him in response though there was still a faint shadow of concern in his regard.

“Your gift amuses you?” Aragorn prompted and sat down, sprawling on the mossy bank to stretch his long legs yet somehow miss putting his boots in the river.

“More like it bemuses me,” Boromir laughed and traced a finger about the fine filigree gold leaves. “I cannot quite understand why the good lady would choose such a thing for me.” He turned his head to look with teasing into Aragorn’s eyes. “But I suppose if I use it to hit the enemy over the head it might make a good weapon yet!” Aragorn snorted and choked amusement. They traded smiles, Boromir’s becoming increasingly mischievous. “I don’t think the Lady much liked me. Perhaps she’s hoping I’ll be fool enough to wear it in the boat and I’ll sink like a stone if it capsizes?”

Boromir thought that a good joke, but Aragorn’s smile faded to that expression that indicated he disagreed. “You are wrong, Boromir,” he said steadily. “The Lady Galadriel does not dislike you. Quite the contrary.”

“Oh?” Boromir’s curiosity climbed along with his eyebrows. “Surely such an impossibly fair and unearthly an immortal could only find me childish, boorish and bad smelling?”

Aragorn bit back a smile. “Bad smelling perhaps. But we all would be found so after the trials that brought us here.” He eyed Boromir teasingly. “And I can assure you she’s become used to visits from bad smelling human males over the years.” His expression faded to melt into another with which Boromir had become familiar – the one Aragorn always wore when his thoughts drifted to love. “I first met Arwen here, among these trees and flowery glades.”

“Truly?”

“You could sound a little less surprised,” Aragorn grinned. “So, there you have it, my friend. If Arwen could find me attractive and reasonably intelligent a companion – despite our rather large age difference – there is hope yet that the Lady Galadriel may hold a fond place in her heart for you.”

Boromir spluttered. “I hope you don’t make such judgements in front of Celeborn!”

Aragorn said deadpan, “I have told you before, Elves are much more – liberal – about such matters.” Boromir eyed him exasperatedly until Aragorn could hold feigned nonchalance no longer. He erupted into that laugh Boromir found so appealing, and said, “Lucky for you we’re about to leave! You’ve seen some of Celeborn’s collection of daggers!”

“Ha. Ha.” Boromir grinned. Then his gaze fell on the gold belt and he was again perplexed. “Well, when I get home there is one good use I can make of this thing.”

“Yes?”

Boromir suddenly felt a bit embarrassed about admitting what he was planning. Aragorn would think he’d gone soft! Though they’d both had enough experience of military men to know most soldiers had generous and kind hearts beneath their gruff exteriors. Especially when it came to children. That reminder of their shared background dared Boromir to admit with a shrug, “There are many poor villages at the far reaches of Gondor’s borders. I have stood patrol duty by many an impoverished dwelling whose children have little by way of warm clothing or a decent roof to shelter them against winter’s bitter rain and snow. It made me shamed to have them see me in all my finery – even my military clothing would seem such for I always had a warm cloak and could dream of my rooms back home. Now there lies a true embarrassment of riches, a four poster bed big enough for two such families to call a home let alone a bed, and a hearth burning such fuel in one night as would serve them a month.” Realizing he had begun to make an impassioned speech, as was often his wont by way of complaint to Denethor, Boromir fell silent and looked again at the gold belt. “Yes, this gold will go far to solving that problem at least.”

“You will sell it?” Aragorn said softly.

“If I can. Otherwise, though it truly seems a crime to destroy something so lovely and artfully created, it could be melted down and made into coins.”

There was a lengthy silence in which both men enjoyed the antics as four hobbits and a Dwarf practiced climbing in and out of the small boats, while an Elf stood by and dared not laugh or even look amused, given the way the Dwarf glared at him every so often and hefted his axe. It was mostly play between them of late, Boromir mused. The stay in Lothlorien seemed to have increased Gimli’s respect of Elves as much as had Legolas’ sight of the Halls of Durin in Moria. Then too, the friends had many times stood watch together and no doubt gotten to know one another better. As indeed had Aragorn and Boromir.

“And you would distribute these coins to the villagers?” Aragorn asked in that deceptively even tone that indicated he was in fact doing a lot of thinking.

“Yes,” Boromir replied and cast him a glance. “Or rather I would give them to men I know I can trust to see them delivered and shared fairly to those in greatest need.”

Aragorn held Boromir’s eyes intently, a frown creasing his brow in silent question. But he said nothing.
Still, Boromir could read it clearly enough and understood the silence. For his friend could hardly voice his concern in any way that would not seem impolite, not to mention impolitic. And it did embarrass Boromir for he had to look away before he could say it. “You wonder that Gondor is so poor it cannot clothe its children? It is not. But of late Mordor has greatly increased the number of homes that no longer have men to provide for their families.” Boromir heard bitterness creeping into his tone. It was not bitterness at Aragorn, but rather at himself – as Captain General it was Boromir’s responsibility to come up with strategies that would better protect her soldiers while still effectively defending her borders and city. Mostly, he was successful in so doing. Mostly. But the enemy grew ever more cruel, more cunning, and most importantly, far greater in number. Seeming to sense his changing mood, Aragorn remained silent. Or at least Boromir hoped the man read the change in tone accurately and did not think Boromir held him to blame for not returning sooner to them. Aragorn was an incredibly gifted warrior and leader, but he could not single-handedly save an entire people, king or no king. Only some near supernatural intervention seemed capable of saving Gondor now. Boromir gritted his teeth hard and concentrated in an effort to block out the Ring’s siren song that ever promised all he dreamed and hoped for Gondor. Yet Isildur –

“But you! You are strong!” Boromir heard instead his father’s voice and found it equally demanding. He could almost feel those fingers shaking his metal-armoured shoulder again. “Go! Bring me back this mighty gift!”

Then he realized it was not Denethor’s covetous grasp at his shoulder, but rather a warm friendly squeeze of the shoulder from Aragorn. “You carry a heavy burden, my friend,” he said softly.

Embarrassed, Boromir shrugged and tried a shaky smile. “I have broad shoulders and have been trained to it by a sure hand.” He glanced back into Aragorn’s eyes meaning to convey a lightening of mood but only found such intensity of understanding and sorrow that he was again forced to look away. Boromir had, after all, only a few nights before admitted that his father’s rule was failing. He sighed and said, “Father and I have often argued about the poverty of the outlying villages and how best we may aid them. He says we must hoard our treasures, our food stores, against worse times ahead. I say Gondor’s children are dying of cold and hunger now and will know no worse a time.”

Boromir muttered a half-voiced curse, he did not mean to make his father sound the villain. If Aragorn at last decided to take up his birthright, Denethor would be his Steward. “Perhaps father is right. But -” The sharpness returned to Boromir’s tone and he did not try to hide it. “It is hard to watch an infant die in its mother’s arms for want of something you have a plenty! I watch as the Steward’s ministers and noble families of the city grow fat and our grain stores feed as many vermin as -” He sighed and shook his head as he realized he had raised his voice so much that Gimli, Merry and Pippin had turned to look at him. “Well, I do what I can,” he finished softly. “And this gift is mine to use as I will. It will serve and do so in abundance.”

Aragorn had not removed his hand from Boromir’s shoulder. He squeezed reassurance and affection sufficient that Boromir again met his eyes. “What?” Boromir smiled for the expression tugging at Aragorn’s lips was all ironic mischief.

“It seems, my friend,” Aragorn said wryly, “that the good Lady Galadriel did not desire your death by drowning nor dislike you near so much as you imagine.” He shook Boromir’s shoulder and let go to grin victory that faded to an intent, quiet respect. “For she saw deep into your generous heart where lies your love for your people and she answered your need. There in your hands is the proof of her understanding, her affection and respect and her desire to help.”

Boromir felt his eyes widen in surprise. “Huh. I never thought – But yes, I suppose she did choose a right gift after all!” He chuckled and added, “My thanks, Aragorn.”

Aragorn nodded and smiled then climbed to his feet to caution Sam who seemed about to upset one of the boats. Boromir laughed at Aragorn’s and Sam’s identical expressions of alarm. Then, as Aragorn turned back to him, Boromir said purposefully, “You care for your charges well, Aragorn. Know this, my people are also your people. They are our people. And they too have need of your care.”

Aragorn regarded him steadily for a long moment, nodded and turned away. Boromir said in a whisper that he knew Aragorn most probably would hear, “Our people need their king.”

End

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