Work Text:
June 20, Year 16 FoA
Osgiliath
Boromir had to pinch himself again for good measure. He couldn’t believe that the day had finally arrived. The construction on Osgiliath was complete, and for the first time in over five hundred years, the former capital would gleam in the sun rather than wither in shadow. People would be able to walk its streets, peruse the shops and markets, and make a home for themselves there.
It had been a massive undertaking, requiring the demolition of every hollowed-out structure that still stood. But if Boromir had to be honest, despite not knowing how the city had looked in its prime, he thought that it looked better than it ever did in its seemingly short history. This was perhaps in part due to the assistance the men of Minas Tirith had received from Gimli’s kin. The new structures had the standard appearance of Gondorian architecture, but if one looked close enough, they would find hints of the additions made by the Dwarves. Embellishments of geometric shapes, dark green and blue stones decorating the outsides of buildings, immaculate bridges and arches and domed roofs. There were also signs of Legolas’ additions, mainly young trees lining main streets, flower gardens, and lush green lawns in public areas.
Statues had also been erected in various parts of the city, which were made for the most part by Gondorian scupltors. But in an area that was very dear to Boromir’s heart were two statues that were made by a representative of their respective race. One was the likeness of a Dwarven warrior, with braids and beads in his beard and a large hammer held across his torso. Though the friendship between Dwarves and the Men of Gondor was new and no more than a respect for one another’s architectural prowess, it would have taken twice as long for Osgiliath to be rebuilt had the Gondorians attempted the task on their own; and while some did grumble about seeking help from outsiders, a vast majority of those involved in the reconstruction efforts were grateful for the aid. Needless to say, the proud Dwarves of Erebor wanted people to know what they had done.
The other statue was of an Elf wearing elegant robes and holding a branch with blossoms. The branch belonged to the White Tree, which now grew in Minas Tirith and descended from the trees in Númenor and in Valinor, symbolizing the long-standing ties between the Men of Gondor and Westernesse and the Eldar. These two statues were placed side-by-side, with the Dwarf looking towards Erebor and the Elf facing the Sea.
Behind them had been planted a single oak tree, which had grown from an acorn that had fallen from a tree that Bilbo Baggins had planted after he returned from his quest. This tree was a gift from Merry and Pippin on behalf of the Shire, since Hobbits were not really in the business of making statues and grand monuments.
“It is beautiful here.”
He looked to his right to find his wife smiling up at him. A lump formed in his throat and he tried to rein in his emotions. It was indeed beautiful; far more beautiful than he could have ever imagined. One day, many years ago, he made a promise to his men that this city would be the shining jewel it once was. Now, that impossible dream had become reality.
“I cannot put into words what I’m feeling.” She gave his hand a squeeze. A sigh drew their attention to their left.
“Are we going to look around or just stand here?” asked his oldest daughter. Boromir let out a chuckle and turned to his household guard, the Gold Company.
“Four of you accompany my daughters wherever they wish to go.” The Captain of the Gold Company pressed a fist to his chest and bowed, giving three of the others orders.
“You don’t need them when you’ve got us!” Pippin said proudly.
“Yeah. Have any of them helped kill a Nazgûl?” asked Merry.
“No, but their job is to protect my family. But they could probably use your skills.”
Merry and Pippin puffed out their chests and strutted over to the carriage before hopping inside with the girls. As the carriage began to pull away, the four guards mounted their horses and created a protective barrier around it. Boromir lightly tugged on his wife’s hand and led her towards his horse (she had come in the carriage with their daughters). After Anael pulled herself up, he climbed up and sat in front of her. The two remaining guards drew their horses up alongside them and followed Boromir’s lead.
“There is one place I have been most anxious to see,” he said quietly, for only Anael to hear.
“Is it the memorial garden?” He nodded. “I am eager to see it, too. I know how important it was to you.”
He had told her about his idea of having a memorial garden built before they were even married. And now, he would finally get to see it.
As they rode through the streets, people who had come from Minas Tirith and other cities and towns in Gondor stopped to greet them. Vendors had set up carts and stalls to sell their goods while the city was packed with visitors, and others were taking a scenic walk along the Anduin. Though all of the shops and homes were still empty, anyone who did not know that beforehand would have assumed that this city had been populated for years. Life had come back to Osgiliath after so many years of darkness and death.
They approached the greatest and most impressive building, which was the newly rebuilt Dome of Stars. Though there was no palantír being housed inside it as the original had—which was probably for the best—it would serve as the main governing hall. At the top of the dome waved a black banner with the white tree, crown, and arch of seven stars used by Elessar, but above them rose a sun. It was the banner of Anórien. His banner.
He urged their horse on when the streets cleared of pedestrians, and the guards were quick to catch up to them. They crossed over the river into the Eastern half of the city and then followed the river. On the way, they found Gimli and Legolas standing by the Dwarf and Elf statues, appearing to be having some sort of disagreement if Gimli’s excitement and use of hand gestures were anything to go by. Above the oak tree, Boromir spotted the top of a banner. He steered their horse toward it, and as it came into view, it was like the opening of a ancient tome.
A large three-tiered fountain was built in the center with a ring of water surrounding it which flowed into the Anduin. Beds of white rose bushes had been placed on either side of the fountain and beyond it, where a small staircase led to the memorial wall. At the top rose seven columns, and evenly spread out were three banners—the banners of Anórien and Ithilien, like the former but with a crescent moon at the top, and the king’s banner in the center. On the wall was a silver plaque which read in Westron and in Sindarin, “This memorial is dedicated to the brave sons of Gondor who gave their lives in defense of this city. May they find rest after death and their names never be forgotten.”
Boromir dismounted before helping Anael down, and they approached the wall hand-in-hand. Tears welled in his eyes as he read the words. The words had not been his idea, although he would have wanted to put something, anyway. He wondered who had done this.
“I hope that this epitaph expresses enough of what you want this place to symbolize,” said a voice to their right. Someone neither of them had noticed was there.
Boromir released Anael’s hand and drew his brother into a hug. Faramir smiled and patted his back when Boromir let out a choked sob.
“It is enough. More than enough. Thank you, brother.”
