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If Boromir hadn’t known any better, he would have thought he had awakened in Middle-earth, either in Ithilien or Rohan, judging by the grassy fields speckled with wildflowers and trees. There was a soft breeze, but it felt artificial. He could see the grass swaying, but he did not feel the wind on his face or in his hair. Even the sunlight seemed to be a figment of his imagination. He felt neither warm nor cool. There were no smells. There was a soft gray haze, making everything seem faded.
His ears still seemed to work, though, because he heard what sounded like water. He followed the noise, and as it grew louder, he realized that it was waves crashing. Wherever he was, it must have been near the sea.
He walked up a hill, able to see the first glimpse of blue-green water. Gray clouds had built up where the sky met the sea. It made him think of Dol Amroth and when he had raced along the beach with his cousins when he was younger. It made him think of his mother. He imagined her enjoying a day like this just staring out to sea. Was it any wonder that she was so unhappy in the stone city?
As he came to the crest of the hill, his eyes fell upon a single stone with a flat top, a perfect place to sit while one watches the horizon. But it was who was already seated upon it that made him come to an abrupt stop.
“Mother?”
She had her back to him, but he had seen this view many times. He did not need to see her face to know it was her. Sure enough, as though just thinking of her a moment before had caused her to materialize, the figure turned toward him, and he gazed at his mother. She looked just as she had the day she died, but healthier… happier.
Finduilas observed him, not recognizing him at first. He didn’t blame her, since it had been thirty years since she died.
She stood up and approached him. It took all of his self-control to not pull her into an embrace. He was already struggling with trying to hold back tears. He had missed her so much, and for the first time since he had appeared in this place, he felt.
As her gray eyes met his own, a flash of recognition crossed her features. She lifted a slender hand and lightly touched a spot right above his left eyebrow. There was a small scar which he had gotten during sword training when he was a boy. He had thought that perhaps he no longer had any of his scars or wounds after he died, but it seemed that some had remained on his body. At least the pain was gone.
“Oh Boromir. It is you, isn’t it?” Finduilas wondered, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
Boromir swallowed and nodded stiffly before he crumpled, unable to hold back his emotions anymore. He encircled her in his arms; she had felt small, even when he was a boy, but now she felt tiny. His forehead rested on her shoulder, and her gown quickly became stained with tears. Her hand curved around the back of his head and gently pet his hair.
“I have missed you so much,” he choked out. “Nothing was ever the same after you died. I tried so hard to fill the hole you left, to ensure that Faramir knew he was loved.” Finduilas sighed sadly.
“I never meant for you to try to take my place in Faramir’s heart. I only ever wished for you to be able to be a child and not have to carry so many worries upon your shoulders.” She drew back from him and cupped his face in her hands, wiping away the moisture on his cheeks with her thumbs. “I am sure that Faramir knew he was loved. You were a wonderful brother to him when you were both young, and you still—”
Boromir laid a hand over hers. While he was happy to be able to see her again, the only thing Finduilas could think was that her son was dead. She looked somewhat unsteady on her feet, so he coaxed her towards the rock she had been sitting on earlier. There was not enough room for both of them, so he sat at her feet, just as he used to when he was a boy. He rested his cheek in her lap, and when he felt her fingers in his hair, he allowed his eyelids to fall shut.
“You have grown so much, but you are still so young,” she said after a while.
“Not much older than you were.” He heard her sigh. “I did not suffer.”
“I am glad.”
“I lost my life while trying to save my friends.” If he hadn’t been shown Merry and Pippin’s fates, he might have still felt bitterness for being unable to save them. Finduilas sniffled above him, and he felt her nod. “I was shown the future, when I was in the Halls of Mandos.”
“I was, as well. I was shown glimpses of my family’s lives without me in them.” Her voice cracked. “I watched you and Faramir grow up and depend on each other. I saw your father’s bitterness grow. And I saw my little brother hold his daughter and say that she reminded him of me. How much I would have loved to have met her.”
“Lothíriel grew up to be a fine young lady. Her brothers love her very much.” He sat up and got to his feet before holding a hand out to her. Finduilas only hesitated for a moment before taking the offered hand and rising. They began to walk at a leisurely pace, with the sea at their back and endless green hills with colorful wildflowers ahead. “I felt the same way when I learned about Elboron, my nephew.” Finduilas stiffened and looked up at him.
“Then Faramir is…”
“Yes, Faramir is married. Or he will be. To the lady Éowyn of Rohan, the niece of Théoden King.”
“My little Faramir married. It still feels as though it were only yesterday that I held him and sung him to sleep.”
They came to a flat area with trees and more stone formations. There were other people around, though they seemed to be too invested in their own surroundings than to pay them any mind. Boromir wondered how time passed in this place and whether it would start getting dark soon. He also wondered where everyone slept—if they slept. Were there dwellings here? Or did they stay awake all the time because the dead had no need for sleep?
“Do you remember the starry mantle you used to wear?” Boromir asked after a while.
“I do. I loved it so.”
“Father kept it, and Faramir wrapped it around Éowyn’s shoulders when he told her he loved her.”
“I am pleased that it is being worn by someone who would treasure it as I did.”
“Even though he will miss us both…” He trailed off, wondering if he should tell her that Denethor had died. Perhaps he would wait for a while longer before speaking of something so grim. Right now, all he wanted to do was reassure her. “Even though he will miss us both, Faramir has someone who loves him just as dearly as we did. I feel at ease knowing that he is not alone.”
“Then I am comforted, as well.”
They continued walking, having no direction or destination in mind. Boromir would have to adhere to Finduilas’ guidance, anyway, since she had been there much longer. For the first time in perhaps his entire life, his mother seemed strong. There was still a lingering sadness, but the sickness that had taken her was nowhere to be found, and she held her head up proudly like a Prince’s daughter. Boromir found that he was feeling stronger, as well. He was no longer on-edge or sleep-deprived, and he did not have to worry about fighting some enemy or defending some city or region. For the first time in, well, his life… he felt unburdened by the yoke of duty that he had carried since the age of ten, bending under its ever-increasing weight until it finally broke him. Now, he truly felt alive.