October 25, 3018, Rivendell

I have at last reached Rivendell. I write now in the grey morning light of all that transpired last night.

Since I saw the vision of Elves passing in the woods on the night of October 14th, my steps grew ever surer as the path of the river and the mountains converged. At dusk last night, I decided to go forward as long as I could, as if I was nearing the end of my journey, though I did not know how near I was. The night was clear, and as long as I stayed close to the banks of the river, I could make my way without much trouble. As the night deepened about me, I began to smell a faint rotten odor that grew stronger as I walked. It was the unmistakable smell of death, and after a time, I drew near to the source. It came from the river, which was rocky and swift at this point. Removing my boots and cloak, and covering my mouth and nose with a kerchief, I waded out into the shallows and found there five black horses dashed upon the rocks, probably dead for four or five days. When I saw that their hideous livery bore the markings of Minas Morgul, I knew I had found the beasts of the Nazgul. A shocking thought came to me as I realized that we were on the same mission, to seek Isildur's bane, and here our paths had nearly converged. For a moment, I panicked, but if these were indeed the steeds of the Nazgul, then where were their riders? I felt none of that terrible presence that had driven us from Osgiliath.

It was then that I saw a dark shape in the branches of the trees at the water's edge. It fluttered and flapped in the wind, the tattered and empty robe of one of the wraiths, its dreadful wearer long since fled. Something had stopped these Nazgul, and that was no small feat. My hope was stoked, for this could only be the power of the Elves.

All weariness left me, and I waded out of the river and continued on. After a time I came to a shallow ford. I could not see to the far bank, but on this side, there were many footprints in the dried mud, a welcome sign. It had been 10 days since I had seen the Elves, and many more since I had seen a man, and among these were definitely the prints of a booted man, a tall one with long strides. There were other prints about, almost as large as the man, but unshod. A horse there was too, who turned and faced the river, but I could discern little else as the prints became confused. I knelt on the ground, and felt the edge of faint imprints. They were as large as the man's prints, but not bare, and too shallow for a man. "Elves," I thought to myself, and no sooner did this thought enter my mind, than Elves came out of the darkness and spoke to me.

"Greetings, Boromir of Gondor," they said. "We have been expecting you. Come, and follow us." Then they led me along a path that began to descend and wind about, until eventually it opened up into a fair vale, Rivendell at last.

Now in the silver light of an early morn, they led me across an arched bridge that spanned a rushing stream, a branch of the Bruinen. Upstream beyond the bridge a great waterfall misted and roared. There on the opposite side of the valley, built up into the hillside was a many-balustraded lodge, the long-sought home of Elrond Halfelven. They led me through the gate and down a flagstone path. We passed through courtyards and hallways, and many Elves there were seated on porches and standing on balconies. Some were singing in soft voices, others were laughing, and their laughter rang out like bells. At last they brought me to a room, lined with books and scrolls, with curving seats placed under every window. A lone figure stood there, looking out the eastward window. He turned to me, and I knew at once that this was Elrond. He was tall, and fair, like all the Elves, but his countenance was grave. His hair was long and braided, his robes rich, and though his face was unlined and his limbs lithe, age and wisdom weighed heavy upon his shoulders. He spoke to me thusly:

"Many questions you must have, Boromir, son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor. All your questions will be answered at council this morning, for unbidden by me, you and many others have been drawn to this place.

At once I thought of the words from the dream:

"There will be counsels taken
Stronger than Morgul-spells."

I can only hope for such strength. Elrond bade me rest and eat before council. One of the elves of his household led me to a comfortably arrayed chamber, and elf maids brought me food and drink. The maids of Elrond were as beautiful and graceful as our ancient lore had described them, and I was in awe. They gave me a small cordial filled with a clear liquor, and when I drank of it, I felt a warmth course through my limbs, and I felt as refreshed as if I had slept all night long. As I ate the Elvish food, my strength returned, as if I was throwing off a sickness, yet I had not known I was ill.


Boromir

October 15th, somewhere between the Bruinen and the Misty Mountains

I think I saw Elves last night.

I know not if I was waking or sleeping, but I heard glad voices singing. Then I saw them walking, what must be Elves, for I have never seen Elves before. They carried silver lanterns, but they had little need of them for they shimmered in the moonlight. Dumbstruck, I watched them pass, and then the last one turned to me and gave me a lingering look. Tall and fair he was, clad in green and brown with a circlet of green leaves upon his head. Pointing northward, he spoke a single word, "Imladris." I struggled to get up and follow, but either I was truly asleep or a spell rooted me to the spot. Next I knew, it was dawn. I searched the ground all about, but there was no sign of their passing. Still, whether it was a fateful dream or a true encounter, I felt encouraged, and I followed northward after them.

It seems I have reached the lands where Elves wander. Rivendell cannot be far.

Boromir

September 30, 3018, between the Bruinen and the Misty Mountains

It has been 8 weeks since I last saw a living man. All around me the wild lands have grown oppressively quiet. Not a breath but my own seems to stir. I miss the horse.

The terrain has been rough and rocky, and when I am not in a nearly impassable forest, I am in nearly impassable brush. The horse would have been a hindrance for sure, but at least he was a friendly beast. His snorts and whinnies would have broken this silence, and his stomping feet and flicking tail would have stirred the still air. Though he was but a dumb beast, there was some sentience and emotion behind those big eyes. There is little sentience in this tree I lean upon, at least none that I can sense.

I have passed through every valley, looked behind every hill, but Imladris remains hidden from me. How I long to leave this accursed wilderness and return to my city and my people, but I will not return to them empty-handed.

Boromir

September 9th, 3018, between the Bruinen and the Misty Mountains

Many days have I wandered now in wilderness, searching the hills and dales between the river and the mountains. Not a soul have I seen, save the birds in the air and beasts on the ground, nor a sign of any settlement, now or in the past. I am beginning to wonder how I will ever find Rivendell, but find it I must

I let the horse go a week ago. Some might call that foolish, that I could eat the horse if necessary, or use him for warmth, but though my provisions run low, the horses of the Rohirrim are not for eating, and it is warm yet. This is not horse country, and he knows the way home.

I gather what edibles I can as I go, and keep my bow at the ready so that I might snare a wild hare or hind.

Boromir

August 19, 3018, along the Greyflood

For two weeks now I have traveled northward along the banks of the river Greyflood. The going has been rough, and oft I have had to leave the banks and search for clearer passage. There has been no road to follow, only the sight and sound of the water. If anyone ever lived here, they must have been light-footed wood Elves who lived in trees and made no paths.

I stand now at the fork of the waterway, and my road and my destiny turn northeast along the Bruinen. This I shall follow for a day, and then I shall begin to cross and search the lands that lie between the river and the mountains. Heretofore , my path has been sure, but now I face a hard and lonely task, one sure to be full of doubt and much fruitless searching. If I succeed, there is hope for my people. If I fail, after a time, Minas Tirith will fall, and a blackness will take over the land. I must succeed, or die trying.

Boromir

August 5, 3018, Tharbad

I have restocked my provisions and I leave today to follow the Greyflood north. If a Halfling is to figure in this quest, then I will find him in Rivendell.

Boromir

August 3rd, 3018, Tharbad

Aye, many have heard of the place called Rivendell, the realm of Elrond the Halfelven, but none know the way. The "last homely house" some call it, a refuge for the wayward traveler. Rangers from the north lands come to Tharbad sometimes, and they know where it is hid, but they tell little of their secret ways, and no ranger can now be found, not unless he wishes to be found. The innkeeper speaks with them when they pass through and drags out of them what tales he can. From their talks, he gathers that I should leave the road and follow the river Greyflood north, until I come to a fork in the waterway. To the left will be the river Hoarwell and to the right the Loudwater, Bruinen in the Elven tongue. The Loudwater will slowly angle to the mountains and somewhere between that river and the mountains should lie the valley I seek.

Of Halflings though, the people knew more. I was told that most of them lived northwest of here, in a place called Shire, where few men ever go, but that some also lived near the crossing of the North-South road and the East-West road, in a town called Bree.

A Southerner agreed, saying that he was returning from Bree and had seen many of the little folk, so apparently they are real and not legend. I now must decide whether to seek these Halfings, or continue on my quest for Rivendell. One is a sure thing now, the other, still a legend.

Boromir

My Portrait

A traveling artist passing through Tharbad sketched this for me for a few silver pennies. Her name, Morgan Fitzsimmons, like the accent here, sounded strange to my ears. They speak the common tongue here of course, but it is more rustic, and the names of the people and places echo a language older than Westernesse. Her home, www.otherworldfantasies.com, sounded even stranger than her name, but it also sounded like a place a tired soldier might find, uh, rest.

Boromir

August 1st, 3018, Tharbad

I reached Tharbad yester eve, at the crossing of the Greyflood and the North-South road. Once a thriving town, it is now little more than a travelers' rest and a trading post. I have taken a room in the inn, and find it good to sleep on a mattress instead of the ground and to have a hot meal. The courteousness here is welcome after the cold stares of the Dunlendings and leers of thick-necked swarthy men, from whence they come I know not. Here they are eager for news from the South - eager for news of anything. They know little of our troubles to the east.

The road here was long; the people and dwellings sparse once I drew west of Dunland. Travelers of an unsavory sort there were though, but they did not harry me. I don't doubt some of them would have robbed me in my sleep if I were not so well-armed.

There are a few Southerners in the common room, some with the same ill-favoured look. The innkeeper is friendly though. I will speak with him soon, and any of the other locals, to see what they know of the place called Rivendell.

Boromir

Intermission

Here are some of the other character's blogs written by various authors (see, I am not alone in my craziness):

www.gandalfsjournal.blogspot.com

www.merrysjournal.blogspot.com

Pippin's Blog

Strider's blog

Eomer's diary

Sam's diary

At this time, Pippin's author is busy with her freshman year of college and is on a bit of a hiatus. She is also compiling Strider's blog, though it is written by someone else, and that too is behind. For more on Strider's blog visit

boards.netscape.com/lordoftherings

Select the Prancing Pony board, set your preferences to read back through about August 1st, and to "threaded." Look for the title "Strider's Blog".

All of our blogs are posted and discussed on the Prancing Pony message board. Visitors are welcome and encouraged.

If I get sufficiently motivated and no one else grabs them first, I will start blogs for Gimli and Legolas as well.

July 20, 3018, Dunland

I am now on the Great North-South Road. There are a few travelers, most going North, but they eye me suspiciously, and I speak little to them. I would ask if they know of Imladris, Rivendell in the common tongue, but I do not wish them to know of my errand. Perhaps I will find friendlier folk further north.

Boromir

July 18, 3018, west of the River Isen

I crossed the river Isen without incident, but last night as I slept, orcs stumbled into my camp. They were as surprised of me as I of them, but my sword is sharp and my reach long, and I slew two of them before the rest ran away. I moved along then, away from the stench of their offal, and did not stop until well after daybreak. I rested then, hidden and fitfully, and left again ere nightfall. I will not be caught asleep again so close to the mountains.

Boromir

July 13, 3018, Edoras, Rohan

I learned much from Theodred and his cousin Eomer last night. First, they are more like brothers than cousins, having grown up in the same household since the death of Eomer's father, Eomund, husband of the king's sister. They told me that emissaries from Mordor have been to Rohan seeking horses, but the Rohirrim did not like their look and refused to trade with them. They love their horses as much as their children and would not send them to homes where they would be ill-used. This angered the Easterners, and they left in disgrace, but ever since there have been raids on their herds in the East. "Always the black horses are taken, and we fear they are put to evil use," they said.

I told them of the dream, and they listened intently. I learned that among the legends of their people are memories of a small seldom-seen people, "holbytla" in their tongue, who possess no magic but are a quiet simple folk, walking soundlessly on bare feet, and disappearing at will. They believe this might be the Halfling mentioned in the words of the dream. Of Imladris they knew nothing, as their people lived on the eastern side of the Misty Mountains, but the puzzle pieces are falling together, as they say, and tomorrow I shall take my leave and head for the river Isen. They have given me a fresh steed, a fine gift, who knows all the paths and streams of the Westfold. They have warned me to be wary crossing the Isen, and to pass as unnoticed as possible through the lands of the wizard.

Postscript: Eomer has a younger sister, who seems to be as cold and hard as ice, and as beautiful as a diamond. At all times, she attends the King, and listens carefully to every word spoken. If these were not such troubled times, and I was not heir to the seat of the Steward, I might fancy her. Eomer and Theodred are doughty men of arms, and I don't doubt that she could hold her own as well. The Rohirrim do not coddle their women.

She might make a good match for Faramir. I shall mention it to him when I return from my journey. It would be good to strengthen the alliance between our people.

Boromir

July 12, 3018, Edoras, Rohan

I passed through the Eastfold of Rohan without incident. It has been some time since I traveled these lands, and the people are more suspicious of strangers than they used to be, but men of Gondor are still welcome here. I arrived in Edoras yesterday, and it looks somewhat shabbier than I remember it. Theoden, their king, is old, and his hall and his city have aged with him.

I took audience at once with the King of the Mark. There also were his son and heir Theodred, his brother's son Eomer, and other men of his household. I warned them of the threat to their lands near the Anduin and their duty to guard the Northern marches, and they made plans to remove their herdsmen who wander there. I also learned that there have been skirmishes with orcs out of the mountains and hillmen to the west. It seems that Rohan has much of its own trouble of late.

At long whiles they have been on friendly terms with the wizard Saruman in the tower of Orthanc to the west, but this news troubled me. I do not know what control he has over the Dunlendings, but orcs at least should fear a wizard. If they walk boldly through his lands, then perhaps they do so with his leave. I do not trust wizards.

There was also another I did not trust, the king's adviser Grima. Groveling and flattering he seemed, always saying what one wanted to hear, not what one needed. For that reason, and because the king himself is hoary with age, I am taking dinner tonight with Theodred and Eomer alone. Their people hailed from the North long ago, and I wish to discuss the matter of the dream with them when we are alone, perhaps after a few ales. They can share the words with their king when they feel it is appropriate, as they know his advisor better than I.

Boromir

July 3rd, 3018, Minas Tirith

Tomorrow I leave for the North to seek Imladris and the meaning of the dream. The road will be long, for northeast of the Great River lie the Brown Lands and northwest and impenetrable forest inhabited by a sorceress from which none have ever returned. My way lies to the west through Rohan, across the Isen and then up through the valleys west of the Misty Mountains.

No matter, I have need to take counsel with the Rohirrim. They should know of our troubles to the East and of their vulnerability in the East Emnet.

Boromir

July 1st, 3018, Minas Tirith

Faramir and I had audience with Father and told him of our dream. He did not dismiss it, but asked us many questions about the images in the dream, and oft had us repeat the words. He knew that Imladris was an Elvish word for a far northern dale where lives Elrond the Halfelven. Of Isildur's bane he knew little, saying only that he was shot by an orc arrow after an ambush in the Gladden Fields by the river Anduin to the north. Few survived the skirmish, save Isildur's son, who was too young for battle. From this son descended the kings of the north, "but the North Kingdom is no more, and the descendants of that line are a ragged people, wanderers bereft of lordship."

Faramir wanted to leave at once and seek for Imladris and further meaning of the dream, and Father would have let him go, believing it something suited for his uses, but for my protest. I saw it as a way of doubt and difficulty and of grave importance to Gondor. I desired to take this errand upon myself to seek the broken sword and Isildur's bane, and a Halfling too, if it would aid Gondor. The debate went back and forth, for Father was loth to see me go, but it pleased him to displease Faramir, and he finally stated that he had little use for Faramir, neither here nor there, and wished only for two Boromirs. I rebuked him for saying such a thing, and regretted that Faramir had to hear it, but such is the heart of our father, and we cannot change it. Seeing that I would not be dissuaded, Denethor gave me leave and appointed Faramir to serve in my stead. He has little confidence in Faramir, but I know that Faramir is a capable captain, and leaving him here in charge will give him a chance to show his quality.

I have decided to leave three days hence, on July the 4th. I need time to study the maps we have of Arnor and areas south, and there are several matters I must attend to with Faramir.

Boromir

June 29, 3018, West Osgiliath

I had Faramir's dream last night. It was just as he described, down to the last word. Very strange.

In other matters, we have sent forces as far north as Cair Andros to defend the shores of the Anduin. Above that is the impassable Entwash, and beyond that, the East Emnet of Rohan.

Postscript: I spoke with Faramir about the dream. That was when he told me that he had had the dream every night since the attack on Osgiliath. I am not one to put much stock in occult whisperings or children's tales, preferring to place my trust in sharp swords and stone fortresses, but these words portend more than just the skirmish of the 20th. They speak of the doom of Gondor. I do not know of what use a broken sword could be for Gondor, but if there is someone or something that can aid Gondor in her time of need, we should seek it. I do not doubt the strength and courage of our men, but there is a greater power to the East that I cannot name. I would not see all our long years of toil brought to nothing and our fair cities left in ruin.

Since Faramir and I cannot decipher the words of the dream, we have resolved to bring it to Father, who is wise in the lore of Gondor.

Boromir

June 21, 3018, West Osgiliath

Last night Osgiliath was attacked by a great force of Orcs, Easterlings, and Haradrim from Mordor. We were vastly outnumbered, but it was not the number of enemies that defeated us. There was a power there, like none I have felt. Some reported a great black horseman, others a dark shadow under the moon. Whatever it was, its presence filled both foe, friend, and beast with a madness, so that even the boldest man and horse gave way and fled.

I commanded the small remnant that held out the longest. Faramir would have stayed as long as I commanded him, for he looks up to me and would sooner die than to give in before me, but the Steward is old and I would not leave Gondor without a clear successor in these troubled times. When I deemed further defense of the city hopeless, I sounded the retreat. We destroyed the last bridge of Osgiliath behind us and swam across the river Anduin to the western shore. Only four of that unit survived, myself, my brother Faramir, and two others.

I am not heartened that my unease proved right, for we took many losses, the numbers of which I have not yet ascertained. Those that fled will face little penalty, for Faramir and I felt that same nameless dread. Instead we will regroup and forge a new strategy here on the western shores.

I think it was only the dread of facing Father and trying to explain why we ran and hid that held us firm. I wonder what competing fear kept those other two rooted to the spot? Perhaps they have wives sterner than Father.

Boromir

June 19, 3018, Osgiliath

Faramir had a strange dream last night. He said he saw the Eastern sky grow dark and there was a great thunder, but in the West, a pale light lingered. Out of the West he heard a faraway voice speaking clearly the following words, which he wrote down for me:

Seek for the Sword that was broken:
In Imladris it dwells;
There shall be counsels taken
Stronger than Morgul-spells.
There shall be shown a token
That Doom is near at hand.
For Isildur's Bane shall waken,
And the Halfling forth shall stand.

Normally, I would not attach much importance a dream of Faramir's, as he oft has nightmares, drowning in a great wave or some other such impossible nonsense, but I have an uneasy feeling about the land that lies to our East, a shadow growing upon my mind. Ever we keep them under watch, but I will double the guard tonight.

I do not know what the words in Faramir's dream mean, other than they seem to speak of our doom.

Boromir