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Author's Chapter Notes:
This is my first ever LOTR fic, although I've been writing other fics for years. I hope you enjoy, and many thanks to my lovely fiance for editting this for me!
Nothing like this has happened before, not in the entire history of Middle Earth. At least not in recorded history, and since the Elves have been keeping records since the beginning, it seems to me unlikely that it has happened before. Of course, given the nature of it all, perhaps it has happened and has just never been recorded.

Perhaps I get ahead of myself. I almost certainly do, for I am often told I am impulsive, for an Elf. I am young, as if that is an excuse. I have not seen a thousand summers yet. There are yet trees that are older than me. So it isn't unlikely at all that I go ahead of myself and explain the beginning before the end. Let me, then, start as it should be, at the beginning. Or, at least, at a beginning.

Keep this in mind as I speak. The Story of Beren and Luthien. If you do not know it, let me summarize. A beautiful Elf-maid, Luthien, fell in love with a human, a mere mortal, a man named Beren. Many things happened to them, but in the end, she gave herself willingly to him. In so doing, she became a mortal and lost the everlasting life of her people. Of my people. With this in mind, let me continue.

Our first meeting was not the stuff of legends. In fact, I regret my actions at the Council of Elrond, where we had all been summoned to speak and listen on the most important matter of this age. I didn't even notice Boromir, not at first. He was with other men, and though he was dressed more richly than them, he tended to blend in. One human looks much the same to me, at least at first.

At that time, I only knew that the arrogant human who behaved like a prince, although he was technically not, was insulting a man that I called friend. A noble, strong man who should be king, though he would not take that title upon himself. Before I thought much about it, I stood and hotly defended him. Thus, the first words I ever spoke to Boromir, son of Denethor, drew his attention to Aragorn, son of Arathorn. It would not be long before I regretted these words. Although, perhaps his eyes would have been drawn there eventually, who can say?

At first, I had nothing but contempt for the man, finding him cocky and arrogant, to say the least. My opinion of him didn't much change as the days went by. The newly formed fellowship of Elves, Men, Hobbits and Dwarves left Elrond's Council, and of course, Boromir and I were both a part of it. He blew the Horn of Gondor, loudly as we left Rivendell. Only a human, I was convinced, would be so bold, so stupid. Elrond, by the look and sharp words he directed Boromir's way, appeared to agree with my assessment.

I suspect my view of him would have never changed if I hadn't seen him playing with the Hobbits, teaching them to fight. Aragorn watched, too, and I sensed something between the two men that confused me. Was it friendship that they were beginning to share, despite the harsh words Boromir had spoken to Aragorn in Rivendell? I suspected so, but something in the way Boromir looked at Aragorn, tried to show off a little, made me think perhaps the young son of the Steward of Gondor felt something more than friendship for the Ranger.

Nevertheless, I found myself almost unwillingly admiring the way Boromir behaved in those short months we were together on the quest. He was very strong, I noticed. He easily forged his way through the shoulder-high snow on the mountains, and his forethought in bringing the wood saved us all, except perhaps Gandalf and myself, who were never in any real danger.

I suspected I was in danger when I saw him fight the cave troll in the mines of Moria, and I knew for sure when I saw him defend the Hobbits when Aragorn wanted to pull them too soon from their grief over Gandalf's fall into Shadow and Flame. Of course, Aragorn was right, and Boromir soon gave in, but I couldn't help but admire his strength of conviction.

However, what really brought me fully into knowing how I, an Elf Prince, felt about the human, was something very simple. It was just that I found myself straining to hear him say my name, as he often did Aragorn's. Imagine, if you will, how disturbing it must have been for me to come to the conclusion that I couldn't live without him. As well, when he almost fell into the ruins of the bridge, without even thinking about it, I reached out and grabbed him around the chest, pulling him back to safety. I very easily could have fallen in myself, and while for any of my companions I would have done the same, with Boromir, I didn't even think about it. I only acted.

He didn't know about anything that happened in my heart. I would have him, but he would have Aragorn. And Aragorn, while feeling friendship for the other man, was already meant for someone else, an Elf-maid, the Evenstar. An Elf longed for a man, and a man longed for an Elf. Boromir connected us all, though he didn't know it. No one did, except me. Everyone else was lost in the quest, as I should have been.

I knew it was doomed, so I suppose I could use that as an excuse. When I met the Elven queen, Galadriel, the fairest and wisest of the race of Elves, she told me so in a secret voice in my mind. The Fellowship was already breaking apart, she informed me. I didn't want to hear it, for I knew deep down inside of what she spoke. She knew, somehow, of my secret feelings for the Steward's Heir, and she was subtly letting me know it couldn't end well, and she could not approve. Yet, I couldn't refute her words.

For Boromir, when he looked upon Aragorn, had a sort of intensely longing look on his face. He wore the same look when he happened to catch a glimpse of the ring that the Hobbit, Frodo, wore on a chain around his neck. A look that grew in intensity as time passed, and he became more and more desperate to have them both, the ring and the Ranger. So, yes, I was not truly surprised to hear the Queen's serene voice in my head telling me of the breaking and failing of the Fellowship. Though I railed against it internally, I knew that the man, Boromir, would be the one to give in to the evil of the ring at the end. Would I be called upon to attack the man that I belonged to because of something beyond his control? I think I knew even then that I wouldn't be able to do anything to hurt him.

Of course, things all happened just as the Lady Galadriel had foreseen. I felt something in the air that had me slipping off from the rest of the party as we camped at Parth Galen. I sought solitude, wanting to prepare myself for whatever was to come. Deep into the woods I went, but my desire to be alone was not fated to be.

Voices alerted me, Frodo's and, of course, the voice I would know anywhere. Boromir had gone off alone as well to collect firewood, and Frodo had also sought solitude, though for different reasons. Although I was an Elf, even I could feel the call of the ring and I knew it must be hard for the halfling to carry such a burden.

No one is as skilled at hiding as the Elves are, and so I watched silently as they spoke, then quarreled. I was there to see my beloved fall to the curse of the ring. To my great shame, all I found myself able to do was watch in silence. I should have stopped Boromir from attempting to take the ring by force, when words did not convince the ring bearer. But I didn't. I watched, and not even when he was cornering Frodo did I attempt to stop him. Never did I take my bow off my back and aim it at him, although by my own honor, I should have done anything to protect the ring-bearer.

Luckily, despite my inaction, the Hobbit escaped. Boromir's attack on Frodo had not been successful. The tall, noble man fell to his knees in tears, full of remorse almost immediately at what he had done. Seeing him humbled this was was too much for me, and I at once came out of the tree where I had been hiding, landing lightly at his feet.

As he looked up, as his gray eyes met mine, I realized that this was the first time we had ever been alone together. I didn't know what to say to him, so I held out my hand at first, and didn't speak as he took it and raised himself up from the ground. There were fallen leaves in his hair, and my fingers itched to run through the soft brown strands and remove them.

In the end, he spoke first, allowing my hand to drop as he took a step back from me.

“You saw, didn't you?”

I couldn't deny it. I simply nodded, keeping my face as impassive as possible. He was about to speak again, when the sounds of fighting broke out in the woods very near to us. Panic crossed his face, and he moved to go towards the noise before he stopped, sighed, and leaned against a nearby tree. I couldn't believe my eyes. This man had been defeated before he even drew his sword. Defeated by a small circle of gold. It didn't seem right to me.

I approached him, and he looked up at me, his eyes tracking me as I moved to stand close to him, not quite touching him though I ached to. He sighed softly, but didn't move away. Encouraged by this slight sign, I held my ground and watched him, speaking for the first time.

“They are doomed if you don't go and help them, Boromir. Soon, you must go, but first, there are things I must say to you.”

Understand, please, that I hadn't consciously decided to say any of this. I felt this strong urge to get everything out in the open, as if my time to do so might be running out. A strange feeling indeed for an Elf, who can expect to see the end of many ages without changing in the slightest. But then, I had changed, hadn't I? His small nod was more than enough to encourage me to continue.

“I do not know what will happen in this time ahead, but I do know that, wherever you go, you carry me in your heart. Please, Boromir, understand that I do not joke. I mean every word I say. I am yours, whether you accept me or not.”

Before he could respond, the fighting got louder, closer. Foul Orc voices carried in the wind, and also, the small, high-pitched voices of the Halflings. I knew our time was limited, and besides, hadn't I said what I had come to say? I hurried on, knowing that the time would soon come for him to leave me, to go fight. If he did not, well, then, he would not be the man I knew he was.

“Do not speak, just go. Go address the wrong you have done to the Halfling. And in the time to come, know knows? Perhaps we will speak more of this. I just wanted you to know, in case...”

I shook my head, not wanting to think about what could happen to a man such as him, who lived constantly courting danger and excitement. I smiled at him, and reached out softly to touch his cheek. That small touch was all I allowed myself before I swiftly climbed up the tree he was leaning on, and effectively disappeared from his sight.

I did, however, see him pull himself up and nod firmly. I heard him speak as he said my name for the very first, and perhaps only, time.

“I swear, I'll be worthy of this honor, Legolas...”

Then, he was off, running towards the fighting, leaving me to ponder what had happened. He hadn't reacted as negatively as I'd assumed he would, that was for certain. Perhaps there was still hope? With my heart, and feet, soaring, I ran easily through the treetops and joined in the fight. Many Orcs would fall to the bow of Legolas, and the Axe of Gimli the Dwarf, before the end. For a time, I lost myself in the rhythm of the fight, sending arrow after arrow into the Orc host. It wasn't long before we had run out of the foul creatures, and had to seek them elsewhere.

I far outdistanced the short, stocky Dwarf as we both ran towards the sounds where the fighting was the strongest. Before I was halfway there, it all but died down. I heard a bow-shot, then a second, and then a third. I heard screaming Hobbits, and I couldn't get there in time. I knew this, and yet I ran as if my life depended on it. In a way, it did. Boromir had been last seen headed this way. I had heard him blowing the Horn of Gondor only moments ago.

There was a scream of rage that I recognized as Aragorn's, and renewed fighting. Only for a moment, though. I suspect the Orc's didn't want to face the rage that is the future King, whether he accepts this title or not. In any case, I arrived there just in time to see the last of the Orcs leaving, and just in time to have my heart broken for all time.

Boromir lay, obviously dying, on the soft floor of the forest, and Aragorn knelt over him. His body was pierced though three times by Orcish war arrows, nearly a yard long and any of them enough to kill a strong man. He was bleeding, but as the ranger went to pull the cruel shafts from his body, he shook his head and spoke softly.

I stopped, just watching, and I do not know what anyone who could have seen me just then would have thought. I wouldn't disturb the intimacy of the moment, though I knew Boromir was dying. Deep down, although it hurt me almost unbearably, I knew that he would have wanted it this way. If he were going to die let it be in Aragorn's arms, where he would want to be.

Still, I couldn't help but feel a last spasm of jealousy and pain as the man I had given myself to, heart and soul, spoke loudly enough for me to hear. He didn't even look at me, didn't know I was there in the very end.

“I would have followed you, my brother... my captain... my King.”

Then, his beautiful gray eyes went blank and he died. Aragorn leaned down and kissed him. Not on the lips, as I would have done, but on the forehead. The Ranger said his goodbyes, and I was unable to. Boromir died in the arms of another man, and yet, I can't see it as fully a tragedy. After all, it was what he would have wanted.

Nothing else really matters after that. Other events took place, but this is where Boromir passes out of the story. I didn't even touch him as Aragorn gathered him up and placed him in a boat, along with the horn. Softly, in Elven, I spoke my farewells, keeping mind the entire time that Aragorn was there, and of course, Aragorn could speak my language. The river took the proud human away forever.

After that, I waited to die. Only three times in this world has an Elf given up their immortal life for a human. Once with the legendary Beren and Luthien, once with Aragorn, son of Arathorn and Arwen, the Evenstar. The third time, the gift was not accepted, and Boromir, son of Denethor, rejected my offering and left me immortal. Or so I have come to believe, in the years of changeless contemplation since. I do not grow old, and I think I will live forever.

I write this as I set sail for the Elven homeland of Valinor. I will cross the Ocean, go to the far west, and live forever in shining cities with my friends and my people. If Boromir had accepted what I wanted to give him, I would probably not even be alive. Who can say? The fact is, that it didn't happen that way. It happened very differently, and I wanted a record of it, how it really happened. I must go, now. My friend, Gimli, is calling for me. The last boat away from Middle Earth to Valinor is about to depart.

Please, if you have found this tome and are reading it, do not forget my words. Keep them in your heart, because as long as one person remembers what I have written, it will never truly fade and die As long as someone has read this, and knows the truth, then Boromir will never truly fade from this world.
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