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Boromir took in his surroundings. High ceilings towered over him and seemed to be made of the night sky. Tall columns held up the arched roof and appeared to be shifting whenever he moved. Somehow, it reminded him of the throne room of the Citadel, and yet the two halls could not be any more different. But what similarities there were brought him comfort. He knew where he was. He had learned about the Halls of Mandos in his lessons and heard Faramir speak of it. He hadn’t paid much attention to it, because survival and living to fight another day were at the forefront of his mind instead of where Men went after death. Wondering about it did him no good on the battlefield or in strategy meetings.

He knew he was dead. Now what?

There was a voice speaking to him. Where it came from and who was speaking, he did not know. It seemed to come from everywhere inside the hall while at the same time originating from a distant place. The language was unknown to him. It sounded neither Elvish or like the tongues of Men.

A beam of light shone from between the columns to his left where a door materialized. On the opposite side, another door appeared.

“Thou must be judged for thy choices madest in life.” Boromir looked around, still unable to find the speaker. “The doorway to the left will showest the actions which led thou to the Halls of Mandos. The door to the right will showest events which have yet to come to pass. Before gazing into the future, thou must reflect upon the past.”

Boromir frowned. So, in order to see what was going to happen, he had to relive all of his past mistakes. Wonderful.

“Very well,” he said quietly before stepping towards the first door.

The door rippled like water for a moment. It faded to nothing, and where it once stood, images shifted. Familiar images, some he had forgotten, and others he had no recollection of, at all. His past liaisons with women whose names he no longer remembered or nights he spent with his brothers-in-arms getting inebriated when he was younger and more foolish. He also saw things that did not seem sinful enough to warrant a feeling of regret or a desire to repent. Some of the many battles he fought in, both as a foot soldier and as a commander and eventually as Captain-General. His determination to ride to Imladris in order to protect Faramir from the perils of the road. The Council of Elrond and his initial distrust of the Ranger who claimed to be the Heir of Isildur and to possess the Sword of Elendil. His questioning of Gandalf’s decisions about their chosen path. What he was gathering from all of this so far was that he was doomed because he had done his duty to his country and had dared to question this stranger who claimed to be his king and the Wizard’s logic in entering places he had heard only negative rumors about since childhood.

He winced when he watched himself throw stones into the pool and awaken the Watcher in the Water. He couldn’t deny that it was not one of his greatest moments.

Boromir witnessed his darkening mood and growing uneasiness during the month they were idle in Lothlórien. Was it so bad a thing to be worried for his country? While they remained in Lothlórien, safe and protected from the servants of the Enemy, his people could already be dead and his city razed to the ground. He still did not know the state of his country, even after losing his life. He looked away and turned toward the other door. Perhaps his answers were there.

The door remained shut to him. Apparently, there was more for him to see, though it seemed pointless, since he had lived them.

He turned back and watched the three small boats on the Anduin. His agitation and nervousness had worsened, and even Merry and Pippin were aware of it. A few times, he quickened his pace and brought their boat up to collide with the boat carrying Aragorn, Sam, and Frodo. The anxiousness in Frodo’s face made his stomach clench. He knew it was because of the Ring, but it did him little good, now. Maybe if he had realized back then what the Ring was doing to him, things might have gone differently. Perhaps he would not have ended up here.

His shame only grew as the images continued to shift. He could not deny that he tended to be stubborn, determined, and impatient when it came to an objective that he had taken upon himself to fulfil. But his eagerness to have the Ring was something different. He did not recognize himself, and it appeared as though a fell spirit had taken control of him and some of its likeness had shown in his own features. He was fearful of himself.

Frodo had shown more courage than he would have. Frodo also had known that his actions and words were not his own. The Ring was twisting his words and making him act in a way that was unlike him. He never would have said those things under normal circumstances, nor would he have threatened or assaulted someone he’d promised to protect. He had done something unforgivable.

He did not want to look anymore. He had seen enough. But the voice’s words repeated in his mind. If he wished to know the fate of his city and countrymen, he had to push on. He was not one to give up so easily. At least, he hadn’t been when he was alive.

As he continued to watch, he felt a wave of emotion at the bravery of Merry and Pippin. He had been so focused on cutting down every Orc who challenged him, that he had not realized the two Hobbits were also fighting. They threw stones at enemies with perfect accuracy and used their blades, just as he had taught them. His face flushed with shame when he watched himself fall to his knees after the third arrow struck and Merry and Pippin let out a cry as they made a desperate charge. He should have protected them, not the other way around. And he had failed. Their small hands reached for him as they were carried off, but he did not move.

“Get up! Don’t just sit there, go after them!” Why was he shouting? It was not as if anyone could hear him, nor would it have changed anything.

Aragorn appeared, finding him surrounded by fallen foes and discarded weapons, and his sword broken at the hilt. The Horn of Gondor, carried by his forefathers for generations, lay broken in two at his side. He confessed what he had done. Aragorn was understanding. Why was he not angry? Why did he not berate him and leave him to die?

“You have conquered. Few have gained such a victory,” Aragorn said. Victory? He had seen no victory. Only the evidence of his failure. “Be at peace! Minas Tirith shall not fall!”

And then Boromir watched his own lips curve into a smile. He had seen, as his spirit left him, a change in Aragorn. You may rest easy. I will take it from here.

Boromir’s eyes burned with unshed tears that he fought to keep at bay, and his chest swelled with gratitude. He had carried the weight of duty upon his shoulders for so long. Never would he have thought that the Ranger he met four months ago would take up the mantle of protecting Gondor when he no longer could. Did Aragorn succeed? Did Minas Tirith still stand?

“Thou hast seen where thou hast erred and hast known remorse for thy sins,” the voice from before spoke again. “Thou shalt judge thyself before thou art judged by thee.”

Great. Now that he had seen all of his worst moments, he had to judge his actions before this disembodied voice did? When was he going to get to look inside the other door?

“I am not sure what I am expected to say. That I deserve damnation for something that all mortals do at some point in their lives? Or that I deserve redemption because my actions were not as evil as what others have done? All I do know is that I did wrong by my friends, and I did not live up to the expectations of my countrymen and the great Men who came before me. I was not strong enough to resist the Ring, and though I only sought its power in order to protect my home, I broke the Ring-bearer’s trust and caused our Fellowship to break apart. I was not strong enough to protect Merry and Pippin from capture. And I was not strong enough to save Gondor.”

Boromir waited for a reply. He was unsure of how long it was before the voice spoke again, because time seemed to move slower in this place, if at all. The silence lasted for what felt like an Age, and yet the voice startled him as though he had not expected it.

“Thou hast delivered thy judgment of thyself. Now, thou shalt await judgment from thee.” Boromir’s scowl deepened further. This phantom voice was just repeating itself, and it was grating on his nerves. There had to be a faster way to do this. “Thou shalt receive all the Gifts of Men bestowed by The One, Eru Ilúvatar and shalt be spared from the Doom given to Men with evil hearts.”

So, what did that mean? It sounded like it was good news. He probably should have paid more attention during his lessons. He could picture Faramir’s frown of disapproval about his aloofness towards his lessons. He also imagined Faramir elbowing him for being rude and breaking etiquette.

“Thank you,” he blurted. That was the right thing to do, wasn’t it? He assumed his fate was determined by this invisible person, so he ought to be polite.

“Thou hast earned the right to bear witness to events yet to come.”

Boromir had to hold himself back from charging at the door as a light appeared to his right. He was not the most patient person, in life and apparently in death. But he had learned the hard way that rushing into things was more costly than waiting for a better opportunity.

He took his time approaching the door, though every muscle in his body was tight. A few seconds passed before the door rippled. He witnessed Merry and Pippin’s escape from their captors, their brief reunion with Gandalf, and their alliance with the Ents of Fangorn in destroying Saruman’s fortress and bringing his evil works to a permanent halt.

He watched Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli pursue the Orcs with unbelievable speed and stamina. They came upon the Rohirrim, led by Éomer, who informed them that the Orcs they sought had been slain in the night and their corpses burned. Aragorn felt despair for their friends, until he discovered signs that they had gotten away, and his search led him to Fangorn. The trio came upon Gandalf, who accompanied them to Edoras, where he used his new power to free Théoden King’s mind from the thrall of Saruman and his servant. Wormtongue was banished from Rohan, and the old man who had dwelt in shadow for years stood tall and strong again. But all was not well, for Prince Théodred had been slain, only a day before he had fallen. Boromir wondered if Théodred had been here, as well. But surely Théodred would have had nothing to repent for. Boromir remembered Théodred as being more level-headed and patient than he. A true Prince.

Following the burial of Théodred, news came that Saruman’s forces, comprised of his Orcs and bands of Dunlendings, were marching from Isengard. Gandalf left to find Erkenbrand and his éored while the rest of the Men of the Mark rode for Helm’s Deep. With Aragorn’s leadership and Erkenbrand’s timely aid, the siege of the Hornburg was broken. The following day, the four members of the Fellowship reunited with Merry and Pippin in Isengard. Boromir smiled with pride at how much the two troublemakers had grown. So, when Pippin picked up the Orthanc Stone, he wanted nothing more than to thump the Hobbit on the head. Some things never changed, it seemed.

If one good thing came out of Pippin’s foolishness, it was that Boromir learned Minas Tirith still stood. Gandalf and Pippin departed to warn Denethor about the Enemy’s plans, and a few days later, Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas, and a company of Rangers entered the Paths of the Dead. Drawing the reforged sword of Elendil, now named Anduril, Aragorn earned the alliance of the Oath Breakers, and with their aid defeated the approaching Corsairs.

The scene shifted again to Merry, who was upset that he could not go to Gondor with the rest of the Rohirrim. But a rider called Dernhelm said he need not stay behind. They remained together and hid from the king’s gaze, before at last the Rohirrim arrived at the Pelennor Fields, where the Enemy’s massive forces had already inflicted great damage.

Boromir felt gooseflesh prickle on his arms when the Lord of the Nazgûl came, recalling a similar specter that had tormented his men in Osgiliath. As Théoden King lay trapped underneath his horse, the youth Dernhelm appeared and challenged the figure crowned in darkness. The Nazgûl laughed, claiming that he could not be slain by any man. Dernhelm laughed in return and removed his helmet, and it was Éowyn! Merry was there, as well, and he delivered the first blow to that incapacitated the Black Captain, destroying his blade in the process. Éowyn finished him off, and the feared foe of Gondor perished with a monstrous shriek. Succumbing to their wounds, Merry and Éowyn fell upon the field, and were both brought to the Houses of Healing, where Aragorn, having arrived in the stolen ships of the Corsairs, healed them.

The scene shifted once more. Faramir and his Rangers came upon Frodo and Sam and brought them to a hidden cave in Ithilien. He questioned them of their business and, after learning that they had been traveling with him, probed for news or information about his death. They were surprised to hear of it, and Frodo seemed saddened by the news. Following more questioning, in the process learning about the Ring which Frodo carried, Faramir allowed his cold façade to lower a bit, and he gave them food and a bed to rest. Gollum was discovered nearby and brought to Frodo, who claimed him as their guide. Faramir let them go, though reluctantly, for he did not trust that Gollum had good intentions.

Faramir returned to Minas Tirith, where he was rescued by Gandalf and Pippin from swarming Nazgûl. Faramir, upon seeing Pippin, revealed that he had seen Frodo and Sam. He then reported to their father, who had no words of praise to give him. Denethor ordered Faramir to retake Osgiliath from the Orcs that had captured it. He held it for three days before he ordered a retreat. Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth rode to his aid, providing a cover from the enemy’s attacks, and Faramir, having been wounded by a Southron dart, was brought to Denethor. Pippin, who had offered to serve Denethor as repayment for Boromir’s death, encouraged his lord to seek a healer or Gandalf, for Faramir still lived.

Two days later, the city was besieged, and Denethor ordered a funeral pyre for his only remaining son. Boromir’s breathing quickened and his heart thrashed against his chest, as though it was attempting to break through his ribs. Was Faramir dead? Pippin did not seem to think so, but his father had sent him from his side.

Pippin sought help from Beregond, the Guard of the Citadel, who refused to leave his post. But after hearing that Faramir was about to be burned alive under Denethor’s orders, the man, who had long admired Faramir, chose to rescue his friend. Beregond struck down the porter at the gate to the Silent Street and slayed two of Denethor’s servants before Gandalf, with Pippin in tow, appeared and called for peace. The Wizard failed to reason with Denethor, who chose to take his own life and leave the city to its fate, and set the pyre aflame. Denethor was subdued by Gandalf while Pippin saved Faramir from the flames, but in the end, the Steward saw no future for Minas Tirith and fell upon the pyre, clutching the Anor Stone to his chest.

Boromir felt as though he would vomit, but he never did. Perhaps the dead did not experience queasiness.

Faramir was safe and alive. His father was not.

He rubbed a hand tiredly over his face. He knew there was more to see, but he wished there was a way to seek a short respite.

Boromir watched reluctantly as an image of Aragorn healing Faramir, just as he had done for Merry and Éowyn. Though he was healed in body, a shadow had fallen upon Faramir. He had lost his brother and his father, and now he was responsible for ruling the city, until Aragorn came into his own.

A meeting of the Lords of the West was held, and it was decided that a small force would ride to the Black Gate with the objective of drawing the Enemy’s gaze while Frodo and Sam drew closer to Mount Doom. Under the leadership of Gandalf, Aragorn, Éomer King, and Prince Imrahil, seven thousand men left through the city gates.

As someone who was no stranger to warfare, Boromir knew that seven thousand was not nearly enough; his dread grew when one thousand of the fainthearted split off and went to retake Cair Andros. Six thousand remained.

He couldn’t bear to watch. They were going to be slaughtered. There would be no triumphant return of the line of kings, after the throne had sat empty for nearly a millennium. Éomer would be killed before he had a chance to be the king of his people. Legolas and Gimli would never return to their homes. Pippin would die while Merry still remained in the Houses of Healing, awaiting his return.

Just as the battle was about to begin, the images shifted. Frodo and Sam followed Gollum into a cave, where the great spider Shelob lay in wait. Gollum fled when Shelob appeared. Frodo was stung by the spider and carried away by a pair of Orcs from the dark tower. Sam wounded the spider with Frodo’s blade and chased it away with the crystal vial that Galadriel had gifted to Frodo in Lórien. Sam pursued the Orcs and was able to get to Frodo. Boromir didn’t even notice the smile on his lips as he witnessed Sam’s fierce loyalty. All of the Hobbits had grown braver and stronger on the journey, unrecognizable compared to the Hobbits he met in Rivendell.

They continued onward, wearing armor of the servants of Sauron and infiltrating a force of Orcs that were marching for the Black Gate. After slipping away, they discarded their disguises and reached the foot of the volcano. The flashes of lightning and occasional balls of flame that fell from the sky illuminated the shadows upon their faces. The journey had slowly eaten away at them. Sam’s clothes hung loosely on his thinner frame. Frodo’s face was gaunt and his eyes lifeless.

When Frodo collapsed, Sam lifted him onto his shoulders and began to carry him. Not once had Sam faltered, always making sure that Frodo was alright. Sam would never give up on Frodo, even when Frodo had given up on himself.

Boromir’s lip curled when Gollum took them by surprise and attempted to take the Ring, and his initial anger morphed into shame as he was reminded of his own actions. In his mind, he knew that he was not like Gollum; he hadn’t wanted the Ring for himself, but for his country’s survival. But his heart seemed to shrivel at the similarities in their methods. Both he and Gollum had attacked Frodo, and there was no knowing how far they would have gone had they not been stopped—by Frodo’s disappearance and Sam’s intervention.

Frodo made it into Mount Doom. He had made it to the end. But in the end, he, too, fell to the Ring. He claimed it as his own and slipped it onto his finger, drawing Sauron’s gaze from the army before his gates.

Gollum wrestled with Frodo, teetering over the ledge, and bit off the finger the bore the Ring. Frodo became visible again and held his bleeding hand to his chest. But even through the pain, the Hobbit’s desire for the Ring brought him to his feet. They struggled for a few seconds more before vanishing over the edge. Gollum plummeted into the lava with the Ring, and Frodo held on. Sam pleaded with Frodo not to let go, having seen the gaze of a person who had given up in Frodo’s eyes. Frodo extended his wounded hand. Sam struggled to keep a solid grip, his fingers slipping in blood. But Frodo realized he wanted to live, and he used whatever shreds of strength he had left to pull himself up, with Sam’s help.

The volcano began to tremble and bubble. Sauron’s last tether to this world had been destroyed. Frodo, Sam, and the Free Peoples of Middle-earth had conquered. Gondor was saved.

A sob tore from Boromir’s throat as he fell to his knees. Gondor was saved. Minas Tirith was saved. And it had been through the efforts of many. Far too late, he had realized that no one man could have done it alone. If he had understood this sooner, would he still be alive?

The next scene that appeared was in the Houses of Healing. Éowyn stood beside Faramir, and the way they spoke to each other indicated that they had spent a lot of time together. About her shoulders was wrapped a dark blue mantle with white stars, which Boromir recognized as the one that had belonged to their mother. Faramir gazed at her with a fondness that Boromir had never seen his brother express before. Tears sprung to his eyes once more as he continued to watch them. These two people who had suffered so much loss in their short lives had found healing in each other. When Faramir kissed Éowyn upon the walls of the city, Boromir regretted that he could not be there to wish them well. Though he witnessed the beginning of their love story from afar, he would miss far more of it. He would not be there to see his brother wed. He would not be there to see his brother become a father. He would not be there to see them grow old together and grow old, himself.

The scene changed once more, appearing to be several weeks later, for the women and children who had been evacuated returned, and people from other parts of Gondor seemed to have come to the city. Aragorn rode through the streets up to the seventh circle, where he was crowned. He and Éomer renewed the Oaths of Cirion and Eorl. Faramir took up the Rod of the Steward and was named Prince of Ithilien. Éowyn was there, looking the happiest Boromir had seen her. Gandalf and Gimli and Legolas were there. Frodo and Sam, no longer bearing the scars of their journey—save for a missing finger on Frodo’s hand—stood beside Merry and Pippin, who were each dressed in the colors of The Mark and of Gondor, respectively. They were honored, not just by Aragorn and the rest of the Fellowship, but by all who were in attendance. The Shire would not be an unknown place much longer, and the names of these four unlikely heroes would be remembered for generations to come.

Time passed, and the White Tree was cut down. In its place, a sapling that Aragorn had discovered on Mount Mindolluin was planted. Soon, it grew, and its branches blossomed.

Ah, so that is what the White Tree used to look like, Boromir thought as he looked at the white flowers. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Weeks later, it was the place where Aragorn wed Arwen, the daughter of Elrond.

In August, Faramir and Éowyn were trothplighted in Edoras after Théoden King was buried. They married the following year, holding ceremonies in both Edoras and Ithilien. A few years later, they had a son named Elboron.

Boromir sniffled and blinked back tears. They named their son after him.

He reached out a hand towards the boy’s tiny head, pausing when he realized that he could not touch him. He then curved his hand slightly so that it circled the golden hair. A nephew he would never meet, but even so, he was grateful. It meant that even if his body resided far from Minas Tirith, his name would not be lost to memory. The line of the Stewards would endure… in Faramir and in Elboron. So, too, would the peace that had come to Gondor, at last.

The final thing Boromir saw before the door closed was the birth of Pippin and his wife Diamond’s son—Faramir.