PartIII Chapter 7.1
Boromir with 
Iarwain Ben-adar in the Old Forest, QD9

[Poems expressed in the form of Tolkien’s Sigurd and Gudrun]



‘Welcome Boromir,’ said Tom smiling.

 ‘Iarwain Ben-adar?’

 ‘Tom, call me Tom.’

 ‘Alatar has sent me to your protection.’

 ‘Yes, Alatar believes I can protect you.  He does not realise that you solely have the power to protect yourself.’

 ‘Not against the forces of Saruman and Sauron.’

 ‘If that is what you believe.’

 ‘Can you make me believe differently?’

 ‘I cannot make anyone do anything.  If you believe it, then you can and will.  But I can show you how to believe.’

 ‘Then Iarwain Ben-adar…’

 ‘Tom, Boromir, Tom,’

 ‘Then I beseech you Tom, show me this magic way how.’

 ‘I will show you how, but it is not through alchemy but through understanding. You must reach into your spirit, into your very essence to find the way. Those who have come before you will mark your path; they are who you are, who and what you have been and will be. You are, as every living thing is, a culmination of your ancestry, you must reach beyond where you have travelled hither, and what is thought possible, to find these traces.  I am here to guide you to these revelations.  I am not the source of them, but the channel that will help you find your way to unlocking them yourself.’


A calmness of spirit came upon the first born of the Steward, and like never before, he felt their presence and heard the words, not uttered by Tom, but by them, and so his journey began; inspired, propelled and steered.  Through the Closed Door, Fen Hollen, to the Silent Street, Rath Dinen, he passed into, then beyond, the Houses of the Dead of Minas Tirith; he passed into the memories of those who were laid there to rest. 

Those of his ancient line from the House of Húrin, they showed him their lives, from Húrin of Emyn Armen, the ten unnamed, Pelendur, Vorondil the Hunter, Mardil Voronwë, Eradan, Herion, Belegorn, Húrin O, Túrin  I, Hador, Barahir, Dior, Denethor 1,  Boromir (his namesake), Cirion, Hallas, Húrin II,  Belecthor I, Orodreth, Ecthelion I, Egalmoth, Beren, Beregond, Belecthor II, Thorondir, Túrin II, Turgon, Ecthelion II, Denethor II (his sire), and from them, those who dwelt in hereafter ages,  with forthcoming spirits, the sages, nobles, virtuosos, the learned and the simple, the famous, infamous and unknowns of their times.  These future beings appeared to him (save his sire where no future appeared to lay), and from their words and lives he gleaned the meaning of man, the essence of life, the measure of being.  So it came to him – from his line...



You are encouraged to read through the poem and only later, if you wish or need, visit the links

Of noble lines 

of Númenórean blood

the Stewards began

in service of Kings

by acts of Hurin

of Emyn Arnen

a dynasty arose

to take dominion.


The House of Húrin

held the honour

from Mardil Voronwë

 an oath was vowed

to govern the lands

for absent Lords

‘til the return

of the true King.


Through many moons

of Middle-earth

the stewardship passed

with solemn service

to sons of Stewards

seeking sovereignty

hardening their hearts

to Elendil’s heritor.


Realms rose

as Stewards reigned

from Watchful Peace

 to world of war

for Denethor the First

came dire duress

as Mordor Uruks

marked all men.


From this carnage

 conflict continued

Sauron’s shadow

shrouding Gondor

with Dark confrere,

Corsairs of Umbar

he fell upon

the forces of man.


Valiantly men  

fought to vanquish

the doom and death 

as Dark descended;

an oath taken

by Cirion and Eorl

led to victory

as all looked lost.


Men were roused

rallied and raged

against Dark’s plague

of evil plunder

the line of Stewards

 leading the realm

‘til  Denethor the Second

sparred with Sauron.



Boromir was reeling at the visions of his line.  He had been told the stories of the battles of old with the armies of the Dark Lord, and relished hearing them as a youth, but now he was experiencing them as if he was there, was one of them.  He felt their fear, their determination, desperation, desires...and their despair. 


He had no concept of his time or space, he appeared engulfed in this world; the sights and encounters of his forebears, the sounds and smells of battle, blood and death;  he knew them well, but here he could not find release them.  He did not understand how this could be, but he did not question it... He was on some journey, he did not know of what or where, but he knew it was propelling him onward.  He felt the presence of others urging him to return to them; he wished for a reprieve to absorb it fully, but knew this could not be; so entranced, he continued... continued on to the Third Age of Middle-earth as if a witness to his world... and then to a world unknown.

The Fellowship “was gathered

on guarded heights

of doom and death

deep they pondered.”    

(Tolkien Sigurd and Gudrun)

to destroy The One 

 in depths of Doom

“they set to sail

on seas of” hope.     

(Tolkien Sigurd and Gudrun)


But as life is more than the struggles, the conflict with others, with enemies, allies, kith and kin; so the visions were of more. He perceived the triumphs and joys of his line; he journeyed their journeys and he felt as they felt, their passion and their delights.  From the seeming chaos of lives, separate and colliding, he perceived a pattern, a purpose...


From one era

 to the next eon,

a passing parade 

with life permeated

by the rhythm

and rites of being

the Stewards endured,

all save one.


New life from old

as night moves to day;

like waves of sea

and winds of winter,

as snow flakes fall

and seasons transform,

Bar when doomed

by darkheart’s hand.


A being’s end  

brought forth another,

the course of men

a constant flow

through towering triumphs 

and tortuous terrors

exposing the nature

and nurture of man.


Godly and godless

man grappled grimly

to   keep guard

of kith and kin,

facing death

and to freely kill

bypassing reason 

bounded by faith.


Wondrous yet flawed

a willful creation

a seething compound

of contrary traits

guided by selfhood

 selfish and selfless,

callously cruel

or caringly kind.


Midst and between

all manner of men

rose and rankled

rights of rule,

pure actions

and base artifice

wielding a way

 across all worlds.


Driven by lust

for learning and lore

from the vastness

of heaven’s vault,

to the monad

of matter and life,

so he strove

to understand, to subjugate.


A wild war

of wisdom and weakness

propelled man

down the path

across centuries  

and scattered shores

of creation, coup

and callous carnage.



So the kaleidoscope of events and visions, achievements with defeats,  developments alongside destruction, came upon Boromir; not random, not ordained, but the result of choices, variously wise and wicked, leading to an understanding of how man was flawed, but otherwise where would the greatest be.  He saw that the measure of man could not by deeds alone be judged, for there was much hidden in these of real intentions and will; in a blending of heart and mind,  a raging melding of the marvelous, magnanimous, monstrous and malicious. 


Boromir saw, understood, what Alatar feared; it was that the inner strength he blessed him with as that young child, would dissipate over time in, be depleted by the struggle with the evil of Saruman and Sauron.   But Boromir knew now, what Ben-adar had known but Alatar did not, that in the character of men, in the struggle with evil, rather than expend this strength, the struggle would make it grow. 


Tom came to Boromir engulfed in thought, he placed his hand upon his shoulder, and said:

‘You have seen it all Boromir, you understand the nature of your heritage, the nature of man, and the nature of your part in the history of Middle-earth.  Let me confirm for you what happened on that fateful day at Amon Hen when the malevolence of The Dark propelled you towards The One.  You resisted it nobly; for as it is written, so I saw.  For when Frodo was in a quandary of thoughts, he felt unfriendly eyes were upon him.  The eyes he felt were those Saruman, through you.  At that time if Saruman’s evil had overpowered you, you could have seized Frodo unprepared.  It would have been an easy undertaking for you to have overpowered him then.  However, instead Frodo found you, “smiling and kind”.  You tried to reason with him, to put your case for ‘borrowing’ the ring.  As your reasoning did not sway him, the villainous of connection with The Dark overcame you, slowly and insidiously.  Frodo saw this.  For he could see this baneful power overtake you, as you strode back and forth, struggling with the right of your reasoning and the baseness of just attacking him and taking The One by force.  If you had not engaged in this struggle but acted immediately, as Saruman’s force was so directing you, again Frodo would have not had the chance to put on The One and disappear. 

So you see Boromir, yes finally Saruman’s leverage overcame you and you tried to assail Frodo, but your inherent strength resisted this gallantly.  And when Frodo escaped, it was not the hate and vengeance of The Dark that you felt and expressed, but a sense of guilt and regret for your actions.  This you realised yourself, for did you not ask what madness overtook you and then passed?  Only a powerful and honourable spirit could have defended itself as you did from the forces of The Dark that engulfed you, as you now know, from the forging of the pact.   So Boromir, you should not carry the burden of guilt, or doubt of the honorableness of yourself or your line. ’


Boromir said nothing at first, reflecting on Tom’s perceptions of the happenings on that day, how different a light was now cast upon them, than the blackness of his guilt he felt as he died in Aragorn’s arms, doubting everything he once believed he was.  He took a long, gulping breath and asked:

‘And the doubt, Tom, surely this is also evil’s doing.’

‘Ah, doubt.  Hm, yes,’ Tom mused, ‘How that feeling can be seen in disparate lights.  For Sauron, he sees doubt as weakness and the tool of The Dark; however, he is deceived by his own fears.  Doubt is not that, unless it is let to consume all other motivations of life.  For doubt is the touchstone of truth.  Without it where would man’s measure of truth be?  Fear it not Boromir, for it will lead you to testing your beliefs.   Truth arises stronger in its testing.  You only need to know its measure, and see there is truth beyond,’ responded Tom softly and reassuringly, then stopped, as if caught by urgency, then continued in a pressing tone:

‘Boromir it is time for you to return to the Quest.  Take the revelations of your line with you.  One final piece of the Board I give you now.   All men are the outcome of the essence of those that came before.  In a spirit so formed, there are countless events which colour the being and make it what it is.  Most of these are not open to or recognised by the individual.  You are fortunate in that now you know that in the making a pact bound you to Dark’ssway.  That is part of who you are.   In the struggle of the seed that created you and this influence, you have become a valiant and virtuous man.  Even if I had the power to do so, I would not put the pact aside, for it would change who you are, nor should it be put aside for any other cause.  For the words that are written must be upheld otherwise...’Tom hesitated, but did not elaborate, he left unsaid the ominous consequences, embracing Boromir, he warm-heartedly concluded:

‘In any case, Boromir now have The Light’s and your answer; for you now have an understanding of the pact and yourself.’


And so it was, for Boromir understood, and feared it no longer.

As Tom’s words were spoken, a flush of amber rays from the burgeoning dawn fell upon the beings of the Wood, it cascaded through the windows of where they were standing, and in its golden glow Boromir travelled to The Light on time bestowed by his brother.