Title: The Smithy
Theme: International Fanworks Day
Elements: Lord of the Rings - Boromir
Author's Notes: None
Summary: Young Boromir indulges in his passion.
Word Count: 433
Boromir stopped outside and slid down to sit beneath the window. He wasn’t hiding -- the blacksmith knew he was there; somehow he always did, regardless of whether Boromir stayed outside beneath the window or eventually entered the forge – but sometimes he just liked to listen for a while first; it brought a peace to his soul that was often hard to find elsewhere in these days since mother had… Boromir closed his eyes, banishing her from his thoughts and focusing instead on the music.
The sound was beautiful; he could imagine nothing else in the world that could sing so sweetly. He had not seen battle yet, of course, but Boromir could envision it when he heard the rhythmic clanging of metal on metal as a new sword was born.
He would be a great swordsman someday, he was certain of it; tales of his deeds would be told throughout the land – tales that rivaled those of even the greatest heroes old. That was his destiny. But… Sometimes, sitting here, he let himself dream of a different future…less glorious, perhaps, but no less important – for what was a swordsman without a sword.
A blacksmith’s life! That was the life he would live if he could, he thought. What could be better than taking a cold lump of iron and shaping into something with equal parts beautiful craftsmanship and deadly function?
A slow smile spread across his face as Boromir slipped inside the door. No longer content with listening, he wanted to see the spark of the hammerscale as the weapon took shape. It was magical – that process.
Boromir wondered, sometimes, if there were anything a smith could not create.
Aulë, the Great Smith, had forged the very mountains and seas of the world, and even the vessels of that carried the light of the sun and the moon. Aulë was a Vala, though; Boromir was but a Man. Yet… The blacksmith before him was but a Man, also, and yet this lump of metal he now hammered would soon be transformed into something so far beyond what it had been that there must surely be some magic possessed by all smiths. They surely could not be just Men like any other Men, Boromir decided. Perhaps that was why he was destined to be a swordsman, instead. Perhaps he was just a Man…
Boromir wilted a little with the thought, but then squared his shoulders. It may be that I am just a Man, he determined, but I shall be a great Man – one worthy of a sword wrought even by the like of Aulë, himself.