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Chapter One: The Strange Behaviour of Captain Boromir
If you were to look for the little area of Rivendell
on the map, you would find it right on the river Loudwater,
a bit to the west of the Misty Mountains; but if you
were to ask Captain Boromir of Gondor what is this Imladris
before which he has just come, he would curse for a
while, and then tell you that it is the dirtiest hole
in all Middle Earth, even worse than Mines of Moria
and at least as damned as Mirkwood, or Angbad; that
the only--I beg your pardon--man who lives there--not
counting, of course, those lousy elves--is an immortal
half-elven, a cross between an elf and a man, and a
bigger thief, heathen, and swine than a pure elf and
a pure man put together; and if there is anything damned
in this world, then it is the damned life in this damned
Rivendell, sir. At that you would naturally inquire
why he had come here as if he intended to stay there
three damned days; and he would snort irritably, and
mutter something to the effect that the men of Gondor
wouldn't come here just for damned gold or even mithril,
that's common sense, and besides it's nothing to do
with you, sir; I have my damned orders, sir, and you'll
kindly mind your own business, sir. And he would curse
vehemently and freely as is in keeping with an older
but still for his age an active captain of Gondor.
But if instead of asking impertinent questions you let
Captain Boromir growl and curse away to himself, you
might discover more. Doesn't his manner show that he
wants to get something off his chest? Let him be, his
temper will work itself off. "Well, look here, sir,"
bursts out the captain. "Those fellers of ours there
in Gondor, those damned people down there will get it
into their heads, rings of power, they say, man, keep
your eyes open for rings of power. They say
"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 be waken,
And the Halfling forth shall stand."
People are like mad for rings of power, they say, and
all that." Here the captain expectorates indignantly.
"Just so, to put time into searching for rings! that
comes from people like you always wanting to have wars,
or whatnot. Flight from mithril, that's all it is. And
that's called the crisis, sir." Captain Boromir hesitates
a little, wondering if he oughtn't to begin a discussion
with you about problems of the coming war with Mordor;
for in these days people don't talk about anything else.
Here, however, in front of Rivendell it's too relaxing
and enervating for that; and Captain Boromir waves his
hand and mumbles: "You say rings! In Gondor, sir, they
cleared up the whole lot thousands of years and an age
ago; in Moria you're not allowed to look for them. And
so here we are, Captain Boromir, on the look-out for
new fishing-grounds. Travel to those damned little places;
maybe you'll find whole lot of rings of power there."
The captain blows contemptuously into a sky-blue handkerchief.
"Those rats in Gondor imagine that there's something
to be found here that nobody knows about yet! Elendil
and Isildur, what mugs they are! It's a wonder they
don't ask us to look into these halflings' snouts to
see if they're not snivelling rings. New places! There's
a new brothel in Bree, yes, but new places? Sir, I know
all these places here like the palm of my hand--from
Dunland as far as that damned Grey Havens... if anybody
thinks that he can still find something that he can
make money out of, then good luck to him, sir! For years
I've been around in these parts of the world, and now
these fellers want me to discover something here!" Captain
Boromir nearly chokes with this defiant statement. "Let
them send some young ranger of Gondor here, he'll find
things that'll make them blink their eyes; to ask someone
who knows the place like Captain Boromir... You'll grant
that, sir. In Gondor, there you might still come across
some odd thing; but here--don't people come here just
to sniff and nose out what can be devoured? and not
even devoured, what can be bought and sold? Sir, if
in the whole of the damned Arnor there was anything
worth a brass farthing, three dwarves would be trying
to get something out of it and signal with dirty handkerchiefs
to people of all the races of Middle Earth to stop."