The unfortunate fact of life is that humanity is flawed.
Lovely way to start a post, isn’t that? But it’s true. Because of the Fall and original sin, every one of us makes mistakes every day.
And so when authors write, we seek to create characters as genuinely flawed as ourselves. As readers, that’s the kind of stories we look for as well. When we read of characters who have no flaws, we consider them ill-formed because really, they’re not how we are but how we want to be. That’s wishful thinking, not characters to whom we can relate—and we don’t like that.
So we—both readers and writers—look for characters like ourselves. We want to “live a thousand loves and love a thousand loves”, and we can only do that if we read, and read about characters with a bit of ourselves in them.
One of the (arguably, I admit, but I’ve never met anyone who disagrees) greatest authors of British Literature was J.R.R. Tolkien, and not just because of his impressive world-building skills. (Though those did, I’m sure, impact the situation.) Rather because of his ability to bring such human characters to life—even though more than half are not, in fact, human. This post will be exploring two in particular, two that stand out as being particularly flawed (and are curiously often disliked because of it) but in the end redeem themselves most nobly.
Let me introduce you to the first—Thorin Oakenshield, King Under The Mountain.
If you’re a Tolkien fan in any regard you’ve likely heard of Our Lad Thorin—the stubborn Dwarf king who undertook a perilous quest to reclaim his home (and gold) from the dragon Smaug. He’s known for his pride, his stubborn Dwarvish nature, and eventual fall to dragon-sickness. If ever there was a flawed character, he’d be it. Thorin has a wicked sense of humour, but feels the weight of duty and pride over any joy or friendship. He’s thoughtless, deliberately provoking, and harsh.
But he changes. At first for the good, for the tentative friendship Bilbo offers him works at his heart. Then for ill, when the dragon-sickness takes him. But then—again.
“Farewell, good thief,” he said. “I go now to the halls of waiting to sit beside my fathers, until the world is renewed. Since I leave now all gold and silver, and go where it is of little worth, I wish to part in friendship from you, and I would take back my words and deeds at the Gate.”
Bilbo knelt on one knee filled with sorrow. “Farewell, King under the Mountain!” he said. “This is a bitter adventure, if it must end so; and not a mountain of gold can amend it. Yet I am glad that I have shared in your perils—that has been more than any Baggins deserves.”
“No!” said Thorin. “There is more in you of good than you know, child of the kindly West. Some courage and some wisdom, blended in measure. If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world. But sad or merry, I must leave it now. Farewell!”
Thorin’s farewell to Bilbo is tragic, beautiful, and redemptive. Though he fell in the end, it was the only thing that made him realise what he had been doing—to himself, and to those around him. But whatever the cause, he did repent. And he departed with hope.
So also does another unsung hero depart—though not with hope as much as peace. Boromir, Son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor is his name, a man known for his greatness in deed of arms and valiance in defence of his country. He’s judgemental, rash, and hot-headed, but he’s also loyal and brave and true.
When Boromir is tempted by the Ring, it creeps into his heart and corrupts his soul. He’s willing to chase after Frodo and threaten harm upon him because of the havoc the evil has wreaked upon him.
But, like Thorin, he too changes.
A mile, maybe, from Parth Galen in a little glade not far from the lake he found Boromir. He was sitting with his back to a great tree, as if he was resting. But Aragorn saw that he was pierced with many black-feathered arrows; his sword was still in his hand, but it was broken near the hold; his horn cloven in two was at his side. Many Orcs lay slain, piled all about him and at his feet.
Aragorn knelt beside him. Boromir opened his eyes and strove to speak. At last slow words came. ‘I tried to take the Ring from Frodo,’ he said. ‘I am sorry. I have paid.’ His glance strayed to his fallen enemies; twenty at least lay there. ‘They have gone: the Halflings: the Orcs have taken them. I think they are not dead. Orcs bound them.’ He paused and his eyes closed wearily. After a moment he spoke again.
‘Farewell, Aragorn! Go to Minas Tirith and save my people! I have failed.’
‘No!’ said Aragorn, taking his hand and kissing his brow. ‘You have conquered. Few have gained such a victory. Be at peace! Minas Tirith shall not fall!’
Boromir smiled.
‘Which way did they go? Was Frodo there?’ said Aragorn.
But Boromir did not speak again.
Tolkien’s use of words is so poignant, so alive, it makes you feel as though you’re really there with Boromir, watching him fall, save Merry and Pippin, and redeem his greed with his life.
Tolkien shows us through these characters, these people who are so flawed, that yes, there is sin and sorrow and suffering, but there is also hope. Because despite all they did, there was redemption, and noble sacrifice, and a worthy end.
