Author's note:  Many thanks to ErinRua for wonderful beta reading, and to Graceomyheart for the cross-trilogy detective work in sleuthing out how many horses Boromir must have gone through on his journey from Minas Tirith to Imladris. Also, thanks and bows to Shirebound for beta reading and the contribution of some fantastic ideas for improvement.

Please leave a review -- this is my first fic and I'd like to get your thoughts -- did you like it? Thanks, and may a star shine on our virtual meeting.

Disclaimer:  I write about these characters for the sheer joy of doing so. They are Tolkien's, not mine. 

One of my reviewers and I have been trading Texas jokes. Since we are reading about Boromir, and if you want a bit of fun before you start, you can read my thoughts about what might happen if Boromir ever visits the Lone Star State:

In Laredo: "Put up your hands and get in the back of the Border Patrol van."

In Houston: "Look, if you can't drive any faster than that, stay over in the right-hand lane and GET OUT OF MY WAY!"

In San Antonio: "OK, that's a large draft with those steak fajitas. Say, what country are you visiting here from?"

In Dallas: "Looky here, boy, you need ta git yerself a truck. You cain't haul nothin' in that rucksack there."

In Austin: "Dude, that chain mail is totally ill."

And last but not least, in Abilene: "Brother, have you been to church here lately?"

God bless, and be good now, y'all hear?

OK! On to the story! Time to get serious now--Boromir has arrived in Rivendell after an exhausting journey, and wonders how his beloved city of Minas Tirith can hold out until his return. The Council has just ended . . . here you go.

Preface --  The Council

At my father Denethor’s court, men sat in rows that were ordered by rank, and I always knew where the balance of power lay. But not here. At this Council, we sit in a loose circle, more by chance than plan it seems, and although I have now heard the others’ names and stories, I cannot determine their opinion of me or their degree of concern for Gondor. To be honest, I am not even sure if I am safe in this Elvish stronghold.

And beyond these anxieties, I am weary to my bones from last night’s long ride, coming after months of wandering roads long forgotten. I can feel my fatigue in my slowness of thought, my reluctance even to stir from where I sit. Only yesterday morning I had been exhausted, lost beyond hope, and I had made up my mind to turn around and ride back empty handed to Gondor, finally admitting defeat.  Yet now here I sit, in Imladris, taking part in a Council that will determine the fate of my City.

I have tried to speak strongly for the sake of my people this morning, but I am afraid that I have already lost ground among these folk. I have not immediately gained possession of the Ring, although my dream leads me to believe that I will do so eventually. The dark-haired Halfling who now carries it looks pale and worn, and he seems altogether at the end of his strength. These people must know nothing of a Nazgul wound. His recovery will be slow and painful, if indeed it comes at all. I am certain that my fate is to help him with his burden. He and I must speak together of it, sometime when we are in private . . .

Now I must gather myself, no matter how weary, and fight again for Gondor, although in a more covert fashion than I am used to. I push myself to my feet as Elrond closes the meeting and invites all of us to the noon meal. Elves and Dwarves rise and drift into groups along the spacious portico, no doubt forming their own plans to take possession of the Ring. How can I begin to lay mine? I look first for Frodo, then for Aragorn, the only other Man I have seen this morning, and the only other person here who might care for Gondor’s plight. I can see neither, because of the crowd that has gathered now around the Ringbearer.

“Ah, Boromir. You must be weary. Are you off to rest, or will you join Elrond and myself for luncheon first?” Mithrandir is standing in front of me, all courtesy as he speaks. This is encouraging—an invitation to Elrond’s table is certainly a good sign for me—but I catch sight of Aragorn and the Halfling, and my acceptance stops in my throat.

Aragorn is escorting the Ringbearer and the other two little folk to a side door out of the East Porch. That is where I should be . . . the Ranger is on close terms with the Halflings and can help me plead my cause. I make as if to follow them, but Mithrandir is still in my path, and then I see Aragorn suddenly catch up the Ringbearer into his arms and carry him out, the other two close on his heels. I wonder if the little one has fainted or is gravely ill . . . Mithrandir is still talking to me. I turn my attention back to him, obediently falling in at his side as he takes my arm and guides me to the dining hall. Twice this morning, It has slipped away from my grasp. But the end has not yet been decided, I remind myself. There is time, and chance will come again.

Chapter 2 – Hobbit Company

Morning light shone through the open balcony into my bedroom, but I was still abed, luxuriating in the feel of a soft mattress. I rolled over and closed my eyes, stretching and snuggling. This was surely the most comfortable bed I had ever slept in, and I should stay here all day . . . I caught my own thought and laughed at myself a little. I had been in the wild too long, was all. When I was led to this room yesterday and found a hot bath and a bed waiting, I had lost no time in thanking my Elf guide and showing him back out into the hall. After the bath, I had gone straight to the bed, not caring that I missed the feast and entertainment planned in the Council’s honor that night. I decided to sleep a little longer  . . .

But old habits die hard, and I was soon up and readying myself for the day, brushing the worst of the travel dirt from my surcoat and trying to decide about my sword. Should I gird it on today, or not? Some of the dwarves had worn ornamented long knives yesterday, and Aragorn had been armed, but his sword had proved to be more of an heirloom than an actual weapon. I could not recall seeing any Elf here girt with a sword. In the end, I belted on only my long knife, and hoped that I was not playing the fool to go so lightly armed.

I did not trust the Elves. They were fair of speech but cool to my advances of friendship, or even conversation. The three who had led me to Rivendell and escorted me about had been courteous but remote, and seemed just as likely to put an arrow through my throat, or throw me in prison, as to help me. Mithrandir, whom I knew from his visits to Minas Tirith, seemed almost an old friend now by comparison, and yet I did not trust him either. These Elves and half-Elves and wizards might see themselves as wise, but I judged them to be timid, hiding away and holding long councils in this secret valley while Men fought the enemy in the South.

Birdsong and Elvish voices drifted up from the gardens below my room’s balcony, and I felt a pang of guilt as I thought of Faramir. How he would have loved this! But perhaps he would have been too easily misled by the Elves, if he had been the one to seek the meaning of the dream. I slipped a razor-thin knife into a special fold inside my boot and went in search of breakfast.

I found the dining hall again with no trouble, and at this late hour it was almost deserted. Most of the tables were clean and empty, but at the far end, close to the kitchens, a noisy group was rising from a table laden with crockery and platters of food. I tentatively walked in their direction.

The group turned out to be made of Dwarves and Halflings. I recognized Glóin by his snow-white hair and beard.

“Good morrow, Lord Glóin,” I greeted him. Even at this time of day, he was glittering with diamonds and gold. All the Dwarves wore superb coats of mail, studded with gold and jewels. The mail looked quite serviceable despite the embellishment. They must be braggarts, or warlike, or both, I thought.

“And a most pleasant day to you also, ah . . .” Glóin hesitated, “ . . .  Boromir. How do you like Rivendell?”

“Very well, thank you,” I replied.

“Well, very good then!” Glóin was already walking away. “We are going to the stables to check on our ponies. Then we are off to see what kind of armory the Elves maintain. Good day to you now, and we will look for you again later. Enjoy your breakfast, sir!” All the Dwarves trooped off.

I looked back at the table, where two Halflings were busy loading up trays with plates of food.  The larger one was admonishing the smaller about the order of plates and cups, rearranging the trays for better balance. They suddenly became aware of my gaze and stopped what they were doing. The two little folk turned around and bowed politely.

“Good morning, sir,” the smaller one said to me as he rose from his bow. “I am Peregrin Took, and this is Samwise Gamgee.” They were both crowned with curly brown hair, and looked at me with bright curious eyes. I recognized the larger one as the Ringbearer’s companion from yesterday.

“We are visitors here from the Shire,” Peregrin Took continued by way of introduction. “Are you hungry, and have you eaten yet? There is plenty of food, and the cooks will make more for you, if you want. The bacon is absolutely first-rate. I hate to leave it here uneaten, but we are fetching breakfast to our friends upstairs, and we have already taken as much as we can carry! Will you sit down?”

I laughed, for the first time in months it seemed, and my heart warmed to his good humor. “Thank you very much, and I think I will. I am Boromir, son of Denethor of Gondor, and I am still finding my way about here. Has everyone else eaten already? I had hoped for some company, to tell you the truth.” I felt a little awkward, looming so high over them, and I sat down so we could see each other better.

The two exchanged glances. “We would be happy to stay and keep you company, sir, but we want to fetch breakfast upstairs, and if we don’t go now it won’t keep hot,” the larger one said very seriously to me.

“Of course. Please, do not wait on courtesy,” I said, smiling to show that I understood the importance of a hot breakfast. He was undoubtedly taking a meal to Frodo, and perhaps to the older Halfling too. Peregrin and Samwise hoisted up their well-laden trays. I looked at the amount of food they carried and curiosity got the better of me.  “How many are you feeding, then?” I asked.

“At last count, three hobbits, but you never know who is going to drop in and want a bite, so we always take as much as we can,” the younger one told me with a delightful grin. “Gandalf has quite an appetite if you catch him at the right moment! But, you know, we will be back here at noon. Won’t you join us for luncheon? The food is here absolutely wonderful. We are friends with the cooks, and they are making meat pies and berry tarts for the next meal. Do come for lunch, and then we will keep you company longer.”

I grinned back at him. It was impossible to refuse such an earnest invitation. “Thank you, Peregrin and Samwise. I shall certainly join you. Please, don’t wait any longer. I will see you again at noon.” They bowed again, not as deeply this time in order not to tilt their trays, and hurried away, leaving me to a fine supply of hearty breakfast. I was suddenly hungry, and made up my mind to follow the Dwarves to the stable and the armory, just as soon as I had my fill of fresh bread and Peregrin’s bacon.

Chapter 3 – The Elder Master of Bag End

The food was excellent, and I strode with enthusiasm back to the dining hall when the noon bell rang. Visiting the armory here had been worth al the toil of my journey of four hundred leagues. I had only seen a part of it as yet, but I had met several Elves who had spoken with me long about their weaponry and metalwork, and one of their training masters had bid me to come back after luncheon and spar with him. For the moment, I had no fear of being thrown into an Elvish dungeon. I entered the hall with a light heart and looked around.

Elrond sat at his long table at the head of the hall, with his twin sons and several other Elves around him. They were deep in close discussion. I did not want to approach them uninvited, but still, I hoped for some notice of myself from that group today. My father expected me to establish myself with the lords of Imladris. I suddenly felt the weight of my former cares return.

I looked next for Aragorn, but someone called my name. “Boromir! Here we are! We saved a place for you!” a voice was saying to my waist. I smiled as I looked down and saw Peregrin Took beckoning me towards a well-stocked table with a variety of chairs, benches and stools pulled around it. Dwarves and Halflings were again in noisy company, pulling up seats and filling plates with food. I was torn, wanting to join them, but keenly aware that this was the last table in the hall, the furthest from Elrond’s, and the closest to the kitchen. In my father’s dining hall, the tables by the kitchen were reserved for servants, and my brother and I had never once been seated there. Altogether, this group seemed boisterous rather than dignified. I hesitated, but after all this was Rivendell, not Minas Tirith, and no one here seemed to stand much on rank.  The only other choice was to sit with Elves I did not know, so I followed Peregrin, taking a chair in the midst of the group and next to my little acquaintance.

“Ah, Boromir! Welcome, welcome! Have you found your way around here all right today? Marvelous place, isn’t it? Bilbo Baggins, formerly of Bag End, at your service, in case you don’t remember my name from yesterday.” The grey-haired Halfling rose rather stiffly and bowed to me, followed by the other three. “Quite a few new faces there, to keep the names all in order, don’t you think? Now, I hear that you met Peregrin and Samwise this morning”— these two gave another bow and sat down — “and this is our dear cousin Meriadoc Brandybuck.”  I received another bow from yet another curly-haired Halfling. “And of course you have met my great friend Glóin already.” Glóin, sitting next to Bilbo, nodded and grunted at me as he continued filling his plate. “We are honored to have you join us. Lads, this is Boromir, son of the Steward of Gondor, who has traveled here alone from far in the south. Peregrin, won’t you bring him something to drink?”

“What would you like to drink, Boromir?” Peregrin asked politely. “Do you take tea with your lunch? Or wine? We can get you almost anything you want, I think.” I looked to see what the rest of the company was drinking. To my surprise, every one of them was drinking ale. I felt my mouth water. Ale!

Bilbo and the Dwarf seated closest to me laughed. I must have spoken the word out loud. “Yes, we have ale,” rumbled the Dwarf. “We’ve brought our own, and we keep the barrels in the kitchen to have them handy for dining. No need to worry about running low. Elves don’t care for ale and these few hobbits can hardly keep pace with all of us! Plenty for you if you like ale! Pippin, fetch him a draw!”

“Just a half, please, with plenty of water beside,” I called after Peregrin, who was heading into the kitchen. “I am going back to the armory for a little sword play after the meal, and I would not have my feet slowed by too much ale at lunch,” I explained to the curious faces about me. “But we will see if Gondor can keep pace with you tonight, if you are in need of a challenge!” 

The Dwarves roared with laughter and the one next to me slapped my back. “Olín son of Ori, at your service,” he growled at me before turning back to his meal. I laughed too, and reached for a platter, as light at heart as I used to feel as a youth out on bivouac with the older men, years ago when Ithilien was still sweet and green, before the sorties turned deadly against us.

Peregrin and Meriadoc were looking at me with a mixture of curiosity and concern on their faces. “You really traveled here all alone? However did you make it? Were you safe?” the Halfling named Meriadoc asked.

 “Weren’t you terribly lonely?” added Peregrin.

“What was your route, and what happened along your way?” Bilbo asked at almost the same moment. I launched into a description of my journey and its many troubles. I had lost my first horse even before I reached Edoras, and lost my second at the fording of the Greyflood near Tharbad. The trip across the unknown Northerland had been difficult, but some of my mishaps seemed a little funny to me now that the danger was over. My audience listened intently, and I swelled a little in the warmth of their attention. The trip had been long, and there had been no one to tell of it, until now.

“Well, you must always come and spend time with us, then, since you are here all by yourself,” Bilbo said when I finally finished my tale. “We adventurers must stick together. The company of the Elves is very fine, but it’s a little much to be so high and serious all the time, you know, and we have the most fun here where we are close to the food and ale. Boromir, you must have another pie. Surely you are going to eat more than that?”

I thanked him with complete sincerity for his solicitude, but I begged off eating more, claiming my match to come that afternoon as a reason to eat lightly now.  I must own, though, that I was truly as full as I could wish to be.

I discreetly glanced around the table. Olín wore a ruby the size of my thumbnail on a thick gold chain around his neck. I had to force myself to look away and not gawk at it. Every Dwarf wore finery worth a king’s ransom, or the price of supplying an army for a long time. Were they warlike? Did they know about our struggle in the South? I looked down at the mug in my hands for a while, and considered what it might mean to have Dwarves for allies.

I looked up to find that Bilbo had finished his meal and was pouring himself a cup of tea. Another potential ally was also on my mind. “How fares your nephew today?” I asked him. “I hope his wound is not bothering him?”

Bilbo’s eyes brightened and he smiled at the mention of Frodo. “Ah, so good of you to ask. No, no, the dear lad is quite on the mend. In bed today by Elrond’s orders, I’m afraid. Gandalf is keeping with him for the moment while we eat. But he’ll be up and about soon, tomorrow most likely. A little sleep does a great cure in the house of Elrond, as I found out myself years ago. You just can’t stay under the weather here too long, have you noticed? There’s an air about the place that makes you feel wonderful no matter what is going on out in the rest of the world. Best place possible for my Frodo to be. I am going upstairs just now, in fact, to keep him company. Samwise, let’s take up something to eat with us, in case we get hungry later. The Elves will bring tea, but they don’t know how much we like these berry tarts! And bring enough for Gandalf too!”

Samwise, who had tucked away a surprising quantity of meat pies, cheese, and ale during the meal, procured a tray and started filling it with the remaining tarts. Bilbo went to help him, so I rose also and thanked them all for their company and bid them good day. Peregrin and Meriadoc whispered between themselves for a moment, and then stood up and looked at me. Meriadoc cleared his throat.

“Ah, Boromir, would you mind if we came with you?” he asked. “We have never seen a sword fight, not between two regular people anyway, and we would very much like to see one. We should probably learn a bit about swords and all, now that we are out here away from the Shire.”

I was touched by his sincerity. “I would be honored, Master Meriadoc,” I replied. “Please do come. I will introduce you to the armory-master, and I am sure that he teach you all that you wish to learn. Do you not have swords of your own, then?” I asked with sudden concern, wondering if there would be any here to fit their small stature.

“Yes, we do! Merry, let’s run and fetch those blades we got in the barrow-mound,” Peregrin said. “One moment, Boromir, and we’ll be ready! Thank you!”  The two of them scurried off.

“Don’t hurry overmuch!” I called after them. It would not do for a novice to slip and fall while running with a blade. “I must go and fetch my own as well.”

“Very good then!” they called back to me, never slowing their pace. I chuckled and turned back to Bilbo and Samwise.

“Please give my regards to Frodo, and tell him I look forward to seeing him again soon,” I said in parting.

“That I will, that I will. Thank you for your concern. And you, Boromir, bring back those two rascals safe and sound to supper here tonight! Then we’ll all drink to the exploits in the armory! Good luck to you!” Bilbo said, and with that, the lunch was over.

Chapter 4 – Elves and Bilbo’s Bright One

The next day, after another marvelous night’s sleep in the Elvish bed, I had spent the morning at the smithy’s, tending to some gear that had broken during my journey. Then I had gone back to the armory for another round with the swordmaster. The duels had been fierce, and had quite tired me out, even though the master called a halt from time to time in order to tutor me in some new finesse. I was now dusty and sweaty, but thoroughly satisfied with the events of my visit so far. As I walked back to my quarters, I found a merry group of Dwarves and Halflings gathered on the spacious East Porch, bantering among themselves as they waited for the summons to luncheon. Meriadoc and Peregrin, who insisted that I call them Merry and Pippin after our session together at sword practice, waved at me and called my name.

“Boromir! Come up here, laddy, and join us!” Glóin boomed. I was a little surprised by the heartiness of his invitation. I did not think the Dwarf had taken much notice of me yesterday. I stopped and grinned at the crowd.

“Thank you, Lord Glóin, and I certainly will, but I am just now straight from the swordmaster, and I must go wash before I sit to the table with you!” I replied.

“Oh, nonsense! Come up here now!” Pippin sang out in his high clear voice. “You should have seen how dirty we were after a month in the wild and days of rain! Strider got to where he couldn’t tell us apart anymore for all the mud!”

“Yes, come on up, we don’t care how you look,” urged Merry from his perch beside him. “You look practically ready for a feast, according to our scale of opinion now.”

“Right! You’re fine! That’s nothing!” roared Glóin. “Why, you should have seen Master Baggins and me after we came out of that dragon’s lair! Talk about dirt! We were covered with such filth and rubbish as never seen or smelled before! You’ve a long way to go yet in learning about battle-grime!” He turned to Bilbo. “What do you say, friend hobbit?”

“Well, Glóin, that may have been true of you and me at the time, but I manage to stay tidy now that there is plenty of convenience,” Bilbo said. “Always enjoy civilization when you’re in it, that’s my motto.” He gave me a look over. “We’ll wait, Boromir, we’ll wait. We’ll save you a seat at the table. Very fine manners you have, and I vote that you keep them that way,” he finished, with a sharp glance at Merry and Pippin. Glóin snorted at Bilbo’s response, but his attention was already turning to some other topic of conversation, so I waved to the little ones as I continued on my way, and promised to join them soon.

Elrond’s table was empty when I entered the dining hall, but the other tables were filled with folk, and there was a chair waiting for me next to Pippin and Merry. I sat down to much fuss and comment from the hobbits, and Pippin fetched me half an ale and a tall drink of water before I finished filling my plate. The only Halflings present were Bilbo and the younger two. I wondered if Frodo was not recovering as quickly as Bilbo had led me to believe, but I did not want to ask straight out and perhaps seem too forward on the subject.

Fortunately Samwise arrived at the table just then, and others voiced the question on my mind. “Everything all right?” Bilbo asked first with an anxious frown.

“Yes, where have you been all morning? Don’t tell me Frodo has slept this late! We must get that lazybones up and about, Sam. Bad reputation for a Baggins, to miss this many meals in a row,” Merry remarked.

Samwise seemed none too happy with Merry. “Both of you yourselves are to blame, and no mistake, for the whole situation. There wasn’t hardly a decent wink of sleep last night, what with all the carrying-on up there,” he groused. “I’m not waking him up, and this is no time for you to come knocking either, Mr. Pippin,” he continued with a dark look. “I’m getting lunch and then I’m going back to sleep myself. Let’s just leave the visiting alone a bit, can we?”

“Whatever are you talking about? We weren’t up that late!” retorted Merry. “That seems a bit hard, Sam.”

“Well, no sooner than you left, but Strider came back from wherever he went on his trip, and because the door was still open,” and here Sam cast a meaning look at the two younger Halflings, “nothing would do but he must come in to see Mr. Frodo. And then Elladan was with Strider, so he came in too, and then his twin brother showed up, and then Mr. Frodo asked Strider if he wasn’t hungry after his long journey, and so we had another meal.”  Sam looked somewhat abashedly at Bilbo. “And they stayed up talking in Elvish about who knows what until all hours of the night. I’m beginning to think these Elves don’t sleep at all, sir.”

“Hmph! I wonder that Aragorn, of all people, would keep Frodo up so late,” Bilbo said with a touch of exasperation. “What on earth was he thinking?”

“Well, if truth be told, sir, it was Mr. Frodo who wanted them all to stay. You can’t really put all the blame on poor Strider. And no sooner than we finally packed them off and got a bit of shut-eye, than Elrond comes in at the crack of dawn with a dose of that bad-tasting medicine, and we didn’t get back to sleep again until practically breakfast time.” Samwise paused to indulge in a jaw-cracking yawn. “So just give him a bit, and he’ll be up when he’s ready, and like I said, don’t come knocking, because it won’t do you no good. I’m not letting anyone in.” He stopped talking in order to turn his attention to the heaping plate that Bilbo had pushed in front of him.

“Well, Sam, get some rest, then!” Pippin said, unfazed by the other hobbit’s tone.  “I hate to hear you sound so grouchy! We can keep ourselves entertained without cousin Frodo a while longer. Tell him we’re sorry we ruined his sleep, and we’ll come visit again as soon as you let us in.”

A roar from the Dwarves’ side of the table interrupted us. I was somewhat aware that they had been trading riddles and playing a game, and now Glóin’s son, Gimli, seemed to be collecting a bet from three others, much to the amusement of the rest of the group. Stacks of gold coins were changing hands.

When I looked back to the hobbits, Bilbo had risen and was patting Sam’s back. “I’m going up to sit with him now anyway, Samwise, so go on to your room and get a real sleep,” he said. “Who’s with him now?”

“Gandalf,” came the reply through a mouthful of bread and butter.

“Perfect! I’ll go look in on my bright one. Get some rest now, Sam-lad.” He looked over at me and the other two little ones. “Are you warriors sword-fighting again this afternoon?”

We all three of us laughed, and Merry and Pippin looked up at me eagerly. “What about after your tea?” I proposed, having discovered yesterday that no mealtime went unnoticed by a hobbit. “I need to see to my horse, and to my gear at the smithy’s.  And besides,” I continued, with what I hoped was a menacing look, “I shall have to gather my strength before I fight you two dragon-slayers again. Shall we meet on the East Porch?”

They agreed readily, and I left with a chorus of thank-you’s following me out the door. But I walked to the stable with darkened thoughts, my sunny mood completely gone.  Obviously, the Elves had Frodo’s allegiance. That meant they had control of the Ring, and Elrond had been clear that it should never go to Gondor. I shook my head in frustration as I thought again of Faramir, his life in danger every day as he battled the advancing power of Mordor. No one else at the Council had dreamed such a dream as mine. No one else needed the Ring’s help as much as I. None of these people had lived with the horrifying Enemy at their very door, losing good men in battles every day, and watching their people’s hearts fail for lack of help and hope. The Ring should be mine. It still could be mine . . . Its power would mean victory for my City. 

And yet, as I walked the flagged pathway shaded and scented by Rivendell’s trees, my black mood lifted and faded away. The Ring might yet come to Gondor in the end. Fate had brought me here, and that was a hopeful sign. Indeed, as Bilbo said, it seemed impossible here to worry overlong about anything.

I sincerely hoped that Frodo Baggins was regaining his health, for I wanted to better my acquaintance with him very soon.

Chapter 5 – Tea With the Bagginses

Pippin’s curiosity had led him to find me at the smithy’s, and after much talk and looking about at all the metalwork, he reminded me that it was time for tea. We walked back to the Porch to collect Merry, and when we arrived we found Elves mixed in with our usual group of Dwarves and Halflings. I saw Glorfindel among them, and to my surprise he recognized me and returned my greeting with one of his own.

“Hoy, Boromir, look, Frodo’s here!” Pippin announced. He gave a little bounce up onto the balls of his feet and made straightway for the Halfling. I followed a little more slowly, wishing to study the Ringbearer for a moment before we met again.

I would have recognized him instantly, anywhere, now that I knew he bore the Ring, but in any case his dark hair and blue eyes distinguished him from the other hobbits here. Frodo still looked somewhat ill, which was understandable in someone who had suffered such a grievous wound and been so long abed. He was thinner and paler than the other hobbits, and dark circles showed under his eyes. I could not determine if he had the Ring now with him, on his person. If so, it was hidden. All the Halflings seemed intent on a board game set out on the table where they were clustered, and did not notice me as I approached. Tea had already been served, judging by the plates of cake and fruit set about.

I had just come close enough to make my greeting when suddenly Merry shifted a game piece with a thwap, shouted “Buckland!” and flung up both arms into the air, nearly grazing my chest with his fists as I stood behind him. “Hah! What do you have to say about that, Master Baggins?”

Frodo frowned at the board.  “That was a shallow victory, Merry, very shallow . . . in fact, hardly a win at all. It shouldn’t even count. I think you have taken advantage of me in my present sleepy state, and when we play again tomorrow, I will give you the trouncing you deserve.”

“Nonsense. This is a decisive victory, and proves again the superiority of the Brandybucks," Merry retorted. By this time, Pippin had circled around the table, wedged himself in between Frodo and Samwise, and pushed under Frodo’s arm for a hug. Sam looked exasperated as he moved aside to accommodate the littlest hobbit. Bilbo shook his head at the commotion and smiled.

“Pip!” Frodo’s face lit up and he raised his hand to tousle Pippin’s curly hair. “Where’ve you been? We missed you for tea.”

“Oh, I’ll make up for it now. Frodo, this is Boromir son of Denethor of Gondor, the one I told you is teaching Merry and me about swordfighting.”

Frodo looked up and smiled at me, then rose and bowed. “It is my pleasure to meet you again, Boromir. Thank you very much for all your kindness to my cousins. Will you join us?” Merry dragged over a chair from the Dwarves’ table for me, and we all sat down together.

“The pleasure is mine,” I replied. “They are quick students, and very good-natured about all the bumps and pains that go with sword-practice.”

“Well, I am happy to hear a good report,” Bilbo said. “Boromir, are you going to take some ale this afternoon?” He and Frodo sat close together, leaning against each other a little, sharing a plate of cakes and a pot of tea between them.

Merry had already filled a mug with ale (the Dwarves had brought a barrel with them to the Porch) and placed it in front of me.  I thanked him and he sat back down, happily regarding the playing-pieces on the game board in front of him.

“Boromir,” he declared,” I want you to know that I am the champion of the table today, and I am looking forward to re-establishing my claim tomorrow, as soon as possible. Do you play this game in Gondor?”

I looked at the board and blinked. I did not recognize it as any game I knew, but what surprised me was the set itself. The board was made of beautifully polished wood, traced with silver and gold in an intricate pattern, and the game-pieces were wrought entirely of silver and gold, finely engraved and inlaid with patterns of glittering gems. I had never seen anything like it before in my life.

Frodo noticed my reaction. “It’s quite something, isn’t it?” he said. He picked up one of the larger pieces and looked at it closely for a moment, turning it over in his hands before offering it to me for inspection. “The Dwarves gave it to Bilbo. Every piece has a dragon inlaid on the top, in honor of Smaug’s demise.”

I peered at the tiny, exquisite dragon outline, fine as script and smoother than parchment. “Amazing,” I said honestly. “I have never seen such elaborate work.”

Both elder and younger Baggines nodded their heads in agreement. “I met Dwarves back in the Shire,” Frodo said, “and they even visited and stayed with us at times, but I have never seen such . . . finery . . . as this.” He shook his head with amusement. “Merry and I used to play with walnuts and acorns, on a board that Bilbo painted for us, when we were lads.”

“And speaking of playing, how about another round?” Merry put forth.  “Ready to be vanquished by a Brandybuck again?”

“Merry, I am half Brandybuck myself and taught you how to play,” Frodo retorted. “You need to come up with a better reason for this ridiculous win of yours. Keeping me up all night and then dragging me out for early tea is more likely the cause.”

“Would you like to learn how to play, Boromir?” Pippin asked me, his sincere little face lifted up to meet my eyes. “Then we’ll have more players for the tournaments.”

I did not want to play a game just then, but I could not have disappointed Pippin if my life depended on it. I was trying to frame an answer when Samwise came to my rescue.

“I’ll bet that Mr. Boromir just wants to visit for a while and not play right now.” Sam gave me a quick glance to see if he had read me aright. “But I’ll play you a round, Mr. Merry, if you want to go again,” he said. “It’s a shame to let such a nice thing sit unused.” I gratefully handed the piece over to him and they readied the board for another match.

“Well, then, Frodo, are you going to eat now that your game’s over?” Pippin asked. “I’m fixing you a new cup of tea. Watch out for the honey.”

Frodo looked at the cup. “Peregrin Took,” he sighed, “how can you possibly make such a mess?” Pippin had managed to streak honey over the table, onto his shirt sleeves, and now even across his face, as he put up a wrist to brush his hair out of his eyes. “Turn around here,” Frodo ordered, and looked about the table. Samwise handed him a napkin moistened with water and Frodo began to dab at Pippin’s face. Pippin wriggled and protested, and Frodo, who seemed to have some practice at cleaning him up, made as if to grab Pippin’s shoulder with his other hand. He stopped halfway through the motion and winced.

“There! See? You shouldn’t be rubbing so hard!” Pippin complained. Sam, who had stopped playing in order to watch, gave him a hard stare.

“Pippin. Sit still and don’t make me do that again,” Frodo replied as sternly as he could while holding back a grin at the same time. Pippin subsided and let him finish mopping honey off his cheek. “There. Now you can do the rest yourself,” Frodo finally said, and handed the napkin to Pippin.

“The least you can do is drink the tea,” Pippin said aggrievedly as he cleaned off the table and started to work on his shirt.

“I will, thank you,” Frodo said, and applied himself to the cake. I suddenly thought of my little brother, remembering with piercing clarity how Faramir used to look up at me with adoration when he was Pippin’s size, and how he was the only one I had allowed to hug me after I became a certain age. Faramir . . . oh, I how I wished he could have come with me, and been with me here now.

“You indulge that child too much, Frodo,” I heard Bilbo murmur, between bites of cake.

“I suppose I do . . . but, Bilbo, he’s been such a brave lad, especially after Weathertop,” Frodo replied softly. “And he’s still so young . . .” 

A small piece of cake was now all that was left on the plate between them.  With a little flourish, the older hobbit cut it neatly in half, and the two of them laughed and finished up the very last bite of their meal together. Bilbo filled his pipe and sent a smoke ring drifting across the air. He tenderly smoothed Frodo’s hair and touched his shirt collar, and then seemed wholly content to sit and not speak anymore. 

Merry, Pippin and Samwise were now involved in their game. Frodo leaned forward and his blue eyes met mine. “Aragorn told me that you are the one who has captained the defense of Gondor,” he said. “Can you give us news of the South?”

I drew a breath, and began to speak of the beauty of Minas Tirith, our long struggle against the enemy, and the shadow spreading from the East. Frodo listened intently, asking questions now and again. Bilbo napped on and off as I spoke, but the other hobbits eventually left their game to listen, and I saw a glistening in Pippin’s eyes as I told of my brother and the perilous life he now led.

I paused in my tale for a long moment, wondering out loud how my City fared without me. I had not spoken so of Gondor to anyone since I had begun my journey, and I felt the pull of my homeland on my heart. Pippin, sitting next to me, laid his hand on my arm. Frodo looked even more strained and ill by the time I finished my story. I looked straight at him, willing him to understand my need.

“We of Minas Tirith have been staunch and true-hearted through long years of trial,” I said, intending my words for Frodo alone.  “We do not desire the power of wizard-lords; only strength to defend ourselves, strength to achieve victory in a just cause . . .”

“Good afternoon,” said an Elvish voice close to the table. Elrond himself stood there, with Aragorn beside him. They were both smiling, and I was glad to see that, for my heart was suddenly pounding and I felt like a man caught doing some clandestine act. I rose and bowed. They returned the salute and greeted us all around.

“Well, hello there. I wondered where you two were all this time,” Bilbo said. “Busy with important affairs, I hear, and no time for meals or friends! So, you are back from your scouting trip, Dúnadan? I hear you had a late supper last night! Will you be at dinner this evening?”

“No, I must beg off again, not tonight. Perhaps tomorrow,” Aragorn replied with a smile and a mischievous look in his eye.

The hobbits exchanged glances. “We’re too ugly for him,” Merry half-whispered to Sam. The entire group chortled, and Aragorn smiled even more broadly and came around the table to slip down on one knee behind Bilbo and Frodo. He briefly touched Frodo’s face as if checking for fever, then laid his arm lightly around the Halfling’s shoulders.

Elrond was carrying a cup – which in itself amazed me; my father would never have done so in public – and set it down in front of the Ringbearer. Frodo’s smile vanished but the others’ grins grew broader. Far from feeling relieved by all the laughter, I was irritated by the interruption. I felt like a stranger in this group now, an outsider to the jokes and understandings that all the rest seemed to share.

Frodo looked at the cup with distaste. Aragorn said, “Frodo, I did not bring you here all the way through the wild in order to listen to you complain about the taste of your medicine. I have done my part. Drink up and do yours.”

My skepticism must have shown, because Frodo looked over at me and raised an eyebrow in reproach, drawing me back into the fun. “Don’t scoff, Boromir,” he said. “Smell this.”

He raised the mug and I bent to sniff, and then jerked back. “You drink that?” I asked incredulously, before I remembered that the source of the drink was standing at my elbow. Frodo shook his head, made a face, took a breath, and downed the draught to a round of hobbit applause. The younger hobbits and Aragorn were now laughing outright. Even Elrond was smiling. Bilbo poured tea into the empty mug so Frodo could take a cleansing swallow. My resentment melted away, and I laughed as well.

“Mighty warrior! Fearless hero!” I teased him, my smile deepening as I watched him shake his head and catch his breath. “Frodo, you have my highest regard. That was a valorous deed.”

“Strider, Boromir is teaching us sword-fighting,” Pippin piped up. “We’re going over to the armory next. Do you want to come watch?”

“Indeed?” Aragorn looked at me for affirmation. “That is excellent, Boromir. They have need of schooling in weapons. Of course I will come. Have you been defeated yet by these two rascals? Or do they talk you to death before the end of the match?” Merry and Pippin protested at this, but the other hobbits laughed.

To my great surprise, Elrond laughed too, and then addressed me personally. “Yes, thank you, Boromir, for your kind attention to our guests. I have come to seek you out this afternoon. May we have a word together before you go off to the lesson in the armory?”

I bowed again, quelling the sudden lurch in my chest. A word about what? Had he heard my words to Frodo and guessed what was on my heart? Elrond took me lightly by the arm and led me away from the crowd to the Porch’s curving balustrade. When we reached the railing he turned to face me, and when his grave eyes met mine I felt as if some unseen power buffeted me, so that I almost stepped back.  I remained silent, determined to not speak first. Elrond studied me for a moment, causing me to sweat a bit, and then he spoke.

“I have sent out scouts to learn what they can of the Enemy’s movements, and now we must start to lay our plans,” he began. “Many of my own people wish to travel South with the Ring.” He glanced at the gathering of folk on the Porch. “But the number must be few, since our hope is in speed and secrecy. Had I a host of Elves in the armour of the Elder Days, it would avail little.  Your path will take you southward also, and you are” and here he paused and looked thoughtfully at me, “a valiant and loyal man. You have shown great courage in your journey here, and you understand the peril of the quest. You have already traveled much of the path the Ringbearer must now take. Will you join me tomorrow to speak more of this?”

I took a breath. The hope of Minas Tirith was not yet lost. “Gladly, my lord,” I replied. “I would be honored to be counted in that company.”

Elrond gazed at me without speaking, and I did my best to meet his eyes steadily with my own. After a long moment, he looked over to the group of Halflings, where Aragorn sat surrounded by hobbits who seemed to be explaining the movements of different game-pieces to him. The lord of Rivendell smiled at the sight, and then looked back at me.

“Very well. We will meet at mid-morning. Speak to Aragorn, and he will bring you.” Elrond paused to study me again. “You have my praise for your attention to the Halflings,” he said, and I felt my heart warm a little. “With some matters it is better to trust to friendship, even more than to great wisdom. In dealing with the Enemy, a true heart is ever the best defense. But those chosen for the company will need strength and skill as well, and so,” taking my arm again and starting back to the table, “you all had better be off to the armory.”

Chapter 6     A Red Star Low In The South

I stood sleepless at the rail of my balcony that night, tears in my eyes.

“You are a valiant and loyal man . . .”

Had Elrond perceived my thoughts as I spoke to Frodo? Did he know that I sought possession of the Ring? But if he knew, why would he not then regard me as a dangerous malcontent? Why would he speak courteously to me and invite me to be one of the Company?

“ . . . valiant and loyal . . .” I drew a deep breath, ragged with the pent-up force of my tears. I shook my head, cursed at myself for being unmanly, and kicked the broad stone railing in front of me.

He had called me valiant, and loyal. The starlight blurred in front of my eyes as I finally gave in and wept outright. All my life I had been striving to  . . . to be strong, to fight hard, to win . . . to have someone call me valiant and loyal.

Was I, truly? I had ridden unquestioning into battle time after time . . .  I had always, it seemed, been the first to attack, the last to retreat, the one who took up the charge to brace men’s hearts and lead them into danger in order to protect the kingdom. I had been the one who had not given up the fight, or given in to fear, or at least not admitted it to anyone else. Such had been my life, truly. I had been strong, for the sake of my people.

Yes, I was. I was valiant and loyal. I drew another shaking breath, struggling to master myself and blink back my tears. Not perfect, perhaps, but valiant and loyal, yes. I was.

I lifted my head. My quest was not hopeless. My mission might still find success. My fate might yet be to return to Minas Tirith on the wings of the morning, with the magic of the Elves and the might of the Dwarves riding with me, and perhaps even bearing the power of the Ring, to set my City free.  And my father would smile warmly at me, as Bilbo had smiled at Frodo, and say to me, “Well done . . .” 

I could feel tears hot in my eyes again. I looked out at the night, calming myself. A red star glowed low in the southern sky, just over the rim of the hills beyond, and as I gazed at it, my thoughts returned to the Ring. If I had the Ring, I would have power of Command, and I would drive out the hosts of Mordor, and all Men would flock to my banner. Once I was out in the wild with Frodo, many things could happen. Unwell as he was, his strength might fail on a long winter journey. He might ask me to carry the Ring for him, or perhaps he would lend it to me for a time before he finally destroyed it when it was no longer needed.

I leaned thoughtfully on the rail, looking at the red star winking in the chill night air. One way or another, Frodo would fail to complete the mission; of that I had no doubt. It was a very good thing that I would be included with the Company and able to help him bear the burden of it. I felt a touch of self-righteous anger at the leaders of the Council, who allowed the brave little one to even consider taking on such a hopeless task as going into the heart of Mordor.  Frodo had courage, to be sure, but he was so small, and now he was wounded. Today, when Merry and Pippin had jumped up from the table, full of enthusiasm for their round of sword practice, he had risen slowly, and Samwise had put out a hand to steady him. Bilbo had whispered, “Upstairs to bed, my lad,” and Frodo had murmured, “Let’s go to your room instead, Bilbo. It’s closer.”  I had watched them make their way quietly from the Porch, trailed by the vigilant Sam.

So, he was still recovering. I knew firsthand the danger and hardship of long travel in the wild. I would lay odds that Frodo would not survive such a journey, let alone a march through the ash and fumes of Mordor. I wondered how Elrond and Mithrandir, who considered themselves wise, could be so blind to the folly of their own plan. Fate must be guiding my steps, ensuring that the Ring would eventually come to me. As the next Steward of Gondor, I would be a steadfast keeper of its power . . .

In fact, I mused, I could easily take the Ring right now, if I wanted to. It would be simple enough to become better friends with Frodo—the Halflings were so trusting—and invite him for a long ride exploring the hills around Rivendell. I could make for the southernmost point of the valley, kill him, take the Ring, and ride for Gondor before anyone even knew I was gone. I would have to pack my gear and hide it there at the edge of the valley beforehand—

I blinked. What was I thinking?

What was I thinking?

How could I think of killing and stealing so? What was wrong with me? The stars above seemed to start turning in strange courses about me, the red one gleaming brighter at the center of the spinning whorl. How could the next Steward of Gondor, one in whom the high lineage of Númenor yet lived, ever plan the murder of a trusting friend? Even the flagstones beneath my feet felt as if they were slanting and turning. I leaned forward and clutched the railing, suddenly filled with fear. I had come here to save my homeland—but I was turning to evil in order to do so—what spell or wicked force lived here, to change my very nature? What kind of monster would even think such things?

You must do whatever is necessary, even if it means murder . . . the thought came to me unbidden. No, I said to the thought, but it frightened me, just the same. I turned away from the balustrade and walked back into the candlelit room, where I poured a goblet of water and sat in front of the fire. I stayed there for a long time, gazing at my shield and horn, which I had placed in the corner of my room.

In Gondor we battled Evil. We were not evil ourselves. We fought to maintain what was right in Middle Earth, goodness and freedom and truth. I could not battle Evil with evil deeds of my own, or I would become the Evil myself. I worked the logic of my thought, considering it. Was I still Boromir, a valiant and loyal Man, or was I becoming something like a goblin or orc, who would slay an innocent in secret?

In the end, that night, I determined my course. I was not sent here to beg any boon, or allies in battle. I was sent only to seek the meaning of a riddle. Aid might yet come to Minas Tirith as a result of my journey here. Aragorn had told me that he desired to return with me to Minas Tirith, and the sword of Isildur alone would be a help we had not looked for. Fate would determine the outcome of the Ring. Perhaps it truly was altogether evil, and would bring a curse wherever it went, instead of good fortune. It was Isildur’s Bane, and if it had been powerful enough to overcome the great heir of Elendil, it might be my own bane also.

The blood of Númenor was not yet spent, nor all its pride and dignity forgotten. By our heritage, peace and freedom were maintained. I would live by that heritage, and die by it too if I must. But I hoped to live a while longer, and see a turn of good fortune deliver us all.

As I sat before the fading fire that night, I made a vow. When next I saw Faramir, I would clasp him hard in my arms for a long time, and tell him that he was a valiant and loyal man.

Author's note: Thanks go to Shirebound for ideas that enriched this chapter.

Chapter 7: Gathering A Company

I went for an early gallop the next day, reveling in the exhilaration of the chill bright morning air. After my ride I sought out Aragorn, and we walked together to Elrond’s library. Elves and Dwarves clustered at a long table at the far end of the foyer, where Glóin and Bilbo stood in the midst of the taller folk, tracing on a beautifully detailed map the path of their great journey together, and retelling the tale of Smaug and The Battle of Five Armies. I joined them and studied the map for a long time, recognizing the lands I had passed through on my way here, and noting with interest the markings of fabled places such as Laurelindórenan and Moria, which I had heard of only in tales.

I finally looked around the room. Elrond was present, but deep in conversation with the counselors of his household, and seemed in no haste to call his meeting to order. Aragorn had disappeared.  The foyer where I stood opened into spacious rooms on either side, filled with cushioned chairs, carved tables, gleaming books and rolled parchments. I caught sight of Samwise walking across the tiled floor, carrying cloaks in his arms. I followed him, since he would certainly lead me to Frodo.

I paused when I came closer to the arched doorway through which Sam had passed. I was surprised to see Merry and Pippin in the room, and along with them Glóin’s son Gimli. Several Elves stood near the hobbits, talking amongst themselves. I caught sight of Aragorn and Frodo, on a couch further back against a wall.

Aragorn lounged with his legs stretched out in front of him, down low on the seat so that he was almost eye-level with Frodo, who perched beside him, looking much better than he had the day before. The Ringbearer was talking with abundant glee, saying something that made them both laugh, and then, still talking, he started smoothing the Ranger’s hair away from his face and finger-brushing it behind his ears. Aragorn laughed even harder, and made as if to pull away, but Frodo tugged on his ear and pulled him back, and then began to fuss with his beard. Aragorn was helpless now with mirth, and finally raised his hands and swatted Frodo’s fingers away. Frodo left off his mischief, placed one hand over his heart, and made an elaborate bow. The Ranger caught up the Halfling’s free hand and gave it a playful kiss.

I felt a stab of envy at their familiarity. Yesterday, at the armory with Aragorn and the hobbits, I had sought to speak with him, to know more of the one who was said to be Isildur’s heir. Aragorn had been courteous, but remote in the manner of the Elves, and had departed soon after Merry and Pippin finished their lesson. I had not invited him to spar with me. Indeed, I would not ask any Man who had fought five of the Nine to play at weaponry. It seemed disrespectful to the deed, and to the one who did it.

I lingered a little longer in the archway, watching Merry and Pippin clamor for Frodo’s attention now that the joke with Aragorn was over. Samwise folded his armload of cloaks, and kept an eye on his master. My affection for the little ones warmed my heart as I watched them. The hobbits were not as like to me in height as the Elves, or as similar to me in battle-gear as the Dwarves, yet I felt more akin to them than to any of the other folk here. Their ready friendship and open manner made me look forward to their company every day. A ghost of a shiver ran through me as I recalled my thoughts from the night before. I closed my eyes and willed the foul memory away.

“Ah, Boromir. Good day,” a voice said at my elbow. I abruptly opened my eyes and started when I saw Mithrandir standing at my side. I felt battered by the same strange shock of invisible force that Elrond’s presence carried, and a tingle of alarm passed through me. My father had always mistrusted the wizard, and I suspected that he could read the thoughts of Men.

“Good day, sir,” I replied with a bow. He was a wizard, after all, and I needed to stay in his good favor. Mithrandir’s expression gave no hint that his own thoughts might be suspicious of me. He was watching the hobbits and chuckling under his breath. He finally turned to me, smiling.

“So, how do you like Halflings, now that you have met them?” he asked me. “Are they what you expected?”

I shook my head and smiled also, as I watched Merry and Pippin explain something to the Elves that involved grand arm gestures. “I like them very much, sir, and in truth they are like nothing I had imagined,” I said honestly. “They are wonderfully friendly folk. I enjoy their company, although I am concerned for them, if they are indeed to take part in this mission. They are so small, and . . . they are far too trusting, as well.” I steeled myself and met the wizard’s eyes. “Do you agree that it is wise to send Frodo into Mordor with the Ring?”

Mithrandir did not seem surprised at my question. He considered me thoughtfully for a while before he spoke, and I braced myself again against that unseen wave of power. “None of us can see the end of all things, Boromir,” he said at last. “Yet, trueness of heart and loyal friendship have ever been our most powerful weapons against the forces of Sauron. These hobbits, Frodo especially, have been tested already by the power of the enemy, and stayed true to their purpose, when other folk would have been overcome.” The wizard looked back to Merry and Pippin, who were now pulling out maps and holding them up for the others’ inspection. “Hobbits will surprise you, Boromir. They are tougher than they seem, and much more stubborn than you would ever guess. They may well prove to be our best hope for this task.”

I remembered that Samwise had spoken of Mithrandir staying with Frodo in his room while he slept. “They all seem very familiar with you. Have you known them long, then?”

The wizard smiled fondly. “I have known Bilbo almost seventy years now, since the incident involving the dragon. And I have watched the others grow up from little lads.” He shot me a glance from under his bushy brows. “Much as I have you and Faramir, in fact. How fares your brother, if I may ask?”

I said what I could of Faramir, of his leadership and faithfulness to his duty, careful not to touch on any subject relating to my father. Mithrandir nodded as I spoke, undoubtedly perceiving what I could not say out loud. “Your brother has become a fine captain, then,” he said mildly when I finished.

“Aye,” I said, and spoke no more. Thinking of Faramir in battle brought a tightness to my throat.

“Here now!” Mithrandir’s sudden exclamation caught me off guard. He strode forward and plucked Pippin off a desk, where the hobbit had climbed in order to reach some goblets set deep in an alcove beyond his reach. I could see the look of consternation on the Elves’ faces change to relief as the wizard set the hobbit on the floor and upbraided him for his unmannerly behavior. “Peregrin, many things in this world are better off left alone by you, and almost everything in this room belongs in that category.  Kindly refrain from handling Master Elrond’s belongings. We’ll have no more of that kind of Tookishness from you today.” The wizard glared at the youngest Halfling, and I winced for Pippin’s sake at the public rebuke, but Pippin himself seemed nonplussed. I caught sight of Frodo, behind him, rolling his eyes at Aragorn. The hobbits did not seem to be very much afraid of their wizard friend.

“Well, all right then, Gandalf, but I certainly wasn’t going to drop them, or break them, if that’s what you mean. We might never get another chance to visit again, you know, and it would be a shame not to look at everything we can while we’re here,” said Pippin. “And besides, Legolas was telling me all about how they were made, and I wanted to get them down for him to see.”

Mithrandir fixed another glare on the Elf standing beside Pippin. “Master Greenleaf, after you spend more time with this hobbit, you will learn to not encourage him in any such sort of tomfoolery. Let’s leave these treasures intact and see if Elrond is ready to begin. All of you, come with me and try to stay out of trouble.” The wizard snorted and stalked out of the room, and the rest of us fell in sheepishly behind him.

*****

Luncheon on the library patio after the meeting was a quiet meal. I myself, who should have been elated at my inclusion in the fellowship of the Ring, felt my spirits dampened by the discussion of the planned march South. My journey here had been long and harsh, even though most of it had been on horseback. I groaned inwardly as I remembered the leagues I had traveled when I was without a horse, and had to walk. If I went back with this Company, I would be on foot the entire way, and walking at the pace of the hobbits, at that. I grimly estimated how long such a journey might take, and then I drained my goblet of Elvish wine, and tried not to think about the figure I came up with.

Aragorn had disappeared again after the meeting. Mithrandir had elected to sit with the hobbits, next to Bilbo, who had not been part of the morning council but who had shown up for the meal. I was seated next to Elrond, which on any other occasion would have filled me with satisfaction, but I could hear snatches of the hobbits’ energetic talk, and I longed to be part of the livelier group. Now that I was accustomed to dining with Dwarves and hobbits, the courtly manners of the Elves seemed oppressive, reminding me of my father’s table and the less welcome aspects of life at home.

I paid attention to my host, however, until he took his leave. By that time only a few Elves lingered at the table, deep in quiet conversation. Merry had found a little ball in some alcove of the library and had persuaded Legolas to play a game with Pippin, Sam and himself on the sward of grass beyond the balcony rail. Bilbo and Frodo, both with cloaks about their shoulders to ward off the thin autumn breeze, were still finishing their meal. I rose, and went to join them.

Bilbo glanced up and nodded a welcome as I approached. Frodo smiled and pulled out the chair beside himself for me. “Hello, Boromir,” he said. “Would you like some tea?”

I was not in the habit of drinking tea, but the invitation was so good-natured that I accepted. Frodo poured a mug and pushed it over to me, along with a plate of Elvish sweetcakes that had survived the hobbits’ luncheon. Bilbo brought out his pipe and filled it. He tilted his chin towards the group on the grass. “This should be interesting,” he said with a chuckle. We all three looked over at the players.

Merry was attempting to direct a practice round, Legolas and Sam had bemused looks on their faces, and Pippin was standing with his hands on his hips, arguing with Merry. Eventually they started tossing the ball in some pattern amongst themselves. Bilbo and I laughed a little as Pippin continued to argue with his cousin even as they traded pitches, but Frodo frowned and stood up, shrugging off Samwise’s cloak. I could not stop myself from stealing a quick glance at his shirt and vest. If he kept the Ring with him, where was it?

“This is ridiculous,” he said. “They need five if they are going to play a decent round. I’d better go down there before that poor Elf gives up on hobbits forever.”

Bilbo and I both gave him questioning looks. Frodo smiled and patted his uncle’s  shoulder.  “Don’t worry, Bilbo,” he said. “I’m feeling quite myself again today. ‘A little sleep in the house of Elrond,’ remember?” He glanced at me with the same mischievous look he had given to Aragorn earlier. “Boromir, I’ll be back after I straighten this out.” He headed across the patio and down the stairs to the grass. Bilbo sighed and moved his chair around to better watch the game. Frodo joined the group, reorganized it, and threw out the ball again. Pippin did not argue this time, because he was suddenly busy making his catch.

I watched them play in the warm sun, and thought of the road we were about to travel. Elrond’s plan would take these lighthearted hobbits into lethal danger, and most likely to brutal deaths at the hands of orcs. Frodo, especially, had little hope of ever returning. I looked at Bilbo.

“How can you bear to let him go?” I asked, and then immediately regretted the impropriety of my question. But I could not take it back now.

The elder Baggins turned around and studied me. He blew a puff of smoke and set aside his pipe.

“Your father sends you into battle time and time again,” he finally said. “How does he do that?”

That was not the same, not at all. “That’s  . . . different,” I replied slowly, thinking about why it was different. “The enemy is at our doorstep, and we have no choice but to fight. All the men of Gondor go into battle, not just myself.” I thought about the two situations a little longer. “And I do not risk myself foolishly, when I have no chance of winning.” 

Bilbo picked up his pipe again, and gave it a long pull.

“The Nine Riders tracked Frodo to the door of my home, and would have ransacked the Shire to find him, if he had still been there,” he said composedly. “That’s my doorstep, lad. The fight is here, and there is no choice for us either. We cannot defeat Sauron through strength of arms now.” He paused to smoke a bit. “There is no safe path, to be sure, but still, this is less risky than waiting for open war. I would go myself, if I was younger.”

“But do you not see the danger?” I continued, pressing the old hobbit, hoping to make my point. “Frodo is not even fully recovered yet from the Nazgul attack. Do you understand what he is walking into? Does he?”

“It’s a dangerous business just walking out of your front door,” Bilbo said. His eyes glinted a little at me. “Frodo is a Baggins, and walking into danger is something we do when we have to. Not all mighty deeds are done by Elves and Men, my friend. We must screw ourselves up for the job, hope for the best, and not hide like cowards waiting for the end.” His expression softened as he looked at me. “As you say, we must all do our part. Look at you! Here you are, going with him! What of the danger to yourself? You are not turning back because of it.”

“It’s not the same,” I said stubbornly. “I am returning home now on this journey, but” . . . now I realized what I was trying to say . . .“he may never come back again. And you love him so much.” There, that was it. It was not the same as my situation at all. I stopped talking, feeling foolish, and wishing with all my heart that I had never begun such a personal conversation.

Bilbo only puffed on his pipe, and did not answer me. He was watching the players on the grass, and after a moment I turned and watched them too. The game had picked up speed, and the little folk were firing the ball back and forth among themselves with admirable accuracy. The Elf was moving more confidently now, but he was outmatched in throwing ability. Frodo suddenly leaped to intercept a ball meant for Merry, spun in midair, and threw the ball to Sam before he landed again. He caught his breath sharply as his feet hit the ground, and he touched his hand to his left shoulder for a moment, but his eyes never left the ball and he called out in approval at Sam’s neat catch.

“You will be surprised, Boromir,” Bilbo finally said. “Frodo will surprise you all.” He smiled a bit as he watched his lad, but I frowned, and held my peace.

Author's note:  This is the next-to-last chapter of this story. I have also posted the final chapter, the Epilogue, at the same time because it is so short.

This is such a fantastic world of writers and readers! I never knew that so many people shared my love of Tolkien. Now that I have discovered some great new story strands, such as the Mirkwood elves and warrior-prince Legolas (Ooo! Aaah! Grrrrrrrr-r-r! Don't make him mad!), I now have a whole new realm to explore. I look forward to wandering around reading all of your wonderful stories.

Thank you for reading this, and I hope you enjoy it. I especially thank all of you who leave reviews. Your words make my world a much more joyous place.  

May you always be inspired,

esamen

Chapter 8:  Ringbearer

I walked along an unfamiliar corridor some days later, looking for the Halflings’ rooms. Even though I was lost, I felt none of the uneasiness that had so clung to me during my first days with the Elves. I felt as comfortable as if I had lived here for months, though I had in fact been here only a little above a week, to the best of my reckoning. Rivendell was indeed a marvelous place.

The hobbits had invited us of the Company to a meal with them that night. Their rooms were in another part of the House that I had never visited, but I knew that they were all quartered close together, and I finally found Pippin, keeping lookout at a door.

“Hullo there, Boromir! Here we are! Please come along in. We’re almost ready,” he said, and I was ushered to a spacious patio with a table set for a feast. The scents of bread and roasted meat wafted on the air. Aragorn and Legolas were leaning against the wide stone balustrade, visiting with Mithrandir and Gimli. Bilbo presided from the head of the table. All of them welcomed me warmly.

“Well met, and my pleasure,” I said honestly. “Am I late, then?”

“Not at all, not at all,” Bilbo said. “Sit here by me, lad. Pippin, fetch him an ale. We’ve all been told to wait. Young Samwise is being very particular about the food tonight. No supper for us until he pronounces it ready, I’m afraid.”

The other hobbits were out of sight but could be heard, noisily debating the readiness of the meal. Pippin disappeared in the direction of the debate. A moment later I heard Samwise call out, “All right then, it’s done,” and a general cheer from within signaled the beginning of dinner.

I did not know which I enjoyed more that night, the fare that was served or the hobbits’ delight in serving it. They made sure that every guest ate his fill of every dish, and kept up a lively stream of comment on their own cooking abilities and the histories of other dinner-parties. By the time plates were emptied and pipes were coming out, I had promised twice to come and visit the Shire in order to eat my way through all their favorite dishes.

“Sam is the best cook of us all, except for Bilbo,” Frodo proclaimed. He was drinking ale along with the rest of us now, and a fine flush of color lit up his face. He draped one arm over Sam’s shoulder and went on with his declaration.  “I’ll bet Sam could make stew out of tree roots and it would taste like a feast.” Samwise looked down at his plate, smiling with pleasure at the compliment.

 “Don’t we have a song about making stew out of odds and ends?” Pippin put in.

“Yes we do,” Merry answered promptly, “and it starts, ‘Once in a smial on a winter’s day . . .” The hobbits sang cooking-songs, and drinking-songs, and walking-songs, until the night was fully dark and the moon was bright above us. Even Bilbo sang, prompting the younger ones with words and verses if any of them hesitated. Then, finished with singing, they brought out lamps and candles along with more ale (and more wine for the Elf), and a contest began to determine who could blow the largest smoke ring, and then another to find out who could blow a smoke ring furthest across the air.

Legolas and I volunteered our service as judges, and I was glad to be in charge of something again, after so long away from command. Our first ruling mustered Mithrandir out of the ranks, on the grounds that he had an unfair advantage as a wizard, which made Gimli laugh so hard that the greater his effort to blow a smoke ring, the worse his aim in doing so. Aragorn won both matches.

“But he’s bigger than us!” Merry protested, only half in jest. “Strider has an unfair advantage on the grounds that he’s a Man. You judges need to throw him out too. I would have won, if the play was fair.”

“Legolas!" I thumped my hand on the table, hard enough to make the plates jump. "A review of the rules!” The Elf and I shared a skeptical glance, and I delivered my doom.

“If you invite Men to dinner, my good hobbit, and then begin on a reckless venture such as this, you thereby agree that the danger will be great, the stakes high,”-- we had set up a last sweetcake as the prize --“the competition fierce, and you must take your chances in the lists like any other.” I thumped my hand again and assumed my most imposing tone. “Only one disqualification allowed for each dinner-party! I decree that this ruling stands, and if you wish to disqualify Aragorn, you must serve us another meal.”

“I thank you for upholding the honor of all Men,” Aragorn called to me above the uproar following my declaration. I raised my hands and bowed a little, grinning, in reply.

We finally quieted. The smokers finished their pipes and the company drifted into groups, with the younger hobbits sitting together on the wide stone steps that led up from the balcony to the rooms. I could hear them discussing some of the small doings of their far-off relatives in the Shire, while we larger folk and Bilbo sat at the table, listening to their quiet talk. After a last round of drink, and with many thanks to the hosts, Aragorn made his farewell. Legolas and Gimli took their leave a little later. Bilbo and the wizard retreated to sit by the fire inside, in deference to Bilbo’s age and the cooling night air, and after a few minutes Merry and Pippin joined them there. Only Frodo and I lingered in the starlight, along with Sam, who was cleaning up after the meal.

Frodo lay back on the broad steps and looked up at the night sky, and soon I too was gazing at the stars and thinking my own thoughts. My risky journey had turned out well for me after all. Rivendell seemed perfect, whether for food and drink, or learning about metal-work, or sitting and talking, or a mixture of them all. Every day, I honed my skills with sword and bow, or rode with Elrond’s people on trails high in the wooded hills above the valley, and every evening brought a delightful meal with singing and storytelling afterwards. I counted Elves and Dwarves among my companions now, and I felt completely at home with Halflings, folk whom I had never even believed existed before I came here.

I looked down at Frodo. He was propped on his good elbow against a step, still gazing at the stars. Except for Sam going quietly in and out, we were alone. The silver moonlight lay bright on the patio, with just an occasional flicker from the fire inside lighting us as we sat.

I took a breath. “Frodo?” I said.

He pulled back from wherever his thoughts had led him, and looked over at me with half a smile. “Yes?”

“Did you know what Rivendell was like, before you came here?”

He smiled a bit more and shook his head. “I heard Bilbo talk about it many times, but I never imagined how wonderful it was. He would say that it was just the perfect place to be, the best place ever to live. I could never imagine someplace better than the Shire, but now that I am here, I understand why he wanted to come back.”  His voice trailed off.

“ I know you love the Shire dearly,” I said. “Frodo . . .”

I paused. Frodo looked at me curiously, waiting for me to go on.

I finally spoke the question burning on my heart. “Are you sure that you must be the one to take the Ring?” Frodo’s smile faded and he sat up at my question. “Do you not understand the danger? Frodo,” I said, more urgently this time, “do you not understand that”-- I drew a breath-- “you will not return, if you attempt to do this thing?”

He waited, letting my words hang in the air between us. He studied my face, seeming to decide how much to say.

“I do not think I shall return, Boromir,” he finally said.

An edge of the same strange force that I had felt before from Elrond, and again from the wizard, seemed to brush me as he spoke. I shook off a twinge of fear.

“Why must you try to take this burden to the fire?” I said, keeping my voice low. “Why walk into certain death, when you have all this,” I nodded toward where Bilbo sat inside, “to live for?”

Frodo stood up then, so that his eyes were level with mine. The moonlight gilded one side of his face, firelight the other. He looked at me closely before he replied. “This is something you surely understand,” he said at last.  “I will do this for Bilbo, Boromir. And so that the Shire will remain safe, as long as may be. For Minas Tirith, too, now that I know your struggle. Would you not do the same, to see your home freed from the shadow?”  I felt that invisible wave of power, unmistakable now, buffet me again.

“You do not need to forfeit your life,” I told him plainly. “I am willing to take it, if need be. I came here to do this.”

The silence between us was broken suddenly by Samwise, who came back out just then. When he saw us he made as if to join his master, but Frodo exchanged some signal with him, and he faded back into the shadows of the balcony instead. We looked at each other again in the moonlight. I waited for him to reply.

“My life is already forfeit,” Frodo said.

That took me aback. “What do you mean?” I finally asked.

“The Ring . . . changes  . . . whoever keeps it, Boromir, but not for the better,” he said, so quietly that I held my breath to hear him. “Think of Gollum.” He paused, and I sat like stone, not breathing, waiting for him to continue. “I have seen it change Bilbo, and I can already feel it  . . . changing me. It is not a good change, Boromir. You would not wish for it, if you understood it. I must do this, and not pass it to another who would be destroyed as well.” Frodo closed his eyes and paused, drawing in a long breath before looking out to the dark trees beyond. “In any case, I can no longer give it up.”

His glance had drifted past me for a moment as he spoke, but then he met my eyes again with the full weight of his gaze. I felt that invisible force shake the air between us. “You are strong, and whole, and you must stay that way, for the hope of Minas Tirith. The Ring is altogether evil and it will destroy us all unless we can destroy it first. Do not seek this burden, Boromir, or you will not return to the White Tower of Ecthelion, over your own road in the morning, with the trumpet calling you home.”

I gasped and looked away. How had he known my heart? I spoke no more, but sat in silence for a long time, and after a while Frodo sat back down. I heard the night-sounds of breeze and garden once more, and the quiet voices of Bilbo and Mithrandir, talking by the fire inside. Samwise reappeared from the shadows, gathering the last of the plates. After he had gone, Frodo spoke again.

“You know what Gandalf always says?” he asked, and now as he spoke there was no more invisible swell of power, or dark foreboding words. He was just a hobbit again, sitting on the broad stone steps and looking at the stars. “He says things like, ‘Not even the wise know all ends.’ And lately he has been adding, ‘The road must be trod, but it will be very hard. And neither strength nor wisdom will carry us far upon it.’ Frodo glanced over at me with a hint of his former mischief in his eyes. “I think he is trying to say that I, having neither strength nor wisdom as he sees it, can attempt this task as well as any other.” He laughed a little, and I smiled with him, thinking of the wizard’s brusque ways.

“We are here together by purpose, not by chance.” Frodo was suddenly serious again. “I know the journey will be dangerous. I cannot even imagine what lies ahead.” The little Ringbearer looked over at me. “If you are indeed willing to travel with us, we will be much helped. Aragorn says that you are a valiant Man, and you have already fought the Enemy, and traveled much of the road that we must now take. I know that our hope is in secrecy, not strength, but still,” and he gave me a ghost of a smile, “it will be good to have such a swordsman with us.”

 “The honor is mine, Frodo,” I said after a while. “The men of Minas Tirith are true to their word. I will go, and help you as much as I am able.”

“Thank you very much, Boromir,” he said, and then we sat for a while in the night, looking out at the stars together, each of us imagining what might lie ahead.

Author's note: Don't forget to read chapter 8 before you read this Epilogue. Chapter 8 is the best part of the story.

Thanks again for reading this! Please light up my life by leaving a review, and may a star always shine on your virtual journeys.

Esamen

Epilogue: The Hope of Minas Tirith

We wait for Gandalf on the doorsteps of Elrond’s house, finally ready to leave Rivendell and begin our journey South. Of all the Company, I am the only one who is glad tonight, for I am going home, but I keep my high spirits to myself in respect for their moment of leave-taking.  We are dressed for travel, silent in the chill evening breeze, each no doubt going over what he has packed and what might still be lacking.

I find that a leather lacing high on my cloak needs attention, and I work at it in the darkness until Legolas, standing at my side, finishes the job for me and then slaps my arm lightly to let me know that he is done. I nod my thanks.

Both Gimli and the Elf, like me, seem eager to start now that the time is at hand. Aragorn sits by himself, a little ways from us, still unreadable, mysterious as ever. I smile a little to myself as I watch him—whatever has so distracted him during the stay at Rivendell will be gone once we are on the road, and there are few secrets among nine folk on a long journey. I will know him better, very soon now.

Samwise and the two younger hobbits huddle by the pony, misery in all their faces. I catch Pippin’s eye and smile, hoping to raise his spirits. Frodo and Bilbo stand close together at the top of the stairs, talking until the very last possible moment. Elrond waits in the shadows of the doorway, with many others of his household, to bid us fare well.

I look around, up at the turrets and balconies outlined against the sky. Even though I am eager to see my home again, I feel a pang of regret at leaving Rivendell. This has been a journey of wonders. I am not a scholar like my brother, but I know old lays that tell of Men changed by visiting magical places, and tonight I feel as if I am one of those story-heros— more resolute, more powerful now, than when I first came to this valley.

Yet I have found more here than strength or wisdom. There is another thing one can have in one’s heart, a thing that passes knowledge and skill, a thing I had forgotten in the battlefields, or maybe never knew. I feel it now, as I watch Bilbo gather together with the Halflings a last time. It is what Mithrandir meant when he said  trueness of heart and loyal friendship have ever been our most powerful weapons against the forces of Sauron. The word comes slow to such as me to say it, but I cannot hold back the meaning: it is love, not the courtly manners or the strict obedience that I thought was love till now, but a glow that fills my heart with joy, making all things seem possible, making all costs worthwhile.

Courage born of this wells inside me as I look up at the hills. Beyond them lies my home. I have not forgotten you, my brother, my people. I am coming. Do not lose heart, fair City, I long to call across the mountains. I am coming! Let all the foes of Gondor flee! And I raise my horn and let it call, echoes leaping rock to rock in the night, because for Gondor, hope is come.

                                                ~~~finis~~~

Hello! About 30 readers so far have gone straight to Chapter 9, the Epilogue, and skipped Chapter 8, Ringbearer. If you like the story, you should go back and read Chapter 8. The hobbits host a dinner party, and Boromir finally confronts Frodo about the Ring.

So, let's all go sit on the virtual balcony under the stars and raise a toast to our favorite Fellowship character . . . in Chapter 8. Thanks for reading the story! Please leave a review!

Esamen