Boromir sat in a shallow pool of the Isen, his clothes and armory beside him on the riverbank, sword, shield and knife reflecting the light and heat of the relentless sun. He had reached the ford of the river at midday and saw that the road proceeded due north, leading to that small region known to his people as Angrenost, abandoned by Gondor when necessity required a shrinking of their borders and concentration of forces. Long ago it had been given to the wizard Saruman by his father's ancestor, Beren, Steward of Gondor. The understanding had been that Saruman would dwell peacefully, but Boromir's short respite at Edoras scant days earlier had troubled his heart. Unrest was brewing in the rocky vale, nipping at the western border of Rohan. Eomer and Theodred, Theoden King's nephew and son, and both Marshals of the Mark, had revealed to him that a threat and a shadow was gathering on the outer regions of Rohan, held back from overflowing only by the Isen.

"Be wary on your journey," Theodred had told him. "Have your sword ever ready for this danger can strike at any time. Our people in the Westfold have told us of others fleeing from near the Gap of Rohan, survivors of raids by Dunlendings and creatures that come from Isengard."

"Orcs," Eomer spat. "When the last of their kind is finally put to death, perhaps our country shall know peace again." The fierce light in his eyes and vehement tone as he said it bespoke of his youth and vigorous spirit, whereas Theodred's words reflected his greater age and experience.

Boromir tried not to appear alarmed at what the tall and sun-haired warriors said and thanked them for their knowledge. The truth was, Boromir wondered if his hosts realized that the danger may have progressed further east than the Fords of Isen.

Upon approaching Edoras, passing by the farms that dwelled in the plains around the foot of the hill that housed the Rohirric capital, he noted a pall that hung over the people. The open and robust spirit of the folk he had met in the past was noticeably lacking.

At the gate, he requested entrance and asked to have an audience with Theoden King as well as a new mount. His presence and entreaty was relayed to Meduseld, the seat of the king. Soon a black-clad figure scurried down and delivered the king's message in person. His master would be pleased to hold an audience if he were not suffering from a malady that made him currently unfit to meet with "emissaries." The word was delivered with a sly twist of the lips that made Boromir bristle. The rage he felt must have been clear in his expression, for the pale politician with the invidious tongue immediately affected a humble bow and said that though his master was unavailable, the stables would see to his needs.

It was with the thought that all was not well in Edoras that Boromir made his way up the hill to the stables where Eomer and Theodred were readying their own mounts for a patrol into the plains. It was there that the premier warriors of Rohan told him of the threat in the west that lay in his path. They also gifted him with the gelding he now rode. In Boromir's language, he was called Sarnros, so named for of the wake of earth and rocks behind him when he was spurred into a gallop. As he took him with a grateful bow, he hoped that should he suddenly need this horse's gifts, they would prove true and reliable.

Perhaps Theodred and Eomer were indeed wise to the poison that was seeping further into their lands, for when he mentioned his spurned request to see the king, and the ghostly-visaged man who delighted in the refusal, Eomer growled about the rotten living carcass that was Grima Wormtongue. Boromir had been seeing more and more evidence that all was not well in the west and the fear that Gondor would find itself immersed in a two front war was steadily growing. If it was only worsening as he continued, what would greet him beyond the Gap of Rohan? Would it be Gondor against the rest of the world? Only the words of the riddle prevented him from letting that fear take hold of him. They held a fragment of hope.

        There shall be counsel taken
        Stronger than Morgul-spells.

Whatever the powerful counsel was, it promised to be what Gondor would need in this time of darkness.

Thoughts of Edoras, fallen lands and the nagging enigma of the riddle turned the pleasures of the cool water into a warm and rancid brine. He stood up in disgust and grabbed his cloak, using it as a towel to dry himself. He deemed that he would need another dousing in several days and hoped that a river would appear at the right time. Feeling clean for the first time in well over a week, he felt some of his old energy restored and he pulled on his tunic, breeches and boots with purpose. With care, he arranged all his weaponry on his body, giving each arm a moment of inspection for their cleanliness, strength, or sharp edge. A warm breeze from the south filled his lungs and he exhaled in satisfaction. He had already traveled the entire lengeth of Gondor and Rohan. Imladris, wherever it was, could not possibly be far away. Middle Earth was only part of the vast world and it had to have an end.

Once he set out again, there was little that could delay him, so strong did he feel.

* * *

Dusk covered the land. The cloudless sky allowed the light of the sun to linger well past the time it set and nocturnal creatures were only beginning to emerge from their dens, burrows and perches. Lurtz had not eaten anything since morning and his belly had been rumbling all day. Untrained in the killing of furred game, he had tried to bag a rabbit and a wolf but with failed results. They had run off unharmed and Lurtz' ire was mounting. He regretted that he had not taken something from the Orc to eat should he fail in his quest.

Already he was beginning to doubt that he would find what he sought. The day had yielded not so much as a stray traveller and he wondered if Sharky's rumblings from that fanged fortress he secluded himself in had rippled abroad to the extent that all avoided the region. That would mean poor hunting for he and the other Uruk-hai. They would not cross swords with Men until thrown into battle. He did not doubt that their blades would drink heartily from the blood of Men, but the sweetness of that victory would be delayed that much longer.

He had left the embrace of the Misty Mountains and was now upon a stretch of rocky plains that, looking to the west, descended into a morass of shrubs and thickets, a land from which those Wild Men Sharkey courted scraped out their miserable existence. The Old Man must need their help, Lurtz thought, otherwise he would toss one or two of those fierce animals to us once in awhile. They look able to put up a fight, if only briefly. Still, it would relieve the monotony and empty victory of slaying weakened Orcs.

Lurtz growled in frustration and was about to turn and retrace his steps when a soft breeze swept over his thick skin. He would have paid it no mind but for the scent that was carried upon its wings. It was familiar. He had smelled it before, usually accompanied by the stench of dirt and filth. But this was no Dunlending smell. It was cleaner, crisper.. He stuck out his tongue and let the wind ply it with this new bounty.

Tastier.

Manflesh.

* * *

When it became too dark for Sarnros to take another step without injuring himself, Boromir halted for the night. He could see some rocks that would provide ideal shelter from the chill that promised to settle in the valley between the two mountain ranges. Already the wind that had accompanied him from the Fords of Isen had become stronger and colder. He tugged his cloak more tightly about him and decided that he would find little else more suited to his needs.

Dismounting, he led the gelding over to the natural windbreak and unsaddled him, rubbing him down with the blanket. He took a bag of fodder from one of his saddlebags and let the horse feast while he set about making a small fire with which to warm himself. He would not let it burn long for he did not wish to alert others to his presence, but if he could warm his bones a little he would be able to pass the night with some degree of comfort on the rocky ground.

Gathering some dry grass and dead brush limbs, he set them to burning and huddled around the fire. The smoke that billowed from the flames in small belches filled his lungs and he could soon smell nothing else, not even the dirt and sweat that covered his clothes. When he had deemed himself suitably warmed, he crouched and took handfuls of the sandy earth and was about to toss them onto the fire.

* * *

Lurtz saw a glow in the distance, accompanied by the scent that had driven him onwards through the fading day. He chuckled to himself, the sound vibrating in his throat. This was almost too easy. After proving invisible throughout the day and then elusive with only a scent to trail him by, this Man was now announcing his presence with a campfire. It was still too distant for him to discern exactly what this Man was, how he was armed, and if he was alone. Such details would be discovered in the morning. He would not attack tonight. There was no hurry. After all the trouble of finding what he looked for, he did not wish to risk losing his prize under the cover of darkness.

But. . .he could make the ill-fated quarry lose some much-needed sleep. It would give him a slight advantage tomorrow, but not too much to diminish the pleasure of conquering him.

Lurtz threw back his head and emitted a roaring howl.

* * *

Boromir spun so sharply at the bone-chilling sound coming from behind him that he lost his balance, the earth flying from his hands. Frantically, he grabbed more dirt and piled it onto the flames as fast as he could. The fire quickly sputtered and died.

He peered out into the blackness, eyes wide. His heart hammered in his chest. It sounded like no animal he had ever heard before. Sarnros was nervous and anxiously pawed the ground, shifting from one leg to another. He gave a panicked snort and Boromir made his way to him in a running crouch, keeping his head turned in the direction of the feral roar. He ran a hand along the horse's neck, side and flank, soothing it with words barely a whisper. When no further sound burst from the darkness, Sarnros seemed to relax, if only slightly. Boromir felt no such ease returning to his own body and mind. He dared not move for fear of being followed. Likewise, he did not wish to stay, be a sitting target.

Elbereth! he thought. Give me the strength to stay watchful all night. What fell creature is out there?