To my beta-reader, Lindelea, thanks so much! This story is very special to me, and I'm immensely grateful to you for all the time and effort you put into this story.

Chapter 24

Going South

The first leg of their journey would be swiftest, easiest and safest. The roads were much improved from what they once had been; they were a testament to the wisdom and prosperity of the King. These were new trade routes, easy to travel and well tended.

They pressed on as swiftly as they could. At first the going had been a difficult for Boromir, but after the fourth and fifth days, he seemed to remember his life as a soldier better and could now nod off in the saddle for a few minutes. Still, the trials of the road were not easy on him and medicine or no, he had begun to have a little trouble breathing and a bit of pain in his chest upon occasion. Merry and Pippin said little about it, but he knew they had begun to watch him carefully, and would sometimes press him to stop and rest a while.

He had resisted this at first, but when they reminded him that he would do no one any good if he died on the road, he relented and saw the wisdom in their words. They had been able to take lodgings for a great deal of the first part of this journey, so the going had not been too rough.  But soon there would be nowhere to lodge and they would have to settle into the routine of traveling as far as they might by sun and moon, then making camp to rest and take a meal.

All three were clad in their most comfortable clothing for riding, and Merry and Pippin had brought their elven cloaks, which had held up wonderfully. One would think they were still quite new, and the three, looking at these garments, often reflected on how remarkable a people the Elves were. Boromir had lost his to the falls of Rauros, as it had been folded to pillow his head as he lay in the boat that had served as his coffin. The cloak he carried in his saddlebags now was a deep burgundy. It would serve well enough; though it showed somewhat more wear than the cloaks carried by his hobbit friends. Those elven garments had been carefully packed away along with the livery of Gondor and Rohan. The hobbits had brought them along, to be donned as they approached Rohan.

As they began to settle into the routine of march and camp, Boromir recalled how, when the Fellowship had stopped for rest and repast, the hobbits had always seemed to gather like a small fog bank, bundled in their blankets for sleep, and usually ended up piled together like puppies. He recalled the way they had somehow had an order about who slept where without ever speaking of it. Frodo and Pippin had always wound up in the middle, Merry and Sam taking the edges in what must have been intended as protection for the Ring-bearer and the youngest member of their Fellowship.

History tends to repeat itself, and when they camped for the night, he would find himself between the two hobbits. He did not fail to appreciate the irony of the situation: Once he had been their protector; now, it seemed, their roles were reversed. It took a little getting used to, being burrowed into by a pair of protective hobbits, but it soon became not only habit, but also a source of private amusement. He had never forgotten the ability of hobbits in general—and these two—in particular, to endear themselves, but if he had, this would have been just the example he needed to remind him.

So many years ago, as the Fellowship had traversed along its rough and dangerous way, Pippin had once commented to Boromir that he was “very far away from home,” and Boromir had sensed the young hobbit was in need of companionship and comfort, with Merry being asleep after his turn at watch. Pippin had, after all, been so very young, and used to being sheltered. As Merry slept, Boromir and Pippin sat nearby, listening to the sounds of sleeping companions, and Boromir had done his best to take the young hobbit’s mind off his homesickness and worry. He gave Pippin a heart-pounding account of the fall of Osgiliath, and soon the youngest of the Fellowship seemed to come back from his pining for home. The Man now began to appreciate how Pippin must have felt that day and indeed a great part of that journey. Boromir felt “very far away from home,” himself. As he lay there trying to sleep with guardian hobbits burrowing into his sides, he reflected on the word “home.” He was a man with two homes—twice as much to miss.

Boromir’s days as one of the Wild Folk came back to him fully, now, and it proved very useful. He began to teach the hobbits as much as he could of their ways. It was a good way to pass the time, and it taught the hobbits just how remarkable those Folk were. He showed them how to build a rough lean-to when weather was unfriendly, and how to select materials, showing them how to choose broad flat leaves to slip into the thin branches that were woven together to make up the framework of the temporary shelter. He showed them how to set snares for rabbits after the fashion of the Wild Folk, and which wild plants were good to eat, and a great deal about tracking. They had been both fascinated and disgusted that Boromir knew how to live entirely off insects and wild plants.

Soon they began to meet up with the mounts sent by Rohan, and with fresh beasts to ride, the journey went along efficiently and with greater speed than he had deemed possible. Sooner than they hoped, they had crossed the Greyflood, and so went into Dunland, where Merry and Pippin had hoped to catch a glimpse of the Wild Folk. Boromir told them that this would most likely not come to pass, as this was the time of year the Wild Folk wandered to the highlands, descending only when the fish they caught to dry for the winter would be spawning.

As they drew closer to the river Isen, Boromir grew more silent and grim, and worry weighed heavily upon him. Pippin did his best to lighten his friend's heart, with some measure of success, but he still worried about the Man. With Merry he kept constant vigil on Boromir’s condition, and would stop and stubbornly refuse to move an inch until Boromir had seen to his medicines. Merry knew the herbs used, and watched to make sure Boromir didn’t skip any nor botch the measurements. They had rested two days at Tharbad, taking this time to smooth out their plans and strategies. Details here and there still needed to be ironed out, and much would have to be decided in the moment, as it were, being unable to cross certain bridges until they got to them.

Soon the water meadows began to appear, and Merry knew they would be meeting the Rohirrim ere long. Now they were on the lands that Boromir knew so well. As they made ready to camp at the end of the day, Boromir asked Merry to ride ahead to the Golden Hall, and speak to Éomer alone, and secure an oath of silence in his behalf, explaining Boromir’s plan to catch the detractors by surprise. Rohan had ever been a friend to Gondor, and Boromir felt sure of securing this oath.

Secretly he had come back into the lands where he once had ridden proudly and freely. Only once before had he come here secretly, when he was still a half-mad wanderer. That time was behind him, now, and he could barely stand the thought that he had done so.  It irked Boromir to slink into these lands as a thief in the night, but he knew this served a higher purpose. Had he been the man he once was, he would have ridden headlong into the situation, perhaps causing yet more chaos. But that man no longer walked the earth; he had grown used to living quietly, and keeping himself to himself, and had learned to weigh matters more slowly and cautiously.

Boromir needed to speak to Éomer personally and privately; he wanted to know as much as he could find out about where each member of the Council of the Sceptre stood: who stood fast, on which side, and who had yet to take sides, if any. He wanted news of Faramir: where he might be and at what time, and how best to break his news to his brother without revealing himself to the enemies of the King. As Boromir spoke, Merry and Pippin once more saw how Boromir had become the renowned Captain-General and High Warden of the White Tower. He seemed to have mapped out who he needed and when, where he needed to be and at which time, and how to approach all these things in the most efficient manner possible. He seemed to be able to think of several things all at once, and how to dovetail one strategy into the next.

 Merry recalled the words of Éomer upon learning of Boromir’s supposed death — "Great harm is this death to Minas Tirith, and to us all. That he was a worthy man; all spoke his praise. More like the swift sons of Eorl than to the grave Men of Gondor he seemed to me, and likely to prove a great captain of his people when his time came.”* Merry wondered what it would have been like to have Boromir present for the King’s coronation. His heart flagged a little at this thought—from what Boromir had told him during this time he had been…well, broken.

Yes, broken, in heart, mind and body. Merry had worried about Pippin so at the time, as he knew Pippin had come to see Boromir as both a hero and a brother. Pippin had been so young and impressionable at that time, and Merry had thought it a dear thing to see the lad find a hero to emulate. Merry had grieved for Boromir, but he had grieved for Pippin’s sake as well, knowing he had seen Boromir fall, filled with black Orc arrows. Many times had Pippin wept quietly, and, Merry was sure, while thinking no one knew. Pippin had been sure no one understood what Boromir had meant to himself and to Merry, and Merry felt Pippin had had a point. Only Frodo and Sam had really, truly understood. Both had had dealings with the Ring, and both knew how it could stalk the spirit and tear down even toughened defenses. They understood that Boromir, in his despair over his City, had been easy prey. Also, they knew that if Sauron could take Boromir as a thrall, this would have frozen the hearts of the Men of Minas Tirith. They came to see this still more fully after seeing Gondor and witnessing for themselves what the constant threat of Mordor had done to the spirits of those who dwelt in the White City.

Now Gondor was once more threatened, this time from within, and Boromir would not— could not—turn his back on her. He sat now, speaking in depth to Merry and Pippin of his thoughts and fears and plans. Boromir spoke of his need to take council with his brother Faramir. His brother would know more and best of the ways of the Council of Gondor and the Sceptre, for the laws of that land and the lesser fiefdoms were ancient and tested by time, and had been written in order to prevent just such problems as now arose. Boromir explained more fully the intricacies of this situation. Pippin understood this in better detail than Merry, for he had long studied the histories of Gondor, being a Knight of that place. Pippin understood that this matter was complicated and delicate... very, very dangerous.

For beneath the King in authority were the Lords of the realm. These Lords held fiefs from the crown. In Gondor at the end of the Third Age, the vassals of the Stewards included the Lords of Lossarnach, Ringlo Vale, Morthond, Lamedon and Anfalas, and the Prince of Dol Amroth. These Lords held their lands through hereditary succession, like the Crown and Stewards, and from their ranks were drawn important royal officers, or even successors to the throne.

Too, they also had a role in the Council of Gondor, whose advice the kings or, in the absence of a king, the Stewards were obliged to consider, depending on their character and the power of their situation. The traditions of the Dunedain suggested that the Council was based on the Council of the Sceptre in Númenor itself and had not changed much over the centuries in either power or role.

These were complex matters, and Boromir had never had the will to learn to deal with them. Boromir had been a doer, not a great thinker. And like many of his brothers in arms, he had a soldier’s contempt for politics. Faramir, however, had always had both will and ability, as well as the faith of his followers in all matters. His help was imperative. All of them were about to enter into the very eye of a political storm, and Boromir would need to depend heavily on his brother and Éomer.

Pippin watched as the words brought a troubled look to his friend’s brow, and, concerned that these heavy words might worsen Boromir’s condition, made light of the matter by making up quotes from tavern girls that, in a bawdy way, lamented the loss of their Boromir. This was the best medicine Boromir could have taken, as his heart was instantly made lighter and happier; whatever might happen, he could always count as brothers these two small soldiers.

Yes, members of the same family could indeed be born of different parents and different peoples. Boromir grinned, thinking how his family had grown. 

Their fire banked and the travelers bundled in their blankets, the three settled in for the night.

But Pippin couldn’t sleep. They had not bothered to keep watches as they had just before and during the War of the Ring, as they now rode instead of walking, and with three mounts, and the times being far less perilous. Had anything been a danger, the horses would have awakened them in plenty of time to take what action may be needed.

How unlike that journey this one had been! The first time he had gone on a journey of this scope he had done it for his cousin and friend, neither knowing nor caring much about anything outside of the confines of his homelands. Now he made this journey for the good of the King and all the countries and fiefdoms that could be affected by the turmoil sure to erupt if he and his friends did not intercede.

But there was another reason this journey was important to him, and that reason lay softly snoring next to his dearest friend. He had always loved Boromir. In fact, from the first he had liked him, admired him, then grown to love him. He had grown to love him because Boromir had grown to love Merry and himself, and love begets love just as hate begets hate. The love he felt for the Man was different now, because Boromir, as well as Pippin himself, was different.

He still saw Boromir as a hero—he always would— but he also saw him in a different light now, and at once. He had, after all, changed in many ways, yet in some ways he was not so different at all. He seemed somehow more complex than he had ever been, and that was saying a lot, yet at the same time, he was simpler, more, well, hobbit-like, Pippin supposed. It was as though a part of Boromir had been wiped clean, the part that had made him so grim and unhappy, and in its place was something of a mystery, a sojourner on an inner journey, a pilgrim of the heart. Still a hero, but a different kind of hero, now. He knew no one braver, as it took a brave Man indeed, or hobbit, for that matter, to look deeply inside one’s own heart. Boromir had been on a pilgrimage that few were honest or brave enough to make.

Pippin knew that this sojourn would never be complete unless Boromir could see his brother. So often had Boromir spoken to him of Faramir, always with great affection, when they had been on their quest, and Boromir had spoken of his brother as well since coming to the Old Forest, but not so often and not in great detail, as he had before. It was an open sore in his heart, and it would never be healed until the brothers were reunited.

Pippin imagined that had he been in Boromir’s place, it would be much like never seeing Merry again, and the thought made him shudder. How that would break his heart, never to see Merry again! It made his heart recoil, and at once flood with sadness for Boromir and Faramir. Well, that would soon be taken care of, and he hoped all would go well. He was, in fact, fairly certain it would indeed go well. Faramir would see. He had that ability to look into a person, and he surely would be able to see the changes in his brother, and to know how and why those changes had happened.

But Pippin, and Merry as well, had a bit of a problem, and neither knew how to solve it. The King had issued a decree that Men were not allowed to live within the lands held by hobbits. They had said nothing to Boromir about it, indeed no one had, as the Old Forest was looked on with suspicion, and no one cared if Boromir lived there. While it was true that Bucklanders were particular in that they were more accepting of their bigger neighbors, Pippin didn’t know a single hobbit that had anything bad to say about Boromir, and considering the love of gossip many hobbits had, that was quite a feat.

But Pippin knew this issue would be raised, if for no other reason than to convince Boromir he must stay in Gondor or Ithilien, and Pippin did not believe for one minute that Boromir would ever be happy to live in either place for the rest of his life.

Boromir’s talk of the thing he called the Light was something that Pippin found to be fascinating, and he knew that this was the one thing that had helped Boromir to go on when he might have died or despaired. And Boromir believed the Light wanted him to stay in the Old Forest. And his friend had Saro and a baby on the way. That was all Pippin needed to know about it. Boromir must be allowed to go back to his home in the Old Forest.

Pippin put down his pipe and walked over to where his friends were sleeping, and stood quietly just watching them, the way he sometimes watched his son sleep. He reached over and adjusted the blanket over Merry. Boromir’s hair had fallen over his face, and Pippin softly combed it back with his fingers, the better to see his friend’s face. Boromir’s nose twitched in his sleep, making Pippin grin. He loved how people looked when they sleep, their faces smoothed out in peace, calm and serene and free from the cares of the everyday world. He found the faces of the sleeping to be somewhat beautiful, whether old or young, hobbit, man, dwarf or elf.

 Well, Elves are just nice-looking people anyway, and they don’t sleep like other people do, but never mind that, he thought. What am I to do about this, Boromir? How do I remain faithful to the King, and see that you are allowed to return home, too? You must be allowed to come back home! You have your Saro and your baby coming, and your bees and your many cats, and, you great goose, you have whole families of hobbits that would like to keep you nearby. Just look at you. You may be big, but sometimes, I feel as though I should be taking care of you, just like you once looked after Merry and me. Do you know that I wanted to name my son after you, but couldn’t, because when I thought of you I got a big lump in my throat? And dear Merry. He loves you, too, you know. What are we to do about you? How are we to solve this problem? How I wish Gandalf were here now! He would know what to do. I’m afraid you are stuck with a pair of hobbits to solve this problem. This is so complicated, but we will do our best, Merry and I. Sleep well, my friend, and dream of your sweet lady and fat babies. Somehow, we will take care of this. I don’t know how, but I must, and so I will. How I hope these problems don’t make your health worse. I see you struggle for breath sometimes, and when I think how strong you once were, it breaks my heart.

Pippin, without realizing it, had his arms crossed in that pose that signaled no nonsense would be tolerated. He went back to his pipe, and continued to watch Merry and Boromir sleep, and his thoughts turned to his Diamond and his son.

*Not, repeat, not mine. These are JRRT’s words. I only wish I could write so beautifully.