A/N: Thanks to you all for your patience, and encouragement.

Chapter 8.

Explaining that he had yet to tell his brothers of their recall to the Golden Wood, Haldir took his leave of Boromir and went in search of Rumil and Orophin. Not a difficult task since the sound of their merry laughter and playful taunts as they prepared the evening meal together was easily heard in the stillness of twilight. Haldir approached silently and watched them unawares for a few moments, smiling at the scowl on Orophin’s face when Rumil screwed his nose in distaste at the broth he was offered.

“Are you sure Haldir did not make this? It smells terrible.” Rumil asked as he tentatively licked the spoonful of steaming liquid that his brother had taken great care to prepare.

“There is no need to insult my cooking, besides anyone who has been on patrol with our beloved brother will tell you that nobody makes broth that tastes as bad as Haldir‘s,” Orophin retorted, his words causing Rumil to nod in agreement and them both to snicker. Haldir frowned at the slight to his cooking skills but he was not really offended because he knew they spoke the truth, not that he was prepared to admit it to these two.

“Is that so?“ Haldir asked, as he strode over to the campfire, his attempt at sounding affronted totally ruined by his smile and his next words. “Perhaps that is the reason our friend from Gondor has decided to return home,” Haldir joined in the laughter that followed the news he had imparted momentarily lost in the jest.

“Are you telling us that Boromir is leaving?” Rumil asked when the mirth subsided.

“As soon as Aragorn has seen to his healing and he is well enough to travel.” Haldir nodded and two pairs of eyes widened with surprise.

Boromir’s decision to return to Minas Tirith was received with delighted approval by Rumil and Orophin, who both agreed it was certainly for the best since neither Elf had fully understood their friend’s reluctance to go home, ailing health and bruised pride notwithstanding. Whenever talk around the evening campfire turned to a discussion of favourite places, friends who were sorely missed but would soon be seen again, Boromir’s participation had always been both melancholy and wistful. Yet the sorrow in his voice left no doubt in anyone’s mind that the White City called to his heart as strongly as Lothlorien called to hearts of the Galadhrim.

“Faramir will be pleased to see his brother again,” Orophin commented thoughtfully, his eyes glittering with excitement as another very pleasant thought crossed his mind. “Does that mean we are also going home?“ Both elves listened for Haldir’s response with unconcealed hope.

“Aye, the Golden Wood awaits us, as does this fine skin of wine our Lord sent with his summons,” Haldir affirmed, smiling happily as he briefly placed an arm around each of his brothers’ shoulders before filling their cups. Seeing Boromir approach, Haldir filled an extra cup and offered it to his friend.

“Will you join us in a toast to homecomings, Boromir?” The man accepted with a nod and moved to take his usual place around the fire, ignoring for the moment his bodily aches and pains and his need for rest. Sweet elvish voices sang merry songs, Lord Celeborn’s wine made the tasteless broth more palatable and Boromir found himself laughing more than he had in months as tales of childhood antics were exchanged among Haldir, his brothers and the bearer of the good tidings from Lothlorien.

Later that night as he lay in bed waiting for sleep to take him, Boromir’s mind was still clouded with doubt and uncertainty about his own future, and he wished he felt the same peace and contentment that his friends displayed as they eagerly made plans for their return home.

Dreams of a ravaged Minas Tirith, of death and destruction and the cruel laughter of the mad voice that had convinced him to steal the ring from Frodo once again haunted Boromir’s rest. Although he knew the images and feelings would disappear when he awoke, he was unable to open his eyes and seek escape and so spent the night writhing and thrashing in the bed, soaking the sheets with sweat and tears. When finally the ordeal was over, his head was pounding and even the pale morning light was enough to cause him to close his eyes in agony against the searing pain and he berated himself for drinking too much wine the night before.

Determined to rise and see to his bodily needs, Boromir made an unsuccessful attempt to sit up only to find he had barely the energy to cast aside the bedcover with arms that felt too heavy to move, the effort simply to lift his head causing a shortness of breath. Physically and emotionally exhausted, he slumped back onto his pillow and almost too eagerly sank into the welcoming blackness that overtook him.

Haldir, who was already on his way to see how his friend fared after returning from the night watch, heard the laboured breathing, rushed to the stricken man’s bedside.

“Boromir? Can you hear me?” The Elf asked his alarm increasing when there was no answer. Reaching for a wet cloth, he wiped it over cheeks that were almost white and a brow covered in sheen of sweat. Boromir’s breathing slowed until the rise and fall of his chest was barely noticeable, but, Haldir thanked the Valar, it did not stop. He carefully removed Boromir’s sweat-soaked sleeping shirt, knowing even before he looked that the scars caused by the Uruk arrows would be black and cold to the touch. Scars that spoke of death seeking another soul. Only the healing hands of the King could draw out the evil darkness entwined within the body of the brave Man of Gondor.

“Rumil! Orophin!” He called out, taking his friend’s hand and offering what warmth he could. Hearing the fear in their brother’s voice, the two elves made their way quickly to Boromir’s talan. One look at the desperation in Haldir’s eyes told them what they needed to do before he had a chance to utter a word.

“He needs Aragorn! Now!”

--------------------------------------------------
Aragorn and Legolas had made good time to Parth Galen, and were now heading towards the part of Amon Hen where they hoped to find Boromir. The forest was thick with trees in this place, the lack of sunlight shrouding it in mist and shadow, the only sounds to be heard were the rustling of leaves and the eerie whispering of the breeze that played amongst the ancient trees and the weathered ruins

“Faramir was right about these woods, I can feel eyes watching every step we take,” Aragorn spoke softly to his companion. Legolas nodded his agreement.

“Aye, I have caught the occasional glimpse of movement in the shadows, but we are in no danger,” the Elf stated confidently.

“How can you be so certain? When we were here before, I admit I sensed a presence but it thought it only a waking dream” Aragorn explained, feeling a cold shiver run down his spine that his feelings had perhaps been much more than a dream. .

“They are no dream, Aragorn. When were here during the war, the darkness of Sauron’s shadow overwhelmed my senses and I could neither feel nor see anything else but his evil minions. Now the only ghosts I see here are those of your ancestors. “ Legolas said, bowing his head respectfully and placing his hand over his heart as if offering elvish greeting to those unable to be seen by Aragorn.

“Ah, I forgot for a moment that you see those I cannot,” Aragorn replied wishing that he could see them also. Was Elros among them or perhaps Elendil..? Isildur? He wondered, suddenly finding the thought of his forefathers watching over him comforting.

“Welcome, King Elessar, long may you rule...“ Hearing the voices, Aragorn turned his head swiftly from side to side looking for the ones who had spoken but, as expected, saw nobody other than Legolas.

“Can you hear them? “ Legolas asked, obviously having heard the same words Aragorn thought he had just imagined. Aragorn nodded, any further answer halted by a voice that begged,

“Help Boromir... ,”

“Did you hear that? We must hurry,” Aragorn said, his voice filled with the same urgency he had heard in the disembodied voice. Legolas nodded and they quickly scouted around for a sign of the trail that would lead them to Haldir’s camp. Before either had a chance to find it however, someone else spoke.

“Look no further, my brother and I will lead you, but you must make haste.“

Not his ancestors this time, Aragorn knew, easily recognising the melodious tones of one of the Firstborn. He turned and breathed a sigh of relief to see Rumil and Orophin emerging from the mists surrounding a particularly ancient stand of trees.