Disclaimer: LOTR belongs to the creative genius of JRR Tolkien, not me.

Chapter 2. Dress (non)Sense

When they returned to the campsite, Boromir removed his finery ready to don the ranger’s garb. Although both men were of similar height, Aragorn was somewhat more slightly built than Boromir, as they discovered during his unsuccessful attempt to fit into Aragorn’s spare clothes. However, as Gandalf pointed out, Boromir’s thick linen under tunic would serve admirably.

“It is of finer quality than most others would wear as an outer garment,” he commented as he rubbed a portion of the hem between his fingers. Aragorn and Boromir exchanged amused smiles and tried their best to contain their mirth at the absurd path the situation was beginning to take.

“I am relieved the others are not awake to witness this scene. I fear Merry and Pippin would take altogether too much delight in teasing us,” Aragorn whispered, apparently having similar thoughts to Boromir whose eyes twinkled with amused agreement. By now the others would  be roaring with laughter at the very idea of the Steward’s son, the Istar and the future king discussing clothing like a group of maidens.

“Not to mention offering far too many suggestions as to what staple supplies we need to try and obtain,” Boromir added, thinking of the imaginative meal time.

 “Whilst I would not be so foolish as to suggest you travel unarmed, I think you should do your best to conceal your swords. Such finely crafted weapons as you both carry will just as surely attract as much attention as silks and velvets,” Gandalf continued on, seemingly unaware of the conversation. He smiled slightly as both men simultaneously placed their hands on the hilts of their swords as if to protect them from prying eyes.

“I can wear my blanket as a cloak,” Boromir suggested, securing the warm cloth about his shoulders with such practiced ease that caused Aragorn to raise an eyebrow in surprise.

“Not very elegant, yet quite ‘forgettable’,” he said, unable to refrain from jesting a little. Boromir rolled his eyes in exasperation and chuckled before offering an explanation.

“My brother is also a ranger, and I have, on occasion, dressed as one and accompanied him and his men on their patrols.”

“Ah, that will do nicely as it also hides your sword,” Gandalf said in all seriousness, still seemingly oblivious to the air of  barely contained humour as Aragorn and Boromir exchanged a smirk at the unintentional, yet ‘colourful’ innuendo. Aragorn drew his cloak more tightly around his body, making a great show of  hiding his own sword, earning a nod of approval from the Istar as well, causing the men to burst into laughter. Gandalf so nothing amusing and so chose to ignore the merriment, settling himself in his bed roll instead. “I think you two should take some rest before you travel to the village, it is yet early morn and you must be tired,” he told them as he yawned loudly, pulled his blanket up to his chin and promptly fell asleep.

Both men were more than willing to follow that suggestion. They had journeyed all night, and although they could be considered to be  in their prime, there were still limits to their endurance, and  the demands of ever being on watch for danger, as well as lack of food and sleep, had made them both weary.

“That would indeed be wise. I will ask Legolas to wake us in a few hours,” Aragorn said, looking to Boromir for confirmation before he began walking towards where the Elf was keeping watch.

“Aye, we best be fully alert and have our wits about us when we arrive in the village,” he agreed, packing his discarded clothes away before choosing a place to sleep.

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It was well before mid day that a firm shake of his shoulder roused Boromir from his slumber, and as a warrior is trained to do, he awoke fully alert. Sitting up, he accepted the mug of hot tea and the small piece of cheese Legolas offered as breakfast, and seeing Aragorn was ready to leave, he quickly finished his meager meal and was soon ready to join his friend who was now talking with the Elf.

“As I said, the village is about three miles that way,” Legolas affirmed, pointing in a southerly direction. “While you were sleeping, I found higher ground and my eyes tell me there are several small farms scattered about, and there is a well worn road leading into the forest that lies between here and there, possibly to a village in the clearing I noticed amongst the trees.”

“Did you notice any other travelers? We must try not to draw too much attention to ourselves,” Aragorn commented, concerned that word of the two rangers might find its way to unwelcome ears.

“Nay, but neither do I sense any of Sauron’s dark creatures nearby. You should find the journey swift and uneventful,” Legolas replied with elvish certainty.

“Aye, I expect we will return before nightfall, but if we are delayed, continue on without us. Boromir and I will rejoin you as soon as possible,” Aragorn instructed. Since Legolas deemed it to be safe in these parts, Aragorn was confident that the Elf, Gimli and Gandalf would provide enough protection for the others until he and Boromir returned. Bidding their friend a brief farewell, the two men soon disappeared in the direction of the village.

Despite Legolas’s assurances, both men kept a watchful eye as they made their way through the sometimes tangled undergrowth, Boromir willingly deferring the finding of a suitable path to the tracking skills of the more experienced ranger. Neither men found the need to speak, preferring to use their energy to hack their way through tall bushes and, as they entered the forest, the thick, gnarled vines that seemed to be deliberately attempting to hinder their progress. After several hours of hard, work, and enticed by the sound of the undoubtedly cool, running water of a stream somewhere ahead, both tired and thirsty men were pleased with their progress and were ready to take a short, well earned rest.

Moving out of the shadow of the trees, and towards the sound of the water, Aragorn was forced to stop short when he realized the stream ran not in front of them, but far below in the ravine on the edge of which they now stood. Boromir did not bother to contain his groan of disappointment as he and Aragorn shared a look of despair.

“Curse that Elf, he did not mention this obstacle lay in our path,” he said angrily as he sat on a nearby rock and took a draught from his water skin.

“Legolas is not to blame, elvish eyes can see great distances, but not through thick woods that hide much from his view,” Aragorn replied in defense of his friend. Boromir offered that comment only a resigned shrug as he handed the water skin to Aragorn.

“Well, surely there must be a crossing,” Boromir said standing again and moving to the edge of the ravine so that he could try and gauge how far it extended in both directions. Aragorn moved to stand at his side.

“Not for many miles, I would guess,” he said as he brushed several locks of  unruly hair from his face, squinting his eyes as he also looked to his left and right, sighing with dismay only to discover that the stream ran far below them as far as either of them could see.

“So, we have two choices,” Boromir said, thinking aloud. “We can follow the stream and try and find a place to cross, or we can abandon our plans and hope we soon find a more accessible village. We can not afford to linger here too long.”

“Nay we can not, Sauron has spies everywhere, but we still need to replenish our supplies,” Aragorn reminded his companion. “Perhaps there is a bridge further downstream?”

“Aye, that seems likely to me and it will cause us no delay if we follow the course of the stream to the south, for that is the direction Gandalf and Legolas will lead the rest of our companions tonight. If we are unable to find a way across before it is time to make our way back, then at least we will not have far to travel to rejoin the others.”

“An excellent strategy, and one such as I would expect from the man born to be Steward of Gondor, even when dressed as a ranger.” There was nothing but sincere admiration in Aragorn’s tone of voice, or in the affectionate clasp of his hand on Boromir’s shoulder, a gesture that was rewarded with a slight bow of respect, and a warm, friendly smile.

Chapter 3. A Boy and His Boat

The rocky ground that formed the edge of the ravine supported little plant growth and made the way easier, allowing Aragorn and Boromir to travel at a more acceptable speed.  When Aragorn took the time to note the lengthening shadows he realised it was well after midday. A glance at Boromir told him that he also knew it would soon be time to forsake their task and rejoin their companions.

“I suppose that by now the others are awake and well aware of our absence,” he mused as he reached out a steadying hand to Boromir who had almost lost his footing on a rock hidden beneath a particularly damp patch of grass. The Steward’s son glared menacingly at the offending rock for a moment than clasped Aragorn’s shoulder and smiled his thanks.

“Aye, and no doubt the hobbits are already trying to imagine what we will be bringing back for tonight’s supper,” Boromir replied affectionately at the thought of pleasing his friends in this small way. He was not particularly bothered by the lack of variety in their repasts, what he craved more than a good meal was a nice, hot bath. He allowed a small sigh to escape as he thought of the deep tub in his private bathing chamber, lit by the soft glow of candles, and a cup of good wine to help him relax. “And a lovely maiden or two to wash your back. I know of several who would only be too happy to oblige,” he could hear Faramir teasing, just as he could imagine the wicked gleam in his brother’s eye for which a cold wash cloth in the face was always a quick remedy. The thought vanished into the mists of memory and Boromir turned his attention back to his companion.

“Speaking of which, it occurs to me that we have not discussed how we are to pay for any goods the villagers might be able to provide,” Aragorn was saying. In his experience, rangers rarely had to pay for a roof over their heads or a hot meal and a tankard of ale. The protection these men offered the villagers was deemed payment enough, and he said as much.

“When travelling alone in Gondor I am treated in the same manner, however it is my habit to pay a fair price for soldiers’ rations when I am with my army or when journeying through strange lands. I have sufficient coin,” he assured his companion, tapping the small pouch on his belt.

“Not only are you their fierce protector but you are a fair and honourable man as well. ‘Tis no surprise you are much beloved by your people,” Aragorn observed. The more he learned about his Steward’s son, the more he found there was to respect and admire.

“They are your people, too,” came the reply. Steel grey eyes searched Boromir’s face but found nothing other than loyalty etched in the handsome features and Aragorn knew that the words had been spoken not as a rebuke to the reluctant king, but as a gentle reminder.

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To the relief of both men, they soon noticed that they were beginning to move downhill.  The slow fall in the lay of the land as they continued downstream was a welcome sign that their quest might succeed, as was the sight that greeted them when they rounded the curve they had been following.

Although they would need to climb down the remaining embankment to reach it, the stream was now easily accessible and across the water they could see a well-worn path that lead into the forest and the village they were seeking. A short distance along the bank was the means to reach it.

“It seems our fortune has changed for the better, if my eyes do not deceive me. Is that a boat?” Boromir asked, pointing to the small craft that was beached on the pebble-strewn bank on their side of the water.

“Indeed it is, but I wonder whether it belongs to friend or foe,” Aragorn replied, placing his hand on his sword hilt, suddenly on the alert for danger. He noted that Boromir had instinctively done likewise and was now looking around cautiously. Silent agreement was reached with a slight incline of a head that was acknowledged by a quick nod, and the two men moved stealthily towards their goal.

“It appears to have been abandoned. I do not think it will stay afloat long enough to reach the other shore,” Boromir said after further inspection. The boat was in poor condition, and apparently leaked from somewhere, judging by the bucket he held aloft, having found it lying to one side.

“You have likely had more experience with river craft than I have, can we use it?” Aragorn asked, as he stood, hands on hips and scowled at the item in Boromir’s hands.

“Perhaps, it is the only way across that I can see. We could swim, but we will need something to ferry the supplies back. Faramir and I have rowed the Anduin in worse than this, and as long as you are prepared to assist, it should serve its purpose,” Boromir said encouragingly and with a hint of amusement as he handed Aragorn the bucket and proceeded to search for the oars. Only one was to be found, and he had just suggested they look further ashore for the other when a cry of pain reached their ears. Signalling for Boromir to follow, Aragorn raced ahead to where he believed the owner of the voice was located.

Frightened eyes stared at the two men, and although his foot was trapped firmly between two rocks, the youth waved the second oar in a threatening manner even as he tried to back away when they approached. His movement must have caused some pain, for he cried out as he did so, dropped his makeshift weapon and reached for his ankle. He looked up and was startled to see Aragorn already so close by.

“It is very swollen, but I do not think it is broken. We will have to free you so that I can examine it properly,” Aragorn said, using his soothing healer’s voice as he knelt beside the boy and slowly reached out touch the injured ankle. The boy looked from one man to the other and, apparently deciding to trust the strangers, he nodded his agreement.

“I think I can loosen this one a little,” Boromir said as he managed to get a grip on the smaller of the rocks and move it slightly. Using his dagger, dug around it some more, removing as much soil as possible before applying his full strength to the cool stone, pulling on it and widening the gap enough for Aragorn to gently ease the boy’s ankle out of its trap.

The boy bravely endured another few moments of prodding and poking before Aragorn declared there was no broken bones, the ankle was merely badly bruised.

“Where do you live?” he asked the boy as he applied some of the salve he carried as a matter of course, not only as a ranger, but because of the company he was now keeping. The hobbits were unaccustomed to the hardships of travelling rugged terrain and often required treatment for cuts and bruises.

“In the village across the river,” came the reply.

“Did you row here in that boat?” Aragorn asked, inclining his head towards the direction of the stream.

“Aye, I do it all the time,” the boy replied with an air of pride, the foolish pride of youth, as far as Boromir was concerned.

“Then you are very fortunate not to have drowned, the boat is in dire need of repair,” Boromir commented sternly, his uncertainty whether to be impressed with the boy’s skill or admonish him for taking such a dangerous chance with fate, reminding him of the times a much younger Faramir had put him in a similar position.

“It will be fixed, just as soon as I find my father. He was hunting on this side of the stream several days ago, and did not return. I promised mother that I would find him.” There was both a sadness and defiance of a bitter truth in the young eyes that touched the men’s hearts. They knew it was unlikely that the other man would be found alive.

“But not today. You cannot walk and it will soon be night. My friend and I have business in the village and will see you safely home,” Aragorn said gently, looking to Boromir for agreement to the change in plan that meant they would be spending the night here rather than returning to their friends.

“As you say, my friend. We can continue on our way in the morning,” Boromir replied, following Aragorn's lead and deliberately not using names as a means of their own protection.

Ably assisted by Aragorn and their young friend, Boromir managed to row the boat safely to the other shore. However, not only did the water seep in between the numerous cracks in the bottom of the boat, but is somehow managed to dampen all their clothing and it was two bedraggled men that the boy introduced to his mother.

The woman thanked them both profusely for rescuing her son, then offered a warm meal and a roof for the night that Aragorn gratefully accepted for them both. In reply to her query as to why they were visiting the village, Boromir quickly explained that they were explorers in need of supplies to allow them to continue their journey. Whether or not the tale was believed he was not certain, but the woman asked no further questions.

“Then it is fortunate you have arrived on market day. It is late, but there will still be many stalls open until well after dark,” she told them. Boromir then asked for directions to the village and with a promise to return by suppertime, the two men made their way to their destination.

Chapter 4. A Tavern Tale

As Legolas had described, the village was set in a clearing in the forest and despite the protection afforded by the trees that surrounded them, and in keeping with the common practice of the times, the buildings were also encircled by a tall wooden wall. The only entrance was the sturdy looking wooden gates that, except for having only the one small opening at a height suited to men rather than another lower down for hobbits and Dwarves, reminded Aragorn of the one at Bree. As in that village, the gates were closed and Boromir knocked sharply on the post to attract the keeper’s attention.

“Good day to you, Master Keeper, may we enter?” he asked politely, directing his words to the face peering with open suspicion through the open window. He studied the two men for a few moments then, obviously recognising their mode of dress, much to Boromir’s relief, he spoke sharply.

“’Tis not often we see the likes of you in this village. What business have two rangers here?” asked the gatekeeper, keeping his tone of voice and demeanour amiable but allowing his eyes to make it known that he would not permit them to go one step further if he was not satisfied with their answer.

“Since you know of rangers, surely you must know we are no threat. We have been travelling for many weeks and merely seek to replenish our supplies, and perhaps share a tankard or two of ale in your tavern,” Aragorn replied exchanging a knowing wink with the man who nodded his understanding.

“Aye, travelling can surely make one thirst for something a little stronger than water to drink, and the few rangers who have passed this way have caused no trouble,” he agreed, moving away from the window to open the gate. “The marketplace is up ahead as you can see,” he said, indicating the small collection of carts and stalls that were in what appeared to be the village square. “The tavern is beyond it and to the left.”

“Thank you kindly,” Aragorn said as he and Boromir stepped through the gateway. The two men were clearly strangers in these parts, so neither was surprised to find they earned some curious stares from the villagers and visiting farmers alike. However, after the initial wary glances, it was apparently decided these travellers meant no harm and frowns of concern transformed to friendly smiles, the occasional word of greeting or simply a nod of the head in welcome.

“I did not realise your Dúnedain ventured this far south,” Boromir said, knowing that Faramir’s men certainly had never patrolled further north than the borders of Ithilien.

“On occasion the hunt for orc and such, or the need to deliver messages to the wardens of Lothlórien brings a ranger this way,” Aragorn explained, carefully avoiding mentioning that in years gone by, he had done so himself. He had not mentioned yet that in his guise as Thorongil, he had been in Minas Tirith. During their brief time away from the Fellowship, the fragile friendship between he and Boromir was beginning to strengthen and Aragorn decided some truths could wait to be told. Boromir merely nodded his acceptance of this answer and, with their own purpose in mind, headed for a cart laden with breads, cheeses and pastries.

“These pies look like something our small friends would enjoy,” he said quietly to Aragorn, rummaging in his pouch for a copper coin, handing it to the woman who ran the stall and taking one of the fruit filled tarts and breaking it in two, giving Aragorn half to taste.

“Aye, they would, and it is long since I have tasted something as sweet,” he agreed, complimenting the baker and licking a small blob of the sticky filling from his finger. “But I am afraid we must limit our supplies to more basic needs.”

“Indeed, but I think we can manage to carry one small treat, especially one that might even bring a smile to Frodo’s, and Sam’s faces, ” Boromir insisted and Aragorn was surprised to realise that although Merry and Pippin seemed to be Boromir’s favourites, he nonetheless also held Frodo and Sam in high esteem.

Aragorn made no further objection and when they moved on to the stall where salted meats were to be bought, his pack was filled not only with bread, cheese and flour, but nine sweet pies as well. Dried fruits, honey, some fresh vegetables and a skin of wine completed their purchases and the two men, now burdened with heavily laden packs, and deeming a tankard of ale as just reward for their efforts, headed for the tavern. Boromir’s coin pouch was somewhat lighter, but he still had plenty of silver, a fact not lost on eyes that were far too observant.

“This is a very homely place, much like the drinking place I favour in my city,” Boromir commented, careful not to mention Minas Tirith by name, as he took a draught of the tankard of ale that had just been set before him by a very pretty maid. When the smile he had offered her by way of thanks did not disappear but turned into a soft chuckle, Aragorn was tempted to ask what was so amusing.

“It was not amusing to begin with, but once he had fully recovered from the events of the day, Faramir saw some humour in the final outcome of the situation,” Boromir recalled. “The lovely young maid reminded me of the first time Faramir and I drank together in public.” Aragorn swore he saw a glint of mischief in his friend’s eyes and raised his eyebrow in an invitation for Boromir to continue.

“It was on the day Faramir achieved his majority, which was also unfortunately the day he made his first kill. He and I and four of our guards were returning from Osgiliath when we were ambushed by a group of robbers. It was my intention to capture them and question them about the numerous other attacks that had been occurring at that time, but they were determined not to be taken. We were of similar numbers, and evenly matched as fighters as well and when the struggle ended, none had survived. I found Faramir simply standing over one of the bodies, unmoving and as pale as a ghost, staring at the blood on his sword.”

“Taking life is not a pleasant experience, no matter how often it needs to be done, but it is especially difficult the first time,” Aragorn said with obvious distaste for the necessity.

“Nay, but as I tried to explain to Faramir, it is part of being a soldier at war, or protector of the people. This was no comfort to my brother then, and even now it is not, but he does what he must. He became both adult and warrior that day, and rather than allow him to suffer his pain alone, I insisted he join me and the other soldiers at the tavern.”

“A wise decision under the circumstances, but what of the maiden?” Aragorn asked.

“Ah, yes. The tavern keeper’s daughter is a lovely young woman, and seeing my brother’s despair, and encouraged by our companions, she tried her best to take his mind off his troubles with a little harmless flirting. Having only previously being permitted to drink wine with his meals, he became rather bold after a few tankards of the stronger brew, and much to the delight of all he took her in his arms and kissed her. Unfortunately her father was not amused and accused poor Faramir, the most noble of men, of being dishonourable! With total disregard for the pride of the Steward’s sons, he then threw us all out!” Aragorn joined in Boromir’s hearty laughter at the recollection, and then sobered somewhat.

“How did you brother fare the rest of the day? What of the Steward?” he asked, thinking that Denethor would not have taken too kindly to hearing of that incident.

“Naturally I took responsibility for the whole situation and Faramir received a severe rebuke from our father for his behaviour. My brother and I spoke at length that night, and I believe I managed to ease his feelings of guilt and remorse. The next day we both apologised to the tavern keeper and his daughter and to this day we a re all friends,” Boromir said, ending the conversation by draining the remaining ale when Aragorn raised his eyebrow and silently mouthed “just friends?”

“It is almost sunset, we should be getting back to the cottage, we promised we would be in time for supper,” Boromir mused watching the maid light the candles as the fading light of day indicated dusk was falling.

“Aye, and although I am no hobbit, I admit I am greatly looking forward to a warm, home cooked meal,” Aragorn smiled in response.

Accustomed as he was to the strange noises of scuffling night creatures hunting for food, and other sounds of the night, Aragorn felt uneasy, as if his senses were warning him they were not alone on the road. When he asked if Boromir felt it too, the man of Gondor claimed not to notice anything unusual, but he respected the ranger’s skills and looked warily about as the gates closed behind them. With a hand on the hilt of their swords, and walking as quickly as possible considering the large packs they were now carrying, the two men left the village.

Disclaimer: LOTR belongs to the creative genius of JRR Tolkien, not me.

Chapter 5. Revelations

“Hold steady a moment, my friend.” Aragorn, who was walking a few paces ahead turned and stopped, noting the warning in Boromir’s eyes that they were indeed not alone.

“Is there something amiss, or are you simply in need of rest?” Aragorn asked with a tone of mischief in his voice. Boromir understood the gentle teasing was meant as a distraction for whoever was following, and so frowned slightly in response.

“I most certainly am not in need of rest, but there is something amiss. You have a rather ugly looking insect crawling on your shoulder,” Boromir said as he brushed the imaginary creature away, his nearness to Aragorn allowing him to whisper a few words into the ranger’s ear. “I believe I caught a glimpse of our shadow moving slightly behind us amongst the trees to the left of the road.” Aragorn nodded acknowledgement.

“How many of them were there?” The ambiguous question was spoken out loud.

“I saw only one,” Boromir replied as he made a display of stepping on the non-existent insect.

“Many thanks, it was indeed ugly, and capable of inflicting a poisonous bite,” Aragorn replied, as he placed a friendly hand on Boromir’s shoulder.

 Instead of looking at his friend, he allowed his gaze to wander to the part of the woods where Boromir believed he had seen the man. He still sensed the presence of the stranger, but dusk had fallen rapidly and the grey shadows that quickly gave way to the darkness of night hindered his vision.  Seeing no one, Aragorn was about to suggest he scout the area more closely, but deemed it unnecessary when the sound of hoof beats and excited chatter drifted on the cool air from somewhere along the path behind them.

“It seems we will soon have some company of a more pleasant kind,” Boromir said as a horse drawn cart, driven by one of the farmers came into view. The voices were those of the man’s wife and several children of varying ages, two of whom were big, strong young men. Aragorn exchanged a glace with Boromir that spoke of their mutual agreement that a confrontation was unlikely to occur at this time, and both allowed a small sigh of relief to pass their lips.

“Aye, and we have not far to travel to the good lady’s home,” Aragorn replied, as he offered a warm smile and words of greeting to the new arrivals. No doubt he and Boromir could handle a robber or two, or several, in fact, but he had no wish for the notoriety such an incident would earn. Of course they would not allow either themselves, or anyone else to suffer an attack, and would defend themselves, to the death if necessary. However, if possible, it was best for the safety of the fellowship to do nothing that would arouse any kind of suspicion or allow spies of Saruman to learn where they were located.

Their unexpected travelling companions proved to be a boon in more than one way, for the farmer and his family had journeyed a great distance to attend the market, and along the way had heard more than one story of strange creatures raiding isolated villages.

“You two are rangers, are you not? Have you heard of these dark deeds?” asked the elder of the farmer’s sons.

“Aye, we are and we have heard tales such as you describe, and as much as we wish it were not so, there is truth in what you have heard,” Boromir replied. Aragorn nodded agreement.

“This is a dangerous time to be on the road and travelling unprotected,” he cautioned.

“Perhaps, but fear not for my sons and I know how to wield a sword as well as a hoe,” the farmer replied, smiling with pride as the two young men drew their swords with practiced ease to emphasise their father’s words.

“They are indeed fine weapons, and handled well,” Boromir said, his years of experience as a soldier granting him the ability to judge good steel and skilful swordsmen when he saw them. Aragorn agreed and both men were relieved to know that when they parted ways, the travellers would still be protected.

The welcoming glow of candlelight lit the small windows of the cottage, and the two men quickened their pace at the thought of the hot meal and mattresses of soft straw rather than solid ground that awaited up ahead.

“Welcome  back. I trust you obtained all you needed from the market?” the woman asked as she took their cloaks and indicated where they could store their packs.

“Indeed we did, but please forgive our poor manners, but we did not ask your names,” Boromir replied, a slight tinge to his cheeks hinting at his embarrassment for such making an oversight.

“I am Elwyn and my son’s name is Dareth,” the woman replied. “And you are, my lords?”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, my lady Elwyn,” Boromir answered graciously (and very smoothly avoided giving their names, Aragorn admitted), taking the delicate hand and kissing it chastely. This time it was Elwyn’s turn to blush, and Aragorn to eye Boromir with respect for both his gallant behaviour and the fact that not only was he a soldier, but also he was obviously well versed in the wiles and mannerisms of the statesman he would one day become. Nonetheless, he suspected that Dareth would be more curious and likely to ask again, so chose to distract the boy in his own fashion.

 “Is that freshly baked bread I smell?” Aragorn asked as he moved to take a place at the table.

“Mother made it especially for you both,” Dareth, who was already seated with his injured ankle propped up on a stool, answered as he indicated for Boromir to take his own seat. As they hungrily ate the meat and vegetable stew Elwyn made, conversation remained simple mostly involved with descriptions of the markets, the daily routines of the farmers and the kinds of weather that they had been experiencing. Neither man was willing to bring up the subject of the missing husband and father, but when Aragorn excused himself to go and scout the path to the village, Elwyn looked rather alarmed.

“There have been several strange disappearances lately,” she said, obviously referring to her own loss as one of them. “Were you followed?” she asked Boromir, who stood in the open doorway and peered out into the night, the silvery light of the newly risen full moon allowing him to follow Aragorn’s movement for some distance.

“Aye, for a time. My friend is an excellent ranger and he will see to any danger that threatens,” Boromir said with confidence that eased Elwyn’s fears.

“You bought a lot of supplies, how are you going to get them across the river?” Dareth asked when Boromir closed the door and settled by the fire with a mug of ale.

“Well, I have some skill with boats, if you have the materials I could repair yours,” he replied, raising an eyebrow in silent query to Elwyn when Dareth’s eyes became downcast.

“That is the reason my husband was on the other side of the river. He was hunting for deerskin to sell at the market so he could afford to buy nails, tar and such to mend the boat. We have enough food, but no money to pay the village boat builder,” she explained sadly.

“Then you must allow me to offer you payment for your hospitality, ” Boromir said reaching to retrieve his coin purse from his pocket and taking out two silver coins he handed them to Elwyn. “This should be enough to pay for the repairs and leave you with some coin to spend at the next market.”

“I can not accept such a generous gift,” she replied as she tried to give the coins back. Boromir smiled and closed his hand gently over the woman’s shaking hands.

“I am reputed to be a very stubborn man, and you will find that when we leave tomorrow, these coins will remain here, either in your purse, or in the hands of the boat builder if need be,” Boromir said softly but in a tone of voice that brooked no argument.

“My sister accepts your gift and I apologise for causing you concern when you left the village,” said a voice from the now open doorway. Aragorn and a man possibly a few years older than the woman entered the cottage.

“Ah, I take it you found our shadow?” Boromir asked, directing his question to Aragorn who smiled wryly and shook his head.

“Not exactly, he was on his way here, following us as we suspected, and found me,” he replied with an unconcerned shrug of his shoulders.

“You were following them, Berim? Why?” Elwyn asked her brother, a flicker of anger in her eyes at the intrusion.

“To make certain they meant you and Dareth no harm,” he replied with a shrug.

“A noble and worthy gesture, but would it not have been prudent to simply ask us? We have no harmful intentions, as your nephew can no doubt attest to,” Aragorn said, allowing his own displeasure to be heard in his voice.

“‘Tis of no matter now,” Boromir interjected. “ We will be gone in the morning, but first I must enquire of the boat builder if there is another boat available to take us across the river.”

“Ah, yes, we still have that problem to overcome,” Aragorn said as he moved to where Dareth was sitting and taking his injured foot in his hand, began to remove the bandages so he could inspect the sprain. The swelling and bruising were as expected so Aragorn rewrapped the bandages and suggested Dareth rest his ankle in bed.

“I will see you two safely to the other shore, and continue the search for my sister’s husband on the morrow,” Berim offered by way of apology.

“Thank you, we accept your kind offer,” Boromir said with a small nod of acknowledgement.

 “If you will excuse us both, I believe my friend and I will also retire for the night, we have a long journey ahead,” Aragorn said, speaking for Boromir as well.

Elwyn showed them to the room that was apparently Dareth’s. It was only small, but there was enough room for the extra pallet that had been placed in there, and soon candles were put out and both men settled comfortably for the night.

“Boromir?” A voice whispered in the dark.

“What is it, Aragorn?” Another voice slightly husky with approaching sleep replied.

“You certainly know how to charm the ladies.” A hint of teasing now.

“’Tis only right to behave in such a manner.” A simple statement of fact laced with a sharpness that said this was the final word on the matter. “Sleep well, Aragorn.”

The humble response was nothing less than he expected from this noble son of the Steward and Aragorn found he was wishing that it could be Boromir rather than Denethor who was destined to stand by the King’s side.

“Sleep well, Boromir, son of Gondor.”

Chapter 6. A Sad Truth

Anxious to be on their way as soon as possible, the two men had risen well before the black of the night sky was banished by the pastel hues on the horizon that heralded the dawn. Elwyn and Dareth were still sleeping and, having no wish to disturb their rest, Aragorn and Boromir had dressed in silence, offering each other a nod and a friendly smile in place of mutual ‘good mornings’. The Ranger and the Steward’s son had not lost sight of the importance and the urgency of their quest, but in the brief time they had been away, a rapport that would be of great value in the days ahead was slowly developing. Neither man needed to voice the concern for their friends that was easily read in the other’s eyes.

“I expect our companions are camped some distance ahead. Gandalf knows we will have no trouble catching up to them,” Aragorn said as he buckled his sword and then   watched in silent amusement as the pastries were carefully wrapped in several cloths before being stowed in a small box Elwyn had provided along with a simple morning meal of bread and cheese.

“I dare not offer treats that are damaged,” Boromir explained defensively in answer to the raised eyebrow, but with the flicker of a smile on his lips. Aragorn made no reply, instead he walked over to the makeshift bed near the hearth and checked the sleeping child’s ankle, nodding with satisfaction when he saw the swelling had gone down, and the bruising already beginning to discolour. He moved towards the door, and seeing they were now ready to leave, Boromir placed two silver coins on the table. With a wave of his hand, he ushered Aragorn out into the early morning mist, the twinkle of mischief in the would-be king’s eyes not passing unnoticed.

“You have taken great care with your gift for the hobbits, yet I can not help but think that even if the pies crumble into tiny pieces our friends will still appreciate them. In fact, I believe that we will have no trouble finding our hungry companions should the scent of the pastries reach them,” Aragorn chuckled, clapping his friend on the shoulder in a display of comradeship that came far more easily the longer they spent time together.

“Aye, ‘tis indeed the truth you speak,” Boromir laughed, returning the gesture in kind. Despite the gravity of their quest and the dark path that lay ahead, both men were finding the light hearted banter to be a most enjoyable and welcome change. Neither man was naïve, and both knew that their differences would resurface later and lead to conflict, harsh words and ill feelings, just as they knew their volatile relationship would survive much damage because they were fast becoming good friends.

The early morning mist still hung low over the water when they reached the riverbank where Berim was already waiting, but it was not thick enough to delay their crossing. Handing his pack to Aragorn with a look that suggested the ranger had best take good care of the contents, Boromir helped push the boat into the water then offered to take an oar. Berim readily agreed when he saw how skilfully the obviously experienced boatman handled it.

 “Can you show me where your sister’s husband would most likely have gone to hunt?” Aragorn asked when they had reached the opposite shore, beached the craft and secured it to a fallen log that lay conveniently at the water’s edge.

“Many men have spent days searching for him already,” Berim replied, looking a little dubiously at Aragorn with a scowl that suggested affront. He did not see the amused smirk directed at the ranger, nor the answering exasperated roll of eyes.

“Despite his weather worn appearance, rest assured that my ranger friend is a skilled tracker. If your brother is to found, he will do so.” Boromir’s tone of voice echoed his confidence in his words and Berim nodded agreement.

“Weather worn? Have you looked at yourself lately? Who is wearing naught but his underclothes?” Aragorn hissed as he drew Boromir aside. He was not really angry, but was also not prepared to let the slight on his appearance pass without comment.

“But made of the finest linen in Gondor, I will have you know,” Boromir retorted haughtily, smoothing the crumpled tunic as best he could.  Both men dissolved into laughter ant their own foolishness, catching Berim’s attention.

“This is the path that leads to a wooded area where deer are often seen,” he called from up ahead, wondering what amused his companions but wisely deciding not to ask.

Not so much a path, but a trail of sorts where the undergrowth was slightly more flattened, Aragorn thought as he took the lead. After some time, he left the others and veered off to move among the trees, stopping occasionally to look some minute trace of the hunter, or to listen to nameless voices in the air. Boromir knew that Legolas often spoke with the trees and he wondered if Aragorn had also learned the elvish skill.

“What is he doing?” Berim asked, his doubts resurfacing after they had stopped for a third time. They were well within the murky depths of thickly wooded forest now, the trees so close together that neither hunter nor prey would be able to move freely in a chase.

This forest reminded Boromir somewhat of Ithilien, and he found his thoughts drifted briefly to another ranger that he knew, one he saw not often enough. Faramir had similar skills as a tracker and he smiled fondly as he imagined the meeting of the two Rangers who undoubtedly had much in common.

“I honestly can not say,” Boromir replied returning his attention to the present, silently berating himself for allowing his mind to wander when he should be keeping alert for danger. He truly had no answer, but trusted Aragorn’s ability nevertheless, as he had done since they left Rivendell.  As they watched, the ranger bent to pick up a small object and after searching amongst the long undergrowth for a few more minutes, finally made his way back to where Berim and Boromir were standing.

“What do you make of this?” he asked, carefully handing the black arrowhead to his companion. Boromir recognised it instantly, and despite the fact that he wore gloves, he took the undoubtedly poisoned weapon by the end that was still attached to an inch or two of wooden shaft.

“Orcs!” He hissed with obvious hatred for his enemy, catching Aragorn’s eye. They exchanged a very worried glance, filled with concern for the rest of the Fellowship. They had as yet not encountered any of the evil creatures, and whilst Legolas and Gimli were skilled warriors, yet even with the aid  Gandalf’s wizardry, they would find the task of defending the small group difficult at best if they were attacked. Orcs normally travelled in large numbers, and to the best of the men’s knowledge, had never been seen this far north.

“Aye, and they passed through here not more than a week ago,” Aragorn stated with a hint of trepidation, his meaning plain to Boromir. They needed to rejoin Gandalf and the others as soon as possible and warn them of the danger.

“What are these… orcs? Are they the evil creatures the farmers spoke about, the ones you warned them to be wary of?” Berim asked. Never having been further than the hunting ground, and living in such an isolated village, his ignorance was understandable.

“Aye, they are dangerous, savage and cruel creatures, well known to carry what remains of their victims away,” Boromir said, hoping to ease the shock  by hinting at the fate of the man rather than speaking it plainly. He spoke in the soft and compassionate voice he always used when returning to a family news of death rather than a living son, brother or husband. No matter how many times this sad duty had fallen to him, it always caused an ache in his heart for those left behind. The pain he felt was well concealed, but Aragorn sensed it and place his hand on Boromir’s arm, offering what little comfort he could.

“Then he is lost and my sister is a widow?” Berim stated sadly, clearly understanding the words not spoken and not really surprised to learn the awful truth. Aragorn nodded and with a growl of outrage, cast the arrowhead angrily aside.

“We will see you safely to your boat and then my friend and I must be on our way,” Boromir told the now grieving man.

“Please tell Elwyn and Dareth we are grateful for all they have done for us, and how deeply we grieve with them for their loss,” Aragorn said as he handed Berim the oars.

“I will, and I thank you both… I know not what to call you for you have never told us your names,” the villager suddenly realised.

“Nor will we, for the safety of all,” Aragorn replied enigmatically.

“Aye, ‘tis best you forget two nameless rangers ever crossed your path,” Boromir added.

“As you wish, safe journey,” Berim said as he stepped into his boat and began rowing.

“Farewell,” Boromir whispered, his voice husky with unshed tears as he thought of the delightful child waiting for a father who would never return.

The two men, their playful mood drowned in the sorrow of their gruesome and dangerous discovery, watched in silence until Berim was safely across.

“Come, Boromir, we must find the others before night falls,” Aragorn said, gently rousing his friend from his melancholy, knowing both had to turn their minds from thinking of the sad scene yet to be played out across the river to following their footsteps inland.

Chapter 7. 

Many Surprises

Driven by the need to quickly find the others and alert them to the danger that had become a real threat rather than just a possibility, the two men moved swiftly and silently through the forest. Knowing that Gandalf intended to lead the Fellowship on in his absence, rather than retrace their steps, Aragorn chose to head further south towards where he was certain their paths would eventually cross. Boromir readily agreed with the plan, and spurred on by a sense of urgency, the two men moved swiftly and warily through the forest.

They had travelled for perhaps half a day, Boromir judged by the length of the shadows, when Aragorn stopped abruptly, holding his hand up to indicate his companion to do likewise. Without a word, the ranger bent down to examine something in the undergrowth, shaking his head slightly as if in disbelief at what he found there.

“What is it? More signs of Orcs?” Boromir asked, looking around cautiously, his hand immediately finding the hilt of his sword. Aragorn stood and with a smile of relief on curving his lips, he pointed triumphantly to the patch of grass.

“ Nay, signs of our friends. They are all well and passed this way several hours ago,” Aragorn said with certainty.

“How can you tell?” Boromir asked with genuine curiosity, searching the undergrowth but seeing only grass and fallen leaves. “I see nothing out of the ordinary here.”

“Nor are you meant to unless you have been trained to see otherwise,” Aragorn replied. “Look a little more closely. Do you not see a single strand of golden hair woven around seven blades of grass?” Boromir did as instructed and after several minutes of close study, he found the marker.

“Ah… our friend Legolas has made a small sacrifice for us, I presume?” Boromir grinned, his eyes twinkling with amusement at a memory conjured by his words. The Elf suffered much good-natured teasing as a result of his constantly well-groomed and frequently washed locks, especially from Gimli.  Aragorn chuckled his agreement at the unspoken thought and nodded.

“Aye, ‘tis an elvish sign. Seven blades of grass, one for each of our companions and aside from being bent ever so slightly to point in the direction we are to follow, none are damaged, a common sign that they are also uninjured. I judge them to be about three hours’ brisk walk ahead.” Boromir did not bother to ask how Aragorn knew that, but he trusted his skill in the matter.

“Then we should make haste. The sooner we rejoin them and raise the alarm, the sooner I will feel at ease,” Boromir said, indicating for Aragorn to resume the lead.

                                                  **************

Twilight was rapidly falling, the loss of light turning the warm green, brown and golden hues of the forest to cold shades of grey, and allowing the evening mist to dampen the air. An eerie quietness like the calm before a storm surrounded them, and when Aragorn stiffened as if he had heard or sensed some unseen danger a chill ran down Boromir’s spine. With a glance towards Boromir that clearly said, ‘make no move’, Aragorn slowly drew his sword, then moved swiftly, turning to swing it in an arc, resting the point against the neck of the intruder he suddenly felt standing behind him. Boromir felt an easing of the tension in the air at the appearance of a friend rather than foe, as well as a trace of confusion. Aragorn seemed not at all surprised to see the Elf, it was almost as if he was expecting him, Boromir thought as he watched the almost playful scene.

“Well met, Legolas. Do you concede defeat?” the ranger asked triumphantly.

“You wield your sword with much skill, Aragorn. Aye, I believe you have won this time,” Legolas said, smiling as he stepped back out of harm’s way.

“ ‘Tis not often I manage to catch you off guard,” the ranger agreed as he sheathed his sword. He noted the frown creasing Boromir’s brow and explained. “ When I was younger, I spent some time in Mirkwood learning some of the skills of the Wood Elves from Legolas, one of which was how to approach another without being seen or heard. He often challenged me to do so then, and that challenge still holds to this day.”

“Aragorn is a skilled woodsman, but he is no Elf and so rarely does he succeed in besting me,” Legolas added, eyes alight with mischief and a hint of elvish pride in his sweet voice.

“Indeed I do not, but the challenge has become a kind of game in which we allow ourselves to indulge should the chance arise.” Aragorn added with a smile that faded in the face of the sparks of anger that flashed in Boromir’s eyes.

“Danger lurks everywhere, and we are likely being hunted by Sauron’s minions. Now is hardly the time, nor is this the place for childish games. Such behaviour is not worthy of one who claims to be a leader of men, or a king uncrowned,” the Steward’s son commented disapprovingly.

“I sensed no danger, and I knew that Legolas was close by and likely searching for us,” Aragorn replied with a coldness that indicated his own displeasure with Boromir’s attitude.

“ Not only have I been expecting your return, but I have also been scouting the area to ensure the others are safe as they sleep,” Legolas replied trying not to take offence at the man’s arrogance. He knew Boromir had only the interests of the others at heart.

“Are our companions nearby?” Aragorn asked, forestalling any further confrontation.

“Aye, they are resting in a small cave that borders the clearing through these trees," Legolas said moving in the direction indicated as he spoke. Aragorn and Boromir followed in silence, the lightness of the amicable friendship of the last few days disappearing for the moment under the shadow of harsh words and hurt pride.

“Aragorn!”

“Boromir!”

“Welcome back!” the cheerful voices of Merry, Pippin and Gimli greeted the men as they entered the clearing.

“I see your quest was successful,” Gandalf said as he nodded towards the bulging packs, his smile turning to a frown as he noted the dark looks on the two faces and the slight shrug of the Elf’s shoulders. “Is something amiss?” He asked with concern, Aragorn’s attempt at a reply was interrupted by hobbits eager to sample the contents of the supply packs.

“We’ll take those and give them to Sam.  It is well past some meal time or other,” Merry said as he and Pippin carried the food over to where Sam and Frodo were seated around the small campfire.

“What’s in the box, I wonder?” Pippin asked as he began removing the various items of food from Boromir’s pack.

“A treat for us all, but my little friends in particular,” Boromir replied, laughing merrily when then shrieks of delight indicated the pastries had been found. He glanced at Aragorn who could not help but return the smile, amused at the hobbits delight, the numerous hugs of gratitude Boromir was happily enduring and most of all, the sight of Gandalf licking some of the sweet, fruity filling from his fingers.

 “Now whilst our Shire folk are otherwise occupied, would you care to answer my question, Aragorn?” The wizard asked in a quiet voice so as not disturb the rare moment of joy Boromir’s simple, yet greatly appreciated gift had brought to the Fellowship.

“I feared as much,” Gandalf said after listening to Aragorn detail the unpleasant signs he had discovered. “We must continue to travel by day, and be even more on our guard as the journey south becomes increasingly perilous. Now, shall we go and see what excellent fare our Samwise has managed to prepare with his bounty?” Gandalf said as he walked over to the fire where the hobbits sat eagerly waiting for the delicious looking vegetable stew to be cooked. Gimli and Legolas joined the wizard, leaving Aragorn and Boromir to their uncomfortable silence.

“You have a kind heart, Boromir,” Aragorn said as he clasped the other man’s shoulder, making an attempt to mend the breach caused by their disagreement. “And the courage to speak your mind, as a good Steward should, albeit in a rather abrupt manner.”

“ I meant what I said before, but perhaps I could have spoken with less insult. After all, neither you nor Legolas need reminding of the darkness we are yet to encounter,” Boromir conceded, accepting the unspoken, if not entirely complimentary apology and offering his own in return. He cast a friendly smile in the direction of the Elf who he knew had heard the brief exchange of words, and was relieved to see an answering smile on the ageless face.

“Let us dwell on the incident no longer, my friend” Aragorn said, reaching to clasp Boromir’s wrist in the manner of soldiers.

“Aye, ‘tis already a thing of the past,” Boromir replied, returning the handclasp. “As will our share of the pies be if we leave them in reach of Merry and Pippin any longer,” he added with a conspiratorial wink.

“Then we must go and claim what is ours right now, unless you would prefer to ‘dress’ for dinner first, my lord?” Aragorn snickered, playfully tugging on the sleeve of Boromir’s under tunic.

“There will be occasions aplenty we will both be required to do so after we reach Gondor, my unkempt friend,” Boromir laughed, equally playfully ruffling the ranger’s unruly hair.  “And truth be told, I find I am content to remain a ‘ranger’ for a little while longer.”