“Frodo, forgive me!”

How many times had he called and shouted those words, to no avail? Frodo was gone. He had put on the Ring and disappeared, and no amount of calling or begging on Boromir’s part had caused him to reappear. The Ringbearer was gone.

Boromir passed a hand over his eyes, dashing away tears. He felt weary and empty, but he could not give up just yet -- not while there might be even a tiny chance that the Hobbit might hear him and return. He might not have gone far; perhaps he was still close by, in hiding….

"Frodo, come back! The madness has passed, I am myself again! Please… come back, Frodo!"

There was no reply. Boromir drew in a great breath and shouted with all his might.

"Frodo, I am sorry!" The forest rang with his despairing cry. "Frodo...!"

No answer came but the echoes of his shout and the thunder of Rauros in the distance.

With a heavy sigh, Boromir began to search the hill methodically, beginning from the point where he had last seen Frodo and moving out slowly in an ever-increasing circle. He had little hope now of finding the hobbit, but he felt he had to make an attempt at searching. He was desperate to run, to chase after Frodo, but Boromir forced himself to be thorough as he looked for signs of the hobbit’s passing. As he searched, he continued to call; he called until he was hoarse, but still no answer came.

He searched for close to an hour, but at last he was forced to admit defeat. Sitting down heavily on a mossy log, Boromir bowed his head to his knees and wondered what to do next. There was little point in searching further; if Frodo still wore the Ring, he could be anywhere by now.

No doubt he had returned to the Company, and was even now telling them everything. Boromir's heart quailed at the thought.

I am a fool! he berated himself bitterly. I sought to counsel Frodo, but instead I ended up driving him away; I vowed to protect him, but instead I repaid his trust in me with betrayal! I was angry that no one seemed to heed my advice -- but I was the one who was not listening.

Putting thought to action, Boromir raised his head to listen. All was quiet; there was no sound but the ever-present rumble of the Falls of Rauros, and the creaking of branches as the wind sighed mournfully in the trees. The silence was so complete he could hear his heart beating loudly in his ears.

Slowly it dawned on him that the throbbing he heard in his ear was truly just his heart beating, and not the pulsing, incessant whisper that had been growing harder and harder to ignore of late. He had hardly realized that sound was there until it had been taken away. He felt a great sense of relief, as with the lifting of a burden. His mind was clear, at last!

But Boromir’s joy was short-lived.

The whispering is gone because Frodo is gone! he realized in dismay. It was the Ring! The Ring, speaking to me... tempting me. And I listened! The Ring did its work, and I was taken in, as easily as that! What came of my belief that true-hearted Men would not be easily corrupted? I proved my own words wrong, for when it came to the test, I was the one who failed, so easily! I was so certain I could take the Ring and use it for good!  No doubt that was just a lie of the Ring. Instead it took me, and used me. I believed myself to be strong; I knew well my ability to be sufficient to any task. My pride -- my need -- made it right. I called Frodo a fool, but I am the fool, not he. I am nothing but a weak fool....

'You are not yourself,' Frodo said to me as we spoke together just now. He tried to tell me something was wrong; and he was right! I was used... controlled... Yet the blame still lies with me. I listened, did I not? I succumbed to the soft tempting of those whispers. Why did I think myself so wise? Why did I not listen to the others? They all warned me! Even a Halfling who knew little of Sauron and the Rings of Power understood more of this matter than I! I am surely to blame, for I let it guide me... I let my pride guide me. I allowed Evil to work through me, and now Frodo runs from me in fear....

I have failed... failed!

Boromir covered his face with hands and wept, his whole body wracked with sobs.

"What have I done?” he moaned aloud. “What have I done?"

His sobs eventually stilled. After drying his eyes with the edge of his tunic, Boromir rose to his feet and began to pace.

So! he reflected solemnly. It seems I was wrong to think myself capable of using the Ring without harm. Could it be... might I have been in error about all the rest of it, as well? Have I been wrong all along in believing that the Ring should not be destroyed? Is there a chance that this absurd plan to carry the Ring into the heart of Mordor might actually be the only way to save us all? Is it possible it might even succeed?

Boromir sighed heavily as he recalled his own reluctance to believe the counsel given by the Wise in Rivendell. In answer to his urging to take the Ring as a weapon and go to victory, Elrond himself had replied that it was not possible to use it in such a way.

‘Alas, no,’ he had said. ‘We cannot use the Ruling Ring. That we now know too well. It belongs to Sauron and was made by him alone, and is altogether evil. Its strength, Boromir, is too great for anyone to wield at will, save only those who have already a great power of their own. But for them it holds an even deadlier peril. The very desire of it corrupts the heart….’

‘So be it’ had been Boromir’s reply, but in truth, he had been loath to see the Ring as anything other than a weapon that gave advantage in battle, and therefore something that should not be squandered or set at risk. And yet... here he was, living proof of what desire of that thing could do!

Boromir laughed aloud, but it was more a sound of pain than of mirth.

It is more than obvious that my own wisdom in this matter is lacking, he berated himself. Who was I to think that I understood the Ring and its wiles? I thought it only a tool, and yet it turned out to be nothing but Evil, as dangerous as if Sauron himself stood in our midst! Now I understand, but too late! The Ring cannot be used, least of all by myself! Any attempt to use it against its Master instead turns to Sauron's benefit.

Alas, what help is there for my City now if the weapon I hoped to bring them will instead bring only harm? But is it even possible to put the Ring out of the Enemy's reach? Can we possibly succeed in destroying it? Surely we will be stopped before we can even approach Mount Doom....

Boromir bowed his head and fought with despair. The future looked bleak indeed. What hope was there, if the Ring could not be used to save his people, and if any attempt to take it to the Fire meant to risk it being retaken by the Enemy? Was their struggle useless and in vain?

No! he said firmly to himself, rebelling at the thought of giving up. I must press on and not lose hope. All seems lost, but the ending is still in doubt. While we have breath, we must continue to fight this Evil! There is still a chance we may succeed -- a small chance, but a chance, nonetheless. There is still much I can do; I can still accomplish some good, now that my mind is clear and I understand the truth... I can still aid the Quest, instead of hinder it….

Boromir looked up through the trees at the sky above. It was approaching midday, and the sun was now filtering through the leaves of the old forest all about him.

I should be getting back, he thought. There is no time to waste. Even if Frodo has told them everything, I will not hesitate. I shall confess what I have done. They will be angry with me, but I shall do what I can to make amends. I will repair my evil, if I can. Frodo may be willing to forgive me... surely he understands the madness the Ring brings....

He started down the hill, moving slowly at first, then quickening his pace until he was almost running.

I hope I am not too late! I hope they have not gone without me....

As Boromir approached the shore, he was relieved to hear the sound of voices; his foolish fear that he had been left behind had been groundless. He would have an opportunity to set things right with the Fellowship after all. No doubt they were very angry with him after hearing Frodo's report of his betrayal, but it was no more than he deserved, and he would bear it. All he wanted now was to see Frodo again and beg his forgiveness.

Boromir paused at the edge of the wooded area that separated the beach from the taller trees of the forest, to listen to what was being said.

"...the fate of the burden is on him," Aragorn was saying. "It is not our part to drive him one way or another, nor would we succeed if we tried. There are other forces at work here, far stronger...."

"Well, I wish Frodo would come back and let us get it over!" Pippin interrupted. "This waiting is horrible. Surely the time is up?"

"Yes," said Aragorn. "The hour is long past. The morning is wearing away. We must call for him."

Boromir's heart sank in dismay. Frodo had not yet returned? How could that be? What was to be done now? His resolve to face the others wavered. All the imagined explanations and apologies he had rehearsed in his mind were useless now, for they had been contingent upon Frodo's declaration of what had passed between them. He had never thought it would be easy to own up to what he had done, but to confess now when they had no inkling of any such betrayal was infinitely daunting! Even so, it must be done. He could not turn back now. He would face them.

Boromir drew in a deep breath and stepped forward out of the trees. He walked towards the others without speaking.

"Ah, Boromir!" remarked Aragorn. "We were just wondering where you were."

"I am sorry if you were concerned for me," replied Boromir.  "I... I felt the need to be alone for a time."

"Has something happened?" Aragorn questioned, stepping forward to lay a hand on Boromir's arm. "Your look is grim and sad. Is all well with you?"

Before Boromir could reply, a look of alarm crossed Aragorn's face.

"Or is it Frodo?" Aragorn said urgently. "He has been gone too long; has something happened to him and you have learned of it? Have you seen him?"

Boromir nodded heavily.

"Yes, I have seen him. I... I met him by chance in the woods while I was wandering. We spoke together of the choice he had to make. I... urged him to go to Minas Tirith, but he said no. I pressed him, but he would not listen."

Boromir hesitated. No one spoke, though he thought he heard a stifled sound of dismay from Sam.

"He would not listen," he repeated with a sigh. "For good reason! I know that now. I grew angry with him. Very angry. I... I threatened him...."

There were gasps all around, and Aragorn's hand on his arm gripped him tightly.  "That does not sound like you, Boromir," he said, fear growing in his voice. "To threaten a friend..."

Boromir looked Aragorn full in the face and did not flinch.  "It is not like me, perhaps -- but I did it, nonetheless. I threatened him, and he ran from me.  He put on the Ring and disappeared."

"Oh, no!" cried Sam.  "Put on the Ring? He ought'nt to have done that!"

The others stared at Boromir, aghast and at a loss for words. Boromir gazed back at them sorrowfully, considering what he should say next. When next he spoke, his words began haltingly, but then flowed more and more quickly as he poured out what was in his heart.

"The Ring," he said, shaking his head. "I was the one who understood it the least of anyone. For me, it was only a weapon to be used against my great enemy. No matter that it had been made by his hand -- what harm could it do me? Am I not Boromir son of Denethor, proud heir to the Stewardship, strong warrior who fears nothing and stands against any evil? I was ripe for the taking...."

"So it was the Ring!" Aragorn said sadly. "It drew you with its evil power…."

"Yes," replied Boromir. "The Ring took me, easily! I fear it has been working on me for some time, though I did not realize it until after I had already fallen. But that does not reduce the blame I must bear for seeking to harm Frodo. Yes, I did mean to harm him. I wanted him to give me the Ring, and when he refused, I would have done anything at that moment to take it from him. All my years of service to my people, my talk of duty and honor, valor and stewardship... they were nothing in the face of my desire to have the Ring and use it. I was prepared to take it by force from a defenseless friend whom I had sworn to protect, who was expecting nothing but kindness from me!"

Boromir shook his head as tears began to flow. "And for what?" he groaned. "A magical trinket, a piece of jewelry! No matter that I thought it a weapon of great power, that I thought it would give me what I needed to save my City and cast down Sauron!"

As he spoke, an image flashed clear before his eyes, of himself as Frodo must have seen him in that moment -- eyes burning with desire, face twisted with anger and hate. He shuddered and covered his face with his hands, no longer taking notice of those around him.

"I can still see the visions the Ring showed me -- myself as a ruler of men, benevolent and wise, strong against all that threatens my people. But a ruler of men must protect his people, not harm them! But now I have done just that -- I turned to harming instead of protecting. In my pride and convinced of my right, I used my strength to try to gain the advantage over a small one, one who trusted me! I have seen death, defeat and fearsome battle, but nothing compares to that look of bewilderment on Frodo's face and the terror in his eyes!"

Looking up, Boromir saw stares of dismay, and faces written with anger, fear and pity.

"He trusted me, and I failed him!" Boromir cried. "I would do anything now to erase what I have done, to make it as if it had never been. If only..."

Boromir passed his hand over his face and sighed heavily. "No," he continued sternly. "There is no 'if only.' It happened and I cannot change that. I hurt Frodo, and betrayed you all. I cannot restore the trust we had before; I can only do my best to make it up to him -- to you -- if that is even possible. I do not expect you to forgive me, but I beg you! Please let me continue to serve you!"

The whole time Aragorn had not loosened his hold on Boromir's arm; now he let his hand fall with a sigh.

"This is a hard thing, for all of us! I do not know what to say. This is unexpected... and yet it should not have been. Did we think the Ring was only at work on Frodo? Now we know better."

Aragorn sighed again. "We will speak of this further, Boromir. But now, we must take thought for Frodo. He is in danger while he wears the Ring, and could draw danger towards us by wearing it. I fear the enemy is close by...."

Merry spoke up, alarmed. "He wouldn't keep the Ring on once he was out of harm's way, would he?"

"Why hasn't he come back?" worried Pippin. "He's been gone ages!"

"How long since you saw Frodo last, Boromir?" asked Aragorn.

"At least an hour," he answered. "I searched long for him afterwards, to seek his forgiveness. I have wandered for some time since."

"An hour since he vanished!" shouted Sam. "That won't do at all! He could be anywhere by now, he might've done anything!  We have to try and find him at once. Come on!"

"Wait!" cried Aragorn. "We must take thought for how to organize the search. The little ones should not go alone -- here, hold on! Wait!"

It was no use. No one was listening. Sam had already disappeared into the trees, Merry and Pippin following close behind. Gimli and Legolas were running as well, but Aragorn called after them sharply.

"Gimli! Legolas!" Aragorn called sharply. "Search for any signs of Frodo, but keep the young Hobbits in sight if you can. If there are Orcs about, they will be in danger if they are alone! Come back here if you discover anything."

Gimli raised a hand in acknowledgment and then they were gone.

"I hope we shall not be scattered and lost!" groaned Aragorn.

"I am sorry it has come to this," Boromir said sadly. "It is my fault.  But I am here and ready to aid you, if you trust me to help you search..."

Aragorn grasped Boromir by the shoulders. "Look at me, Boromir."

Boromir lifted his eyes to meet Aragorn's gaze. Aragorn looked at him long and searchingly, but at last the fear in his eyes receded. He shook his head sorrowfully.

"I am sorry for my part in this, Boromir," he said sadly. "I gave little heed to your struggle, even though I knew the Ring to be at work within our Company. I have felt its call myself."

"But you did not yield."

"No… no, I did not. But I understand the burden of it. Yet I gave no thought for how it might be affecting you. If I had...."

"No!" interrupted Boromir. "Do not attempt to take any blame for this, Aragorn. It helps to know that you suffered as I have done, yet I am still the one who yielded, where you did not. I am the one who opened myself to temptation and walked down that path. But no more! I will go that way no longer. I abjure the Ring!"

"I believe you!" answered Aragorn. "Your eyes speak clearly of what is in your heart, and I see no deception or evil desire there. As shocking as this tale of betrayal has been, I know I can trust you to help me now. We must find Frodo quickly, before harm befalls him. And the other Hobbits are also in danger, for they think only of Frodo, and will pay little heed to other dangers."

"Tell me what to do."

"I will head uphill, following Sam. Legolas and Gimli will keep the other Hobbits safe, if they can find them in the woods -- but I would feel better if you, too, would look out for them as you are able, while you search for Frodo. Above all watch for signs of Frodo. If you find him, bring him here and I will do the same."

All of Boromir's desire up until now had been bent on finding Frodo and seeking his forgiveness, but now the thought of facing him and bringing him back to the group caused his heart to fill with doubts.

"What if... what if Frodo will not heed me?" he said softly. "He may well run from me again...."

"It is possible, I know," replied Aragorn. "You will find a way to explain it to him, Boromir -- you must, for I fear there is no time to waste in making certain of Frodo's safety. If you have opportunity to speak to him as eloquently as you spoke just now before us, then I believe he will heed you and understand. More than anyone, he knows what it is to be drawn by the Ring."

"That is indeed my hope!"

"Go then, Boromir. I will meet you here soon."

Boromir nodded wordlessly, and leaped to obey.

Let them all be found, he thought as he ran. Let me not be too late….

As he ran, Boromir loosened his sword in its sheath, preparing himself mentally and physically for possible battle. He kept his ears open as he moved forward for any sound of the Halflings or of enemy pursuit. He remembered Aragorn’s warning of Orcs on the eastern shore, and wondered if they might have managed somehow to cross the River without being seen. If so, then the danger to the Company was very real -- particularly to heedless Halflings bent only upon finding their missing friend, who might not realize an enemy was close until it was too late.

The terrain grew rough, even as the trees thinned. Boromir’s legs were long and strong; he ran swiftly, covering much ground, yet he also went with great care, watching for signs of the Halflings’ passing. He was not the exceptional tracker that Aragorn was, but he was not without skill, and could read the signs easily enough. The little ones traveled quite silently, but their feet still left a mark on twig and leaf that could be read by one experienced in the wild. Someone had definitely passed this way, not so long ago -- and by all signs it was someone small and lightly built.

Boromir went more carefully now, watching for further traces. Before long he come upon a footprint in the soft earth beneath a tree that assured him beyond a shadow of doubt that one of the Halflings had come this way. Following the trail, he soon realized it was turning back in a wide circle towards the shore.

As Boromir bent over the track, wondering if he could be reading it aright, he heard a sound on the wind, coming from the direction of their camp by the lakeside. Had that been a cry for help? Boromir stood up sharply, and strained to hear over the roar of the Falls -- yes, the shout came again, but it was cut off suddenly by a hoarse clamor and the sound of weapons clashing.

Orcs!

Boromir leaped forward and dashed swiftly back the way he had come, drawing his sword and gripping his shield firmly as he ran.

*****

Boromir retraced his steps in half the time it had taken him while searching; before long, he heard the sounds of battle drawing closer, off to his right. He turned and ran towards the sound. Yes, there were Orcs ahead of him, among the trees; Boromir could hear them crashing about in the underbrush as he drew near. The fight was ahead of him -- he was almost there....

He broke through suddenly into a clearing and there they were before him: a band of Orcs, large and well-armed. Sam was there, too, drawn sword gripped tightly in both hands as he grimly held the Orcs at bay. He stood over Frodo who lay on his face upon the ground, clothing covered in blood.

The Orcs were caught off guard, surprised at the arrival of a tall warrior, approaching at a run. They had been so intent on their prey they had not even heard him approaching. He gave them no time to recover their wits. Without checking his forward motion, Boromir crashed into the group. Those Orcs not knocked to the ground fell back at the unexpected attack -- all but one. This one raised a heavy black sword and aimed a blow at Boromir, but before he could strike, Boromir slammed his shield into the Orc's face, forcing it back. He swung his sword in a wide arc and the Orc fell headless at his feet.

Boromir turned quickly and attacked again, before the stunned enemy could react. A stab and a thrust were sufficient to kill another, and a backhanded swing of his blade found the throat of a third. An Orc knocked down by the first attack now rose to its feet and came at Boromir from behind, but Boromir was ready. He ducked and turned sharply, parrying the Orc's blow. Ramming the hilt of his sword into the Orc's face, he then reversed his sword and stabbed downwards, and his foe fell heavily. Boromir twisted the blade free and turned to meet the next attacker.

Only one Orc remained, wielding an axe. Boromir barely had time to raise his shield to ward off the blow. Axe struck shield with a heavy thud that sent a shock of pain up Boromir’s arm. The axe blade stuck fast; the sudden added weight of the shield threw him off balance, and he stumbled. The Orc growled in triumph, but Boromir turned his fall forward into a lunge and he and his enemy fell together. Rolling aside, Boromir scrambled to his feet and drove his blade home before the Orc could recover his footing. The brief skirmish was over.

After wiping his sword clean on some grass that had not been trampled in the battle, Boromir sheathed his sword and looked urgently about for Sam. The Halfling had wisely taken himself out of the fray as soon as the Gondorian had arrived, and was tending the fallen Frodo.

“Sam!” he cried as he knelt beside the two hobbits. “Are you hurt? Frodo -- does he live? I came as quickly as I could….”

Sam shook his head as he bent over Frodo. “No, I’m all right. Nothing but some bruises, I think. They were trying to take us without having to fight or hurt us, seemingly. Though I guess they know now that Sam Gamgee don’t stand for that kind of thing! But Mr. Frodo, he....”  Sam choked on his words.  “He ain’t dead, no. But his head is hurt bad, that’s what all the blood is. And his leg -- it don’t look natural. It’s broken, I’m sure of it.”

Boromir leaned forward and stretched out his hand to Frodo. “Let me have a look at him. I know some first aid, enough to see to his leg, and stop the bleeding of his head wound. I need to see if he can be moved....”

Boromir drew back with a sharp intake of breath as Sam unexpectedly slapped his hand away.

“Stay away from him!” Sam shouted. “I remember now, you tried to take the Ring from Mr. Frodo! I won’t let you touch him, after what you did. How do I know you’re not going to try again, now that he’s hurt? Just stand back now where I can see you. You’ll not have Frodo or the Ring if I have anything to say about it!”

The angry Halfling stood and confronted Boromir, sword in one hand and the other hand stretched out protectively across Frodo’s body.

Boromir’s eyes filled with tears, as he rose and meekly moved away from the hobbits.

“I do not want the Ring, Sam,” he said in a low hoarse voice. “I know it is hard to believe that, but it is true. I do not want it! I desire only to see to Frodo’s wounds and then take him to a place of safety. I mean him no harm, truly!”

Sam lowered his sword, but he did not sheathe it. He gazed at Boromir doubtfully, but did not move aside.

“I do not blame you for your distrust of me, Sam.” Boromir sighed heavily. “You are right to be angry with me, and if ever you are able to trust me again, even a little, it will be more than I could possibly deserve. But put aside your doubt of me if you can and hear me out. I promise you -- Frodo is in no danger from me. Not now, not any longer. What I told you earlier is the truth; I am sorry for what I did, and I will do anything to make it right. I will give my life to save him, if that is what it takes.”

Boromir slowly unfastened his sword belt and carefully leaned his sword against a nearby tree; next to it he placed his shield.  He knew it was dangerous to be unarmed when the enemy was close by, but he had to do something to show Sam his sincerity.

“Please, Sam,” Boromir pleaded. “Let me see to his wounds. If you wish, keep your sword out and strike me down if I make any move to do more than treat his injuries. See? I am unarmed now, and will not fight back if you see the need to defend Frodo with your weapon.”

Sam hesitated, opening his mouth as if to speak, but just then, Frodo groaned and stirred.

“It’s all right, Sam,” Frodo said weakly. “Put your sword away. Boromir speaks the truth. I believe we can trust him.”

Both Boromir and Sam stared at Frodo, at a loss for words. Sam dropped his sword and knelt at Frodo’s side as the wounded hobbit tried to raise his head to speak.

“I saw him searching for me, high and low,” Frodo explained to Sam, but his eyes strayed to Boromir as he spoke. “I heard him calling, and I knew he was truly sorry -- I could tell by his voice, and by his weeping. But... Well, I didn’t think it would be good to reveal myself then. Too soon afterwards, and the Ring might have had the mastery again.”

“You still shouldn’t have gone off alone, though, Mr. Frodo,” Sam grumbled.

“I know it was troubling to you, Sam, but I had to take the chance I’d been given." Frodo paused, as if speaking was an effort, but then he rallied and continued. "I didn’t want anyone to find me, especially then. I didn’t want to have to talk to anyone. You see, I’d decided by then to go to Mordor alone, but I knew I’d lose my chance if anyone saw me. But you figured that out, didn’t you, Sam?”

“Yes, I knew it,” Sam replied indignantly. “It’s just like you to try to head out on your own like that, to spare us trouble. That’s why I came back towards the shore, to stop you from taking a boat and headin’ off alone. Good thing you had the Ring off by then, or I’d’ve missed you!”

“Perhaps it would have been better if I’d left the Ring on,” Frodo sighed. “I might have escaped a wounding.”

He struggled to sit up, but Sam quickly pressed him back to a prone position.

“Don’t be sitting up just yet, Mr. Frodo,” Sam cautioned. “It ain’t wise with that head wound. Let Boromir see to it first, to make sure it’s okay for you to be moving around. I... I don’t mind, I guess. If you say it’s okay to trust him, then I’m willing....”

“Thank you, Sam,” said Boromir hoarsely, bowing deeply to the hobbit. “I give you my word he will not come to harm by my hand.”

As he approached Frodo, Sam once more reached out a hand to stop him.

“Here,” Sam said gruffly, holding out a handkerchief. “You’d best use this first. You can’t see properly to help anyone with eyes as wet as that, Mr. Boromir, sir.”

Boromir put his hand to his face in surprise, and it came away wet with tears.

“So it would seem,” he replied ruefully, taking the offered cloth and drying his eyes before returning it to Sam. “I had not even realized…. But I thank you once again, Sam. I am much in your debt. Come now, help me with Frodo.”

Boromir knelt beside the wounded Frodo, who lay with his eyes closed, wincing from time to time due to pain. Boromir removed his cloak, and rolling it up, carefully tucked it under Frodo's head to serve as a cushion and to hold his head in place. Checking him over meticulously, Boromir made note of every cut and bruise, blood-encrusted and swollen. Frodo's limbs and head had borne the worst of the damage. Thankfully, the mail shirt he wore had protected him from hurt to his vitals.

"Can you tell me what happened, Frodo?" Boromir asked as he drew out a flask of water, poured some into his hand and gently began to wash the hobbit's face clean of blood. "Do you remember how you hurt your leg?"

"I... I'm not really sure how I fell." Frodo's brow furrowed as he concentrated on trying to remember. "It seems hazy... I remember the orcs surprising us, Sam shouting. The orcs were trying to capture us, we both fought them off... I was struggling with one of them, then the next thing I remember is waking up. I was on the ground, Sam beside me. You were fighting... I don't really remember falling, but I must have. My head... feels odd...."

Frodo turned his head as if to test his statement, and groaned. Boromir grasped Frodo's face between his hands and held his head steady.

"Look at me, Frodo," he said. "Open your eyes as wide as you can and look straight at me."

Frodo obeyed, and slowly opened his eyes.

"Good," said Boromir. "Now hold your head still and do as I tell you. Keep your eyes open and continue to look at me." Cupping his hands, Boromir placed them on either side of Frodo's eyes, and held them there briefly before quickly removing them. He did this several times, all the while gazing into the hobbit's eyes. "Now look to the right, then to the left, without turning your head. Is there pain when you move your eyes? Can you see clearly?"

Frodo's voice was faint when he spoke. "It's hard to focus... The light is too bright at times, and other times dim. It doesn't really hurt to move my eyes, but... well, when I look to the side, I see flashes of color. It... it makes me feel ill when I do that."

"Close your eyes then, Frodo," Boromir said soothingly. "Keep them closed if that is more comfortable for you, but do not sleep. It is important that you do not sleep just yet."

Frodo smiled weakly. "I doubt I'll feel like sleeping any time soon. The pain in my leg will help with that!"

"Later, you may not find that pain to be enough to keep you from slumber," Boromir replied. "But Sam is here and he will help you stay awake. Do what you need to do to accomplish that, Sam, short of shaking Frodo. He must be kept very still."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Boromir, sir!" Sam drew closer to Frodo and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong with him, Boromir? Is that cut on his head bad, then?"

"No, not so bad," answered Boromir. "The blood from that wound is fearsome-looking, but the cut is not deep and will mend quickly and cleanly, I deem. But the blow to his head from the fall must have been quite jarring. I fear Frodo has a concussion."

"Is that why you were checking his eyes like that?"

"Indeed. By doing so, I could tell that his eyes were not focusing as they should -- a sign of a concussion. His description of flashing colors and troubling brightness and dimness are also indications of that kind of injury. Add to that the fact that Frodo's speech is slow and labored at times, and he has difficulty recalling what happened. He seems to have lost consciousness after the blow, too, if only briefly. I am certain that Frodo is concussed."

"Earlier you seemed to be sayin' you only knew a little first aid. You sure do seem to know a lot about such things, even so," Sam said in awe. "Are you sure you aren't really a healer after all?"

"No, I am no healer," Boromir laughed. "But I have seen many men wounded and later cared for by the best healers Gondor has to offer. One such healer often travels with my company. His skill is very great, and he never loses an opportunity to instruct those around him while he is applying that healing skill. Even the Captain-General of Gondor is but a student to him -- and often as not, a patient!"

Frodo stirred, but did not open his eyes as he spoke. "Have you ever had a concussion, Boromir?"

"Yes, I have -- when I was a child. I was climbing a tree, and was careless about placing my feet; I fell and landed badly. I was forced to stay in bed for a week, as I recall. Normally, it would have been a hard punishment for me to be abed for so long, but I still remember how sick I felt as a result of that blow to the head! So you see, Frodo, I can definitely sympathize with what you are feeling right now. And I can speak with authority about how important it is for you to stay still for the time being."

"I believe you!" Frodo murmurred. "But it's getting to be more and more difficult... I must be laying on a stone or something, it's boring into my back! I've just begun to notice... Do you think I could move just a little to be free of it?"

"Of course!" exclaimed Boromir. "But you must let me do the moving; it is your part to lay still and relax. I will do my best not to hurt you too much, though I fear there is no way we can move you without some pain to you."

"It's all right," replied Frodo. "Please go ahead."

"Sam," Boromir directed, "when I lift Frodo's head, I want you to take my cloak and put it back under Frodo after I have him comfortably situated."

Sam nodded, and positioned himself ready to grab up the rolled cloak. Leaning over Frodo, Boromir placed his arm under his shoulders and lifted him up slightly. As he did so, Frodo's shirt gaped open, and the Ring on its chain slipped out, winking brightly as a ray of sunlight shone upon it. Sam gasped and froze in place, but Frodo made no sound, fixing his gaze on Boromir's face as the Gondorian stared at the Ring. Frowning, Boromir watched as the Ring glittered and glowed seductively, sliding slowly towards him across Frodo's chest as the hobbit stirred in his arms.

"So!" Boromir addressed the Ring, his voice filled with irritation. "Trying to tempt me again, are you? Alas for you, I am no longer interested. Keep your golden glittering out of sight!" Reaching forth, Boromir grasped the Ring and quickly tucked it back under Frodo’s shirt. He looked up to see Frodo smiling at him and Sam wiping his brow in relief.

"Well done!" said Frodo softly. "Did... did you feel anything when you touched it?"

"Nothing," replied Boromir, shaking his head. "I suppose that is rather surprising, come to think of it. Only a few short hours ago, to touch it was all I wanted, even though it would have been the end of me! But now... I felt its weight, nothing more."

Sam released a huge pent-up sigh and looked at Boromir thoughtfully. "You could have had the Ring fair and square right then -- it was offering itself to you sure as anything!" he observed slowly. "But... well, I'm guessin' you've been tellin’ the truth about not caring about the Ring no more, if you can let it go so easy."

Boromir scowled at the bulge in Frodo's shirt where the Ring now lay hidden, but when he turned back to Sam, he was smiling. "I am indeed telling the truth, Sam. It may seem strange that it should be as easy as that, but knowing what I know now and having made my decision, rejecting that offer is the only course of action possible. I am glad the wretched thing gave me this opportunity to prove that to you, at least for now. I rather doubt you are fully convinced, even yet. Am I right?"

Sam looked abashed, but then met Boromir's gaze squarely. "You're right, sir, beggin' your pardon. I want to trust you all the way, but it don't come easy just yet. You mean well, I know that -- but the Ring is big and it got you before, right? Still, you do mean well, and you were strong against it just now. And that's enough to go on with, if you know what I mean."

Boromir nodded. "I do know what you mean, Sam, and I welcome that much trust from you, as I welcome your eye upon me. It will be easier to walk the straight path knowing you are on the watch for any slipping."

"I'll watch for that, sir, to be sure!" Sam replied, looking both relieved and determined at the same time.

"Thank you, Sam," Boromir said with a smile. "Now then, let us get Frodo settled so I can have a look at that leg of his!" He spoke lightly, but he had already taken note of the leg's awkward angle and the white look of pain on Frodo's face that no amount of gentle treatment could ease. Sam had seen it, too, and could not hide his concern as he carefully replaced the cushioning cloak under Frodo's head. Boromir laid Frodo back down and resumed his examination of the hobbit's wounds. His face darkened as he slowly straightened Frodo's leg, gently feeling along the length of it for signs of broken bones.

"Is it pretty bad?" Sam asked, watching Frodo's strained face with a worried grimace.

"I fear it is pretty bad, Sam," Boromir answered with a sigh. "His lower leg is most definitely broken, here below the knee. It seems to be a clean enough break with no puncturing of the skin, but even so it is bad. Even once the bone is set, he must not put any weight upon it for some time lest it be damaged beyond repair and Frodo end up crippled because of it. I assure you, I am not a healer, but I have seen broken bones before and I know this much, at least. It is likely his ankle, too, has been hurt -- if not broken, then badly strained."

"Shall I fetch wood for splinting?" Sam asked, looking around the clearing for branches that might serve.

"That would be good, Sam," Boromir nodded. "Gather what you can, but do not stray out of sight in your search, and do not spend much time at it. It is just as important for you to stay by Frodo's side to keep him awake as it is to gather wood. I think I will not set the splint myself, however; I will leave that for Aragorn when he comes. The setting of this bone calls for better skill than mine, I fear."

"Will they come soon do you think?" Sam wondered.

"I will call for them," Boromir said, rising to his feet. "If I sound the Horn of Gondor, it will bring the others here to our aid. Frodo needs Aragorn's care, and we need to decide as a Fellowship how to proceed. Frodo's wounding has changed everything."

"What... what do you mean?" stammered Sam.

Boromir sighed heavily. "Frodo's injuries are serious -- both the concussion and his broken leg will take some time to heal. That will delay the Quest at a time when delay is most to be avoided."

"But what else can we do?" cried Sam. "The Quest can't continue without Mr. Frodo!"

"I know, Sam, I know." Boromir sighed again. "But let us not fall into despair just yet. When Aragorn comes, he will see to Frodo and then we can take counsel. Go now, gather wood for splinting, while I call the others to us."

As Sam began his search for wood suitable for splinting Frodo's leg, Boromir unslung the horn he wore and lifted it to his lips. The sound of the horn's blast echoed among the trees and not even the loud thundering voice of Rauros could drown it out. Boromir waited until the echoes had died away before sounding the horn a second time, and then again a third time. At last satisfied, he knelt beside Frodo once more.

"Among my people it is said that help will always come to the one who sounds the Horn in dire need," Boromir explained as he tended the hobbit's cuts and bruises. "I have no doubt that my call will be answered quickly by the rest of our Company. They cannot have gone far; they will be here soon."

"I hope they haven't also met with battle," Frodo said with concern. "There are likely more orcs about than just these that attacked us. What of Merry and Pippin? Did you see them at all while you were searching? Are they safe? They didn't run off on their own, did they? It would be just like them..."

"I do not know, Frodo," Boromir replied, unable to disguise his own fear and foreboding. "They ran into the forest together to search for you. Aragorn sent Gimli and Legolas after them. He told me to look out for them as well, but to concentrate on finding you. I did not see them as I searched, though I was careful to look for any and all signs. I am sorry... it is my fault they are in danger...."

"Don't start taking all the blame to yourself, Boromir," Frodo cautioned. "We all make choices, and those choices all work together to affect what happens. As much as any one person is responsible for a bad choice and its outcome, things can never fully be laid at his doorstep alone when all is said and done. Once you've asked for pardon and been granted it, it's best to move on and not keep looking back at a bad choice."

"You are very wise, Frodo," Boromir smiled.

"It's not my own wisdom," Frodo replied, though he seemed pleased at the comment. "It's actually something Sam's Gaffer often says, and Sam repeats it to me whenever I need to hear it. I, too, have a tendency to look back with regret...."

"I have never been one to look back before this," Boromir answered. "But I have also never made such a poor choice as the one that has brought us to this pass. It is hard to leave it be -- but as you suggest, to keep fretting is to not accept forgiveness. Therefore, I will endeavor to take to heart your advice -- as I gratefully accept your pardon and the wisdom passed down from Sam's Gaffer." He smiled at Frodo and laid a gentle hand upon the hobbit's forehead. "Now then, as grateful as I am for your wise advice, you must rest and talk no more for a time."

*****

Sam had just returned from gathering an armload of wood when Aragorn appeared at the edge of the clearing. Taking in the scene in a single glance, the Ranger gave a cry of dismay and ran immediately to Frodo's side.

"What has occurred here, Boromir?" he asked urgently. "Is Frodo the only one injured? What of you, and Sam?"

"I am unhurt," replied Boromir, his relief at Aragorn's coming evident in his voice. "Sam has only a few cuts and bruises. I came upon the battle after it had already begun. Frodo seems to have fallen during a struggle with an orc soldier, and I suspect that is when he was badly injured. I have done what I could for him, but he needs more care than I can give him. He has a concussion, either from the fall or a blow to the head, and his leg is broken; possibly his ankle, as well. There are other hurts, but those are the worst."

"That's about the size of it," Sam agreed. "I didn't actually see what happened to Mr. Frodo. One minute he was alongside me fighting, the next minute he was down and hurt. Mr. Frodo must have twisted his leg or something to have it break like that. If he hadn't fallen, he might not've been hurt so bad, I'm thinkin'. Those orcs were trying to capture us instead of kill us, seemingly, else it might've gone a lot worse."

"That seems likely," Aragorn nodded, the look on his face grave as he examined Frodo carefully. "Very well, let us see what I can do to ease your hurts, Frodo. It appears that Boromir has already done much to help you and that will make my task easier! As soon as possible, we should move you away from this place, but first I must bind your head and splint your leg."

"Is there anything you need for that?" Boromir asked. "Sam has brought wood for splinting, but we will need cloth for binding both the splints and for Frodo's head wound...."

Aragorn nodded. "I have a small bit of cloth for dressing in my pouch here, as well as healing herbs; but there is more in my pack, which is at our campsite by the boats. Go now and bring that back for me, Boromir, while I do what I can with what I have here. Bring some water, as well, and a blanket for warmth. Frodo should not be allowed to grow chilled."

"I will return quickly," promised Boromir. Retrieving his sword and shield, he set off at a run.

*****

When Boromir returned with the supplies Aragorn had requested, he saw that Legolas and Gimli had joined the Ranger in the clearing and were helping him care for Frodo. Boromir's heart sank when he realized that the young hobbits were nowhere to be seen.

Where are Merry and Pippin? he thought fearfully. Surely Legolas and Gimli would not return without them, unless....

As he approached, Legolas rose to his feet and took the water and pack from Boromir. He was silent as he sorted through the contents of the pack, laying out what Aragorn might need for Frodo's treatment.

"What news of the little ones?" Boromir queried. "They are not here. Have they been lost? Are they...?"

Legolas shook his head sorrowfully. "We searched everywhere, but could not find them. But there were signs -- signs that indicate they have been taken alive as captives. We followed the orc trail far enough to realize which direction they were traveling...."

"They make for Isengard," growled Gimli angrily.

"Isengard!" Boromir cursed. "So the wizard Saruman is involved in this as well."

"So it would seem," answered Aragorn. "Gandalf suggested as much early on, which is why we avoided the Gap of Rohan in our journeying. Alas, it seems to have made little difference, for Saruman has followed us here and set his own orcs upon us. That is what I surmise, at least, from what Legolas and Gimli tell me of what they discovered."

"There is more to tell," Legolas continued. "Even Aragorn has not yet heard this piece of news. As we were searching, we came upon the creature Gollum, slain by a sword stroke."

"Gollum is dead?" Frodo exclaimed. "I am... well, I am sorry to hear that. Gandalf told me that even Gollum might have a part to play in this matter, and I was beginning to wonder if it might be possible to help him somehow. But now it is too late. He is gone."

"And good riddance to him, I say," muttered Sam, shrugging apologetically at Frodo. "Only you, Mr. Frodo, would think of trying to rescue that pitiful creature!"

"It is ironic that his death comes at the hands of orcs," commented Aragorn, "when it was orcs who freed him when he was a prisoner of the Elves in Mirkwood. But if this band of orcs answers to Saruman rather than Sauron, then I can see why they might not want any interference from the Dark Lord's minions -- even one so small and seemingly insignificant as Gollum. But Gollum was not insignificant; he was in league with the Eye, and no matter how much he might have been seeking to regain the Ring for himself, he was also working on behalf of Mordor. Our Quest will definitely be safer with Gollum dead."

"And what of the Quest, then?" Gimli demanded. "How soon will Frodo be able to travel, so we can move forward? And what of the captive hobbits?"

Aragorn looked troubled. "I will know more how to answer both questions after I have finished binding Frodo's wounds. But I fear we have some extremely difficult decisions to make very soon!"

After Aragorn had treated and bound Frodo's wounds and decided he could be moved without further hurt to his head or leg, Frodo was carried from the scene of battle to a comfortable spot by the lake near the boats. He lay wrapped in cloaks and blankets to keep him warm and protected from shock.

"I have done my best for him," Aragorn remarked with a heavy sigh. "His leg is set and immobilized, and I have wrapped the twisted ankle; they will heal in time, though it will be long before he can put much weight on that foot and leg. The concussion is a concern. Frodo will need to rest and not move about in order to allow his head to mend. The herbs I have administered have taken away some of the pain, and athelas had helped clear his mind and his speech is less halting. Regular doses of an infusion of athelas should continue to help with that as his head heals."

Even so, he looks ill, thought Boromir. It is obvious he is in pain still, though he tries to smile and thus comfort us. Even the short journey here in the steady arms of Aragorn has shaken him; he cannot even sit up nor can he yet take any food. What will happen now, I wonder? Frodo is by no means able to travel without help, not for some time. What will this mean for the Quest? Gimli asked that question, as well, and Aragorn has yet to answer....

As if in response to Boromir's thoughts, Aragorn spoke.

"There is little point in trying to soften the blow," he said, his voice filled with regret. "I believe it is obvious to all of us that Frodo's injuries are severe. He cannot make the journey to Mordor in this condition."

The Fellowship stared at Aragorn, shocked at the pronouncement.

"Is it truly the end, then?" Legolas asked, dismayed. "Cannot we wait for Frodo to heal, and then continue on to Mordor?"

Aragorn shook his head. "Nay! It might be weeks before he is able to stand, let alone walk. Even then he will be incapable of such an arduous journey. We must take him to a place of safety where he can heal properly; that journey, too, will take time, for we must go warily so as not to tax his strength further. As for the Quest to destroy the Ring, we cannot afford such delays, for every moment is precious if we are to succeed in ridding the world of that evil. If we wait for Frodo to heal, I fear it will be too late! I do not know what to do...."

"There are also the captive hobbits to be considered," Gimli reminded him. "We cannot simply go on our way with no thought for their rescue! Delay could mean their death, or worse."

"Yes, Gimli," agreed Aragorn. "I had not forgotten them. We cannot leave them to that fate; they must be rescued. But Frodo cannot go with us in that attempt, so we must take thought for his safety -- and the safety of the Ring."

"Well, that's easy enough, then," Gimli said with a sharp nod of his head. "We'll split up. Some will go after the young hobbits, and the others will take Frodo to a safe haven, and the Ring with him. This Minas Tirith in Gondor sounds like a sturdy place, how about taking Frodo and the Ring there?"

"No!" Boromir cried, leaping forward to clutch at Aragorn's arm, as if the Ranger might then and there approve the suggestion. "The Ring cannot go to Minas Tirith. It must not! The White City is indeed a place of strength that could very well stand against the Dark Lord and his armies -- but not if the Ring is there. Taking it there will doom us all... and my father will be the first to fall."

"What?" exclaimed Gimli. "Do you not trust your own father to keep Frodo and the Ring safe?"

"How safe was Frodo with me?" Boromir choked, looking fiercely at each member of the Company, challenging them to deny the truth of his words. "The Ring's presence was enough to tempt me. It will be the same for my father. Frodo would not be safe bearing the Ring, even in Minas Tirith. Now that I know how easily it can twist even the most honorable intentions, I can say without hesitation that I do not trust anyone to keep the Ring safe. My father... his battle with Mordor has been long, and it has worn him down. He is still strong in will and in leadership, but the roots of his despair are deep -- deeper than my own! I fear what might happen to him if such a weapon comes to his hand...." Boromir looked pleadingly at Frodo. "You know what happened to me, Frodo. You know what I tried to do. I do not want that to happen to anyone else, least of all my own family! I cannot allow it."

"Boromir is right," Frodo said quietly. "There is no place of safety left in this world where the Ring can be taken or kept -- no place other than the fires of Mount Doom. Unless the Ring is destroyed, it will continue to work its evil, twisting good people to do harm and bringing ruin wherever it goes."

"What do you suggest, Frodo?" asked Aragorn quietly.

"What I suggest is this: since I can go no further on this road, then the role of Ringbearer must pass from me. Someone else must take the Ring and destroy it."

*****

They tried to argue with him, that there must surely be another way, but their arguments were half-hearted at best. Everyone could see that truly this was the only way, but they could not bear to acknowledge it as yet.

"What use is the Company to the Ringbearer if one among us does not step forward to claim the errand when I myself can go forward no longer?" Frodo urged persuasively. He spoke slowly and carefully, but his voice was clear. "Lord Elrond could not have foreseen it would come to this, but I am certain he would agree with me that this is the only way. Do you remember what he said to me? 'The Ring-bearer is setting out on the Quest of Mount Doom. On him alone is any charge laid: neither to cast away the Ring, nor to deliver it to any servant of the Enemy nor indeed to let any handle it, save members of the Company and the Council, and only then in gravest need...' The need is now very great! Taking the Ring to hide it is no better than casting it away or eventually delivering it to the Enemy's hand. So, really, there is no other choice, no other way -- one of you must take the Ring in my stead."

Boromir watched the others as they stood stunned and confused, wondering if any would step forward to accept the Quest. But no one did. Perhaps they fear what might happen to Frodo if the Ring is taken from him, thought Boromir. He has had it so long in his possession, it will not be easy to hand it over to someone else. It might even bring him to madness! But he is the one offering it freely now, so perhaps that will make a difference. In any case, it is not a task to take on lightly; they do well to hesitate! A great burden it will be, to bear the Ring and resist its evil....

Boromir now understood fully the difficulty of that task, what stepping forward to accept the burden of the Ring might mean. He marveled that Frodo had ever had the strength to continue bearing it, once the true nature of the Ring was known to him. Boromir hung back, silent and reluctant, ashamed to say anything that might even remotely suggest he was willing to take the thing he had once coveted, and now heartily wished had never been brought into existence.

Frodo's quiet voice interrupted Boromir's thoughts. "Let me be the one to decide, then," the hobbit suggested. "If I choose the next Ringbearer, then there is no chance for the Ring's influence to enter in and cause strife among you. I know what is needed, and I will appoint the best person to go in my stead."

"Frodo..." Aragorn sighed, but then he bowed his head in agreement. "Very well. You know best how to act in this matter. I wish I could lead you better, make the decision for you, but I am at a loss in the face of this dilemma and I fear to make a wrong choice -- one that will doom us all. We will await your decision. Once the choice is made, we can decide among those who remain who will go after Merry and Pippin, and who will escort you to safety."

Frodo nodded. "I will not be long in choosing," he assured Aragorn. "I know there is no time to be lost, and I already delayed things earlier with my indecision. My mind is clearer now, and I know what I must do. Let Sam stay with me, I'll have him call you when I am ready to speak."

Aragorn bowed his head once more and left Frodo to his pondering.

Boromir stood gazing out across the lake, watching the billowing mists rise high into the air, fed by the torrent of water flowing over the Falls. The opposite shore was shrouded in cloud. Behind him the others talked quietly.

"Instead of just sitting here waiting," grumbled Gimli, "why don't we see what kind of plan we can devise for getting into Mordor? It would pass the time, and we might even strike upon a useful idea!"

"I agree," said Legolas. "While we are together, we should plan as much as we are able. Once we separate, there will be no more opportunity to deliberate amongst ourselves."

"I have thought of little else since Gandalf was lost to us," sighed Aragorn. "I knew that one day we would have to decide how to approach Mordor and gain the slopes of Mount Doom. Alas, I feel I have little to offer. I am familiar with the lands that surround Mordor, but even so, I can think of no way to enter that land unobserved -- particularly now that the Enemy is gathering his forces around him."

"What of Boromir?" Gimli pressed. "Surely he knows something of those lands. He lives on Mordor's doorstep, after all! What say you, Boromir? Any thoughts on how to get into Mordor?"

Boromir smiled to himself. The Dwarf was impatient, but as usual, his eagerness for action pressed them forward in a way that kept despair at bay. Rather than allowing them to sit glumly, focusing only upon the loss of Frodo as Ringbearer and the possible doom of the Quest, Gimli was forcing them to keep thinking in such a way that failure seemed out of the question. It was simply a matter of coming up with the right plan....

A thought occurred to him, and Boromir's face brightened at the possibilities.

"There, you see?" Gimli exclaimed triumphantly. "He's smiling. That means he knows something. See? I was right in thinking Boromir would know of a plan. Speak, man! Tell us about it!"

"As it happens, I do have a suggestion or two that might be worth considering," Boromir said, sitting down next to Aragorn. "But before I begin, I want to be certain you all know how sorry I am for the harm I have done to Frodo and to our Fellowship..."

"Enough of that, lad!" Gimil cut him off. "You already said as much earlier, there's no need to go over it again! Besides, Frodo told us not to blame you -- so we won't!"

"When... when did he say that?" Boromir stammered.

"'Twas after we came in response to the horn call, and found Aragorn there with Frodo and Sam. You were off fetching his pack and water."

"Gimli speaks the truth," replied Legolas. "Frodo spoke very highly of you and begged us not to fault you."

"Sam also put in a good word for you," Aragorn affirmed. "You are indeed forgiven, Boromir, so let it go. I shall follow my own advice. I, too, have been guilty of looking too much behind me at my past actions and failures. Let us look forward now to the matters at hand and not allow the past to hinder our decisions."

Boromir heaved a huge sigh and let it out slowly.

"Very well!" he exclaimed, and smiled as he said it. "I do not have a plan, but I do have a few observations to share about Mordor, and I have thought of several possibilities that might prove useful. Aragorn is right; the fact that the Dark Lord is gathering his allies for battle makes any attempt to enter that land even more impossible than it already seemed. There will be a constant movement of troops to contend with and that will make it difficult to approach unobserved, even if Mordor's allies are not on their guard, lax and confident in the overpowering strength of their dark Master."

"You make it sound like there's no way!" Gimli growled. "What of these possibilities you spoke of?"

"Gondor has a secret outpost in Ithilien, nigh to the northern border of the Black Land. My brother is captain there, and leads a force of Rangers who harry the Enemy and keep track of troop movements. He who is chosen as Ringbearer and any who might accompany him will find help there, as well as the most recent news of Mordor. It will be vital to the safety of the Quest to have a place to regroup and gather news before attempting an entrance into Mordor. As for finding a way into the land itself, there might actually be a way. It will not be easy, but with strength and the will to succeed it might be doable."

"Go on!" urged Aragorn, his interest piqued.

"My first thought was of another secret outpost, located further south. The outpost is in a system of caves tunneling into the mountains that border the Black Land. It is no longer in service, due to a tragedy that took place there. During the time Gondorian Rangers were garrisoned there, it would seem that a cave in occurred, and an opening through the mountains was revealed which allowed a cave troll of Mordor entrance from the other side. The troll attacked the outpost at night, taking the garrison by surprise. All the men were slain. When we heard no word from the outpost for some time, I came with my company to investigate. We discovered the cave troll was still in residence there, so we fought and killed it. Afterwards, the passage through the mountains was sealed, as was the entrance to the outpost, in order to prevent any further passage on the part of the enemy."

Gimli sighed loudly. "I'd like to hear about that battle with the cave troll some day. I'm sure there's quite a tale to be told there! But back to the matter at hand. Are you saying this passage is a way into Mordor? Would it do for our needs?"

"That was my thought, at first," Boromir replied, but he was shaking his head. "But even as I spoke of it now to you, I realized it will not do as an option. The outpost of Fennas Haradren would be a journey of many days, for it is far to the south. Once there, it would be a major undertaking to unblock both the door to the outpost and the passageway through the mountains. It would be a lengthy and difficult task even for a large company, let alone a small group of individuals."

Gimli looked crestfallen. "So much for that possibility," he muttered.

Aragorn, who was watching Boromir's face closely, held up his hand to stay Gimil's protest. "Boromir has another suggestion, if I am not mistaken."

Boromir nodded. "I do. There is a way into Mordor that is possibly accessible, but the path can only be scaled by the strong and stouthearted -- a pass over the Mountains of Shadow. I discovered it in my youth and climbed the rugged crags far enough up and in to realize it might be a viable way into Mordor if the need ever arose. I did not consider it or mention it previously to the Fellowship when we were discussing our journey in Rivendell, because no hobbit could pass there; it is far too steep. But if another is the Ringbearer, then perhaps..."

"How far is this mountain pass you speak of?" asked Aragorn. "It sounds as if it might indeed be a viable option."

"It is also somewhat far, but closer than the southern outpost," Boromir answered. "The pass is located roughly opposite that part of Ithilien known as Emyn Arnen, where the Great River begins its bend westward toward the Sea."

Aragorn looked thoughtful. "I know the area of which you speak. You may be right! The heights of Ephel Dúath are lower there..."

Before Aragorn could complete his thought, he was interrupted by the arrival of Sam. The look on Sam's face was gravely solemn.

"Frodo is calling for you all," he announced. "He has made his decision."

Frodo lay quietly in the lee of tumbled rock on the edge of the shoreline near the boats. Sam returned to sit by his side as the others gathered around, sitting in a semicircle before Frodo, waiting for him to speak. The expression on his face was resolute and calm, but Boromir noticed that Frodo's right hand was clutched at his breast; no doubt the Ring lay hidden in Frodo's tightly closed fist. He wondered if the hobbit was having second thoughts. Even if the Ring desired a new master, would the old master be able to give it up?

Frodo took a deep, steadying breath and plunged into what he had to say. "It's a difficult decision in a way," he began slowly. "Not so much because I don't know who to choose, but because whomever I do choose will be given the greatest and most unpredictable burden there ever was to bear, something that may even bring death with it... or worse. It... it’s hard to face having to do that to a friend and companion."

"It is no blame to you, Frodo," Aragorn said gently. "Each one of us is ready to take on this burden, especially if it means you will be free of it. We also know you would have been willing to continue as the Ringbearer if Fate had not intervened, so do not take any blame to yourself for seeming to fail in what you vowed to do."

Frodo smiled gratefully. "I won't," he promised. Closing his eyes, he rested for a moment before continuing.

"The Ring is a danger in anyone's hand -- more so for some than for others. Yet each one of you also has qualities that offset that danger, that make you trustworthy as a Ringbearer. So really, I could choose any of you, and be content knowing you could be trusted to see this task through to the end.

"However, there is one among you who is suited in all ways -- one who is strong enough to endure the hardships of the journey, is committed to seeing the Ring kept far from Sauron's reach; one who has knowledge of its wiles and is seared to any desire to claim it or use it. That one is also familiar with the area around Mordor and has the best plan for reaching Mount Doom -- and in my opinion, the best chance of succeeding...."

Boromir gasped and leapt to his feet as all eyes turned to him. "Me? You intend to make me the Ringbearer? But... but how can this be? How can you trust me after what I tried to do? I wish to help you, Frodo -- of course, I do! I wish for you to be free of the burden of it, but... not me, surely! I do not want the Ring! I have abjured it, I want no part of it...."

"Don't you see, Boromir?" Frodo urged, cutting off Boromir's protests. "That is exactly why you are the one who should take it! The Ring no longer has a hold on you -- and that makes you the safest one to bear it. Safer even than I -- for I fear I am growing weak after so many years of keeping it. I do not know how much longer I can hold out against it. I believe I still have the strength it will take to give it over to someone else, but it will be a close thing. The closer we draw to Mordor, the fiercer becomes the battle, for the Ring is growing more powerful and ever more persistent. Who knows if I would have been able to cast it away to destroy it when the time came for it, if I even got as far as the Fiery Mountain? But you... you have your full strength. And did you not hold the Ring in your hand just a short time ago, but let it go again? You put it aside without even a struggle, though it would have been a simple matter to claim it then. But you were not interested. You were seduced and began to fall, but were drawn back in time. I do not believe you will fall again."

Boromir hesitated and gazed at Frodo doubtfully. Without looking away from the Man, Frodo loosened his grip on the Ring and beckoned for Sam to help him sit up. With Sam supporting his back and head, Frodo pulled the Ring out from where it lay hidden under his shirt, and unfastening the chain, held it out. The Ring swung heavily on the end of the chain, glittering and flashing as it caught the light. All eyes were drawn to it.

Frodo stared; his arm trembled and drooped, as if the Ring had suddenly become too heavy to support. Slowly, he began to draw it back, reaching out with his other hand to grasp it. Even as he reached for it, Frodo struggled against the urge and his face filled with panic.

"Help me!" he whispered. His voice gathered strength as Sam grasped his left hand and held it between his.

"Take it, Boromir!" Frodo pleaded. "You understand it now, even as I do; you know the touch of evil and what it can make you do, before you can stop yourself. The Ring's lies are laid bare to you, and you want it no more. I can see that clearly in your eyes and I can read it in your heart as if it were written with words. Therein lies your safety and your strength; now that you are warned, you will be on your guard. I trust you with this, Boromir -- please! Take the Ring while I still have the strength to let it go! Take it to Mordor and cast it into the fire and free us all from this burden!"

Even as he pleaded, he was drawing the Ring back to himself, despite his determination to hand it over to Boromir.

"Very well, Frodo," Boromir said. Stepping forward, he knelt before the hobbit and extended his hand. "If you truly believe I am the one to do this in your stead, and you trust me to do it and not fail you all, then I accept. But you must put the Ring in my hand, Frodo. I will not take it from you. It must be given willingly, or you will never really be free of it. Do you still wish for me to have the Ring, Frodo?"

"I do!" Frodo cried. He pushed forward with determination and laid the Ring in Boromir's open palm. Falling back against Sam, he heaved a great sigh and smiled tiredly.

Sam held him close and ignored the tears streaming down his face. "Well, that's done," he exclaimed tearfully. "Now for a rest at last, Mr. Frodo!"

Boromir gazed at the Ring in his hand for a long moment, then slowly clasped it around his neck, hiding it under his tunic.

How strange, he mused. I thought I would feel different upon taking charge of the Ring, but I do not. 'Tis almost as if I am more myself now than I have been for a long time. I feel confident in my goals once more, secure in the belief my companions have in me to succeed....

Aragorn rose and placed a hand on Boromir's shoulder. "I do not envy you this charge, Boromir!" he said. "But I do believe that you are well-chosen. You have now been named Ringbearer, and so I shall lay the charge upon you that Frodo also received: neither to cast away the Ring, nor to deliver it to any servant of the Enemy nor to let any other handle it. Do you hold to your word that you will be the Ringbearer?"

"I do," Boromir answered solemnly.

"Our hopes and the hopes of all free lands committed to the defeat of Sauron are now on your shoulders, Boromir," Aragorn replied. "Do you think you can bear it?"

"I can," Boromir said, and unexpectedly, he laughed. "I am well used to shouldering the hopes of many who have nowhere else to turn. Is that not how it has been in Gondor with my people since the day I first hefted a sword? It will not be such a burden to take on the hopes of a few more. The fact that you trust me with this task is sufficient to lighten the load considerably! My only regret is that you and I are unlikely to go together to Minas Tirith to match our swords in battle. Mine will be a different battle now."

"Yes, a different battle on a different field, but for the same cause," responded Aragorn. "Yet I will not give up hope of meeting you once more in the White City, and drawing swords together."

Boromir laughed again. "Your confidence in me is great, indeed. So be it! We shall meet again after I have done the deed!"

"Well, lads!" exclaimed Gimli eagerly. "Now that we've settled that, we'd best be deciding who's going after the young hobbits, and who is to go with Frodo. Will the new Ringbearer need a companion as well? What say you? Do you have any suggestions, Aragorn?"

"At the moment, no," Aragorn smiled. "But I shall give it much thought, Gimli. Right now, I think Frodo needs me, for he is worn out after the stress of handing over the Ring. Let me care for him and then we will speak of this together."

"What are you waiting for, then?" Gimli huffed, immediately concerned for Frodo. "We'll wait for you, don't you worry about that. We'll just talk amongst ourselves until you're ready. Just make sure Frodo is well, that's the important thing."

"I'm all right!" Frodo interjected. "I am tired, but I feel eased and lighter already. I... I am sorry I faltered in the end. I thought it might be easier knowing there was no other way... but I couldn't do it alone. Even Bilbo needed Gandalf's help to give it away, and I guess I'm no different."

"But you really did do it yourself in the end, Mr. Frodo," Sam objected. "And just like Mr. Bilbo, you should be right as rain again, now that the Ring is gone from you. Right?"
"I hope so, Sam!" Frodo said fervently.

*****

In spite of Frodo's protests, Aragorn checked him over carefully, adjusting his bandages and administering another dose of athelas. Soothed and drowsy, Frodo fell asleep while Sam sat close by, his master's hand still clasped in his own. Aragorn joined the others who were waiting quietly for him. They had attempted to talk over plans and ideas while they waited, but had come to no conclusions. Of more concern to them at the moment was Frodo's health after his significant accomplishment of giving away the Ring.

"How is Frodo?" Boromir asked as Aragorn approached.

"He spoke the truth," Aragorn answered. "He seems to be none the worse for his exertions. Sleep is what he needs now, most of all."

Everyone breathed sighs of relief, but Boromir looked doubtful. "I wonder...." Boromir hesitated, and Aragorn looked quizzically at him.

"What is it, Boromir?"

"Frodo did well giving up the Ring," Boromir said slowly. "I do believe he will be right as rain, as Sam puts it. But though he says he feels lighter now that he is free of the burden, I think it would be wise if I put some distance between us as soon as possible. I fear it will not be easy for him to have me close by, knowing the thing he carried for so many years is now in my possession. He will still desire it, in spite of his willingness to give it up to another to destroy it."

"You are right, Boromir," Aragorn agreed solemnly. "No matter how firm his conviction to abjure the Ring, in his weakened state it will be difficult for him to resist its pull. He might even try to take it back, and that would not end well."

"No." Boromir shuddered at the thought of their roles reversed, with Frodo as the one maddened by want for the Ring and himself as the one opposing him.

"I concur," Legolas said. "Frodo should not go with Boromir. The question is, should anyone go with Boromir? It seems dangerous to suggest that he should go alone -- not so much because we do not trust him to accomplish what he has vowed to do, but is it truly safe for any one of us to be alone with the Ring, particularly as it grows in power drawing nigh to Mordor?" The Elf glanced apologetically at Boromir. "And what will happen if Boromir is hurt or even killed, with no one beside him to carry on the Quest?"

"You cut to the heart of the matter, Legolas," Boromir replied. "I am not offended by your doubts; it is indeed a risky thing to entrust such a mission to one who has failed in the past without making certain he will follow through and not fall to the danger a second time. I have been thinking about what Frodo said to me, and I believe I agree with him now -- I am confident I will not fail nor fall to the Ring. You can trust me to go alone. Even so, I would welcome a companion with me on this venture, to guard me from that falling as well as to take on the Quest should I not be able to continue -- just as I have taken it on from Frodo. But we are few now, and I do not know how we can divide our Fellowship, if I am to be accompanied in addition to Merry and Pippin's rescue and Frodo's journey to safety."

"That is the crux of the matter," Aragorn agreed. "Here then is my judgment; then tell me if you agree or not. I will go after Merry and Pippin, and Gimli will accompany me. At least two will be needed for that rescue, I deem, and Gimli's heart has been yearning for it since the little ones were taken. He will prove a valuable companion to me if it comes to battle against the orcs who have stolen our companions.

"Legolas will remain with Frodo and Sam, for I doubt Sam will want to be parted from his master no matter where Frodo goes. Legolas is well-suited to guard both Frodo and Sam, and can care for Frodo's wounds as the need arises. He is also strong, and can carry Frodo to a place of safety for further healing when the time comes. However, Frodo cannot be moved as yet, so Legolas will have to stay here until Frodo's head has healed sufficiently. It cannot be helped; head wounds such as this require rest and limited movement, and his leg will heal better if it is kept still and straight. Once Frodo can travel, it will be up to Legolas as to where to take Frodo -- Lothlórien is a possibility, as is Minas Tirith. Whether Frodo will be able to travel before war breaks and cuts off all roads to safety, I do not know. At least this place will be relatively secure for him, now that the orcs have been and gone.

"That leaves Boromir to go alone. I can see no other way -- but I am content. Like Frodo, I do not fear him falling to the Ring, and I trust in his ability to reach Mordor without mishap. He is strong and knows the terrain well, and has support along the way which he can call upon if the need arises. We can trust him to see this done."

"Yes!" Gimli grinned, slapping his axe. "I like this arrangement. I am sorry the Elf will not be accompanying us, but I can rest easy that Frodo will be in good hands. And Boromir will be fine, mark my words! When do we leave, Aragorn? I am ready when you are!"

Legolas smiled at Gimli, and inclined his head toward Aragorn in agreement. "I will stay with Frodo, and Sam will help me care for him. As for where we will go when Frodo is ready to travel...."

Boromir reached out and touched Legolas on the arm to get his attention. "If I may say a word, Legolas? I have a suggestion for you concerning this matter. There is an outpost of Gondor along the Anduin, some two leagues from the foot of the Falls of Rauros, where a small force of Men is stationed; they guard our northern borders and keep watch on the River and the marshes to the East. It is actually not far from here in distance, though the path is not an easy one. The camp can be reached by taking the North Stair, a steep portage-way cut into the cliff face for the use of those traveling the Anduin. That is the way I intend to go to reach the plains. I cannot manage one of our boats alone on that stair, but there will be boats at the northern camp, and I will take to the River there, traveling at least as far as Cair Andros -- after that, we shall see!

"But what I wish to mention to you, Legolas, is this: I will tell the men there of you and the hobbits, and charge them with aiding you while you wait here. They can supply you with protection, food and whatever else you may need, and when the time comes, they will see you safely to Minas Tirith -- or wherever you deem to be a safe haven for Frodo. At my word, they will make certain you are welcomed anywhere in Gondor."

"That is an excellent suggestion, Boromir," Legolas replied. "I will leave that in your hands, then, and will await the coming of Men of Gondor to help us."

"I am relieved!" Aragorn exclaimed. "It is well that Gondor takes thought for even its most distant borders, so that unexpected help is close by in our hour of need."

Boromir rose and began gathering the few things he would need for his journey. "Perhaps it would be best if I leave at once," he explained to the others. "If I am gone before Frodo wakes, it will go easier on him."

Aragorn sighed heavily. "It is a good thought, Boromir. Now that it comes to it, I am reluctant to part from you -- but Gimli and I must also be on our way, as well, for every moment's delay puts Merry and Pippin at more risk. I shall hold you to your promise that we meet again when all is done!"

"I will not forget that promise!" Boromir vowed, gripping Aragorn by the hand in farewell. He took his leave from Legolas and Gimli in like manner, and then approached Sam, who remained by Frodo's side.

"Farewell, Sam," he said, kneeling down to place a hand on the hobbit's shoulder. "I am sorry you cannot continue with me, for I know that having you at my side would have been a help against the wiles of the Ring. But you are needed here. I know you will take good care of Frodo. Give him my greetings and my blessing when he wakes."

"I'll do that, Mr. Boromir, sir! He'll understand why you had to go without saying goodbye yourself, don't worry about that. Have a care now, and don't let that Ring talk you into doing anything you shouldn't!"

"I give you my word that I will not listen," Boromir promised. "Farewell!”

Though the path was wet and treacherous from the spray of the Falls, Boromir descended the Stair with little difficulty, and reached the outpost before darkness fell. The men encamped there were overjoyed to see him. They had known of Boromir's journey north on an important quest that might bring help for the inevitable war with Mordor, but that had been so many months ago that all of Gondor had begun to despair of his return. Gathering around, the men plied him with questions which Boromir answered as well as he could without revealing the full nature of his journey and the burden he had inherited.

His request for a boat to travel south by the Great River was granted gladly, especially when it was learned that three Elven boats waited above the Falls, replacements for the craft Boromir would take. Gethron, the captain in charge of the border guard stationed at the Anduin outpost, promised to do all within his power to aid Legolas. He did not require further explanation or many details concerning what had taken place to leave Boromir's companions in such dire straits; one steady look from his Captain-General had been sufficient to warn Gethron that there were secrets involved that could not be discussed. It was enough for him to know that his lord Boromir lived and had a duty yet to fulfill, and that Boromir's trusted companions were in need of succor. Gethron sent two men immediately up the North Stair, carrying with them all that might be needed for Legolas, Sam and the wounded Frodo to pass the coming night in comfort. Boromir, satisfied that his friends were well-cared for, settled down to ask his own questions concerning news of Gondor and the brewing war. He slept well that night, for the first time in a very long time.

*****

Boromir set out early the next morning, refusing Gethron's offer to send a man with him as guide and guard.

"It is true I have not yet had occasion in my journeying to travel this part of the Anduin by boat," he admitted as he set his gear in the bottom of the small craft. It was not as light or sleek as an Elven boat, but it was sturdy and well-suited for navigating the River whether on open water or reed-choked fen. "I have journeyed on foot in these lands, however, and I am familiar with those difficulties I will surely encounter upon the water -- not the least of which is the danger of arrows from the bows of orc archers upon the eastern bank! Do not fear for me, Gethron. The nature of my errand is such that it is better that I go unaccompanied -- and all the men are needed here to keep watch on the borders, for we do not yet know where Mordor will choose to strike or attempt a crossing of the River. Let that man who might have gone with me remain here for that time when Legolas and the halflings are ready to be escorted to safety. That would aid me more than anything else!"

Gethron, seeing the wisdom in this, sighed and acquiesced, though not without first offering lengthy advice concerning the state of the River and the areas where Boromir would most likely run into difficulty or danger.

*****

Boromir's intention was to travel by River as far as the fortified island of Cair Andros, a journey of several days; from there he would go by foot to the hidden outpost Henneth Annûn where he hoped to meet with his brother, Faramir.

I told the Fellowship that I was against bringing the Ring to Minas Tirith, for fear it would work its evil there, especially with my father, Boromir thought as he steered his boat into the swiftest part of the current. As much as I hate to admit the truth, I know that Father would not hesitate to use the Ring if it came to his hand. He is like me in this, he will see things as I once saw them before I was drawn away from that folly. Faramir is another sort of man, however. He has his own struggles and despairs, but never has he sought to rule over others with power -- I see that now more clearly than ever before. He will be quick to understand this situation, for did he not have the same dream as I, that told us of Isildur's Bane? It will be fitting to have his guidance and wisdom in dealing with this matter; I can trust him to understand the danger of the Ring and the need to destroy it. He will be of great help to me as I seek to reach Mordor and the Mount of Doom.

Boromir made good time at first, for the current was strong and carried him quickly forward so that he hardly needed to set paddle to the water. But very soon he was caught up in the more difficult parts of the River, where the Mouths of Entwash flowed in, creating a many-channeled watercourse that wound its way through islands of long grass and sedge. The fen was vast, spreading for miles inland on both sides of the River, and visibility was poor, as mist hugged the water and clung to the grass-choked banks.

Here was where the danger was greatest, for the current became treacherous; in some places it was swift, flowing through narrow channels surrounded by tall rushes and reeds that rattled in the faint breeze. At other times, the main channel was smooth and broad, and Boromir was forced to paddle as the current turned slow and meandering. Boromir was grateful for his Elven cloak, for not only did it protect him from the dampness of the mist, he was certain it also hid him from the eyes of any enemy that might be lurking upon the eastern shore. As it was, there was no sign of anyone, and the only evidence of life was the creak of insects in the grass and from time to time, the call of a bird in the distance.

*****

Some miles north of Cair Andros, the River widened and broke free of the fen, and Boromir was able to make good progress once again. Catching the current, Boromir's boat sped forward swiftly.

The boat landing he sought was well-hidden in a narrow inlet on the western side of the River, just north of the isle of Cair Andros. The island keep was vital to the defense of Gondor, for it guarded one of the few places on the River Anduin where an army from the East could safely cross in strength. It was therefore kept well-fortified on all sides, and heavily garrisoned with fighting men. The ramparts were tall and strong, the watchmen upon the bastion well-placed and alert, and the men-at-arms were there in force. The approach to the landing was also guarded closely, watched by many archers stationed along the banks; no boat could draw nigh without being seen. But Boromir was observed and identified long before he steered his boat towards the shore, and the commander of the regiment in charge of the landing was waiting for him on the jetty when he landed.

He was welcomed in a manner befitting the son of the Steward of Gondor, and escorted quickly before Beregar, the captain in charge of the garrison at Cair Andros.

Beregar was well-known to Boromir, for they had served together in the past, and Boromir had also spent considerable time at Cair Andros in his capacity as Captain-General of Gondor's fighting forces. Boromir was pleased to see that the fortress was as prepared as it possibly could be for an attack from the East.

"Indeed, we are ready and on high alert," Beregar assured him. "I wish I had more men, of course, but it is the same for all of Gondor's defenses in this time -- there are not enough men to go around."

"It is so," Boromir nodded. "Yet you are still willing to hold men in reserve for the garrison at Osgiliath, should it be needed. It is a wise precaution, to keep some men back though they could be keeping vigil on these walls instead of waiting in reserve. It is difficult to predict where Mordor will press its strength when the evil day comes, and we must be prepared for all eventualities."

"Captain Faramir said the same," responded Beregar with a smile. "It is at his word that I hold back some of my men in this manner. You have only just missed him, in fact; he and several of his Rangers passed through here only a day ago. He was returning to Ithilien after meeting with the council in Minas Tirith."

Boromir could not keep from grinning. "That is well, then!" he rejoiced. "The next part of my journey takes me to Ithilien to seek my brother. It is good to hear that he will be at home when I come to call!"

"You will not be returning to Minas Tirith as yet?" Beregar questioned. "I had thought to send you with reports to the Lord Steward...."

Boromir sighed and his face grew grave. "Nay, I will not be going that way just yet. It would be best if you sent your missives by another messenger. I cannot truly say at this point when I will return to the City."

"Or whether you will return at all?" Beregar guessed, looking keenly at Boromir. "I do not need you to tell me that you are on a mission and have some important duty to perform that brings you back to Gondor from so unexpected a direction. You do not even know if you will return from this secret quest of yours, am I right?"

"Indeed, you are correct, Beregar. But tell no one of this as yet. I have some hope for a successful outcome to this quest of mine, but I cannot speak of it further. Faramir will keep you informed if the need arises, for I must include him in this venture; I have great need of his wisdom and his knowledge of the Enemy's movements in Ithilien."

"Fear not, my lord! I will say nothing of my guesses to anyone. Now, will you take your rest with us this night and see over the garrison? The men would be greatly encouraged if you would address them before you continue your journey."

Boromir's smile returned. "It would be an honor and my great pleasure!"

*****

Boromir and Faramir stood side by side, facing west in a moment of silence. When the solemn moment had passed, they turned as one and sat down to their meal together.

"It is long since I observed the Standing Silence with you here in this place," Boromir remarked. "It pleases me greatly that I can do so now!"

"No more than it pleases me," laughed Faramir. "I can hardly believe you are here, in fact; I keep wondering if this a dream from which I will awaken to find you still far away, lost in the northern wilderness."

"It is no dream," Boromir replied. "Though at times it does take on that aspect for me, as well!"

"So your journey north proved fruitful," Faramir went on, his voice dropping significantly so that there was no chance of them being overheard. "You found the answer to the riddle."

"Indeed, Faramir, I found many answers to questions I had not even thought to ask! Questions about myself and what kind of man I am. The answers were not always what I wished to hear...."

Faramir reached across and laid a hand on Boromir's arm, gripping it firmly. "Say no more, my brother. Have we not already spoken of this? You have told me everything that passed on your journey, both good and bad. Was my comfort and reassurance of your quality insufficient? Do you still look back on what is past, over and done?"

"You remind me of Frodo," Boromir laughed. "You say the same things -- things like, 'do not look back on what is past if you have been forgiven and moved on from it.' Your comfort to me was quite sufficient, never fear. It is just... seeing how quickly you grasped everything I told you, of the Quest, of the Sword-That-Was-Broken... of Isildur's Bane... you accepted it all and moved on.  You felt no need to see the thing, nor did you sense any desire for it! Your concern was only for me and for how you could aid me in seeing this task finished. You are a better, stronger man than I, Faramir! If you had gone on the Quest in my stead, things could have been different...."

"How am I a better, stronger man because I feel no pull to claim this thing?" Faramir demanded, shaking Boromir's arm gently. "My vows to Gondor and my people have made me able to see my way clearly; choosing that way does not make me stronger than you nor does it make me better.  Is not the man of quality the one who has struggled and learned from his mistakes, coming out of the darkness stronger in his convictions and his understanding of himself? If I had gone on the Quest in your stead, who knows if things would have gone as they should? Even if I did not fall to the temptation of this thing that you carry, that does not mean matters would have turned out well or even right. What happened was meant to happen, that is all. As your friend Frodo suggests, you must stop looking back on what might have been; rather, look forward to what you have been given to do.  Let us speak no more of who is better and who is not -- you are here now and in your hand is a duty to be done, a task for which you are infinitely well-prepared and undeniably capable of doing."

Boromir grinned and grabbed his brother, pulling him into a tight embrace.

"That is why I knew I had to come here and share all this with you, my brother," he whispered into Faramir's shoulder. "All the reassurances spoken by my companions in the Fellowship, all the confirmation that this task is for me to do and no other, all the forgiveness given and the insight gained -- none of it counts or has any truth behind it until I hear those same words of trust and forgiveness from you, my brother, spoken in my presence with your hand on my arm and your voice in my ear.  Now I am ready! My heart is soothed and my restoration is complete!"

*****

Boromir departed the hidden fastness of Henneth Annûn well-rested and eager to take on the next leg of the journey -- gaining passage into Mordor. Faramir had confirmed Boromir's plan to attempt the high mountain pass as the only one that had a possibility of success, but he had been frustrated by his brother's continued determination to do it alone. Faramir had begged him to take someone with him, but Boromir had refused.

"I know Ithilien as well as you do, my brother," he had said. "I will find my way easily without a guide.  You have assured me that there is currently no troop movement in the area, and the way to the pass is clear of the enemy. It will be less noticeable if I travel alone, and now that you have clothed me in Ranger garb, I shall travel all the more unseen through the forest. In any case, I want no one with me in this venture; who knows what strength this thing I carry will gain as we draw ever closer to the place of its forging? It is better that I remain alone, so that no one else is tempted to fall as I almost did. I am confident in my own will to resist it now, but I doubt what others might be called to do if they are with me."

It was this last statement that convinced Faramir to let Boromir go alone, with his blessing.

"Not much longer," Boromir said sighing at the memory of their last conversation together. Peering through the underbrush where he lay hidden as he took a short rest, Boromir could see ahead of him the mountain for which he was aiming. He gripped the Ring where it lay under his shirt. "No, not much longer now...."

Boromir gazed up at the dark tumbled heights of the mountain that towered above him, and sighed heavily. "More climbing!" he muttered. "Not that I expected anything less...."

Glancing down, he grimaced ruefully at his torn and bloodied hands and the remains of his leather gloves. The gloves had given some protection against the sharp stones -- but they were nothing more than tatters now, shredded upon the rocks of the high pass he had been forced to scale to reach his destination. It had been less of a viable pass than he had remembered from his youth, when he had explored the mountains bordering his homeland with an eye to hidden entrances and secret forays. He had made special note of that particular spot for future need, for it had seemed relatively remote and thus possibly less guarded, yet still scalable for a man strong and determined.

It had indeed been scalable -- but only just! He had been strong enough, in spite of his great weariness; and when his strength began to fail, he had still been determined enough. But at the last, even determination had not been sufficient to keep him from faltering, and only sheer desperation and utter fear at the thought of failure had lent his fingers strength to keep on clinging, and his feet the will to keep on seeking a foothold, and his arms the power to keep pulling him forward and upwards, up and over.

His strength had returned somewhat since then, and the closer he came to seeing his task completed, the more his determination was renewed. Yet how was he to manage that climb again, when the time came to escape back the way he had come? He knew he would not have the strength for it again so soon. Perhaps it did not matter, when all was said and done; likely there would be no returning once it was over, either by that path or by any other! If that was the case, then so be it. That was part of the price, and he was willing to pay it. But not until he had finished what had been laid upon him, and done the deed he had set out to do!

Boromir looked back towards the nameless pass which he had conquered with such difficulty, but smoke and cloud and murky fumes closed the land about him into shadow and there was nothing to be seen in any direction. It was a discouraging sight on the one hand, but on the other, it gave him some hope; if there was nothing to be seen, then there was also no one to see him, and thus the possibility remained of staying hidden awhile longer. How he had gotten this far without being waylaid or discovered and taken, Boromir could not imagine. But he did not question it. His part was to take what chance or fortune offered and to press on while he had the strength and opportunity.

Looking up at the black mass of slag and stone that faced him, Boromir sighed once more, and shrugged away his dismay and weariness. There was nothing for it; he had to go on, torn hands or no. He was so close to the end of the journey now, and another mountain to climb would not keep him from his goal.

No, not even this one, the mount that had overshadowed his life and the lives of so many for hundreds of years -- Orodruin, the Fiery Mountain; Amon Amarth, the Mount of Doom.

*****

Before attempting his ascent, Boromir took his rest under the lee of a pile of jagged boulders, where he was well hidden from sight. He knew he would need to garner as much strength as was left to him, and as much courage as he could muster to face the ever-increasing pressure to turn back, to give up, to not finish -- to take the easy way out. He no longer had the desire to listen to the Ring's whispering; it had been after him for some time now with its cajoling tempting. He laughed at the persuasive arguments that filled his mind and beat upon his heart; but there was no denying he was weary of it, and he knew it tired him even more than wielding his sword for hours in the heat of battle. Even so, he knew what the result would be if he turned aside; he knew the outcome if he listened and obeyed, giving in to the whispering suggestions. He would not go there, and that was all there was to it.

Not this time would he yield; no, not ever again!

Touching his hand to his breast, Boromir could almost feel the heat of the Ring upon its chain through his layers of clothing -- mail and tunic, surcoat and Elven cloak. The Thing seemed to throb with power and persuasion, now that it was so close to the place of its forging. It was draining and burdensome, but he did not fear it, nor did he fear his strength to resist its temptation. His only fear now was that of discovery, and of failing to finish his task of undoing the evil that was the Ring and thus repairing the evil he had himself caused.

It was the height of irony that he should be the one here in this place, carrying the burden of the ages to the place where it would be unmade -- of all people, the one who had once succumbed most easily to the lure of the Ring. Boromir still cringed at the memory of his weakness and inability to withstand the golden trinket, and the knowledge that he had sought to harm the one whom he had vowed to protect, in order to obtain it. Yet his succumbing had also been the key to gaining the strength he now had to abjure it, for his fall had brought about the searing of his desire and the death of his ambition to be victorious for his people at all costs. Since the moment he realized what he had almost done to Frodo and how that desire had been accomplished in him, he had known that price to be far too high, and his loathing of the Ring knew no bounds. Even his fear that the Dark Lord might regain it were the Ring to be taken to Mordor could no longer dissuade him from his determination to see it destroyed.

Boromir had never originally intended to come to Mordor -- at least, not without an army of Gondor at his back!  Rather, his had been a quest to seek answers to a riddle, to present the need of his people to the wise ones in Rivendell, to return home to Gondor with help for that need to strengthen the fight against the Shadow and perhaps even to win it. After joining the Company of the Ring, his quest had become one of protection -- guarding the safety of the Ringbearer until they might part ways -- and even more, to guard the safety of the Ring itself. For a time, his determination to keep the Ring out of the hands of the Nameless One had set him against even the good purposes of the Company itself, and had blinded him to the realization that he was laying himself open to claiming the Ring rather than keeping it safe.

But none of that mattered any longer; all purposes and plans had been changed forever that day upon Amon Hen, when the Fellowship had been broken, and the Ringbearer wounded, to the point that he could not continue his Quest. Boromir could still hear Frodo's voice, pleading with him, pressing the Ring upon him and with it the Quest to see to its destruction.

Take it! he had begged. You understand it now, even as I do.  You know the touch of evil and what it can make you do, before you can stop yourself. The Ring's lies are laid bare to you, and you want It no more. I can see that clearly in your eyes and I can read it in your heart as if it were written with words. Therein lies your safety and your strength; now that you are warned, you will be on your guard. I trust you with this, Boromir -- please! Take the Ring while I still have the strength to let it go! Take it to Mordor and cast it into the fire and free us all from this burden!

In the end, Boromir had been persuaded, and he had taken upon himself the burden of the Quest -- not because he felt any desire for the Ring, or any unusual strength or confidence in himself to see it done, but simply because Frodo had begged him, and trusted him to do it. He made his vow before them all, to see the task through, to bring the Ring to the Cracks of Doom and to cast it in to be unmade. That vow would bind him, until the task was completed or death took him.

*****

The Mountain of Fire rumbled and shook, disturbing his thoughts and bringing him back to the present. He was alone on the slopes of Mount Doom, and his task was not yet done. As yet, the Dark Lord seemed to have no idea what danger he was in, for he had sent no one against Boromir to wrest the Ring from him -- nor was the plain of Gorgoroth and the path to the Mountain even guarded. Perhaps he thought he was safe here in his own land; if so, then let him not learn otherwise! If all went well, the Nameless One would know nothing until the moment of his destruction and Boromir could not help but grin at the thought that destruction would come at his hand. All his life he had vowed to make the Dark One pay for the hurt he had done to Gondor and her people. Now was his chance to fulfill that other vow, made so long ago, when he was no more than a boy.

Even so, standing here in the heart of Mordor grinning at Barad-dûr will not fulfill any oaths! he thought ruefully.  'Tis more than likely the way to get myself killed! Time it is to be moving, then, climbing the mountain. It will be good to have it over and done, my vows fulfilled, the evil undone....

He did not expect the Ring would go quietly. It was likely there would be unimaginable chaos and upheaval when the Ring went into the fire -- in which case, Boromir would indeed pay for his foolish rejection of the power that had been offered him. Yet gladly would he pay that price, if it meant an end to such an evil that could turn and twist good people into hateful villains. He did not fear death, if it came as a result of success -- indeed, he would laugh as he welcomed it, if it came to that. Still, he did not plan on dying just yet. Not just yet!

"Come, my beauty," he said aloud, patting the Ring where it lay concealed under his tunic. "Beautiful you are indeed, but I want none of it, golden and shining as you are. I have a vow to fulfill, and you keep me from it with your tempting. I grow weary of your whispering and your beguiling. I would be done with it and with you! Let us go now to the Cracks of Doom, that place you know so well, that place where you were born. There we shall see who is the stronger. Once you almost mastered me, and still you believe you have wiles that can woo me -- but you are mistaken! It is you and your Lord who will pay the price in the end, I think.

“Come. Let us be done with it. My people, my friends are waiting….”

Boromir stood upon the brink of the great Crack of Doom in the midst of the Chamber of Fire, dismayed and subdued by the awful scene that confronted him. The chamber in which he stood was long and narrow, with a high roof that was lost in darkness, except when leaping flames from the fires below lit the room with blazing red light. The floor was split by the deep chasm before him; far below flowed the molten fire of the volcano that was the core of Orodruin. The lava churned and pulsed, and now and then, an arm of fire would reach up, as if attempting to grasp at the edge of the chasm to crawl out and devour any who might be standing there. The heat in the room was immense and hard to bear, the darkness oppressive even when briefly dispelled by the leaping fires below.

The Ring beat at him, gloatingly, as if it knew where they stood. Boromir bowed his head with the burden of the taunting, feeling a great desire to put on the Ring simply to be free of the pressure; but the need to do whatever he could to rid himself of the burden was just as great.
 
"I am glad you were spared this trial, Frodo!" he exclaimed aloud. His voice was muffled against the overpowering heat and fear of the place, but he felt better for having spoken aloud, for it helped recall his purpose and dulled the voice of the Ring which pressed him unmercifully. "Indeed, I am glad to be here! Never in all my days did I dream of ever standing in such a place, yet here I am. And the sooner I am done with it, the better!"

Drawing the Ring out, he unfastened the chain and held it up. The golden thing glowed red as it was lit by the fire; Boromir could almost see it pulsing and growing larger. The weight of it increased suddenly, and his hand dropped before he exerted his will over it and raised his hand up once more. The desire to put on the Ring and taunt the Dark Lord with his impending doom came over him strongly, but he quenched it with a laugh.

"One last desperate attempt to seduce me, eh?" he commented, closing the Ring firmly in his fist. "Very clever! You realize where you are, perhaps; do you have any idea what I am about to do to you? No? Well, it is unlikely, since you are still nothing more than a mindless piece of jewelry, albeit forged in such a fire and imbued with the evil power of the Dark One himself. But no, I refuse you yet again. Let the Eye be surprised, taken at unawares. That will be most satisfying!"

Boromir stepped to the edge, so close that the toe of his boot hung out over nothingness. Straightening his arm, he held out his closed fist above the fire.

"Thus are we avenged," Boromir declared loudly. "Nûmenor and Elendil and Isildur, the kings in Gondor, the Stewards; my father, my brother and myself who were never free of the oppression of Mordor from the day we were each brought into the world! Aragorn and his brethren in the north; Bilbo and Frodo, even Gollum, who bore the Ring and kept it hidden for so many years -- thus are we all avenged and released from the slavery we have been threatened with since time immemorial. Begone and good riddance!"

With that, he opened his fist and turning his hand, let the Ring fall. Slowly, slowly it slid off his palm, the chain catching against his torn glove as if the Ring were reluctant to let go. Boromir shook his hand free of the chain and the Ring dropped. One last wink of glittering light on its round surface was seen as it fell, and then it was lost in the smoke and darkness.

Boromir did not wait; as soon as he loosed the Ring and saw it falling, he turned and dashed for the door. He knew it would only be a matter of moments before the consequences of the Ring's destruction would begin.

There was a great roar behind him and a surge of heat pushing at him. The earth shook and flames of fire erupted around him, and then he was out in the open. Boromir hesitated only briefly, taking in the amazing, glorious sight in the distance of the Tower of Barad-dûr leaning, crumbling, tumbling and crashing down. He would have cheered if the heat of the fires behind him had not already snatched away his breath. The mountain shook again and fire belched from the summit, and the lava began to flow. Boromir leapt forward and ran for all he was worth.

Boromir laughed as he ran, leaping over a crack in the road that suddenly opened up into a gaping chasm. As he landed the road crumbled behind him and was lost in a river of fire. The destruction all around him was terrifying, yet he was more exhilerated than afraid.  What did it matter if he was doomed to die here in the midst of flame and smoke? He had done it -- the Ring was destroyed and could not be remade again. He was seeing with his own eyes the fall of Sauron. Yes, Sauron; Boromir could name him now, something no one in Gondor had done for years untold. Sauron was no longer the Dark Lord, the Great Eye, the Nameless One -- he was the Defeated One, and that defeat had been handed to him by none other than Boromir of Gondor, and all those who had entrusted Boromir with this duty, this Quest to undo what Sauron had made, forever.

I wonder how they fared with their own quests? he wondered fleetingly, ducking his head to avoid hot embers that fell from the flaming summit. Did Frodo reach a place of safety? Are Merry and Pippin rescued? Did the attack that Faramir so feared come at last and did he survive it? How did my father fare as he stood upon the brink of despair and defeat? Will I see any of them again? I wonder....

A gust of hot wind blew smoke and ash in his face, and he choked, but he did not pause in his mad dash down the mountain.

"I will run until I can run no further," he vowed. "And then, if there is still earth that is not afire to crawl upon, I shall crawl. My duty is fulfilled to see evil undone; now I shall claim another quest -- to escape the resulting destruction to return home alive and be reunited with those I hold dear. How often have the men under my command sworn that Boromir, Captain-General of Gondor, is surely indestructible? Nothing can stop him when he is confident and determined, they claim! Well then, let us see if that belief of theirs holds true in the face of this new challenge. Let us see if my strength, my will and my luck is as sufficient to the task of escaping Mordor as it was entering. After the burden of carrying the Ring to the Fire, it seems almost a simple thing....

"We shall see...."

An illustration was done for this story -- click here to see the artwork "Evil Undone" by Nath.

https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-XpJh9CaWYdk/Ti3BGZP_fJI/AAAAAAAAAH0/iBP-HVDFEdU/s800/Evil_Undone.png