Aragorn would kill him for this, if he knew Merry reflected ruefully. But he was Master of Buckland, Councillor of the North Kingdom, Knight of Rohan and Nazgul Bane and he was damned if he was going to go running to the High King every time there was a problem! Hobbits had delt with the Old Forest before and if necessary could do so again without any help from the King at Annuminas.

Probably.

Actually he had no intention of starting a battle just now. The score of Hobbits trailing behind him armed with axes and firebrands were just there to intimidate the trees into letting them pass. Merry's intention was to go through the Forest to the House of Tom Bombadil, Old Tom would know what was going on if anybody did - provided Merry could get him to stop singing long enough to answer questions!

The Bonfire Glade was right were he'd left it. Scrubby and dreary but still a welcome bit of open ground after the closeness of the forest. Looking over his shoulder he saw his Bucklanders relaxing visibly as they cleared the overshadowing trees. Not that he blamed them.

"Let's take a breather." he said and was rewarded by twenty grateful looks.

Glancing away to hide his smile a flash sun on metal caught his eye and he took a step towards it then stopped in his tracks. There was a Man stretched out under a scrubby bush. Very tall, even for one of the Big Folk, with mail showing on his arms beneath a red tunic studded with gold and dark leather surcoat. His head was pillowed on a round shield, fair hair falling over his face, hiding it.

Merry's heart began to thud painfully, a name catching at his throat that he didn't dare say or even think.

Cautiously, step by step, he went closer hand tight and sweaty on his sword hilt. And with every step the Man lying there seemed more familiar but it couldn't be - it was impossible. Taking a deep breath he bent, brushed the bright hair off the Man's face with a shaking hand. Blue eyes opened and all doubts vanished.

"Boromir!"

For a moment the Man stared blankly then recognition came. "Merry!" struggling upright he swept the Hobbit into an awkward one armed embrace.

He was no ghost, there was solid flesh under the supple leather and the pebbly feel of the mail.

Boromir released him, hand still on his shoulder. "It's good to see you, Little Friend, but what are you doing in this horrible place?"

"What am *I* doing!" Merry sputtered. "My dear Boromir, you're supposed to be *dead*! You died twenty years ago and thousands of leagues away! What are *you* doing here?"

Something guarded flashed through the blue eyes. "I asked first."

All but speechless with confusion, joy and indignation Merry managed. "I live here."

Boromir blinked. "Here?"

"Not in the middle of the Old Forest of course, Buckland's just a few miles back that way." Merry pointed. "You're on the borders of the Shire."

"Am I?" The Man frowned past him, apparently thinking hard.

Merry started to absently wipe a stickiness from his left hand then looked down and realized it was blood. Looked back at Boromir in alarm suddenly seeing how the Man's shield arm hung limp and the bloody rents down his right arm and side. Of the Orc arrows that had killed him twenty years ago there was no sign. "You're hurt!"

"I've been fighting." Boromir answered simply.

Merry decided not to ask who or what, not just now. "Can you walk?"

A smile. "I'd better. I doubt you could carry me, Little One."

"I'm not alone." reminded of this Merry looked over his shoulder to see his Bucklanders clumped in a staring, slack jawed huddle. "Don't just stand there," he snapped, "Mingo, Dando, help me get him up, Dickon get his shield."

Boromir did manage to walk out of the Old Forest under his own power, leaning on Merry's shoulder. The Hobbit might have found that encouraging if this weren't a Man who'd kept fighting with two Orc arrows in him. There was no guessing how badly he was hurt this time.

There was a little watch house just inside the hedge. Boromir had to practically get down on his hands and knees to fit through the door and, after taking one look at the low raftered ceiling, didn't even try to stand up once inside. Blankets and sheets were all the wrong size and of course the beds were out of the question. Merry bustled about and got him settled somehow on the guardroom floor, sent for a surgeon then sat down to write two letters.

One, to Pippin, was brief:

Pip,
Come at once. Urgent!!!
Merry

The other had to be rather longer. You can't ask the King of the West to drop everything and come running without some explanation - even if you are one of his best friends.

Strider,

I know this is going to be hard to believe but I've found Boromir, alive, in the Old Forest. He doesn't want to talk about where he's been or how he got there and he's hurt so I don't like to press but the forest's been very active lately, if you know what I mean, and I think Boromir knows something about it. Please come at *once* he'll tell *you* - even if he won't talk to Pip or me.
Merry

P.S. Lady Arwen, if you're reading this please forward to Aragorn as quickly as possible. It really is *very* urgent. M.B.

He sealed the envelope with the running horse in green wax and handed it to one of his shiriffs. "Remember, give it to the King or the Queen in *person* nobody else." he instructed. "If the Big Folk try and give you an argument say those are my orders and the message is personal and urgent."

Merry was taking an early morning turn in the garden with his pipe when he was intecepted by a footman. "The Thain -" the Hobbit began, puffing for breath, but Merry had already seen Pippin right behind him.

For a moment he simply gaped. His messenger had been dispatched about mid-afternoon two days ago. He should have arrived at Great Smials yesterday evening which meant - "Good heavens! Tookland to Brandy Hall overnight? It must be a record!"

"You said it was urgent." his cousin reminded him, pulling off his riding gloves.

"Yes but I didn't mean you should kill a pony getting here!"

"Blanco's fine, just a bit winded and footsore." Pippin said impatiently. "What is it, Merry?"

"The Old Forest has been acting up lately. Trees pressing against the Hedge, strange sounds, you know the sort of thing."

Pippin grimaced. He surely did.

"So two days ago I went into the Forest with a score of Shiriffs to see if I could find anything out. I was trying to reach Tom Bombadil, I figured he'd know what was going on if anybody did."

"What did Tom have to say?"

"I never got to him. We stopped to rest in Bonfire Glade and - " Merry paused to swallow. "Boromir was there. Alive but hurt."

Pippin's mouth worked for a minute before he managed to get any words out. "Merry, Boromir's dead."

"You think I don't know that!" his cousin shouted. "I was there remember? How could I forget!" He stopped himself. It wasn't fair to yell at Pip, after all he had the same terrible memory; watching a friend die before their eyes, unable to help.

By now Pippin was genuinely alarmed. Old Merry wasn't himself at all - what had happened to him in the Forest?

"I haven't lost my mind." his cousin said, wearily. "Come and see for yourself."

*****

"Are you a giant?"

Out in the passage Merry smiled involuntarily at his little daughter's solemn question.

Boromir's voice answered equally seriously. "No, giants are much taller than I am."

Pippin froze in his tracks, round eyed with shock.

"Told you so." said Merry.

"Your father fought a giant once." Boromir continued. "In Moria it was."

"Actually that was a Cave Troll." Merry said stepping through the round doorway into Brandy Hall's largest guest bedroom. Boromir was sitting on his pallet, left arm splinted and in a sling, right arm and side bandaged, with a shawl draped around his shoulders.

Little Wyn and her brother, Merry's oldest, were also sitting on the floor. They turned to stare at their father.

"If a cave troll isn't a giant, what is?" Boromir asked reasonably. Then saw who was behind Merry and broke into a smile. "Pippin?"

And the Thain of the Shire stumbled forward, threw his arms around his old friend and burst into tears.

Merry quickly herded his childen out of the room. "Yes, Uncle Pippin is all right - you can talk to him later. Borry take your sister to Mummy." and closed the door firmly behind them.

"Borry." said Boromir with a glint in his eye. Patting Pippin on the back while he blew his nose.

Merry blushed and shrugged. "He hasn't grown into the whole name yet. I hope you don't mind."

"I am honored." was the gentle answer. "And no doubt the Lady Eowyn is as well."

"Never mind all that!" from Pippin, "Didn't you die? Where have you been? and what are you doing here?"

Boromir took a deep breath. "Yes I did die. It's hard to explain what happened." a wry smile. "especially since I don't understand it very well myself. As for where I've been....the last few years at least I've been in Avallone."

"Avallone!" Merry interupted exitedly. "Did you see Frodo?"

Another smile. "Indeed I did. He gave me a message for you two and Sam. He says the pain is nearly gone and the dreams are much better and he's sure that someday they will go away altogether."

Merry blinked back tears and Pippin blew his nose again. "It's a good thing he went then. Sam'll be glad to hear he's getting better."

Boromir turned to Pippin. "And Mithrandir tells me I owe you my brother's life. Thank you."

Pippin blushed. "Actually it was Gandalf who saved Faramir, and Beregond too of course."

"But they would never have known he was in danger if not for you." Boromir pointed out.

"Denethor was very kind to me." Pippin said earnestly. "He - he wasn't himself, he didn't know what he was doing."

"I know." Boromir agreed sadly. "Losing both his sons was more than he could bear."

"Why are you here?" Merry asked bluntly.

"To fight an evil left over from Sauron's fall." Boromir answered and looked worried. "Glad as I am to see you two I am not at all happy to find myself on the borders of the Shire. I was expecting some remote spot in Rhun or maybe Harad not the heartland of the Northern Kingdom."

Merry swallowed. "I've sent for Strider. He's King now."

"I know." smiling. "Mithrandir and Frodo told me what had become of you all."

"Well that'll save some explaining anyway." from Pippin. "What kind of evil are we talking about here?"

"I don't really know." Boromir answered slowly. "You remember the wargs who attacked us when we came down from Caradhras?"

"The ones who weren't there." Pippin nodded.

"That's what I fought in your Forest, Merry, great wolves. But in the morning there were no bodies and who or what sent them I do not know."

"That explains the claw marks." Merry said, glancing at Boromir's bandaged side and trying not to shudder.

In all the time they'd known him Boromir had never once told a direct lie, Dunedain didn't. But they could misdirect and hold back information. Merry was certain Boromir was holding something back now. He might not *know* what had sent the wolf wraiths but he had suspicions - which he was not prepared to share.

Merry thought about pressing him on it but, after all, a guess is just a guess and Boromir wasn't like Old Strider or even Faramir. He didn't know much more about this sort of thing than Pippin or Merry himself. He probably wanted to run his notion past Aragorn first, in case he was wrong.

"Strider will be here soon." Merry said aloud. "He'll know."

"Out, out, out!" Merry slammed the door behind the last of his relatives and connections and leaned against it, histrionically wiping imaginary sweat from him brow. Boromir laughed.

"I apologize for my family, you'd think they'd never seen a Man before."

"I gather they haven't seen all that many, at least not to talk to." he replied. "Naturally they're curious. I don't mind."

"Well I do! It's very bad manners to pester a guest - especially an injured one."

The Man settled back on his pallet. Merry crossed the room to help with the blankets, still grumbling. "Can't imagine what's gotten into them.... Educated gentlehobbits not a band of wandering tramps!..." suddenly realized he was all but tucking Boromir in and looked at him in embarrasment. He looked back, eyes twinkling, and they both laughed.

"Don't mind me, I'm going all paternal in my dotage." Merry said when he could talk again. Patted Boromir's knee, "It's good to have you back, my friend."

Surprisingly he looked distressed. "Merry. I-" he seemed to be having trouble finding the right words. "I am not going to be here long."

Merry's heart chilled."What do you mean?"

Boromir took a deep breath. "I was sent back for a purpose once that is achieved -"

"What? You vanish in a puff of smoke? I don't believe it. I know wraiths and you're no ghost."

A smile flickered across his face. "No, I'm not a ghost but I did die. I have been allowed to return as a special grace, to atone." very quietly. "You see I tried to take the Ring from Frodo."

"I know." Boromir blinked and Merry explained. "Frodo told us, not that he meant to. It slipped out accidently one day when he was telling us about his latest nightmare. He didn't blame you, you know."

"I do know. He's told me the same." shook his head. "I am grateful for his forgiveness but I should have been stronger."

"So you're here to kill whatever's lurking in the Old Forest to make up for that? And then what happens?"

Boromir looked unhappy. "I don't expect to survive the fight."

Merry was trembling. "So Pippin and I get to watch you die again, is that it?

"Merry..." Helplessly. "I'm sorry, I didn't expect to find myself among friends - It makes it harder for me too."

The Mayor of the Shire sat on marble steps in the garden of the King's Palace at Annuminas and watched the sun set behind the Evendim Hills.

"Sam." he looked up to see the High King looming over him. Started to get up but Aragorn pushed him back down and sat next to him on the steps.

"I just got a letter from Merry." he said handing it over.

Sam started to read but the first line shocked him into looking back at the King. "Boromir! But he died. Faramir saw his body in the boat and found his broken horn."

"And that was strange in itself." Aragorn said quietly. "Not even an Elven boat should have survived the great falls. Yet Faramir saw it a dozen leagues downriver on its way to the sea. I've always wondered what it meant... It seems I am about to find out."

Sam read the rest of the letter, an ominous frown building. "Nobody said anything to me about trouble in the Old Forest!"

"Or to me." Aragorn said a little grimly.

"Drat that Merry! The Brandybucks seem to forget they're still part of the Shire, even if they are on the wrong side of the Brandywine!"

The King smiled down at him. "I thought you might like to come to Buckland with me."

"Try and stop me!"

A laugh. "I wouldn't dare."

"I'm not just standing by and watching him kill himself again, that's flat."

"I agree with you, Pip. I'm just not sure what we can do to stop it."

They were in Merry's study, a small and rather dusty room littered with notes and bits of dried herbs, sitting across the table from each other with a brandy bottle between them and the stars shining through the open window.

Pippin took a gulp of his brandy. "There's got to be *something* we can do."

"Maybe Strider will know." Merry sighed, refilling the glasses.

A soft knock heralded the entrance of a slightly glassy eyed footman. Merry looked at him in disapproval. "Bert? what are you doing up at this hour?"

"Begging your pardon, sir, but my brother Bill, who works down in the stables, just woke me up. He says another Man's arrived - he thinks it's the King himself!"

"Strider, thank goodness!" Master and Thain made a dash for the door, poor Bert getting out of the way just in the nick of time.

*****

The figure coming up the path from the stable was unmistakably a Hobbit and familiar if unexpected.

"Hullo, Sam -" Merry began

"What's this about trouble with the Forest?" the Mayor interrupted, a dangerous glint in his eye.

"It started after you left for Annuminas." Merry explained apologetically. "Just the usual restless muttering at first, it only began to get alarming a day or two ago."

"You should have told me."

"Sam, he didn't tell *me* until after he found Boromir." Pippin put in quickly.

"I didn't have anything to tell." Merry pleaded. "I went into the Forest to find some answers."

"And instead found a greater riddle."

"Strider!" Pippin and Merry flung themselves at their friend and King who went down on one knee to greet them.

He was dressed as a simple ranger, with no sign of his rank save for the Ring of Barahir, and looked much as he had when they first saw him all those years ago in Bree. Aragorn glanced from Merry to Pippin, a hand on the shoulder of each. "What is it?"

Merry took a deep breath. "Boromir says he's just here to die again, killing whatever it is in the Old Forest."

"That can't be true, can it?" Pippin pleaded.

"I don't know." Aragorn said quietly. "Where is he?"

"The big guest room." Merry led them along a side path to a small door and unlocked it. "Third room on the left, watch your head."

The King gave him one of his dark looks over his shoulder, ducked through the door and disappeared into the shadows. The three Hobbits stood gazing after him for a moment then Merry clapped Sam on the shoulder. "Come and have a brandy it must have been quite a ride. And don't scold. We had strict orders from Madam Mayoress not to bother you on your holiday."

"'You're Thain of the Shire, Peregrine Took, time you started acting like it instead of leaving everything to my Sam!'" Pippin quoted, grinning.

A gentle snort from Sam. "I'm not sure I'm ready to leave the Shire to the likes of you two."

*****

Aragorn slipped through the door of Boromir's room, crouched just inside for a moment, (knowing better than to try to stand) and studied the sleeping Man.

After a long moment he nodded slowly to himself then, stooping, crossed the room to kneel beside the pallet and lay a light hand on Boromir's arm. His eyes opened instantly. For a moment all he could see was the dark silhouette of another Man bending over him and tensed reflexively then recognized him. "Aragorn!" He started up eagerly clutching at the other Man's arms. "My King!"

"I am very glad to see you my friend." Aragorn pressed him gently but firmly back onto the pallet. "How badly are you hurt."

"My shield arm is the worst of it, a clean break and mending fast, the rest is mere scratches."

The King gave him a mildly skeptical look and began undoing the bandages with deft, practiced hands to see for himself. Grimaced a little at the sight of the wounds. He'd tended enough mauled Rangers to recognize

Wolf clawings. "Not all scratches," he said touching a bite mark on Boromir's upper arm.

"No. One of them got me down and worried me." Aragorn felt the other Man shudder at the memory. "I killed four of them - but by daylight there were no bodies or blood, except for mine."

"Like the wargs that attacked us below Caradhras." the King nodded. "Do you know what sent them?"

"I was not told," Boromir answered slowly, "but what could it be but a werewolf? It that possible, Aragorn?"

"Very." was the grim reply. "Three survived the fall of Angmar, so they say. My ancestor, the first Aragorn slew one, and my kinsman Belecthor another, but the third and most powerful lives yet."

"And is lurking in the Old Forest." said Boromir and frowned. "I do not like that it has chosen a place so near the Shire."

"Not do I." the King agreed. He finished rebandaging and settled back on his heels. "What happened, Boromir?"

Simply. "I died." his eyes unfocused, gazing past Aragorn at something only he could see, whispered: "I always thought dying would be like falling into darkness but it is not - there is such light.... And after, after..." he trailed off, shaking his head. "There are no words."

A long moment passed then he looked back at the King. "I remember I was asked if I were willing to return and I said yes. And sometime later I awoke in Avallone with Mithrandir sitting at my bedside. He and Frodo told me how the quest was completed and what had become of you all."

"And how is Frodo?" Aragorn asked softly.

"Better. He seemed to improve daily even in the short time I was with them. He is sure one day, not to distant, he will be altogether well again. And Mithrandir agrees." The King closed his eyes in relief. "That is good to hear." opened them again. "And what of you, Boromir?"

"I am here to destroy this evil." he answered. "This - werewolf if that is indeed what it is."

"Alone and unaided?" Aragorn said drily.

Boromir flushed a little. "I know how it must sound, but this is my task, Aragorn, of that much I am certain."

"And that you will die accomplishing it?" the King asked softly.

Boromir swallowed, nodded. "So Mithrandir forsaw."

Aragorn lowered his eyes, sighed, looked up again. "Merry and Pippin are greatly distressed."

"I know." the other Man said miserably. "Perhaps I should not have told them but I thought if they knew - had a chance to prepare themselves - it might be easier for them."

"And for you?"

"I expected it to be hard." Boromir closed his eyes against pricking tears. "But I did not know how hard."

"The King here? Now?" Estella Brandybuck gasped.

"He arrived last night." Merry explained patiently. "I told you I'd sent for him. This is business, sweetheart, not a state visit. He doesn't want any ceremony."

"But - but where did he sleep?"

"The garden."

"The garden!" Estella stopped in the middle of the passage, hands on hips, and glared at her husband. "Meriadoc Brandybuck, you mean to tell me you allowed the High King of the West to sleep out in our garden like some tramp?"

"It was his idea." Merry protested, trying not to quail from the steely glint in his wife's eye. "You know our ceilings are to low for him. And believe me, he's slept in much worse places in his time."

"You can't sleep in the garden anymore." Merry told his liege lord some little time later, "Estella won't have it."

"I never thought she would." Aragorn replied with a glint of amusement, sitting cross-legged on the short green turf under the windows of Brandy Hall.

"And this is for you," Merry continued offering a large shawl to Boromir, leaning eyes closed against the side of the hill, "Estella doesn't want you taking cold."

The Man opened his eyes and smiled. "Mistress Brandybuck is a most kind and gracious hostess. You are fortunate to have such a wife, Little One."

"I don't need you to tell me that." Merry plopped down on the grass between Pippin and Sam. "Still, it would be nice to get my own way from time to time."

Snorts of agreement came from the other two Hobbits and even Aragorn smiled a little ruefully.

"So," Merry continued, changing the subject, "what's in the Old Forest and what do we do about it?"

"From what Boromir tells me I believe it is a werewolf." the King replied.

There was a short silence as the three Hobbits exchanged looks. Finally Sam sighed. "All right, I'll ask; what's a werewolf? - not that I want to know."

"An evil spirit of great power in the form of a giant wolf." Aragorn answered.

"Wonderful." Merry grimaced. "What do we do about it?"

"What we do *not* do," the King said fixing him with a stern eye, "is go back into the Forest until we know more about what we are facing." his gaze moved pointedly to Boromir who bowed his head.

"As you wish."

Merry and Pippin gave little sighs of relief and shared a look of muted triumph.

"Your idea of consulting Tom Bombadil was a good one, Merry." Aragorn continued. "I suggest we do so but *not* by passing through the Old Forest."

"That means crossing the Barrow Downs which is almost as dangerous." Pippin pointed out.

"But not quite." Aragorn smiled. "And we are none of us unaccustomed to danger."

*****

It's not easy to look regal while stooping under a ceiling some inches to low for for your height but Aragorn managed it.

Estella curtseyed. "Welcome to Brandy Hall, King Elessar."

"Thank you, Mistress Brandybuck." he replied bowing in return. "I beg you to forgive the unseasonable hour of my arrival, you know the cause."

"Yes, of course." she said, slightly flustered. "How long - that is I hope you will stay with us a few days."

"Tonight only. Then I fear I will be taking your husband and your guest away with me."

"Oh!" Estella shot a worried look at Boromir, hunched just behind the King. "Is Master Boromir well enough to travel?"

Aragorn smiled. "Thanks to your care." suddenly he went down on one knee and kissed her hand. "I am most grateful, as always, for your hospitality, my lady."

She blushed cherry red and melted visibly.

"That takes care of her." Pippin muttered in Merry's ear. "No doubt about it, these Men have a way with the womenfolk."

"Being King doesn't hurt either." Merry whispered back.

*****

"I'm thinking of putting in some Man-sized guest rooms at Great Smials." Pippin remarked conversationally as he and Merry wrestled with a pile of bedding, making a second pallet for Aragorn in Boromir's room.

"Not a bad idea." Merry agreed. "Though I hope the next time you come to visit, Strider, it'll just be a social call."

"As do I." said the King with some emphasis.

"By the way, Pip," Merry continued. "shouldn't you drop a note to Diamond, to let her know what's happening?"

Pippin winced. "She's not going to be at all happy about this, me going off on an adventure without her."

"Sounds like a lady of spirit." Boromir observed.

"That's one way of putting it." Sam said drily. "She and her brothers were the terrors of the North Farthing - and marriage hasn't changed her." a sidelong glance at the Thain. "She and Pippin deserve each other."

Boromir laughed. "I'm sorry not to have met Mistress Diamond."

"Perhaps you may yet." Pippin said hopefully, then as the Man looked at him added plaintively. "Boromir, are you *sure*."

He didn't have to ask about what. "Yes, Pippin, quite sure. I wish I were not."

The strands of Avallone were strewn with opal and pearl and glittering jewels of adamant that crunched underfoot like pebbles, washed by translucent blue waves edged with shimmering foam. The pearly towers of Elvenhome pierced a cerulean sky, rising from meades of ever-green grass admidst groves of flowering trees.

It was all very beautiful but privately Boromir would have prefered honest sand and stone and grass and trees that changed with the seasons. The timelessness of Eldamar seemed wrong somehow, even threatening. He would be glad to leave this place though sorry to lose his companions.

"Remember, Boromir, once you return to Middle-Earth much that is now clear to you will become uncertain or even be forgotten." Mithrandir was saying.

"I understand." he said patiently.

And got a sharp look from beneath bristling brows. "I doubt it."

"It doesn't matter if he understands or not." Frodo said quietly. "I didn't understand at first either - which was just as well," Man and Wizard looked at him in concern as he continued, slightly defiantly. "because if I had I'd have chucked the Ring into the Water and hidden under my bed! And I do wish you two would stop looking so worried everytime I mention the Ring. Getting better doesn't mean forgetting you know."

Boromir gave him a smile of apology before turning back to the Wizard. "I agree with Frodo. I don't have to understand. I know what I must do, that is enough."

Mithrandir closed his eyes, as if in pain, then opened them to look piercingly at the Man. "It will be hard," he warned, "harder than you imagine."

"Good." gently, "I need it to be hard, Mithrandir, I have much to make up for."

"You do not!" passionately from Frodo. "I've told you and I've told you, it was the Ring! It would have taken us all in the end - you were just the first." more quietly. "It overcame me. I couldn't destroy it. If it weren't for Gollum the quest would have failed."

Mithrandir thumped his staff impatiently. "Neither of you understands what he has done! Frodo, it was never your task to destroy the Ring, only to bring it to where it could be destroyed. And in that you succeeded, at great cost."

"As for you, Boromir, many have succumbed to evil but few have been able to free themselves from it as you did. You have nothing to atone for."

Hobbit and Man gave him almost identical, politely stubborn looks and the Wizard sighed, defeated. "Someday you will believe me - I hope." looked sadly at Boromir. "You will die in battle as you did before. And the second time will be harder than the first."

"So be it." The Man said steadily. Then: "Mithrandir, I know I have been forgiven by the Powers - and the One above them." Turning he knelt down to look Frodo in the eye. "And I know I have your forgiveness too, Ringbearer. I do this so I will be able to forgive myself." *****************************************

Mithrandir had been right, as usual. Boromir reflected, lying wakeful in Merry's big guest room listening to Aragorn's even breathing. It was hard and in ways he'd never expected.

He'd been braced for battle, prepared to bear loneliness and physical pain. Instead he found himself dealing with the joy of reunion with dear friends, and the heartache of knowing he must soon leave them again to their grief as well as his own.

Telling Merry and Pippin had been a mistake. They refused to accept the inevitability of his second death and he was begining to be afraid of what they might do to try to prevent it.

He was finding it surprisingly hard to bear himself. He'd lived with the possibility of death ever since he'd first taken up arms at eighteen but it had always been 'perhaps tomorrow' never 'now'. He was not afraid. He knew his ancestors had been mistaken, that the 'doom' they feared was indeed a gift. But it would be hard to lose the sunlight and the beauty of Middle Earth. Again.

And he found himself longing with piercing intensity for his City. To look on Minas Tirith one more time, to see his brother again. But that was one mistake he was resolved not to make. He wasn't going to destroy Faramir's peace as he had the Little Ones'. He closed his eyes, determined to try to sleep. He'd said he wanted it to be hard and he had no right to complain if he'd been taken at his word.

They started just before sunrise, slipping out by way of one of Brandy Hall's many side doors and taking the stable path down to the Buckland Road.

"Keep a close watch on the Hedge but nobody is to go into the Old Forest under any circumstances." Merry instructed.

Estella, wrapped in a shawl against the early morning chill, shuddered. "Don't worry! How long will you be gone?"

"I don't know." Merry glanced up at Aragorn who shook his head. "It depends on what we find out. I'll send word as soon as I know anything."

They stopped under the stable gate and Estella leaned forward for a final kiss and wifely admonishment. "Be careful." her eyes went over her husband's shoulder to his four companions. "All of you."

Boromir knelt down. "Thank you, Mistress Brandybuck, for all your kindness."

"Take care of that arm." she answered. "And see you keep that sling on for at least another week!"

"I will." he promised, and kissed her cheek. "Farewell, dear lady."

"Here now, that's enough of that!" Merry pulled him to his feet, grinning. "We'd better get you out of here before you turn the head of every female between the High Hay and the River."

"Maybe you'll pick up some of those nice Big-Folk manners while you're away, Meriadoc Brandybuck." Estella retorted, smiled at Boromir and flounced back up the slope to Brandy Hall. But Merry was sure he saw her sneak a handkerchief out of her pocket just before the turn of the path took her out of sight behind the stable buildings.

He sighed. "Let's go."

They made good time at first but as the sun rose higher they began to meet the respectable citizens of Buckland going about their business, almost all of whom insisted on stopping to pass the time of day with the Master.

The Bucklanders knew Pippin of course, and there'd been plenty of gossip about the Man up at the Hall, but nobody seemed to recognize Aragorn in his ranger garb.

It was mid-afternoon before they finally passed through the Hay Gate and turned east onto the Kings' Road.

"This is more like it." Pippin said cheerfully. "Just like old times."

"I hope not." said Aragorn.

"Come on, Strider, it wasn't all bad." the Thain argued. "All right Boromir did die, and Gandalf, and the rest of us were nearly killed too..." his voice ran down as the other four stared at him. "But we did win after all!"

Boromir laughed. The King gave Pippin one of his dark looks and Merry and Sam rolled their eyes.

The sun was getting low behind them when Pippin spoke up again. "I'm hungry."

"Now *that* is like old times." said Boromir and they all laughed.

"We lost too much time getting out of Buckland, we're not going to make the Elfstone by dark." Merry looked at Aragorn. "do we camp?"

The King considered. "It should be safe enough. Nothing's been seen outside the Old Forest."

"Yet." said Sam gloomily.

"True." Aragorn agreed ruefully. "But in any case it's safer to camp than to try to travel by night."

"The Elfstone?" Boromir asked, interested.

"A new inn halfway between the Brandywine Bridge and Bree." Merry explained.

"Not so new," Pippin objected, "must be about ten years old by now."

"It started out as a staging post for King's Messengers." Merry continued, ignoring the interuption. "but now there's a proper inn and even a bit of village."

"A lot of new settlements popping up now that the King's returned." Sam observed with a sidelong glance at Aragorn who smiled back.

"The Wild is becoming Arnor, the King's Land, again." he said. *****************************************

Sam woke to see the thin slice of the new moon high overhead. The fire had died down to red coals and Boromir was on watch, standing back to Sam, sword drawn and set upright before him.

Automatically Sam turned his head to check on Mr. Frodo - but he wasn't there. Hadn't been there for years and years.

Frodo had gone oversea, Sam reminded himself, Strider was King now and Boromir had, somehow, come back to life. He looked back at him.

The figure of the Man seemed strangly clear. Illuminated by a soft glow, purer than moon or even starlight. It took Sam a moment to realize what he was seeing, though he'd seen it before when he'd watched over Frodo in Mordor, a light shining through the flesh as through clear glass.

Boromir felt eyes upon him and turned. "Sam?" The Hobbit continued to stare, speechless, "are you all right?"

"I - yes," he managed. "I - for a moment I forgot when I was."

The Man nodded understanding, sympathy in his eyes. "Frodo is getting better, Sam, more important he has hope again." Sam swallowed, blinking back tears. "I'm glad, but I miss him."

"He misses you too," Boromir said softly. "but you will see each other again. You know that."

He did. Someday he too would take a ship into the West, just as Frodo and Mr. Bilbo had. He found the prospect a little frightening. If it weren't for Mr. Frodo he wasn't sure he'd want to go at all.

"What is Avallone like?"

"Like Lorien, only more so." Boromir smiled ruefully. "I didn't much like either place - but you may. Frodo does."

"To visit maybe." Sam said dubiously, "but not to stay."

"No." the Man agreed seriously. "Avallone is not a good place for Mortals to stay." smiled again. "Men often want things that are not good for them. Hobbits, I think, are wiser."

Suddenly his head turned, alerted by something Sam could neither see nor hear. Shouting "Aragorn!" Boromir strode forward, sword slicing sideways into a shadowy attacking form.

Strider was instantly on his feet, Anduril glittering in his hand. "Sam! Merry! Pippin! build up the fire!" The three Hobbits piled on wood and brush. The flames leaped up, shining reddly on the swords of the Men and in the eyes of their attackers; great grey wargs. "This enough like old times for you Pippin?" Merry panted as they drew their own swords.

But the wargs weren't interested in Hobbits, only the two Men, perhaps deeming them the worthier adversaries. Or maybe they knew who Aragorn was.

Sam and Merry charged to the defense of their King and Pippin to Boromir's. Not that either needed the help. Half a dozen of the beast already lay dead at their feet and as many others drew off, growling.

For a moment they faced each other; the Companions with swords drawn, backed by leaping flames. The wargs just beyond the firelight, eyes gleaming green. Then suddenly the eyes went out.

Pippin swallowed. "They're gone?" looked up at Boromir and saw him hunched over his sword, face drawn in pain. "Strider!"

Aragorn was there in an instant. "What is it? the arm?"

Boromir produced a strained smile. "Mistress Estella will be gravely displeased if I've put all her good work to naught."

"Let me see." Aragorn pushed him down gently onto some blankets, undoing sling and splints as Merry and Pippin watched anxiously and Sam kept a wary eye on the darkness around them. "No, you haven't rebroken it." he said after a moment. "But you haven't done it any good either. You're not really fit for battle, my friend."

"And you should not be putting yourself in peril, my King." Boromir replied.

"I can't go everywhere surrounded by a royal guard." Aragorn said, briskly redoing the splints.

Boromir smiled palely. "You must make life difficult for your faithful servants, Aragorn."

And got a wry smile in return. "I fear so, sometimes. Sam, I will join you on watch. The rest of you try to get some sleep." ******************************************

"Run!" Boromir ordered. "Run!"

But they hesitated, unwilling to leave him to face the Orcs alone, though there was all to little a pair of Hobbits could do against the giant Uruks.

Almost as little the Uruks could do against Boromir. Any Orc who came within reach of his blade died. Then a thick, black shaft thudded into his chest, high up on the left. The Man staggered, nearly fell. The Orcs, thinking this was their chance, closed in but miraculously he pulled himself upright and hewed them down.

Frozen with horror Pippin could only watch, Merry equally paralyzed at his side.

A second arrow, lower down, drove Boromir to his knees right in front of them. For a moment he knelt there looking straight at them, a look Pippin could not interpret, then turned lunging once more to his feet to reengage the Orcs.

It was incredible, unbelieveable, horrifying. Yet a third arrow thumped home between the other two, and Boromir fell, this time Pippin somehow knew he wouldn't be able to get up again.

Beside him Merry gave an inarticulate yell, drew his sword and charged into the Orcs. Pippin followed trying to get to Boromir, but they were caught up by a pair of massive Uruks before they'd gone more than a few steps and carried away dispite their struggles. Leaving Boromir on his knees, surrounded by Orcs, dying.

Pippin woke with a gasp. It had been a long time since he'd had that particular dream. Years. Turned his head. Boromir was there, asleep, alive and sound except for a broken arm. His good hand lying at his side. Pippin reached for it, held it tightly.

Boromir's eyes opened. He smiled reassuringly, squeezed Pippin's hand in return, went back to sleep.

Pippin lay there filled with grim resolve. *I'm not letting him die again. I can't - I won't - fail him a second time.*

Boromir woke to the ache of his broken arm and the sound and smell eggs, bacon and potatoes frying. Opening his eyes he saw Merry watching three large pans sizzle over the fire while Pippin sliced bread for toast.

"Is that first or second breakfast?"

"First and only." Merry replied, "So we're making it an extra large one."

Boromir laughed. The Hobbitish custom of seven meals a day had caused a certain amount of conflict with the rest of the Fellowship. Eventually they had compromised on four; Breakfast, Lunch, Afternoon Tea and supper.

"There were no bodies." Pippin told him.

"I can't say I'm surprised." Boromir looked around. "Where is Aragorn?"

"Having a scout. Sam's with him." Merry made a face. "We keep forgeting he's King now and should be protected."

"So does he." Boromir sat up, wincing a little as his injured arm shifted.

"How are you?" worriedly from Pippin.

"I've been better." a wry smile. "I'll have to leave the defense of our liege lord to you two for the time being."

"Strider can take care of himself." said Pippin.

"The point is he shouldn't have to." Merry countered. "Exactly." Boromir paused, than said quietly. "That is why I must fight this werewolf."

Merry's eyes widened in sudden understanding. "Because if you don't, Strider will."

The Man nodded. "And the West must not lose her King, not so soon after finding him."

"So those are our choices," Pippin said bitterly. "Lose him or lose you."

"Pippin -" Boromir heard the edge of desperation in his voice, moderated his tone. "Little Friend, I am already lost." ******************************************

His exertions the night before had reopened some of the gashes inflicted by the wolf wraiths as well as putting damaging strain on his broken arm. Boromir was getting worried, Dunedain heal quickly but perhaps not quickly enough. He doubted Aragorn would let him fight the werewolf so handicapped - and was even more doubtful he could win.

Merry and Pippin were subdued and silent. Very unusual behavior for Hobbits, those two especially. Boromir's heart ached for them but perhaps it meant they were begining to accept what must be. He hoped so, it had been a mistake to tell them.

The companions had turned off the Road some hours ago and were now trudging down a strip of rolling grassland with the eaves of the Old Forest on one side and the high downs on the other. No one had spoken for some time, each busy with his own thoughts.

Boromir had had enough of his. "Who is this Tom Bombadil?"

"He is!" all three Hobbits replied in near perfect unison.

"Sorry, but that's the only answer he ever gives." Merry explained, grinning a little at the Man's evident bewilderment.

"Our Loremasters believe he is of the Maiar," Aragorn said quietly, "one of the folk of Yavanna who did not abandon Middle Earth for Aman after the fall to the two Lamps. He concerns himself only with the creations of Yavanna, plants and animals, and takes no part in the struggles of Elves and Men."

"He helped us." Sam objected.

"Oh indeed, he will aid any who get into trouble in his land." Aragorn agreed. "He has helped the Rangers from time to time, but though free from the Shadow he has no power against it. If some servant of Sauron has taken shelter in the Old Forest he will know of it but could do nothing to prevent it. Nor would it occur to him to try."

"Or to send a word of warning?" Boromir asked.

"Nor that either." Aragorn smiled wryly. "You will understand when you meet him."

"You know old Tom?" Pippin looked curiously up at his friend.

Aragorn nodded. "We have met. My people have had dealings with him for centuries." he looked around. "His house should be just over that next rise."

A few moments later they heard a sound of cheerful whistling that turned into a voice happily singing nonsense: "Hey dol! Merry dol! ring a dong dillo! Ring a dong! hop along! fal lal the willow! Tom Bom, jolly Tom, Tom Bombadillo!"

With that a stout, blue clad figure, too tall for a Hobbit but rather short for a Man bounded over the hill.

"Tom!" the Hobbits rushed delightedly to meet him.

Boromir looked incredulously at Aragorn, who nodded smiling slightly.

The Maia, or whatever he was, caught Sam and Pippin and Merry by their hands and danced them round in circles as they breathlessly, and constantly interupting each other, tried to explain why they had come.

"And here's old Strider now." Merry panted as the two Men came up.

Tom let go of the Hobbit's hands and turned to Aragorn who bowed his head slightly, a King greeting an equal.

Bombadil, to Boromir's relief, showed no inclination to dance Aragorn about but returned the bow almost respectfully. "Strider is it? Dunadan you called yourself long ago when first we met."

"I have almost as many names as you, Eldest." the King replied. "Dunadan is one and Strider another." turned. "This is one of my kindred, Boromir son of Denethor."

The wrinkled, apple red face turned towards the Man and the laughter went out of it like a snuffed candle. For a moment bright blue eyes held his and Boromir was shaken by the depths of sorrow in them. Then Tom turned abruptly away catching Sam and Pippin by the hand and cheerfully inviting them all to 'come home with him.'

Boromir followed slowly. He'd seen such a look once before, on Mithrandir's face when he'd first awoken in Avallone. He had understood it then - the Wizard knew who he was and what he had done - but how could this creature know too?

Goldberry lit a candle from the fire, wished them all a good night and trailed away down the long room to disappear through the inner door.

Aragorn puffed his pipe and directed a piercing look at Bombadil. "There is a werewolf in the Old Forest." it was not a question.

Old Tom nodded. "Draugoth, the Wolflord himself."

Aragorn's eyes closed, Boromir caught his breath and the Hobbits exchanged apprehensive looks. The name meant nothing to them but they didn't like the effect it had had on the Men.

"Many fell creatures fled to the Forest after the fall of the Dark Lord," Tom went on, "birds and beasts and wraiths and other things. But they made little trouble until Draugoth came among them."

"And when was this?" the King asked sharply.

"The first time? two years or so, no longer"

"First time?" that was Boromir. "You mean he does not stay in the Forest?" "No, he comes and he goes. He has been among the Barrow Wights too, and the Swamp Walkers down in the Marshes."

"He's not hiding," Boromir said softly, "he's building an army."

Aragorn nodded grim agreement. "Is he here now, Tom?"

"No. Left last night, running north under the new moon."

"And right across us." said Pippin.

Boromir frowned. "We were attacked by his wraiths only, he did not appear himself."

"Of course not." said Tom reasonably. "He wouldn't want to face the Dunadan nor you either, my friend. Your kin have been killing his for two Ages of the world."

The Men exchanged something that might have been a smile but sent chills down the Hobbits' backs. "It is well he remembers that." Aragorn said softly, then crisply. "Where does he go when he leaves the Forest?"

"That Tom can't tell you. Sometimes he goes north, and sometimes due east but why and to who there's no way of knowing." almost apologetically. "There are no wandering companies of Elves to bring Tom news these days."

"He goes to his other allies I would guess." said Boromir. "I can think of some in the east. Aragorn, no doubt you know of others in the north."

The King nodded. "There are still many dark things hiding in remote corners of Middle Earth. It will be the work of more than one Age to destroy them, if it can be done at all."

He got to his feet, head brushing the beams of the low ceiling. "It seems the danger is greater than we feared and threatens more than the North Kingdom. I have letters to write and orders to give. Good night, Eldest. Boromir, come with me if you will."

The other Man rose obediently and together they left the room. Tom looking sadly and the Hobbits uneasily after them.

"It will be the work of many long Ages to undo the evil of the Dark Lords." Tom said softly, as if to himself. "And it is Men who must do it if they can, and who will suffer in the doing."

"Tom, who exactly is this Draugoth?" Merry asked.

"He's the great wolf he is, last of the Werewolves, Master of the Mountain wargs and of the White Wolves of the far north." gave them a bright look. "Not for Little Folk to meddle with, leave him to your friends."

"Boromir says he was sent back to kill this Draugoth - and for it to kill him." Pippin said bitterly.

"Sent?" Tom snorted a little. "Men are their own Masters under the One, they chose their own roads."

Pippin frowned at him, trying to understand. "You mean he doesn't have to die?"

"But Boromir says it's his fate." Merry protested.

Bombadil shook his head strongly. "Fate isn't the master of Men, nothing is. They are their own Masters I tell you. Like Tom."

"What about Hobbits?" Pippin demanded.

"Little Folk too." Tom laughed. Looked from Pippin to Merry to Sam, eyes twinkling. "They started out as Men didn't they?"

The Hobbits stared at him. "Did we?"

Shaking his head over the short memories of Mortals Tom told this tale:

Nielle Turinke was a Maia in the service of Orome, Huntsman of the Valar, and Vana the Fair, his spouse. The young of the Kelvar*1 were in her care and she delighted in teaching and playing with them. Unlike most of the Maiar she was small in stature, like a child in appearance as well as nature. When the Elves were brought to Aman their children became her playmates. Valinor was a fairly depressing place after the revolt of the Noldor. Nielle's mischief and merriment were no longer welcomed by her peers, her playmates had grown up and few new children were born to the Elves left in Aman.

She took to travelling secretly to Middle Earth to roam the wide lands and play with the young Kelvar and on one of these journeys she found the first Men, newly awakened children in the land of Hildorien.

Nielle told no one, knowing the Valar would forbid what she intended to do. She lured some of the children away from their companions for she wanted playmates who would not outgrow her. And though she could not prevent their aging she could keep them from growing large.

Running barefoot with her through the woods of Middle Earth the Little Ones of Nielle grew tough soles on their large feet and curly hair to keep their toes warm. And she taught them how to move silently and disappear in a twinkling to protect them from the agents of Morgoth.

By the begining of the Second Age the Little Ones had grown numerous and divided into three kindreds: The Fallohides who dwelt in the woodlands and befriended the Elves, the Stoors who lived intermixed with Men along the banks of the Great River, and the Harfoots who made their homes in the foothills of the Misty Mountains and were allied with the Dwarves.

"Is that true?" Sam wondered, frowning.

"True as true!" Tom answered cheerfully, unoffended.

And Merry and Pippin looked at each other, very thoughtfully.

*****

Note: For those who don't know, if any, 'Kelvar' is the Elvish word for animals. As opposed to 'Olvar' plants.

"Tom, would you be so good as to escort Merry, Pippin and Sam back to the Shire through the Old Forest?" Aragorn asked their host as they stood together in front of the house with the early morning sun shining pallidly through the mist over the downs. Bombadil's ready agreement was all but drowned out by loud protests from the Thain and the Master.

"Strider, if you think we're going to go home and get on with the haying after all this -"

"Just because this Draugoth's gone elsewhere doesn't make the Forest safe -"

"I realize that." the King's voice cut across theirs silencing them. "The Shire is still in danger and this is no time for it to be left leaderless."

"That's true." Merry said after a moment, "but we are also knights and councillors of the Reunited Kingdom - "

"That's right!" Pippin put in, "We have a duty to defend and advise you - "

"And what concerns the Kingdom concerns Hobbits as well." Merry continued. "We're not going to hide in the Shire and let you Rangers take all the risks for us as if the War of the Ring had never happened."

"Absolutely not!" from Pippin.

Aragorn knelt down on the dew-wet grass putting himself on eye level with the Hobbits. "Master Meriadoc, Thain Peregrine," he said very seriously. "I assure you I do not hold the valor or the allegiance of the Shire lightly and will make full use of both, but now I ask you to remember your oaths, both as my knights and my councillors, and obey my orders."

"Strider's right." Sam said suddenly. All three looked at him; the King in surprise, his fellow Hobbits in outrage. "And so is Merry." he continued. "I'll go back and put the Shire on a war footing but I think, your Majesty, the Thain and Master Meriadoc should stay with you. To represent us Hobbits in council."

Aragorn's lips twitched in what might have been a quickly surpressed smile. "A masterly compromise, Mr. Mayor. Very well, Merry and Pippin will come with us to Fornost."

Pippin's face brightened at once. "Is that where we're going?"

The King nodded, rose to his feet. "The Wolf-lord ran north. Let's find out why." ********************************************

Aragorn set a brisk pace across the downs, following a winding course north and east which brought them at mid-day to a roughly oval structure built upon the crest of a hill. Its walls were formed by megalithic stones set close together and caulked with earth and its roof by great slabs covered with turf. The interior was dimly lit by sunlight falling through the open door and a small fire burning on the hearth between the two stone plinths that upheld the roof. The three Rangers sharing this odd shelter, an unfinished barrow by appearances, made their visitors welcome betraying no surprise at the sight of their King on foot accompanied by two Hobbits and a wounded Man, and listening with grim attention to what Aragorn had to tell them.

"There has been an unusual amount of movement between the Barrows, Dunadan," the senior of them said when the King had finished, "but we have seen nothing else. Certainly no sign of wolves or a werewolf."

"I am not surprised. As Tom reminded me Draugoth has good reason to avoid Dunedain if he can. Be on your guard, he must have some plan for dealing with your patrol when the time comes, and it would be well to augment your numbers." Aragorn handed over a letter sealed with the star and tree of the Kings. "For the Warden of the Downs and Captain Belegon."

The Ranger passed it at once to one of his companions who proceeded to quietly collect food and bedroll and leave the shelter heading south.

Such dispatch was mildly startling. Boromir was also impressed by the steely calm with which the Rangers took the news of their danger. They reminded him strongly of Aragorn as he had first known him; silent and unapproachable with stern, closed faces that revealed nothing of the thoughts or feelings behind them.

After bidding the two remaining Rangers farewell the companions turned due north, striking the road just an hour before sunset.

The Elfstone was on the other side of it, defended by a dike and hedge. The inn, an L-shaped building with the King's stable forming the long arm, faced the open gate at the end of a short cobbled street with perhaps a dozen houses clustered around it. The sign hanging above its door was bright green and carved with the King's cipher, L*S*R, beneath a many pointed star both inlaid with bright tin that glittered like silver in the rays of the westering sun.

In the common room the windows had already been shuttered against the night and the candles lit, bathing the long room in a smokey golden glow. The proprietor, bustling to meet them, was a Hobbit and one well known to Merry and Pippin it seemed which somehow did not surprise Boromir. But most of the patrons were Men, shorter and stouter than the Dunedain, ruddy faced and brown haired. There was however a table or two of Hobbits and, in a corner beside one of the two fireplaces, another with four tall Men of Westerness seated around it. Younger and less grimfaced than the Rangers, clad in the black livery of the Kings with the royal cipher on their shoulders.

Aragorn slipped quietly from Boromir's side as the proprietor ushered the companions to a table, heading straight for the King's Messengers. They looked up politely as he addressed them then jaws dropped and eyes rounded as they recognized him. The four Men started to rise but Aragorn forstalled them with a gesture, seating himself at their table and speaking quietly but urgently. He took out four sealed letters handing one to each Messenger.

The letters, Boromir knew, contained a full account not only of his encounter with the wolf wraiths in the Old Forest but his name and who had sent him there. Including the one intended for Faramir. What his brother would do when he read it Boromir dared not guess.

He didn't know whether to hope Faramir would come or that he would stay well away, torn as he was between desire to see his brother again and fear of the pain such a meeting and the inevitable second parting would cause them both. In a way it was a relief to have the decision taken out of his hands. Faramir had always been the wiser of the two of them, he would know which course was best.

Boromir himself was feeling increasingly out of his depth. He'd expected a straightforward one on one duel, like Turin's against Glaurung, and a quick return to the Halls of Waiting. Instead his quarry had eluded him and he'd become involved again in the lives of his old friends. It was all becoming very complicated - and painful.

Aragorn returned to their table. "We will continue on to Bree in the morning. I've sent to Amon Sul for an escort, we will await them at the Prancing Pony."

Boromir breathed a sigh of relief and the King smiled. "I do not court danger needlessly, my friend, after last night it is clear we need the protection of greater numbers." gave the two busily eating Hobbits a slightly mischievious glance. "We must consider the safety of the Thain and the Master of Buckland after all."

Pippin finished chewing and swallowed. "Tease all you like, Strider, I don't mind admitting I'll sleep better with a few more armed Men around us."

"As will I." Boromir agreed.

Bree was more town than village with some two hundred half-timbered houses terraced up the sides of Bree Hill defended by a wide ditch and a good stone wall.*1 The Prancing Pony itself was much larger than the Elfstone and at least a thousand years older according to Aragorn. "This is where we first met Strider." Pippin told Boromir as they entered the innyard.

"Scared the life out of us, he did." Merry grinned. "Sitting in a corner glowering at Frodo and then dragging him off without a word of explanation."

"You scared the life out of me!" Aragorn retorted. "between Pippin's nattering and Frodo disappearing in front of the entire common room I thought the lot of you were either mad or hopeless idiots."

"Frodo put on the Ring?" Boromir frowned. That didn't sound like him.

"Not on purpose." Merry explained. "He was trying to shut Pippin up, tripped, and somehow the Ring slipped onto his finger."

"You know how tricky it could be." from Pippin. "Yes." Boromir said quietly, "I do."

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

This innkeeper was a Man, Beomann Butterbur according to the sign out front. Short and middle-aged, inclining to plumpness with thining brown hair and a large moustache that almost hid his beaming smile.*2

"Thain Pippin! and Master Merry too, welcome back to the Pony." then he saw Aragorn and eyes and mouth opened wide. "Strider?"

"Hello, Beomann," the King said quietly, "we'd better have a private parlor I think."

The innkeeper had regained his self-possession by the time he'd escorted his guests down the passage to a small, well furnished chamber with easy chairs before the fire and straight ones around a table covered by a blue cloth.

Boromir subsided into one of the fireside chairs, closing his eyes. He felt surprisingly tired after a day's easy walking.

"Something's wrong." He opened his eyes to see Butterbur standing with the parlor door closed at his back, frowning at Aragorn.

"I fear so." the King replied. "Tell me, Beomann, have your folk been troubled by anything strange of late?"

"Like the Wights and other things that came out during the War?" the innkeeper started to shake his head then stopped. "Wait, there are the wolves."

"Wolves?" Aragorn echoed, as Boromir and the Hobbits exchanged glances.

"I know. It's the wrong season for them but some livestock's been killed and grey shapes seen slinking about the woods. And we've heard howling in the night."

"And did it occur to you to send word of this to Annuminas?" the King asked, perhaps a little testily.

"Now see here, Strider -" Butterbur began warmly, stopped himself, resumed more evenly. "With due respect, sir, Bree's looked after herself for over a thousand years. We're glad enough to have a King again but that doesn't mean we're going to go running to him every time a sheep is killed or somebody hears funny sounds in the night!"

"As it happens," he went on, "we did send to my Lady at the castle for wolfhounds after Farmer Appledore's prize bull had his throat ripped out. If Herself didn't see fit to mention our local troubles to you I don't see why we should either."

Boromir looked at the Man in astonishment. He was accustomed to Merry and Pippin's pertness but saw no reason why the innkeeper should be similiarly privileged. Aragorn however seemed unaffected.

"Did the hounds catch your wolves?"

"No." Butterbur frowned a little. "It's not a regular occurence you understand, but every few months something happens; an animal killed, a shape seen lurking in the forest, howls in the night." a shrug. "Almost as if they're just passing through on their way to somewhere else."

"And so they are." the King said grimly. "Have you heard of werewolves, Beomann?"

The innkeeper paled, swallowed. "Oh no, is that -?"

"I fear so."

"Well." Butterbur swallowed again then looked determined. "That's bad news right enough but we've heard as bad or worse in our time. Bree will be all right. We have the wall and nigh on five hundred Men and Hobbits able to bear arms, but the new villages up and down the Road might not fare as well."*3

"The Princess's Rangers will see to them." Aragorn told him. "What about the farmers and the smaller villages, Staddle, Combe and Archet?"

"If we have to we can bring everybody inside our wall here," Butterbur answered crisply, sounding suddenly and startling like a military commander. "that was the whole point of building it."

"I don't think such drastic measures are needed quite yet," the King told him. "but it might be wise to bring in your farm folk - and I'd be happier if you could persuade the people of Archet to come onto the Hill, they're too vulnerable out there in the woods."

The Man shook his head ruefully. "I agree with you, sir, but there's not much chance of it - you know how stubborn these woodsmen can be."

Aragorn grimaced in agreement. "Do the best you can. At least have them send the children and the old folk to Combe."

"That much I can do. You'll be wanting supper I know," Butterbur continued, sounding like an innkeeper again, "and rooms for the night?"

"Absolutely." the King replied. "We may be staying a day or so - Aranel is to send us an escort."

Butterbur's eyebrows went up. "If *you* are unwilling to travel alone than things must be dangerous indeed."

"Better to take unecessary percautions than not enough." Aragorn told him.

"You get no argument from me there!" the innkeeper retorted and went out the door.

"Put you in your place he did." Merry chuckled.

Aragorn nodded looking rueful, amused but not at all offended.

"Are all your people here in the North so ... forward?" Boromir asked.

The King laughed. "Most of them. As Beomann said they are accustomed to fending for themselves and jealous of their independence." added. "He has known Strider the Ranger since he was a boy, as did his father before him. I do not expect court manners from my old acquaintances." ****************************************

Notes:1 Bree has grown since the WR, it's about twice as big as it was. The wall was built fourteen years ago by Dwarf masons from the Blue Mountains.

2 Beomann Butterbur is Barliman's son, he's in his mid forties and Sheriff of the Breeland, (that's 'sheriff' in the English not Old Western sense.)

3 There are new Inns and settlements, like the Elfstone, from the Brandywine Bridge to Last Bridge, many consisting of just a house or two, thanks to the King's Peace.

The next morning after breakfast Butterbur brought some of the worthies of Bree to confer with Aragorn in their parlor. Boromir, listening silently, was soon lost amid a maze unfamiliar names and places. When the Breelanders had finally left he appealed to the King for explication.

"Norbury is their name for Fornost." Aragorn told him. "Sudbury is Cardol and the Castle is the tower and fortress of Amon Sul."

"And who is this Lady who holds it?" Boromir asked. 'The Princess' or 'Her Ladyship at the Castle' had come up frequently.

"My cousin Aranel keeps the Tower for her son the King of Rhudaur. Protecting the East-West Road is her chief duty."

"That was something else I did not understand," Boromir admitted, "who are these other kings?"

"The rulers of the three sub-kingdoms here in the North." Aragorn smiled a little at his friend's evident bewilderment and continued. "As Elendil discovered it is impossible to rule directly over lands so far apart. Because of the continued threat from Harad and Rhun it was necesssary for me to make Gondor my chief seat, which was not very pleasing to my people here."

"*That* I can understand." Boromir said with an emphasis that amused his King.

Aragorn went on. "I decided to restore the three kingdoms of Old and gave their scepters to my closest kinsmen. The eldest of these, Gilvagor, is King of Arthedain and my vice-regent in the North. Aranel's son, Turamarth, is King of Rhudaur. And another cousin, Belegon, is King of Cardolan. Those were his Rangers we met on the Downs."

"That makes things a little clearer." Boromir looked curiously at his King. "Are these kinsmen of yours anything like you?"

"That you may judge for youself in a few days." *********************************************

Queen Arwen finished reading the letter her husband had sent, a frown creasing her normally smooth white brow. These were very strange tidings indeed, and alarming. There was much for her to do but first -

"Elanor."

A small, golden haired figure in a sky blue gown embroidered with nosgays of white and yellow flowers detached herself from the bevy of female attendants sewing and gossiping softly at the far end of the long room and approached her Queen.

"Yes, my Lady?"

"Find your mother, please, and ask her to come to me if she will."

Elanor Gamgee turned to obey, hesitated, turned back. "Please, ma'am, is Dad - I mean nothing's happened -"

"The Mayor is safe and sound," Arwen assured her quickly, "and back in the Shire by now. I thought Mistress Gamgee might wish to join him there. Not that she is not welcome to remain with us if she prefers."

Elanor dimpled. "She won't."

And sure enough Rose didn't. "If there's trouble my place is with Sam." she said decidedly after Arwen had explained the situation to her in words carefully chosen to convey the seriousness of the threat without unecessarily frightening the Hobbit woman.

"My husband does not anticipate any immediate danger but I'm afraid you will have to have an escort, just in case." the Queen told her. Inspiration struck. "Perhaps some of our Shire Archers? They would be useful to the Mayor and much easier for your people to house than an escort of Men." * "That would be better, thank you." Rose tried not to look too relieved. It wasn't that she disliked Men, taken one or two at a time they were quite as pleasant as Hobbits, but in larger numbers they were a bit intimidating, being so big. Happily Elanor didn't seem to think so. She was clearly right at home among all these grand people, which was more than Rose Gamgee nee Cotton, one time barmaid at the Green Dragon could say. "How soon can I leave?" ********************************************* The escort arrived late that afternoon, "Just at teatime wouldn't you know it!" Pippin grumbled to Boromir as they watched it ride up the cobbled street to the Inn.

The good folk of Bree paused to watch as well. The cavalcade was definitely worthy of a second glance; a score of tall knights mounted on pale grey horses, their winged helms gleaming sliver in the sunlight, white cloaks fluttering, bearing white shields emblazoned with seven silver stars above a black sword. But the Breelanders, long familiar with such sights, soon moved on about their business.

The leader of the escort named himself as Amrod son of Arothir and was clearly well acquainted with both Aragorn and Butterbur. As Pippin had anticipated the King decided to leave at once even though there were only a few more hours of daylight left, too few to reach Northworthy the first village on the road to Fornost.

Boromir privately agreed a company of twenty armed knights should be enough to make camping safe, and the Hobbits were mollified by Aragorn agreeing to delay their departure until *after* tea.

They were even more pleased to discover the Lady Aranel had thought to include a pair of ponies for them as well as horses for the Men.

"Trust her to think of that." Merry beamed. "I'm getting too old to dangle behind Big Folk on their big horses."

"Now if we could just convince you Rangers to take a civilized number of meal breaks!" Pippin added humorously.

"Not much chance of that, I'm afraid." Merry said with a sideong look at Aragorn.

"None at all." smiled the King. *********************************************

Note: Five companies of Hobbit archers, (Hobbits are very fine bowmen) one from each of the four Farthings and Buckland have formed part of the King's Honor Guard when he's in the North ever since Aragorn's first visit in the year 2 of the Fourth Age.

Faramir Steward of Gondor raised his eyes from the King's letter to stare unseeingly at the painting hanging opposite his desk.

It was the death of the Witch King, and Eowyn hated it. Not only was the Nazgul much too large but the artist had put her in a skirt and left out Merry altogether! She had managed to smile graciously at the giver when it was presented to her and then ordered it hung somewhere out of her sight.

After a few moments Faramir's eyes focused on the image of his wife. He had to find her. He caught a passing servant just outside the door to his office. "Beor, where is my Lady?"

"The Queen's Garden, m'Lord," the Man answered, "with the young Lords and her little Ladyship."

Faramir avoided the inevitable petitioners idling in the courtyard before the Stewards' House by slipping out a side door opening onto a narrow alley that twisted its way between the tightly packed buildings of the Citadel to the high walled garden that had been a retreat for the Queens of Gondor, and later the wives of the Stewards, for nearly two thousand years.

Eowyn was sitting on the grass beneath a flowering Laurinque tree her golden hair and turquoise dress contrasting with the dark braids and deep yellow gown of her companion, the Lady Idril. Faramir's four year old daughter Feiniel was with them, playing with the golden blossoms fallen from the boughs overhead.

Nine year old Rohandur sat, leaning against another tree, not far away absorbed in a book. Faramir smiled involuntarily, his youngest son was himself all over again, entranced by the legends and lore of ages past. And thanks to the King there would be no need for Rohandur to abandon his studies for arms.

His two middle boys, thirteen year old Aglahad and fifteen year old Cirion, were golden haired and freckled like their mother and too full of energy to sit pouring over heavy books. At the moment they were going at each other with wooden practice swords and getting dangerously close to the fish pond.

Faramir's eye went past them to his eldest son, sitting on a bench beneath a rose covered arbor talking to the prettiest of Eowyn's maidens while the others watched enviously, pretending to work at their sewing. His father smiled again, this time sadly. Arandil was nineteen and very like his uncle to look at but not at all like him in character. Or was he?

At nineteen Boromir had been leading troops into battle. Faramir had no way of knowing what his brother might have been like without the threat of Mordor overshadowing his life. Perhaps he too would have flirted with pretty girls in gardens and written poetry. Reminded of his reason for being there Faramir started across the lawn towards his wife.

"Papa!" Feiniel came running to meet him. He hugged her and accepted a wilted nosegay of laurinque blossoms.Then bent to kiss Idril's cheek. Smokey golden eyes narrowed in concern. A close friend from childhood she saw at once something was wrong. As did Eowyn. "What has happened?"

With a smile for his little girl and an apology for Idril he took his wife's arm and led her to a bench shielded from the rest of the garden by a vine hung trellis, sat her down and handed her the letter. She looked at it in dismay and he quickly indicated the proper passage with his finger. "Read here."

It took a little time. Eowyn had been literate in the Common Tongue when he married her, which was by no means usual among the Rohirrim, but the King's letter was written in Sindarin which she'd learned only after her marriage and with difficulty. He watched as she read the paragraph through once, and again to be sure, then looked up at him with wide eyes. "Is such a thing possible?"

"Beren returned from death." he answered.

She looked skeptical. "Seven thousand years ago."

"So did Mithrandir, only twenty years ago."

"That is true." She frowned at the letter. "I remember Boromir, he used to visit Theodred." smiled at her husband. "He often spoke of his brother but you never came with him."

"Fool that I was!" he smiled back, but fleetingly.

"You will go north." it was not a question.

"How can I?" he got up and began to pace. "The Wolf-lord is planning war, Elessar is certain of it, Gondor may be in danger too."

"And small use you will be with your heart in the north even if your body is here." his wife retorted. "So far the only threat we know of is to the Northern Kingdom. If something should happen here I am sure Uncle Imrahil and I will manage somehow until you can return to us." seriously. "Go, Faramir, you will have no peace unless you do."

"I think you are right." He looked around the trellis at Idril, helping Feiniel weave her wilted blossoms into a chain. "Say nothing of this to Idril."

Eowyn looked puzzled, but only for an instant. "No, I will not."

At that moment a loud splash and shrieks of laughter announced the inevitable had finally happened, Cirion and Aglahad had fallen into the fish pond. Their father laughed and their mother closed her eyes in resignation before getting up and going to pull them out before they drowned each other. ***********************************************

On one point Eowyn was firm. He must not go alone.

"I was not planning to." he said mildly. "I am not King Elessar." Their liege lord had spent nearly sixty years of his life walking alone into deadly peril and still regarded a royal escort as a concession to the unreasonable fears of his subjects.

"I don't mean guards or attendants." She answered. "I mean a companion, some one you can talk to. Take Arandil."

And so it was he rode out of Minas Tirith the next morning with a small detachment of the White Company, his personal guard, and his eldest son.

He knew of course why Eowyn wanted the boy with him, she hoped he would be of some comfort if Boromir's belief he was doomed to soon return to the Halls of Waiting proved true. But Faramir was frankly looking forward to the look on his brother's face when he first set eyes on this younger version of himself.

"Father," Arandil said suddenly, voice carefully pitched for Faramir's ears alone. "Has something happened to the King?"

He looked at his son in astonishment. "No! no, of course not."

The boy let out a visible sigh of relief. "I couldn't help being afraid," he half apologized. "a letter comes from the north and we ride for Annuminas the very next day."

"Yes I see, it was the obvious thought." Faramir certainly hoped nobody else had had it. That was the kind of rumor that could spark panic. But Eowyn had the letter to show if she had to, proof the King was alive and well.

"Elessar is safe but there is trouble in the North." he told his son. "Draugoth the Wolf-lord has reappeared and seems to be gathering allies for an attack on the Kingdom." he smiled a little at the boy's expression. "I know, why is the Steward of Gondor concerning himself with a matter that properly belongs to the Kings of the North?"

Arandil nodded a little sheepishly.

"I have personal reasons for this journey." Faramir explained quietly. "My brother Boromir has returned from death. He tells King Elessar he was sent by the Powers to kill the Wolf-lord."

For a moment the words simply did not sink in then his son's eyes opened wide. "Returned like Beren?"

"Something like that." Faramir hesitated then continued. "There was more to Boromir's death then the songs tell. He did indeed fall defending Merry and Pippin from the Uruks of Saruman but before that, before the attack that broke the Fellowship, he tried to take the Ring from Frodo."

"No!" Arandil protested. "No surely not -"

"It is so. I have the Ringbearer's own word for it." Faramir bowed his head. "It was the Ring's doing it worked on my brother's desperation, his fear for our people." looked up and his son saw tears in his eyes. "But he freed himself from its power. He died clean of all taint, I have the King's word and the evidence of my own eyes for that." softly. "I saw him, Arandil, laid out for burial in the Elven boat of Lorien lapped in light....and I knew he had won his last battle, though I did not know then how great a victory."

Arandil shifted uneasily in the saddle. "I don't understand, Father, what does that have to do with my uncle's return?"

"Boromir believes he has been given this opportunity to atone for his attack on the Ringbearer." Faramir explained.

"But you do not."

"No. The One does not break the Ordinances he laid down for the governance of the World save for some great cause. Draugoth is certainly a threat but one our King is fully equal to meeting. And though he may not believe it my brother has naught to atone for." Faramir frowned pensively at the road before them. "I do not know why he has been sent back to us but I cannot believe it is simply to die again destroying the werewolf."

The Royal Fortress City of Fornost was enough like Boromir's home to bring a lump to his throat but there were diffences; it had been built on a lower, less steep hill and had only five circles instead of seven. And while Minas Tirith seemed a city entirely of stone, with its few gardens tucked away behind high walls, Fornost shimmered with the green leaves of many trees and was backed by high, rolling downs instead of the snow capped peaks of the White Mountains.

"We've never been here before either." Pippin said conversationally. As Boromir looked at him in surprise explained. "No reason to. When Gil calls a council he holds it at Annuminas, like Strider."

"The gates are shut." Amrod, the captain of their escort, said suddenly eyes narrowing as he peered ahead.

"At midafternoon?" Boromir looked at Aragorn. "Something has happened."

The King nodded grim, silent agreement.

Boromir had grown up admidst the fading glories of Minas Tirith, seen Rivendell, the Great Hall of Moria, Lorien and the Argonath, (not to mention Avallone) but his eyes opened wide at the sight of the great gate of Fornost.

Four times the height of a Man and wrought of glittering steel with dozens of keen edged blades set lengthwise in a grille of massive metal beams, the uprights tapering to needle sharp points. As they approached the gates swung open for them and they rode into a stone paved court lined with low buildings. The gate was guarded by a company of archers in bright mail and grey surcoats, with seven foot steel war bows slung over their shoulders.

Aragorn beckoned their captain to him. "Why are the gates closed, Arallas?"

The Man gave him a small wintery smile that Boromir remembered having seen on Aragorn's face. "The Wolf-lord decided not to hide any more." as the King's expression changed. "Never fear, Dunadan, we took little hurt. But we called in the herdsmen and shut the gates that we might keep it so. Let Gilvagor tell you the story."

"I will." Aragorn answered and led them on.

The five gates of Fornost had been made for the new King by the Elven smiths of Imladris, students of Feanor and Celebrimbor. The first gate of steel was known as the Gate of Swords. It faced due south but like Minas Tirith the gates of Fornost were not set in line but at different points in the circuit of the walls so the traveller must zig-zag his way up the hill. The first circle was still ruinous, crumbling stone walls covered by thick grass and brambles and many trees. Here the sheep and cattle and horses who usually grazed the land around the city had been brought for safety watched over by a few herdsmen.

The second gate, the Gate of Fire, stood open. It faced eastward and was wrought of red-gold culurin*1 engraved in a pattern of coiling flames inlaid with gold and copper wire. It was guarded by a company of tall, swarthy Men, neither Dunedain nor Breelanders, clad in scaled armor of culurin beneath scarlet surcoats and armed with great axes which they raised in salute as the King's party passed.

The second circle had been partially rebuilt. Though much of it was still ruinous and overgrown, here and there the encroaching plant life had been cleared away and new buildings raised on the ancient foundations. The people inhabiting them were, by the look of them, not Dunedain but akin to the guards at the gate and the Men of Bree.

The third gate looked westward and was known as the Gate of the Sun for its great doors, forged of pure gold, were emblazoned with the setting sun. Its guard wore a livery of golden yellow over gold washed mail and were armed with long spears.

Beyond it the city proper began. The Third circle had been entirely restored to something like its ancient splendor with homes and shops and inns built of good stone and interspersed with parks and gardens filled with rare trees and flowers brought long ago from lost Numenor.

The fourth gate, the Gate of the Moon, faced eastward and was wrought in shimmering mithril, its great doors etched with the image of the rising moon. And the company that guarded it wore mithril armour under surcoats of purest white.

The fourth circle held many tall and splendid mansions adorned with colonades and carved statues. Each with its own extensive garden, not walled away as in Minas Tirith but enclosed in low fences of intricately wrought iron or bronze. The devices engraved above the doors of these great houses included some known only from ancient lists in Gondor and others well remembered in song and legend.

The fifth and final gate, like the first some five hundred feet below, looked south. Called the Gate of the Stars it was of gleaming black galvorn*2 inset with stars of mithril and adamant. Its guards wore a black livery, like the Citadel Guard of Minas Tirith but ensigned with the seven stars and one of the North Kingdom instead of the white tree, over black mail of galvorn.

The Citadel itself looked much like the drawings and plans Boromir had seen of the seventh circle of Minas Tirith back when it was still Minas Anor. A massive white tower, some three hundred feet tall, flanked by two great halls fronted by arcaded porches facing a great court paved with colored stones set in intricate interlacing patterns, adorned with fountains and statues. Enclosed by long, low buildings to the east and west; barracks and armories, stables and storehouses.

Gilvagor the King*3 reminded Boromir not so much of Aragorn as of Elrond. The eyes and the shape of the brows were the same but set in a younger, almost unlined face with sculpted, slightly hollow cheeks, squared jawline and a long pointed chin.

"They took us completely by surprise." the younger king told Aragorn ruefully as they walked together down an alley of vardarianna trees in the gardens behind the formal forecourt, followed by Boromir and the Hobbits. "This is not the season for wolves - and indeed we've had little trouble from them for many years." a wry twist of the lips. "Which now I think of it seems suspicious in itself."

The High King waved that away. "It is easy to be wise after the event. Arallas said little harm was done?"

"That is so. We lost some livestock, and two of the dogs but no Men. Our people know this particular enemy to well to be easily overcome." Gilvagor shook his head. "We could make nothing at all of the sudden assault until your letter came two days later."

"I don't understand." Boromir said. "What did Draugoth expect to accomplish by such an attack?"

"Nothing save to sate his anger at being discovered." Aragorn replied. "For all his cunning and his power the Wolf-lord is still but a beast. His bloodlust often overcomes such reason as he has."

"But not his caution." Boromir observed.

The High King looked thoughtful. "That is true. It seems Draugoth still wishes to avoid facing the Dunedain in his own person."

"Certainly he did not show himself to us that night." said Gilvagor.

"What I'd like to know is where he is now." Merry put in.

"Gone to ground in the far north I would guess," King Gilvagor answered. "among the White Wolves."

"So what do we do about it?" Pippin wanted to know.

Aragorn smiled grimly. "An excellent question, my Lord Thain."

"To follow him into his stronghold would be unwise I think." Boromir offered hesitantly.

"I agree!" said Gilvagor emphatically.

Aragorn smiled again at his vehemence. "So do I."

"Perhaps if we attacked some ally of his, nearer at hand." Boromir continued, no less diffidently. "Force him to respond to us rather than awaiting his next move."

"A good thought." King Gilvagor approved. glanced at his overlord and cousin. "Turamarth tells me the Trolls of the High Fells have been troublesome of late." ********************************************

*1 Culurin is a metal of my own invention, (though the name is Tolkien's Elvish) red-golden like copper in color but harder than steel. It is an alloy created by Mahtan, father-in-law of Feanor, in Aman before the Revolt of the Noldor.

*2 Galvorn (S. Shining Black) is canonical. It is a jet black alloy created by the Sindarin Smith Eol in the First Age.

*3 Gilvagor is the son of Armegil, brother of Arathorn and Gilmith sister of Gilraen. He is also brother of Aranel of Amon Sul, and so uncle to Turamarth of Rhudaur, her son.

Like Minas Tirith the Citadel of Fornost had guest houses built against the curtain wall, one of these was given to the Companions. Boromir promptly subsided into a chair, closing his eyes.

Merry frowned at him in concern. "Are you all right?"

"I am tired." he admitted.

"That is my fault." Man and Hobbit both looked at the King in surprise. "I have pushed you too hard before you were fully healed." Aragorn explained. "Mistress Estella would be most displeased with me."

"Then we will not tell her." Boromir smiled. He hoped that was all it was but it had occurred to him he might have only a limited time to complete his mission before being called back to the Halls whether it was done or not.

"You're always in a hurry, Strider." from Pippin, then to Boromir. "You should have seen the way he drove us from Bree to Rivendell!"

"Sun up to sundown and no meal breaks." Merry chimed in.

"Shocking." Boromir said, but with only half a mind on the banter. Aragorn was right. He would have to give himself a few days to fully heal if he was to have any chance of winning his fight. But after that he must stop wasting time, there was no telling when he might run out of it.

The High King waited til the next morning to tell Boromir his decision. "You will not ride with us to Rhudaur but remain here in Fornost." he commanded. "That arm must have time to heal."

For a moment it looked like his friend was going to protest but then he seemed to think the better of it. "As you wish."

Aragorn eyed him warily, he had not expected to win so easily. "Merry and Pippin will stay with you."

"You bet we will." Merry muttered under his breath.

He managed to get the King aside just before he rode out with his escort and a company of bowmen. "I don't like it, Strider, it's not like Boromir to give in like that."

"I admit I expected more of an argument." Aragorn conceeded. "He said he was tired, perhaps he is being sensible."

Merry snorted. "I've come to know a great many Dunedain over the last twenty years and 'sensible' is the last word I'd use to describe any of you!"

Aragorn laughed, then said soberly: "I am counting on you and Pippin to keep a close watch on our friend."

"Don't worry. We won't let him out of our sight." *********************************************

"Is this possible?" Gimli asked, not of Faramir but Legolas.

The Elf frowned. "Luthien and Beren were permitted to return so their son Dior could be born, or so I was taught. Certainly such a thing would not be allowed save for some great reason of Doom."

They were in the Dwarf's great chamber at Aglarond. A long natural cavern, its walls polished to a rippling finish by ancient waters and veined with glittering metal ores and gems, lit bright as daylight by crystal lamps. Gimli sat in his great chair, lovingly carved from a single huge agate, upon a low dais with the Man and Elf seated before him in chairs of bronze wrought in the form of interwoven tree boughs.

"Boromir himself feels he has been sent back to slay the Wolf-lord in atonement for his attack on the Ringbearer." Faramir explained.

Gimli snorted. "What nonsense! He saved Frodo's life twice in Moria and died defending Merry and Pippin. Surely that counts for more than a brief moment of weakness?"

Legolas too was shaking his head. "The Ring had set its will on him, it is no wonder he succumbed. But he freed himself from its power and that was a great deed, few have done the like. Does he not understand that?"

"Apparently not." Faramir sighed. "Well we'll just have to talk some sense into him then!" Gimli growled.

Faramir smiled. "I thought you might wish to accompany me."

"Indeed! I wonder that Aragorn did think to tell us himself." The Dwarf sounded slightly hurt.

"Perhaps he assumed Faramir would do so." Legolas suggested, smiled a little grimly. "And it would seem he has other things to think of."

"Boromir himself was against sending word to any of us." as the other two looked at him in surprise Faramir continued: "He does not expect to be in Middle Earth long it seems, according to King Elessar he is convinced he will die killing Draugoth."

"Scarcely seems worth the trouble of coming back in the first place." Gimli grumbled.

Boromir stepped back out of reach and raised his sword in salute with a smile. "You've become quite a swordsman, Little Friend."

"Thanks." Pippin wiped the sweat from his grinning face with his sleeve.

"We had a good teacher." said Merry from the sidelines.

"And lots of chances to practice!" from Pippin.

"Leaving aside the big battles there was a certain amount of mopping up to be done after the War." Merry explained.

"I can imagine."

The exercise ground of the Citadel Guard was behind their barracks, seperated from the great court by a row of low buildings. The clatter of hooves on its marble pavement was clearly audible to Man and Hobbits drawing them to the little gate closing the passage that led between the buildings to see who had come.

At first Boromir saw only that it was not Aragorn. Then Pippin cried "Faramir!" And Merry, "Gimli and Legolas!" and the Hobbits were pushing open the gate and dashing across the courtyard to greet them.

Boromir hesitated, fighting an absurd urge to run and hide. Much as he had longed to see his brother he was dreading it as well. He could guess how disappointed in him Faramir must have been. Taking a deep breath he followed the Hobbits.

"Not that we aren't always glad to see old friends, but what brings you all the way to Fornost?" Merry wanted to know.

"What do you think?" Gimli snorted standing beside the horse he'd shared with Legolas and visibly glad to be back on solid ground. Looked around; "Where is he?"

Before the Hobbits could answer the newcomers spotted Boromir walking slowly towards them. For an instant nobody moved then Gimli was trotting to meet him closely followed by Legolas.

"Boromir!" the Dwarf boomed delightedly and gave the Man a friendly clout that made Merry and Pippin wince though it didn't seem to bother the victim. "You're looking much better than the last time we saw you. Now what's all this nonsense - Ow!" He broke off to glare up at Legolas.

"It's good to see you again, my friend." the Elf said warmly, relaxing but not releasing his grip on the Dwarf's shoulder.

Boromir glanced from one to the other eyes glinting with amusement. "I see you two are still getting along."

"Most of the time." Gimli replied rubbing his right arm, still glaring at the Elf.

The Man laughed, clapped him on the left shoulder and clasped the hand Legolas offered. "I am glad to see you both." While he didn't doubt Elf and Dwarf knew what he had done he felt surprisingly little embarrassment on meeting them again. They had seen the Ring and sensed its power. They would understand, as Aragorn and the Little Ones had, and pity rather than condemn.

Faramir on the other hand would certainly have expected better of his elder brother. Boromir looked at him uncertainly.

Faramir felt frozen in place. He had seen his brother dead, laid out for burial in a small Elven boat filled with light as with clear water, and now he was seeing him alive and whole. He had come all these hundreds of leagues never doubting his King's word, yet only now did it truly come home to him. Boromir had indeed returned.

For a very long moment the two brothers faced each other, hesitating. Then, so suddenly it was impossible to see which had moved first, they were in each other's arms.

"I've missed you," Faramir managed through his tears. "I've missed you so much."

"I am glad you came." Boromir choked back, and it was true. At least this time he could say a proper farewell.

Eventually they broke apart to wipe their eyes under the indulgent smiles of the Companions and Faramir's guard. Merry and Pippin sniffling a little in sentimental sympathy.

Faramir pulled himself together turned to gesture his son forward. "This is your nephew, Arandil."

Uncle and nephew stared at each other in mutual and highly entertaining shock. Arandil had been told all his life how he favored his heroic uncle but he'd never seen much likeness when he compared himself to the portraits hanging in the Citadel and Emyn Arnen. Now, faced with his uncle in the flesh, he did.

"I am married to Eowyn of Rohan." Faramir continued, visibly enjoying his brother's reaction. "We have four sons now and a little girl as well. Arandil is my eldest."

There was no reason to be so foolishly shocked. Boromir told himself: Twenty years was a long time, quite long enough for a child to be born and grow almost to manhood. And a nephew was close kin, why shouldn't they look alike? ********************************************

He should have known Faramir would not reproach him, that had never been his brother's way. Doubtless Faramir knew how sorry he was and saw no need to belabor the point.

Faramir sensed his brother's sudden relaxation but understood it no better than the inexplicable tension that had gripped him earlier when they went into the garden to talk in private.

"I was surprised when Frodo told me you'd taken Eowyn to wife." Boromir was saying. "I'd always expected you and Idril to marry someday." Adding defensively as his brother stared at him in open astonishment. "After all the two of you have been thick as thieves from childhood."

Faramir shook his head. "Idril, my very dear if purblind Brother, has been in love with *you* since she was eleven years old." Boromir blinked. "I - surely not. The two of you had so much in common with your books and your music."

"Yes we were good playmates, and are good friends still." Faramir answered. "But that is quite a different thing." Sighed. "I can understand you failing to see it, Idril is not one to wear her heart on her sleeve, but how could you miss Father's intentions? He always wanted her for you. She had the blood and the breeding to make an ideal Steward's Lady." his faced softened. "Though to do him justice, I think her feelings counted for as much. He was fond of Idril."

"So was I." Boromir managed, struggling with confused memories of a skinny little girl in plaits and short skirts and a reserved, dark haired young woman, both with remarkable smokey golden eyes. "She is well?"

"Well enough." Faramir looked at him steadily. "She has never married."

Wonderful, just what he needed, something else to feel guilty about. Well there was nothing he could do for Idril now except wish her well. "Faramir, you didn't tell her?"

"No."

He sighed in relief. No point in breaking the poor girl's heart twice, if he'd even done so once which he found hard to believe. Perhaps Faramir was mistaken. *********************************************

"He's up to something, I know he is." Merry told Gimli, Legolas and Arandil over 'elevenses' served in the main room of the Hobbits' guesthouse.

"Not only didn't he give Strider an argument when he was ordered to stay behind but he hasn't even asked to go out with the Ranger patrols since the sling came off." Pippin put in around a mouthfull of cake.

"Very suspicious." the Dwarf agreed, spreading perserves on a slice of bread.

"Perhaps he is saving his strength for the werewolf?" Legolas suggested.

"Why bother when he's supposed to die killing it anyway?" Gimli asked. Glared at his Elven friend. "And I've only just regained the use of my arm, no thanks to you!"

"Gimli, Boromir is not a fool." Legolas said patiently. "He must have good reason for thinking as he does. Just telling him it is nonsense will not change his mind."

"Well I don't believe it." the Dwarf grumbled.

"Me neither." from Pippin.

"What do you think, Legolas?" asked Merry.

He looked troubled. "The Doom of Men is beyond the lore of the Elves, Merry. What does Aragorn say?"

"That he doesn't know either."

"Not very helpful." put in Pippin.

Merry frowned thoughtfully. "I don't *think* he agrees with Boromir - but he doesn't know enough to contradict him."

"Father told me he does not believe it either." Arandil put in, speaking for the first time. "He says my uncle must have been sent back for some greater purpose than just to die again."

"There you are then!" Pippin beamed. "Faramir does understand these things. If *he* doesn't believe it, and Strider doesn't then Boromir could be wrong."

"Now all we have to do is convince him of that." said Merry. *********************************************

"These under-Kingdoms trouble me." Faramir admitted. "Not that I doubt the loyalty of the princes who hold them now you understand, it is the rival royal lines they will found that worry me. Who among us can answer for his posterity?"

"Aragorn must know what he is doing." Boromir offered. "Certainly he is right about the difficulties of ruling kingdoms so far apart."

"Still, I would have prefered a second Steward here in the North to these under-Kings of the blood royal." his brother sighed. "I cannot forget the Kin-strife."

"But that was in Gondor between the Heirs of Anarion." Boromir pointed out. "Aragorn and his kinsmen are of the Line of Isildur."

Faramir nodded slowly. "That is true. From their history the Isildurioni seem less proud, and far less contentious than our own Kings. Let us hope they remain so."

There was a short silence between the brothers as Faramir braced himself to broach the subject they'd both been carefully avoiding. "Boromir, the Powers do not allow those who have died to return to Middle Earth save for some great purpose. Is this Draugoth really of such importance?"

"Perhaps not." his brother replied quietly, and surprisingly. "But Aragorn's life most certainly is." He fixed Faramir with a piercing gaze. "Can you see him leaving the Wolf-lord to another? No, he would take the peril upon himself. And he has no son, his line would die with him."

"There are the princesses." Faramir argued.

Boromir nodded. "I know. And the North would accept a ruling Queen, but would Gondor?"

"*I* would accept her!" Faramir said fiercely.

"But can you answer for the rest of the Council, or our people?" Grimly. "We Men of Gondor have a history of rejecting our rightful rulers."

It was true and they both knew it. Faramir looked at his brother in dismay. Could Boromir be right after all?

A party of Rangers, including both the King of Arthedain and the High King of the West, rode into the Citadel of Fornost a few hours before sundown. Aragorn and his younger kinsman both wearing the look of grim pleasure the Hobbits had long ago learned to associate with trouble.

The High King promptly called a Council attended by King Gilvagor, Captain Amrod representing King Turamarth, Merry and Pippin for the Shire, Faramir and Boromir, Gimli and Legolas.*

"The North is moving," he reported, "the Hill Clans are mustering for battle, and there are signs the Orcs of Angmar are doing the same."

"Though they will get little aid from the Hill Trolls now." Captain Amrod put in, smiling grimly.

Merry shared an alarmed look with Pippn before turning to Aragorn. "You sound almost pleased about it."

The King and the other Men looked at him in genuine surprise. "This is what we hoped for, Merry," Boromir explained. "We have forced the Wolf-lord's hand and he must strike before he is ready."

"'Oft the hasty blow goes awry.'" Gilvagor quoted. "And he has lost the element of surprise."

"Indeed." Aragorn agreed. "Though I would not deny there is still danger. We can expect attacks in the south as well, I have sent warnings to Annuminas, Bree, Amon Sul, Cardol and the Shire."

"The Shire!" Merry went white. "You were right, Strider, we should have gone home."

"Nonsense." Pippin said robustly. "What could we do that Sam won't, and probably better?"

"It's all right for you, Thain, you don't have the Old Forest on your doorstep." Merry snapped. "My poor Estella! I've got to get back."

"It's too late for that, Merry." Aragorn said gently. "You cannot reach the Shire in time and would only endanger yourself by trying."

"Help us defend Fornost." from Gilvagor. "We will need every sword."

Merry slumped down in his Mansized chair. "Oh yes, a great help two little Halflings will be!"

"The sword of a Nazgul Bane is not to be despised be he Man or Hobbit." Boromir chided. "Nor was I joking when I called Pippin a fine swordsman."

"Right." the Thain pitched in. "Modesty is all very well, Merry, but we weren't totally useless at Pelannor Field or the Black Gates now were we?"

"A few inches of height are not so great a matter, young Hobbit!" Gimli growled. Merry gave an unwilling laugh. "All right, all right, I surrender. What happens now?"

"Do we remain within the walls, my Lord, or march out to meet them?" Faramir asked.

"That is one of the things we must decide." Aragorn pulled the map spread out on the table closer to him. "How far have you gotten in rebuilding the outer defenses, Gilvagor?" **********************************************

Entering the Great Library of the Tower of Elendil later that night, Faramir was surprised to see a light glimmering in a side chamber and even more astonished, when he looked in, to find his brother intently studying an ancient tome. "Boromir?"

He started guiltily, quickly closing the book and producing a teasing smile. "Faramir, why am I not surprised to see you here?"

"No doubt for the same reason I am astonished to find you with a book in your hands." his brother returned. "What are you reading?" Boromir showed the title, a little reluctantly, and Faramir's amazment increased. "'The Wars of Beleriand'? not exactly light reading, Brother."

"It tells of werewolves." Boromir said a little defensively. "So it would. It was Morgoth who made them. Sauron favored them as servants before he had the Nazgul."

"That is what it says here." Boromir agreed, laying the book down on two others on the table near his chair.

"Research? that is not like you, Boromir." Faramir frowned, faintly suspicious.

"Isn't it?" he looked slightly annoyed. "I had little time to spare for poetry or philosophy but I certainly did not ignore the accounts of our Old Wars, my Brother. Often they held valuable intelligence for me as we were fighting over the same ground and against the same foes."

Faramir stared at his brother, enlightened. Unbelievably it had never occured to him that Boromir's skill in war was something he'd had to study and work at, at the expense of other interests. He, Faramir, had foolishly assumed arms and military strategy came easily and naturally to his brother. Had even been inclined to look down on him a little for focusing on war to the exclusion of all else. How could he have been so blind? He wanted to apologize to Boromir for misjudging him all his life, and to weep for the man his brother had never been allowed to be. But Boromir would not understand, might even be offended. Faramir blinked back the tears and scraped up a smile. "Well, good-night Brother, and don't sit up to late over your books."

Boromir laughed, as intended, for those had frequently been his own words to his younger brother. He returned Faramir's embrace and breathed a sigh of relief when he'd gone.

He had never been any good at hiding things from his too perceptive younger brother, or their father. Of course in the old days there'd been nothing he'd wished to hide from either of them. The Ring had changed that. Giving him not only feelings and temptations that had to be kept from his companions but the art to do so.

Turning abruptly from unwelcome memories Boromir picked up the books from the table and began returning them to their places on the shelves. Had Faramir seen the other titles he might not have been so quick to dismiss his brother's sudden studiousness. In addition to the 'Wars of Beleriand' there was 'Of the Kingdoms of Arnor' and the 'Chronicles of the Dunedain', and The one thing all three books had in common was detailed accounts of battles with werewolves. *********************************************

* Merry, Pippin and Sam are Councilors of the North Kingdom, representing not just the Shire but all Hobbits living within the Realm. Other Councillors include the Three sub-Kings and the Sheriff of Bree. Faramir, Legolas and Gimli all sit on the Council of Gondor, along with King Eomer, Prince Imrahil and assorted other nobles of the South Kingdom.

The muster of Arthedain began early the next morning and kept Aragorn and Gilvagor busy, but there was little for the rest on the companions to do except keep out of the way.

The Hobbits took refuge from the confusion in a corner of the Citadel gardens but Merry continued to fret volubly over the danger to the Shire until Pippin finally lost patience.

"Oh give it a rest, Merry!" He exploded. "I'm worried too, but agonizing over what might or might not be happening back home isn't going to do anybody any good. And you seem to be forgetting why we didn't want to go back in the first place!"

Merry looked at his cousin in astonishment then comprehension. "Boromir."

"Exactly." Pippin said grimly. "He's not going to let himself be left behind this time - in fact I don't think Strider even means to try."

Merry thought about that. "We'll have keep an eye on him."

"A very close eye." Pippin agreed. "And the more of them the better."

They looked at each other, and went to find their companions.

Faramir, Legolas and Gimli were sitting on a bench under a wide spreading nessamelda tree. Man and Elf looking unhappy and the Dwarf mutinous.

"What's wrong?" Pippin asked.

"Now Faramir's saying Boromir may be right!" Gimli snorted.

What? Appalled the Hobbits looked at the Steward.

"He may be here not so much to kill Draugoth as to save King Elessar's life." Faramir explained.

"He said something like that to us too." Merry admitted. "Of course we don't want Strider to die -"

"Why does either of them have to die!" Pippin demanded. "Who says Boromir must face this werewolf alone? It took both Eowyn and Merry to kill the Chief Nazgul."

"It was Eowyn who did the actual killing." Merry said.

"But it was you who gave her the opening she needed." from Faramir.

"My point is, if Boromir has a little help maybe he won't have to die." Pippin broke in impatiently.

"That is true." Faramir said slowly.

"Aragorn's life must be preserved." Legolas agreed. "But I do not see why it must be at the cost of Boromir's."

"It's settled then." Gimli said firmly. "We stay close and lend a hand when needed." ************************************************

Boromir stood at the gatehouse parapet watching Officers of the City Guard Companies in their black, white, yellow, red or grey liveries and Rangers in rusty green and brown moving purposefully between Tower, barracks and storehouses across the great forecourt. But they were all Rangers at the core, however they were dressed, honed and hardened by over a thousand years of desperate, hidden warfare. A truly formidable people. He was proud to be able to claim them as kin.

"Uncle?" It was Arandil.

Boromir felt a definite shock at being so addressed. Don't be ridiculous, he admonished himself, what else should the boy call him? Still it was strange to suddenly have a nephew, not much younger than Faramir had been when he, Boromir, left for Imladris, and who looked so much like him. Though he found it hard to believe he had ever been so young, certainly he'd never been so innocent and carefree.

His nephew didn't look carefree now. Boromir had seen many nervous recruits and recognized the signs, his heart went out to the boy. He began talking easily and professionally, as to a fellow soldier.

"Aragorn tells me we will be taking most of the City Guard, some fifteen hundred Men, and perhaps twice that number of knights and men-at-arms."

"I heard the Hill Army numbers some ten or twelve thousand." Arandil said gloomily.

"Better odds than I'm accustomed to." Boromir answered lightly. Which was certainly true, two or three to one would scarcely have worried him in the old days.

His nephew gave him a look he recognized, having seen it more than once on Faramir's face, 'be serious' it said.

"You are right of course, it would be better to match their numbers," he conceeded, "but Aragorn tells me that is impossible. The time is too short for levies from the West or the South to reach us and the provinces near at hand have their own troubles to deal with."

"Turambar* is already fighting an Orc army, they say."

"I know, but Aragorn is not much concerned. Orcs, I understand, have now neither the numbers nor the puissance they had in Sauron's time. Our fellow Men make the more fearsome foe."

"And they will be two or three times our numbers." Arandil reminded him.

"We too are Men, and more than a little fearsome in our own right." Boromir's sudden grin had a feral edge. "I would not care to face an army of Rangers, especially one led by Aragorn son of Arathorn, Isildur's Heir!" ***********************************************

* The Dunedain of Gondor refer to members of the Royal House by their Quenyan names according to the custom of Anarion's Line, while the Dunedain of the North use their Sindarin names. Thus the High King is 'Aragorn' in the North and 'Elessar' in the South; Gilvagor is known as Prince Elemmacar in Gondor and Turamarth as Turambar.

Boromir rode out of Fornost a prisoner, surrounded by an alert but congenial body of gaolers*. Merry and Pippin on their ponies to one side, Legolas and Gimli, (sharing a mount) on the other. He hid his amusement and pretended to see nothing unusual in his friends' attentions.

Their destination was a stronghold known as Caur Amrun, built nearly three thousand years ago by King Valandil to defend the eastern approach to Fornost from raiding Hill Men. It was now garrisoned by some five hundred descendants of those same raiders who had, long ago, become loyal subjects of the High Kingdom.

The fortress was a long day's march from Fornost going at an easy pace. Of course ideas of what qualifies as 'easy' differ. The brief rests at the end of each hour's march seemed very short indeed to the Hobbits.

"It's scarcely worth getting off the pony." Pippin complained to Aragorn at their third halt. "No time to snatch a bite or even brew a cup of tea!"

"There will be an hour stop at midday for the noon meal." The High King told him with ill-concealed amusement.

"*One* hour! *the* meal!" Pippin spluttered, his open horror bringing grins to the faces of the knights and guardsmen within hearing.

"Don't complain, Pip," Merry councilled, "it's better than sunup to sundown with nothing but an apple or two."

Aragorn laughed. "Come, Thain, you've marched farther and with a tighter belt in your day."

"I was younger then." Pippin grumbled, shrugged. "Oh well, at least I'm riding not walking this time."

Gimli wasn't very happy either, Dwarves are not fond of travelling horseback. Yet he greeted Boromir's suggestion he march among the footmen with a gruff refusal, not wanting to be seperated from his companions.

Boromir shook his head privately. Did they really think he'd try to break away on the road? He was no such fool, there would be better chances later.

They reached Caur Amrun perhaps two hours before sunset, dinner time by Hobbit reckoning. A low curtain wall enclosed a steep sided hill crowned by high, grey walls, the turrets and roofs of a massive Tower Keep showing above the battlements.

Once through the outer gate they saw the base of the hill was encircled by a broad, deep defensive ditch, crossed by a drawbridge. A second gate led to a steep and narrow causway climbing the hillside between high walls to the great gatehouse of the inner wall.

The Tower ward was paved with flagstones, the outbuildings set against the walls where they could give no cover to an enemy who managed to penetrate the outer defenses, unlikely as that possibility seemed. No question but those old Numenoreans had known a thing or two about fortifications!

A tall, swarthy Man with curling, coal black hair and beard stood on the steps of the Keep wearing the black and grey livery of Arthedain and the stars of the North Kingdom. Surrounded by similiarly dressed Men of the same kind, his officers.

Boromir noted the warden made his bow to his own King, Gilvagor, who then presented him to the High King thus neatly establishing the line of command. Aragorn himself was, for the first time since Boromir's return, dressed appropriately to his rank: Gleaming armor of mithril, the white tree embroidered on his sable surcoat and a star of adamant set in his high winged helm. Yet the Man addressed him with the lack of awe or ceremony Boromir had come to recognize as characteristic of the North.

"The enemy is still half a day's march away, Dunadan, we should be able to see their fires after dark. I would suggest a night attack did I not fear we will be facing an assault of our own tonight."

Aragorn nodded agreement. "They will send their Orcs to assail us since they cannot fight by daylight. In what numbers?"

The Warden turned to lead the two Kings and their company into the Keep. "Far more than I expected." he admitted ruefully, "Draugoth must have rousted out the inhabitants of every maggot hole and warren in the Northern Mountains and Angmar Hills. There are even a few Uruks leading them."

"Sounds like we're in for a lovely, restful night." Merry muttered at Boromir's side. **********************************************

Boromir was shown to a small chamber high in the Tower to get a few hours rest before the expected exertions of the night.

He filled the wash basin and took a small phial from its hiding place in an inner pocket of his surcoat. Cut from crystal of adamant and filled with clear water it glittered in the pale gleam from the dusk sky outside his window. Then, slowly, as he cupped it in his hand, it began to glow with its own light, pure and bright.

"I need to know where the Wolf-lord will be," he told it softly, "show me." and held the phial so its rays fell on the water.

The surface darkened as an image formed; tree boles, knarled and grey, with many lithe, pale shapes running through the shadows between them. Boromir frowned, then slowly nodded. "Of course. I should have known."

Suddenly the picture changed; sunlight glittering on water, a green isle in a bright lake with a lacy white pavilion in its midst. His frown deepened as the image shifted to the interior where a small figure in green and a taller robed in white stood looking down at a low bier. A shiver ran down his spine as he recognized Mithrandir and Frodo standing over his own inert body in the Pavilion of the Lake in Avallone.

But no sooner had he recognized the scene than it was replaced by the image of Mithrandir's face, eyes looking out wide and piercing, lips moving silently. Boromir could not hear the words but he didn't need to, he remembered them well: *Once you return to Middle Earth much that is now clear to you will become uncertain or even be forgotten.*

The light faded and the water was only water again. He put Frodo's Phial*2 back in his pocket and sat down on the bed. Clearly it was telling him he'd forgotten something, something important.

He sighed. It seemed all too likely, everything else had gone wrong after all! But there was nothing to be done about it. He'd simply have to carry on and hope the memory returned before it was too late. *********************************************

*1 Forgive the British spelling but this *is* Tolkien and 'jailers' just looked wrong somehow.

*2 Yes this is the phial Galadriel gave to Frodo in Lorien.

Moonrise found the companions, and the rest of the army, stationed on the outer curtain wall. The waiting was always the worst of it, Boromir reflected ruefully. The Hobbits were twitchy, Legolas serene as usual and Gimli positively cheerful. There's nothing a Dwarf likes better than a chance to kill some Orcs.

"Thorin Stonehelm and King Durin*1 have driven them from our ancient cities and, allied with the Rangers, destroyed their great warren near the High Pass." he explained. "But they're like rats, they always find new holes to hide in. Still there are fewer than there were." smiled kindly on Merry and Pippin. "Nothing for you to worry about, young Hobbits, you handled those Moria rats well enough."

"We'll be all right once the fighting starts." Merry answered.

"It's the waiting I hate." Pippin added.

"Me too." Boromir agreed absently. His eye, scanning the rolling scrubland below the wall, caught movement - quickly resolving into hundreds of dark, scuttling forms. He drew his sword. "Here they come."

The Orc army was made up entirely of small, twisted creatures like those who had inhabited Moria. Their charge was met by a hail of arrows, from Legolas' bow of Lorien and short Ranger bows and the seven foot steel warbows of the Dunedain, nearly halving the number of the oncoming host. The remnant swarmed up the smooth stone wall and over the battlements.

Boromir swiped off the first head to show itself above the ramparts, kicked a second Orc off the wall, skewered two more. Yet even as he fought a detached, portion of his mind, the part of him that was Captain not just warrior, observed and judged and didn't much like the conclusion it drew.

Nor was he the only one to see it. Gimli spurned aside the body of the last of the Orcs, looked up at him. "That was too easy."

Pippin looked startled for a moment, then thoughtful.

"You're right," Merry panted, "it was."

Legolas frowned as he wiped the black Orc blood from his long knives. "A fient?"

"A test rather, to judge our resolve and the strength of our defense." that was Aragorn, striding down the wall to join them, trailed by Faramir and Arandil, the latter more than a little pale.

Boromir turned one of the bodies over with his blade, pointed. "See how white and unmarked its skin is beneath its paint? A hatchling."

The King nodded grim agreement. "It would seem some one among our enemies has the power and the skill to breed Orcs."*2

"Draugoth?" Faramir asked, but doubtfully.

Aragorn shook his head. "No, the Wolf-lord is incapable of such subtle arts. More likely some Black Sorceror among the Hill Folk."

"That explains their numbers." said Gimli.

"These were a sacrifice then." from Legolas. "The next attack will be the true one."

"A smaller force perhaps, but more dangerous." Faramir agreed.

"Not necessarily smaller." Aragorn said quietly, looking over the parapet at the body littered terrain below. "It all depends on how many of these new Orcs they have." Turned back to his companions. "Had I an unlimited supply of battle fodder I would use them to tie down the defenders and concentrate my most effective soldiers at a single point."

Pippin grimaced. "That's our Strider, always looking on the bright side."

But Merry shook his head. "Orcs aren't that smart."

"Uruks may be." the King contradicted. "And do not forget these are being directed by Men." "I can guess where they will concentrate their real warriors." Faramir murmured, leaning against the battlements beside Boromir.

"As can I." his brother agreed with a glance over his shoulder at Aragorn, deep in discussion with Gilvagor and the Warden of Caur Amrun. "No chance of persuading our liege lord to withdraw to the inner Keep where he will be safe?"

"None at all. He is very like you in some ways."

Boromir looked at his brother in genuine surprise. Aragorn had often reminded him of his father, and of Faramir too, but never himself. "I see no likeness."

Merry, on his other side, snorted. "I do!" and Pippin laughed agreement.

Faramir straightened suddenly. "Here they come."

This time it was not easy. The smaller Orcs were older, experienced fighters, and led by a number of the hulking Uruks.

Through the melee Boromir caught occasional glimpses of Aragorn, cutting down enemies left and right. and shook his head at himself. He'd forgotten just how fast and lethal his King could be, no need to worry about Aragorn. He tried to keep track of the Little Ones but quickly lost them in the swirl of larger beings. He could only hope they would be all right.

Merry dispatched his fourth Orc and looked around panting. The fighting had moved down the wall a ways leaving him in a little pocket of peace, littered with bodies, mostly Orc thank goodness. Then he saw he was not alone.

One of the big Uruks, blood running freely down its right side and leg, picked itself up. Merry crouched down but the Orc didn't turn his way, its attention fixed on the struggle going on nearby. It looked around for a weapon, picked up one of the great steel bows, pulled an arrow from a body near its feet and drew.

Merry followed the Uruk's fixed stare down wall to where Boromir was fighting with another of the Great Orcs. No! Not again!

He hurled himself at the creature, knocking it off its feet, bow and arrow flying from its hands. Merry stabbed blindly, in a panicked fury, it was some minutes before he realized the Orc was dead.

"Merry?" Boromir, sounding alarmed. "Are you all right?"

He staggered to his feet, covered in black Orc blood, to quaver unconvincingly. "Yes, yes I'm fine."

Boromir looked from his small friend to the bow and arrow lying near the Orc's hand and guessed what had happened. "And so am I, thanks to you, Merry." put his hand on the Hobbit's shoulder and felt it shaking with silent sobs. Got down on his knees and put his arms around his friend, holding Merry close as he cried over what nearly happened just now, and what had happened twenty years before. ********************************************** *1 This is *the* Durin, the Father of the Dwarves, he returns in troubled times to defend his people, (kind of like King Arthur). This was Tolkien's own idea not mine.

*2 Orcs do not reproduce sexually but are created, as by Saruman, in a Frankenstein-like process from body parts, (yeck!). Animated, or so it is claimed, by the Power of Morgoth still abroad in Middle Earth even though he himself is imprisoned in the Void. This is most emphatically *not* canon, (though based on what we see in the movie).

Pippin woke, and for a second or two couldn't think where he was. Then it came back to him; Caur Amrun, the battle, werewolves and of course Boromir.

Merry was still snoring on the other bed and the sky outside the window was pale grey with Earendil still shining brightly, not yet quenched by the rising sun. Pippin realized he could only have been asleep an hour or less but there was no point in trying to catch a few more winks. Somebody'd be knocking on the door to wake them at any minute.

Instead he got up and padded down the winding stone stair to the great hall. The long trestle tables were full of Men eating and talking quietly. Few if any of them would have slept at all, yet they looked none the worse for it.

Pippin rubbed his own gritty eyes, yawned, and headed for his companions seated at the high table, greeting them with: "It's disgusting how bright eyed you Big Folk can be after a long night with no sleep!"

Gimli, Legolas and Boromir just grinned, Arandil looked a little confused.* There was no sign of Aragorn or Faramir.

"Where's Strider?" Pippin asked, climbing onto the bench next to Arandil and grimacing at the rather scanty, (by Hobbit standards) provender on the table. "No tea of course."

"I'm afraid not," Boromir answered him, "and Aragorn is hearing reports from the scouts."

"Have a mug of ale," Gimli recomended, pouring it out, "it will get your blood moving, Young Hobbit."

"Not so young any more, and getting older all the time." Pippin grumbled, filling his plate with what Rangers regarded as an adequate breakfast; flat, hard waybread as sustaining as Lembas but far less savory, (though *much* better than the Cram of the Dalesmen); cheese, dried apples and pears and a fruit Pippin didn't recognize, and cold meat. "No tea, no eggs, no bacon, not even toast! and you Men of Westerness call yourselves civilized!"

This time Arandil grinned too. He'd heard Pippin, and Merry and even Sam, in this strain before. "We must conceed in matters of the table the Shirefolk are far ahead of us."

"Too right!" Pippin said emphatically around a mouthful of cheese.

"You're not eating, Arandil." Legolas observed.

"I'm not very hungry." the youngster admitted, adding rather shamefacedly. "I was sick after the first attack."

"So was I when I saw my first blood shed." Boromir told him quietly. "Killing, even of Orcs, should come hard, Arandil. I wouldn't want any Man who took it lightly under my command."

"That's what King Elessar said." the boy's eyes glowed with sudden enthusiasm. "He was - incredible! I'd heard the stories of course, and believed them! but actually seeing it..."

"I know what you mean." Pippin agreed. "I'll never forget Strider fighting off those Nazgul on Weathertop, or the way he and your Uncle Boromir waded into the Watcher in the Water when it grabbed Frodo outside Moria."

"You and your stones." Boromir shook his head. "Anybody'd have thought we were a picnic party the way you and Merry behaved."

"We learned better," Pippin said ruefully, "the hard way." then. "Here's old Merry now."

The Master of Buckland climbed up next to his cousin on the bench, looked at the board. "You call this breakfast?"

"Yes!" Elf, Dwarf and Men chorused.

He shrugged resignedly and started tucking in.

Faramir appeared next, greeted the Hobbits with a nod then drew his son, Gimli and Legolas to the far end of the table for a low voiced conference.

Realizing it must concern Boromir, and it was up to the two of them to distract him from it, Pippin turned to Merry. "You're looking better than you did last night anyway. What in Middle Earth happened to you?"

"He killed an Uruk," Boromir explained quietly, "who was about to shoot me with an arrow."

Pippin shuddered. "Oh, no wonder. My poor Merry!"

"I don't think you understand how hard it was for us to watch you die that way." Merry said to his half empty plate.

"Now, Merry, that's not quite fair," Pippin said hastily, "I don't suppose it's one of Boromir's favorite memories either."

"No indeed." the Man agreed. Seeing the Little Ones carried away by Orcs, still struggling to reach him, had easily been the second worst moment of his life. "I do understand how you feel, Merry. I've watched Men die for me too. I was sorry to lay such a debt on you - but I had no choice."

Pippin stared at him, a bite of apple unchewed in his mouth. Suddenly realizing that uninterpretable last look Boromir had given them twenty years ago had been one of apology.

A hand on his shoulder made him jump. "Faramir would like a word with you and Master Merry, Pippin." Gimli told them.

The Hobbits obediently headed off to the far end of the table while Gimli and Legolas took their places across from Boromir, who hid his smile at the transparent machinations of his friends and kinsmen behind a mug of ale.

"You should see Moria today, Boromir." Gimli said enthusiastically. "King Durin has restored it to its old glory - even Legolas here admits it is a fair city."

"King Durin has banished the darkness, Moria is no longer a place of evil." Legolas agreed seriously but added with a sidelong twinkle at his Dwarf friend. "Splendid and impressive it is, but cold stone can never seem fair to Elven eyes."

"No, they prefer musty, dusty old forests," Gimli replied, rolling his own eyes upward, "full of walking and talking trees!"

Raised voices at the far end of the table drew the attention of all three companions. "Merry and Pippin seem upset." Boromir frowned, wondering what his brother could have said to them.

Elf and Dwarf exchanged a look. "I feared they would take it ill." Legolas sighed.

"Wouldn't you?" Gimli snorted.

"Take what ill?" Boromir demanded.

"Aragorn wants them to stay behind with the reserve." Legolas explained. "They are weary from the battle and have had little sleep. He has no mind to risk their lives unecessarily."

"They more than did their part last night." Gimli growled. "The garrison here will form the reserve for the same reason - they are not Dunedain, nor Elf nor Dwarf to laugh off a lost night's sleep."

At the far end of the table Faramir was making the same point to the Hobbits. "And you are not being left out altogether I promise you. Aragorn has plans for his reserve and you will fight all the better for a few more hours sleep."

"What about Boromir?" Pippin demanded. "He still needs watching!"

"You may safely leave my brother to me." Faramir replied. "And to Gimli, Legolas and Arandil." ************************************************

* Elves of course rarely sleep at all, and Dwarves can 'endure great weariness' as Bilbo says. Dunedain powers of endurance easily match both, as we see when the three friends chase the Orcs with Merry and Pippin. Eomer's astonishment at their feat suggests it is not one other Men could match.

"Are we going to stand for this?" Pippin demanded.

The two Hobbits stood on the steps of the Keep, watching the army march out. Merry gnawed his lip considering.

"You don't like being left behind." his cousin reminded him.

"And the last time I disobeyed orders I nearly got myself killed." Merry responded.

"And saved Eowyn's life and were there to say good-bye to King Theoden." Pippin argued.

There was that. Merry opened his mouth to answer and a heavy hand fell on his shoulder, turning he and Pippin found themselves looking up into the dark, heavily bearded face of the Warden of Caur Amrun. His brown eyes held a definite twinkle. "The Dunadan warned me about you two. He said you'd be considering disobeying his orders right about now."

The Hobbits looked at each other. "Strider knows us too well." Pippin sighed.

"Believe me I understand, I don't much like being left behind either but I am not Dunedain. We ordinary Men can't fight all night and all day, nor I guess can Hobbits."

"We can if we have to!" Pippin said defiantly.

The Warden nodded. "Oh indeed. If there were need we would do so - and pay the price." he hunkered down, putting himself at their eye level. "Weary Men - and Hobbits! - make mistakes and die for them. Aragorn cannot afford such losses. Even a few hours rest will make a difference so he gives them to us. If all goes well ours will be the final blow. If it goes ill then perhaps we may amend it. In either case we will be far from useless."

"So it's back to bed." said Merry.

"With a sentry at your door in case you should change your minds again!" the Man grinned.

"We might!" said Pippin. And all three laughed.

"You're very philosophical about all this." Merry observed to the Warden as he accompanied them up the stair.

"My people have lived cheek by jowl with the Dunedain for nearly three thousand years," he explained. "we learned long ago to accept the differences between us and not to indulge in the folly of false pride. We do not measure ourselves by the Dunedain any more than by the Elves or the Dwarves. Nor do we hold ourselves of lesser worth. For all their gifts they could not have defended the North this thousand years without our help," smiled down at the Hobbits as they reached their door, "any more than the Lord of the Rings could have been defeated without the courage of Hobbits."

That had been mostly Frodo and Sam's doing, Merry reflected, but he and Pippin had done their bit. "I don't think I caught your name, sir." he said out loud.

"It is one fairly familiar to you, I am Boromir son of Borgil." he laughed at their startled faces. "Such names are common among my people, in memory of the House of the Faithful."* ********************************************

Boromir had been mildly surprised by Aragorn's decision to meet the enemy outside the protection of Caur Amrun's walls - until he saw the ground the King had chosen; where the road to Minvorn Erain, northern stronghold of the Kings of Rhudaur, climbed a steep slope between tall hills crowned with outcroppings of jagged rock. Aragorn arrayed his army along the crest of the slope. Companies of the City Guard, dismounted knights and Men-at-arms alternated with ranks of archers, armed with the legendary great steel bows of Numenor. The Rangers melted silently into the landscape, hiding themselves among the rocks on the hillsides to discourage any attempt at flanking the line. Then there was nothing to do but wait.

There were things Boromir wanted to say to his brother, now while he had the chance, for however the day went there would be none later. But it's not easy to start a private conversation when one is surrounded by people. He looked pointedly at Gimli, Legolas and Arandil. "Shouldn't somebody be watching over Aragorn?"

The Dwarf and his nephew had the grace to look slightly embarrassed, Legolas just smiled.

"Captain Amrod and his Men will look after him." Faramir said calmly.

"I do not need a bodyguard." Boromir said bluntly.

"Don't you?" his brother took him by the arm, drawing him to a place well behind the lines, out of even Dunedain hearing. "Boromir, I accept that you are here to slay the Wolf-lord in place of King Elessar, but why must you die accomplishing it?"

"Because Mithrandir forsaw it." he answered simply and felt his brother's dismay. "Faramir, I would not have distressed you all so were I not sure." turned abruptly to the thing he needed most to say. "Father is all right."

Denethor had died in the grip of Shadow inspired madness, Faramir had never dared let himself think what that might mean for his father's soul. A shiver passed over him as he remembered his own brother, standing here before him, had been to the Dark Halls at the Edge of the World, had seen and spoken with their father's spirit. Boromir would know how it was with him.

"He sees his mistakes and he is sorry for them." his brother went on quietly. "Mother waited for him, with her help he will find peace." even more gently. "He never meant to hurt either of us. When he did it was out of his own trouble of spirit not malice."

Faramir swallowed. "I know. And the fault was not all on his side. We were not kind to each other after you were gone." blinked back tears. "He blamed me for being alive and I blamed him for sending you to your death."

Boromir snorted. "You should both have blamed me. I insisted on going," sighed, "well I have paid for my presumption."

"Presumption?" Faramir wondered.

His brother looked at him. "The dream came first and many times to you, only once and late to me. Clearly you where the one intended to go." he shrugged. "I didn't want you making such a dangerous journey." smiled wryly. "Or rather I couldn't face the long months of worrying about you. So I went myself - and came near to ruining us all. I am sorry."

"But you didn't," Faramir argued, "far from it. If Frodo had not run from you, both he and the Ring might have fallen into Saruman's hands. And Elessar would never have come to Minas Tirith if not for the promise he made to you."

Boromir smiled faintly. "So I have been told by Another. Even wickedness and folly can serve His ends." the smile faded. "I am truly sorry, Brother, I should have had enough faith in you to let you follow your destiny." ********************************************

* The Warden is refering to the faithful Easterlings who fought beside the Edain and the Elves in the First Age against their close kin, The House of the Accursed, who served Morgoth. Their chief was called Bor, which means 'faithful' in Sindarin, his sons were were Borlach, Borlad and Borthand. The Hill Folk are definitely descended from the Easterlings of the First Age. The Men of Rhudaur's belief they are descended from the House of the Faithful and their enemies from the House of the Accursed is less certain - yet true enough in a spiritual if not physical sense.

The position Aragorn had chosen for his army was two leagues from Caur Amrun, almost exactly midway between the fortress and the enemy's last camp. The Dundedain had covered the distance in two hours. The Hill Army, being less disciplined, took rather longer arriving shortly before noon.

They reminded Boromir of the Khandish raiders he had faced from time to time; tall, swarthy Men wielding axes Dwarf fashion, shaggy haired and heavily bearded. Dressed for the most part in leathers and furs with scraps of ill fitting, scavenged armor. But their princes and leaders were attired from head to foot in plate and mail of dark metal with a Mordorish look to it.

They halted well short of the Dunedain postition, the mass of Men seething with balked anger but clearly intimidated. Suddenly they eddied aside to form open lanes through which stalked five massive figures more than twice the height of a Man. Not trolls, taller, straighter and somewhat better favored with streaming grey hair and beards, armed with great granite clubs.

"Stone giants of the Northern Mountains." Aragorn explained in response to Boromir's questioning glance. He seemed slightly troubled. "They are destructive creatures, delighting in storm and avalanch, but not evil. Nor do they willingly leave their mountains. Some Dark art has forced them to come here." The giants started up the long, steep slope towards the army. "Their hides are as hard as stone, this is work for the archers."

"Eye and ear are their only vulnerable places." Arallas, the Captain of the Bowmen, was telling Legolas, farther down the line. "Or the mouth should they chance to open it."

The Elf nodded. "Like trolls."

"Save their hides are even harder. Sword and axe will be of little use here."

A snort came from elbow level. "We'll see about that." said Gimli.

The giants started up the slope against a rain of yard long steel arrows. Two fell, eyes pierced, but the other three shielded their faces with their arms and came on.

A number of archers left the line, moving between the giants, aiming upward at the tiny ears. A near impossible shot from such an angle, even for Rangers or a prince of the Woodland Elves, their arrows either rebounded from the stone hard flesh or stuck in its craggy folds.

The Giants swiped at them with their clubs forcing the Men nearest them to scatter. Those at a greater distance fired at the exposed faces and two more giants fell.

The sole survivor uttered a roar that, quite literally, cracked the rocks on the hillside and warding off arrows with its arms began stamping around trying to crush the archers under its massive feet.

The swift footed Dunedain avoided its efforts with little difficulty but could not get a good shot at eyes or mouth and all the time they were getting nearer the battle line.

Suddenly a stocky figure darted forward with a cry: "Baruk Khazad! Khazad ai-menu!" and sank his axe deep into the giant's big toe.

It roared again, bent down to grab the Dwarf. With a frantic cry of his own Legolas sent one of his green fletched arrows directly down the giant's gullet just as it swept Gimli up in one massive hand.

Still bent over the giant gave a sort of cough, then tumbled forward, headfirst, into the ground. Legolas ran forward to tug desperately and fruitlessly at the great paw still clasped around his friend. Then suddenly the stonelike flesh under his hands crumbled into gravel and boulders and the Dwarf rolled free.

"Gimli! Gimli! speak to me, my friend!" the Elf begged.

One eye opened and then the other. "No need to shout, my ears are undamaged." the Dwarf rumbled.

Legolas gave a gasp of relief.

"And the rest of you, Master Dwarf?" that was Boromir, come down from the line and Aragorn with him.

Gimli tested his limbs and sat up. "I'm well enough, but I fear my axe is notched."

The King picked it up and examined the blade. "It is, but can still do you service." he decided and handed the weapon back to Gimli.

"Bravely done, Master Dwarf." Arallas complimented as the friends returned to the line.

"Swords and axes of little use eh, Master Bowman?" Gimli demanded with a sly, sidelong twinkle.

"I stand corrected." the Man conceeded smiling in return.

All five giants had crumbled into mounds of rock scattered down slope, increasing the difficulty of the terrain. Nor had they succeeded in slaying a single Dunedain.

Yet Aragorn seemed sad. "They were innocent creatures for all their ferocity. It was a pity to slay them."

"Hadn't much choice." the Dwarf pointed out.

"I know." Aragorn agreed. "But still I am sorry for it."

Gimli shook his head. "You Men are sentimental creatures, worse then the Elves."

"Fortunately for the Dwarves." Legolas retorted.

Dislodging a formidable, (if small) army in a strong position is an uneviable problem. Boromir himself, in the Hill Mens' position, would have opted for a flanking movement but an frontal attack in force all along the line though certainly costly might also have been effective.

The enemy, rather mysteriously, chose yet a third alternative. Formed into a narrow wedge by the the deep cut road they dashed themselves against Aragorn's center. A rain of steel shafts decimated the vanguard but those who won through, stumbling over their own dead, were strong and fierce and the hand to hand fighting grew hot and deadly, especially around Aragorn himself for the enemy knew right well who he was.

But able to concentrate all their strength upon a single point the Dunedain repulsed the attack without undue difficulty sending the Hill Men into stumbling retreat down the rough slope to churn in confusion at its foot as the broken forward ranks fell back into unblooded corps still seeking to advance.

"Are they always this -" Boromir hesitated hunting for a word.

"Inept?" King Gilvagor supplied with a small, grim smile. "Fortunately yes. That's all that saved us twenty years ago during the Wars of the Ring."

Boromir nodded thoughtfully. He'd noticed a similar reliance on sheer strength of numbers in his own opponents in the East, and a near identical tendency to throw away that advantage through poor tactics.

"I don't understand." Arandil panted. "Where are the wolves?"

His uncle gave him an approving glance. "Where indeed."

Distant shouts of 'Elessar!' and 'Rhudaur!' drew their attention back to the enemy below. To see a small mounted force, flying the black banners of the High Kingdom and Arthedain, crash into the right flank of the confused mass of Hill Men. Some turned to face this new threat but many others broke and ran.

"Our reserve, and right on time." Aragorn said approvingly. "Forward, gentlemen!" and the line surged downward with a great cry of "Elessar!"

Attack from two sides proved to much for the Hill Men. Soon their entire army, some number of which had never even come in contact with the foe, was in full flight back northward, harried by Ranger skirmishers.

"Ah, there you are young Hobbits." Gimli beamed as they met Merry and Pippin leading their tired ponies across the abandoned field.

"Did I not tell you the King had plans for his reserve?" Faramir smiled.

"My word but that was something!" Pippin panted. "I've never been in a cavalry charge before."

"I have." said Merry. "But this time I didn't fall off!"

"Are we forgiven then?" Legolas wanted to know.

"I guess so." Pippin conceeded, looked around. "Where are Strider and Boromir?"

"There, under the Banner of the High Kingdom." a passing Ranger volunteered, pointing.

Sure enough the companions found the King beneath the stars and white tree, talking to Boromir of Caur Amrun, surrounded by the white cloaked knights from Amon Sul and black liveried Guardsmen. But no sign of their other companion.

"Strider!" Merry broke in urgently. "Where's Boromir."

The King looked down at him startled, then frowned at the Men surrounding them. "He was here a moment ago."

"Perhaps he is with King Gilvagor." the Warden suggested.

"Right, where's Gil?" Pippin demanded.

The King of Arthedain was discovered directing the marshalling of enemy wounded and other prisoners. Boromir was not with him nor could he remember seeing him since the charge.

"Scarpered!" Merry said, appalled. "Right under our noses!"

"He'll be heading north," Aragorn agreed grimly, "with an entire army to cover his tracks."

"We've got to follow him!" Pippin cried desperately.

"Pippin, I can't." Aragorn knelt down before the distraught Hobbit. "My kingdom is at war, I cannot go running off on some private errand of my own. Nor can you, Thain of the Shire."

Tears running down his face Pippin looked desperately at Merry. "Strider's right, Pip," his cousin said miserably, "we've already ignored our duty once and look what's come of it. We've got to get home and see what's happening."

"Boromir knows what he is doing." Aragorn said quietly, enfolding the sobbing Hobbits in his arms. "We have no choice now but to let him follow his fate."

The other companions stood, heads bowed down by their own grief. Suddenly Faramir raised his. "Where is Arandil?" ******************************************* * I would like to thank my technical adivsor, Edward the Black Prince of Wales, for Aragorn's battle plan which is based on his Battle of Poictiers. Except for the giants of course.

Come to think of it, I should also give credit (?) to King John II of France for the tactics used by the Hill Men.

Arandil had no idea where he was, other than somewhere east of Fornost, nor did he have the leisure to speculate being fully absorbed in the task of tracking his uncle.

It wasn't easy, Boromir knew all the tricks, but Arandil had been trained by Woodland Elves though his skill had never been put to such a grave test before. he lost the trail twice, once in a dense copse of stunted trees and underbrush and again when his uncle's tracks disappeared into a small, winding stream. But each time he managed to pick up the trail after some casting about, and even to gain a little ground on his quarry.

Nightfall brought further problems. As visibility faded Arandil tried to decide whether to continue on the line he was following now, and risk missing a sudden change of direction by his uncle, or to stop and camp and fall still farther behind.

A rustling sound broke into his meditations, he looked around nervously hand on sword hilt. Suddenly a stunted figure broke from the cover of a ring of boulders and scrub crowning a little hill the fading light glinting off extended steel talons.

Arandil drew just in time, blocked a vicious upward slash by those claws and swept off their owner's head. But the creature was not alone, others of the same kind poured down the hill. Arandil set his back to a convenient standing stone and braced himself to meet the onslaught.

As the things, whatever they were, swarmed towards him chittering a cry of "Gondor!" shattered the dusk and a Man tall figure wielding a glittering sword sprang down among them. It took a second or two for Arandil to recover himself sufficiently to join in the fight. The creatures stood their ground for a few moments then fled in dismay back to their refuge.

Arandil stared at his rescuer. It was his uncle of course, calmly cleaning his sword with a handful of grass before returning it to its scabbard. He returned the look, eyebrows rising in surprise. "Arandil? I am impressed. Who taught you to track?"

"Legolas." his nephew managed, shuddered. "What were those things?"

"I have no idea." Boromir took him by the arm. "Let's not wait until they regain their nerve, shall we?" and led him briskly away from the creatures' hillock.

"Legolas is a good teacher." he continued. "I thought I had an unusually persistant and skilled Ranger on my trail, perhaps even Aragorn himself."

It was high praise and Arandil felt himself glow with the warmth of it, But: "I don't understand," he blurted, "you're going the wrong way!"

His uncle gave him a sidelong look. "Am I?"

"Yes! If the Wolf-lord was not with the Hill Army he must still be at his stronghold in the North." looked at the older Man uncertainly. "Musn't he?"

There was a brief silence as Boromir continued to stride swiftly westward, then he answered quietly. "Overthrowing the North Kingdom was never Draugoth's aim, Arandil. This attack on Fornost, the Orcs in Rhudaur and whatever risings may be happening in the south are all diversions meant to absorb Aragorn's attention while the Wolf-lord goes after his true goal, The Shire."

"The Shire!" The boy echoed stunned. "But..but *why*? Halflings for all their courage pose no great threat to him or anybody."

"Revenge." Boromir answered grimly. "The werewolves were ever Sauron's favored and most loyal servants. And it was Hobbits who brought the Dark Lord down. Not our people or the Elves or the Dwarves. And one of the two who destroyed the Ring and Sauron's power still lives in the Shire."

"Sam." Arandil breathed.

His uncle nodded. "I have seen the wolf wraiths of Draugoth running through the Old Forest on the borders of the Shire. I only hope I can get there in time." looked at the boy with a glint of amusement. "We I should say. You must come with me, nephew. I will not risk interference now. Not with the Little One's lives at stake."

"But it will take days to reach the Shire on foot." Arandil objected. "Surely we are already to late."

"We should reach the North Road by dawn, and the first of the post houses for the King's Messengers." Boromir smiled sidelong at his nephew. "I was seen travelling northward in Aragorn's company, I doubt I'll have much trouble persuading the keepers of the post stables to let us use the King's horse."

A thorough search of the battlefield reassured Faramir his son wasn't lying dead among the heaps of Hill Men.

"He must have followed his uncle." Aragorn frowned.

"Boromir won't let anything happen to him." Pippin soothed, patting the anxious father's hand. Though sorry for Faramir he couldn't help feeling a little comforted. At least Boromir wasn't alone. Having somebody to watch out for would make him more careful.

"He might even bring Arandil back rather than risk his life." Merry suggested hopefully.

A Ranger came up to them, saluted Aragorn. "We've found the tracks of two Men heading westward, Dunadan." he reported. "one following the other at some distance. It must be the Lord Boromir and his nephew."

"But why would they be heading west?" Pippin wondered. "The Wolf-lord is in the north - isn't he?"

"Perhaps not." Aragorn said slowly. "I do not understand...." he looked worried. And that worried Pippin. ***********************************************

Aragorn was worried. He had read the depths of Boromir's determination, and his commitment to his chosen fate. He knew only too well his friend would not try to run away from it now. Fortunately he, Aragorn, had the means at hand to establish exactly where Boromir was now and where he was heading.

Nearly twenty years ago he had had a palantir, the Orthanc stone, brought north and installed in the topmost chamber of Elendil's Tower at Fornost so he and his young cousin and viceregent could keep in contact and watch over the lands they governed.

Taking Faramir, Legolas, Gimli and the Hobbits he rode quickly back to the city, arriving late that evening, and led them up the long winding stairs to the Chamber of the Stone.

The black globe of the Palantir was set upon a plinth of fluted white stone, at eye level for a tall Man, beneath a high dome. Wide windows looked north, south, east and west inset with devices of colored glass. Lamps of crystal and fretted steel lit the chamber which was empty save for the seeing stone on its pillar and a stone seat set against the south wall.

Aragorn went to the palantir and looked into it, almost immediately locating two small figures moving swiftly not towards Fornost but the road some distance south of the city. "I see them." he said aloud for the benefit of his companions. "They are together now, safe and sound, making for the road."

He heard Faramir's sigh of relief. "But why?" Pippin wanted to know. "Why isn't he heading north towards Draugoth? Has he changed his mind?"

Aragorn turned his sight further west and south and saw what he had feared; pale wolf wraiths running in pack around the great, brindled grey bulk of Draugoth himself. "No, Boromir has not changed his mind. The Wolf-lord goes south and he goes to meet him."

"What? Why? and how could Boromir have known?" that was Gimli.

"How our friend guessed or forsaw this I cannot say. As for why the Wolf-lord runs south...I fear he is making for the Shire."

"The Shire!" Merry and Pippin chorused in alarm.

"Surely not." Faramir protested. "He must be headed for Annuminas."

"No." Aragorn said flatly. "His course is too easterly. His goal is the Old Forest and the borders of the Shire." he cast his gaze ahead and his heart chilled as he saw black smoke rising from the fringes of Buckland.

His face must have changed for Merry said in alarm: "Strider, what is it? what do you see."

He willed the image closer and was somewhat reassured. "The hedge has been fired. It is nothing but a tangle of blackened limbs." he heard the Hobbits gasp. "A great swath of the Forest behind it has been burnt as well. Buckland itself is untouched but they are preparing for further attacks. Ranks of archers are lined up all along the eastern border. I see Sam moving among them, and Mistress Estella and Lady Took as well."

"At least she's safe." Merry muttered. "Strider, I've got to get home!"

"Indeed you must." Aragorn agreed. "And I will come with you."

"What about Boromir and Arandil?" Pippin wanted to know.

"We may catch up to them on the road, though they have the lead of us. But it matters not, they too are heading for the Shire we are certain to meet them there."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Gimli demanded.

Aragorn looked up from the stone with a wry smile. "I have not slept for two nights, my friend," he reminded gently. "The Wolf-lord cannot travel by day. We can afford to wait until morning to follow him." looked at the anxious Hobbits. "We will get there before Draugoth does, I promise you."

After a grim morning riding at the head of a column of four hundred armed Hobbits towards the haze of black smoke hanging over Buckland Sam was vastly relieved to find it was only the Hedge and the Old Forest that had burned.

Estella was there to greet him at the west door of the Hall, still grey faced and shaken from the battle the night before.

"Merry said to fire the Hedge as a last resort, if things got entirely out of hand." she explained. "Which they did. The trees were breaking through and we could see other things behind them - " she was shivering convulsively, close to tears. "The Hay burned like it'd been doused with oil, flames shooting up dozens of feet up into the air, and then the trees caught and they flailed around burning and screaming. Awful thin, high screams all night long...it was horrible."

Sam put a comforting arm around her. "You saved Buckland, Estella. Merry will be so proud."

"Where is he Sam? Why doesn't he come home?" she demanded, dashing tears away.

"I'm sure he's doing his best to get back." he soothed. "But it's not just the Shire, Estella, there's trouble all over the Kingdom - that's why Merry and Pippin went north with Aragorn in the first place, to try to track down who's behind it all."

The Mistress of Buckland pulled out a handkerchief and blew her nose. "Well I wish they'd find the answer and come home!"

"Me too!" Sam agreed fervently. "But until they do it's up to us to see to the safety of Buckland and the Shire."

The muster of Tookland arrived later that day, led by the Thain's Lady. Diamond Took listened fascinated to her cousin's account of the night battle.

"Well done, Estella! It must have been exciting."

"It was awful." Mistress Brandybuck corrected. But the horrors of the night had begun to fade as the day advanced and Sam could see she was pleased by Diamond's admiration.

"The most exciting thing that's ever happened in the Shire and I missed it!" Pippin's wife mourned.

"I wouldn't worry about it," Sam said drily, "there's likely to be more excitment tonight."

Diamond's face brightened. "You think so?'

Sam rolled his eyes.

With the Hedge gone there was nothing between Buckland and whatever might be lurking in the depth of the Forest. The Mayor set his little army of Hobbits to digging a long ditch parallel to the line of the Hedge with a breastwork of sod and wooden palings behind it. He wanted his archers to have some cover to shoot from. By evening all was ready.

The Shire Muster spent a tense night behind their little fortification, listening to strange noises floating from deep inside the Old Forest but nothing else emerged. Diamond was bitterly disappointed. Estella hopeful.

"Maybe it's all over."

But Sam shook his head. "No. Something is coming, I can feel it." and both women looked at him uneasily.

The Hobbits spent the next day strengthening their defenses; deepening the ditch and planting rows of sharpened stakes along its bottom, and building a second, higher breastwork behind the first to shield double ranks of archers.

There was some grumbling, Hobbits are hopeful by nature and Estella wasn't the only one who wanted to believe the danger was past. But Sam's authority as Mayor and his reputation as one of the three heroes of the War of the Ring was enough to stifle any protest.

He was helping deepen the the ditch near Crickhollow when Merry's little Boromir came trotting up on his father's pony to announce his namesake was at the Hall.

"What about your father and Uncle Pippin?" Sam demanded shrugging back into his waistcoat and jacket.

"Just Mr. Boromir." the youngster replied. "Oh, and Arandil too."

Shaking his head Sam climbed up on the pony and rode back to the Hall with the child perched behind him.

"Where are Merry and Pippin?" was the first thing out of his mouth when he met Boromir on the lawn in front of Brandy Hall's east door.

"Not far behind I would guess." the Man replied with a smile that faded quickly. "Sam, has there been any sign of wolves?"

"Not last night. Estella?"

The Mistress of Buckland shook her head. "No. There were things behind the trees but no wolves."

Boromir closed his eyes in relief. "I'm in time then. Sam, Draugoth is coming."

"Here?" Sam asked incredulously. "Good heavens why?"

"For revenge," the Man replied grimly. "on all Halflings but most especially on you, Ringbearer."

"Me?" Sam shook his head in disbelief. "Well if that doesn't beat all!"

Estella looked from one companion to the other, confused but not liking what she was hearing. "Who's this Draugoth and what's he got against Sam?"

"It's a long story, my Lady, but I promise he will come nowhere near Sam nor any of you if I can help it." Boromir assured her.

"We're not exactly unprepared." the Mayor reminded them both. "Anybody or anything that tries to get into the Shire is going to have one hell of a fight on its hands - or paws!" It was late afternoon, with the sun low above the western hills, when the Mayor brought the two Men out to see his defenses. Boromir surveyed the ditch and breastworks and nodded approval. "Very good, Sam. I'm really impressed."

"You don't go through battle and death like I did without learning something about fighting." the Hobbit allowed, looking pleased. "It's not exactly the walls of Minas Tirith but it should do for wolves, or even wolf wraiths."

"Indeed. Remember, they don't like light."

Sam snapped his fingers. "Bonfires! I knew I was forgetting something."

"If I am lucky all these preparation may prove unecessary." Boromir said quietly, eyes on the burnt verges of the Forest. "If not, Aragorn cannot be far behind. He'll know what to do." looked down. "Sam, say good-bye to Merry and Pippin for me - and tell them I'm sorry."

Sam looked steadily up at the Man for a long moment, then swallowed and nodded. "I will. Good luck."

"Uncle -" Arandil began a little desperately.

Boromir turned on him, eyes flashing. "Don't try to stop me!" he warned, "this is what I came for, what I must do." then his face softened and he pulled the younger man into a kinsman's embrace. "I am glad to have met you, nephew. Take care of your father for me."

Speechless and in tears Arandil could only nod.

Boromir released him, turned and leaping the ditch passed quickly through the burned stumps of the hedge and into the Forest.

Aragorn opened his eyes an hour or so before dawn, lit the candle by his bed and was astonished to see the Master of Buckland curled up in a chair near the empty fireplace.

"Merry?"

The Hobbit woke with a little start, yawned and stretched. "'Morning, Strider."

"What are you doing here?"

"I came in last night," Merry admitted a little shamefacedly. "I wanted to talk to you - but I couldn't bring myself to wake you up."

"Thank you." Aragorn shook his head mentally. He must have been more weary than he had thought to sleep through even a soft footed Hobbit's intrusion into his chamber. But then Merry's was a familiar and trusted presence. "Draugoth cannot travel by day." he reminded him gently. "We will get there first, Merry."

"I know." the Hobbit sighed. "I guess I'm just feeling guilty. I should have gone back to Buckland like you wanted me to. If I'd known this was going to happen -"

"I'd have made you go back!" Aragorn finished for him, smiling. "But we didn't know and there were good reasons, at the time, for the choices we made."

"Boromir." Merry agreed dejectedly, then brightened. "If we get there before Draugoth we can still save him!" **********************************************

They rode out of Fornost in the cool grey dawn, the white rim of the sun just showing above the eastern mountains. The five companions, Faramir, and fifteen of the twenty knights from Amon Sul. Two were dead, fallen in defense of their King at Caur Amrun, and three more too sorely wounded to travel.

They got news of Boromir, and Arandil, at the first post house. "I let them take horses from the stable." the keeper admitted. "I hope that was not wrong, Dunadan?"

"No it is well." Aragorn reassured him, reflecting that in his current mood Boromir would likely have stolen the horses had they not been offered.

"And my son was with him?" Faramir asked urgently.

"He was accompanied by a young Man, enough like to be close kin." the keeper answered.

Faramir and the Hobbits all sighed in relief. "Well at least Boromir's got somebody responsible to look after him." said Pippin.

Arandil had shown considerable ingenuity and a determination to match his uncle's but Aragorn didn't believe for a moment the boy would be able to turn Boromir from his purpose. He doubted any of them could - and was uncertain if they should even try. Much as it went against the grain to let him go unhindered to probable death.

They travelled at post riders' speed with only brief stops to change horses, but this time the Hobbits made no complaint even jokingly. Both grew more and more tense as they neared the Shire, fearful of what they might find.

The company reached Bree by mid-afternoon to find it ringed by burning heaps of old bones and white rags, Barrow Wight remains, tended by weary looking Men and Hobbits.

"It was bad night, Strider." Beomann Butterbur confided over a hurried meal at the Pony. "The worst we've seen since the war. But the wall kept them out."

"Not just the wall I think." Aragorn smiled.

The Sheriff grinned wearily in return. "The wall *and* the stout hearted Breefolk behind it." he agreed. "Herself arrived just before dawn and scattered them. She's out on the Downs now digging out any who got away."

"I remember how Lightfoot* feels about Barrow Wights." Pippin said between gulps of good Bree beer. "She'll get rid of them for good if she can."

"Any news of the Shire?" Merry asked anxiously.

Beomann looked troubled. "I'm sorry, Master Merry, no. We saw the smoke yesterday morning but we've been too busy with our own troubles to find out what's happening on the other side of the Old Forest." tried to smile encouragingly at the Hobbits. "Judging by our Little Folk here though I'd guess the Shire's giving a good account of itself." ************************************************

They rode into Buckland at sundown. The Hay Gate was gone of course, along with the High Hay itself, but the Hobbits stationed at that end of Sam's ditch gave their Master and his companions a warm welcome.

The company rode slowly down the line of the fortification until they encountered Sam confering with Estella and Diamond. The former promptly threw herself into her husband's arms with a glad cry of "Merry!" gave him a resounding kiss, then pulled away to demand: "What took you so long?"

"Blame me, Mistress Brandybuck, I would not let him come before." Aragorn told her while Merry was still gulping for excuses. "We needed his help at Fornost." turned to Sam. "Have you seen Boromir?"

"Yes." was the quiet answer. "He rode in this afternoon. He went into the Forest an hour or so ago."

"What! Sam, why did you let him?" Pippin cried.

Samwise Gamgee didn't explode often but when he did it was enough to take away the breath, and the nerve, of the hardiest Hobbit. "Why did I let Mr. Frodo walk into Mordor in spite of spiders and Orcs and what all?" he shouted. "Because that was what he had to do!" his companions stared and he continued more calmly. "It's the same for Boromir. I didn't want him to go but he's got to, so I let him. Just like with Mr. Frodo."

"I fear Sam is right." Aragorn said heavily after a moment of silence. "We must let Boromir go - as we let Frodo go all those years ago."

'But not alone.' Pippin said to himself. And turning, walked away from the argument.

"Where do you think you're going, Peregrine Took?" his wife demanded, trotting to catch up.

"Into the Old Forest after Boromir."

"All right." Diamond unslung her bow and checked her quiver to see it was full of arrows. "Let's go."

"No." he stopped blocking her path. "Sorry, sweetheart, not both of us."

She stamped her foot. "Peregrine Took! you've already gone off without me once, if you think I'm going to let you do it again -"

"Who's to look after our Tooklanders if we both disappear?" her husband interupted.

That stopped her. "Nothing happened last night, who says anything will happen tonight." she argued weakly.

"Me." Pippin answered with certainty. "I can guarentee you something's going to happen, and we can't leave our people to face it without the Took or his Lady to lead them."

She hesitated. "Boromir is my friend so I'm the one who's got to go," Pippin told her gently. "which means you've got to be the one to stay."

Diamond swallowed. "There'd just better be trouble tonight, or you'll be sorry Peregrine Took!" she warned, a little huskily.

"There will be. Keep your eyes open and your bow handy." he leaned forward to kiss her. "Good luck, sweetheart."

"You too, Pip dear." ********************************************** * 'Lightfoot' is the Lady Aranel's Ranger name.

Boromir had intended to make for Bonfire Glade, where Merry had first found him, not wanting to fight hemmed in by the unfriendly trees. But the glade seemed to have disappeared - at least he could not find it - instead the winding paths led him deeper into the Forest. No question but he was being herded.

The brooding trees extruded a menace that reminded him of his forays across the Anduin into the territory of Mordor, but he had long ago learned how to cope with such oppressive atmospheres and the nagging fears they bred. If the trees were trying to goad him into panic they would fail. Still the effort of resisting was a drain on his strength he could ill afford, and it was growing very dark. What little light might have lingered in the evening sky cut off by the forest canopy.

He took out Frodo's phial. It glimmered softly in his hand, like a star through cloud, then its light began to grow, clear and white, dispelling gloom and fear. The Ringbearer's gift imbued with his courage and his strength. Boromir smiled, for he could feel Frodo's presence in the light almost as if his friend were there holding him by the hand.

The trees seemed to shrink from the bright rays giving him more space. Looking around he saw three paths forking off the one he had been following. Impulsively he turned onto the track leading northward. Soon it began to climb, winding round and round a hill. The trees thinned then vanished and he found himself standing on a bare eminence just above the Forest canopy.

Looking westward he could see a line of red bonfires marking Sam's defenses. Far to the east, beyond the eaves of the Forest, more fires burned dotting the Barrow Downs. Of the Wolf-lord there was as yet no sign, though Boromir knew he was close - it would be very soon now. ********************************************** A star of white light blossomed eastward over the Forest, hovering stationary just above the trees.

"What's that?" Merry wondered.

Aragorn shook his head, but Sam knew. "It's Mr. Frodo's glass." he breathed. "I'd know that light anywhere," looked hopefully up at the King. "It couldn't be Mr. Frodo himself could it?"

"I don't think so, Sam," Aragorn replied quietly. "he must have given the Phial to Boromir."

"At least we know he's still alive." Merry sighed, looked around. "Where'd Pip go?"

"Down the line with Diamond to join their Tooklanders." Estella answered.

Suddenly one of Aragorn's knights uttered a sharp warning: "Dunadan!"

It took the Hobbits another few seconds to spot what the sharper eyes of the Ranger had seen; grey forms flowing from the verges of the Forest and over the burnt trunks and limbs of the Hedge towards the line of defenders.

"Estella, get back." Merry ordered drawing his sword. His wife hesitated.

"My Lady, you'll be needed at the hollow to deal with the wounded." Arandil reminded her.

She sighed. "Be careful, Merry." and went.

"Good thinking." the Master told Arandil.

The youngster grinned a little. "I spent most of the afternoon rolling bandages for your Lady."

"Archers ready!" Sam shouted. The first line of Hobbit bowmen nocked their arrows. "Draw!" took aim at the oncoming foe. "Fire!"

Short, grey feathered shafts powdered the wolves. Dropping some and wounding others who continued on dispite the arrows protruding from their bodies.

Calmly Sam ordered the second rank of archers to "Draw" and "Fire". More wolves fell, but by now the survivors had reached the ditch. Not all jumped it successfully, some fell short and were impaled on the stakes, but many made it to the other side to scrabble, snarling, over the little wall of sod and wood that protected the defenders.

"Elendil!" Aragorn shoved Sam out of the way to cut down a wolf who had gained the top of the beastwork in front of them. As other wolves came over barrier the King's knights moved quickly to aid of the lightly armed Hobbits.

"Spread out!" Aragorn ordered his Men, "See to the rest of the line." but he himself, and Faramir, Arandil, Legolas and Gimli remained at the center near Sam and Merry.

There were no more volleys, there wasn't time, the Hobbit archers fired at will doing their best to fell the wolves before they reached the breastworks. Those who survived the arrows faced Sting or Anduril, Gimli's axe or Legolas' knives or the bright swords of Merry, Faramir and Arandil. Yet they kept coming.

Looking up Merry saw the light still shining white and serene above the Forest and wondered how it was going with Boromir.

Boromir put Frodo's Phial carefully on the ground, sheltered by a slight hummock, slid his round Rohirric shield onto his left arm and drew his sword. Within moments the first of the wolves appeared.

The wraiths showed pallid and insubstantial in the clear light of the Phial but not all were wraiths: Giant Mountain Wargs, big as ponies, and White Wolves of the far north with glaring ice blue eyes also appeared at the edge of the ring of light. But none dared come closer, they growled their malice and their menace and ran on towards the Shire.

He let them go, they were for Sam to deal with, his business was with their master. And suddenly there he was, Draugoth, a great brindled grey wolf standing nearly as tall as a Man on his four legs. Eyes shining red as flame, foam dripping from his massive jaws.

Boromir raised his sword in salute, pulse quickening but not with fear. He could never again feel sure of his strength or his honor, but his skill at arms he still trusted and that was all that was required of him now.

For a moment they faced each other, Man and werewolf, then Draugoth sprang. Boromir sidestepped and swung his sword two handed. The edge turned on the Wolf-lord's ribs but left an ugly gash, spattering the Man with hot blood.

The werewolf snarled, twisted round to attack again. Boromir blocked the gaping jaws open with his shield but Draugoth bit down, crushing it, and closed his teeth around the Man's left arm and shoulder.

Boromir ignored the stabbing pain as the great fangs pierced his mail, trying to bring his sword in line for a jab at throat or eye. So intent he barely heard a loud cry that might have been his own name.

Suddenly Draugoth dropped him. He rolled quickly clear, looked back in time to see the Wolf-lord send a small figure flying with one swipe of his great paw.

"Pippin!" white hot fury exploded in Boromir and he charged. Draugoth reared up, towering over him, and the Man, seeing his chance, thrust his sword deep into the massive chest.

Gouts of blood burst from wound and slavering jaws and the great body crashed down, right on top of his slayer. Nearly crushed by the dead weight and drenched in the werewolf's dying blood Boromir struggled to free himself, managed at last to shove aside the massive body and stagger to his feet.

Only to see a small, huddled form unmoving on the ground. "Pippin.... Oh no, please no." with shaking hands he turned the Hobbit over.

Blue eyes popped open. "Is it dead?"

The Man gave a gasp that turned into a sob and hugged his small friend to his heart.

"Boromir," Pippin wheezed, "Boromir, I can't breath."

The Man released him, struggling to master his tears. "You frightened me half to death, Little One."

Pippin's eyes were also suspiciously bright. "Serves you right," he choked, "the way you've been frightening us!"

Boromir pushed back sweat and blood matted hair with both hands. "Are you all right?"

"I think so, barring a few bumps and bruises." the Hobbit's face broke into a triumphant grin. "You're still alive."

"So I am." Boromir felt too weary, and too relieved, to wrestle with that problem just now.

"I knew it! I knew it!" Pippin chortled slapping the ground. "Old Tom said Men and Hobbits could change their fates and we did it!" glee gave way to concern as he gazed up at his friend. "Are *you* all right?"

"I've damaged my shield arm again it would seem." Boromir answered, wincing. "But other than that I'm sound enough."

"You look a mess." Pippin told him frankly.

The Man glanced ruefully down at his blood drenched arms and surcoat. "No doubt."

"Boromir!" the impact of a small, hurtling body nearly knocked him sprawling. It was Merry of course, tears running down his face. "Look at you, you're covered in blood - Strider, come quick!"

"I'm all right, it is Draugoth's blood." Boromir assured him as the King came to kneel beside them.

"Not all." Aragorn said grimly, inspecting shoulder and shield arm. "Fangs have penetrated here."

"Yes, I was forgetting." looking over the King's bent head Boromir saw his brother watching them anxiously, Arandil staring in awe at the werewolf's gigantic body, Gimli and Legolas warily eying the darkness beyond the sphere of light, and Sam bending to pick up the Phial.

The light brightened until it looked as if he was holding a little star in his hand. Sparkling tears left tracks on his dirty face as he stared down at it whispering softly. "Frodo. Oh, Mr. Frodo."

"You see I wasn't alone." Boromir told him gently.

"Can he feel us too?" Sam asked. "Does he know we're thinking about him?"

"I don't know, Sam, Maybe. Perhaps you should keep the Phial now. Frodo left you all his other things."

Sam gave the little diamond bottle a longing look but shook his head. "No. He gave it to you, Boromir. You needed it tonight, maybe you'll need it again someday." and handed it back.

Boromir took it wondering if he would, and just how long he was going to be allowed to stay in Middle Earth.

"You have forgotten our bargain." the Voice was not reproachful - more resigned, perhaps even a little amused.

"I fear that I have." Boromir admitted. "I'm sorry."

"You have made your atonement - and survived it! -" the Voice scolded. "Now it is time for you to be about My work."

Slowly, "I remember now. It still seems too much like a reward."

"Olorin would not agree with you, nor would my vice-regents in Arda, with some justice." Now the Voice sounded sad. "You have earned peace, son, and I am sending you back to sorrow and strife."

"Such is the life of Men, the only life I have ever known. It does not frighten me. Though I could wish You had chosen a stronger one for Your emissary."

"You expected too much of yourself." now the Voice sounded almost impatient. "That was your father's failing as well, a pride that demanded more than any Man can give." kindly: "I expect much of my Younger Children, no less than the renewal of Arda itself, but that is not to say you may never put a foot wrong. If you see your errors and amend them I am satisfied."

"I fear there will be many more mistakes for You to forgive, but I will do my best."

"I know you will - and it will be enough." ************************************************

Boromir woke in one of the little bedrooms of the house at Crickhollow looking up at a too low ceiling, vaulted in imitation of a Hobbit hole, with a nagging ache in his shield arm. This time it was the small bones of the shoulder that were broken. Still it could have been much worse. If Pippin had not interfered he, Boromir, undoubtedly would have died. Though hopefully not without taking Draugoth with him.

It seemed he was going to be staying in Middle Earth a while yet, perhaps quite a while. The prospect was far from unwelcome but returning to life after being dead twenty years was bound to cause difficulties. He had no idea what he was going to do - but didn't doubt that his friends would be overflowing with suggestions.

Most of his clothes had been ruined by the werewolf's blood but shirt and breeches had proved salvageable. He donned them and went out to look for his companions.

He found them enjoying a picnic meal on the lawn: Merry and Pippin and Sam, Mistress Estella, two attractive Hobbit ladies Boromir didn't recognize, his brother and nephew, Gimli and Legolas and Aragorn.

"There you are at last!" Merry greeted him. "You've practically slept the clock round, my friend, we were begining to wonder if we should wake you."

"I had a long day." Boromir answered, sitting on the grass between Merry and Aragorn. Looked at the array of food laid out on checked and striped cloths. "Is this afternoon tea or dinner?"

"More a combined lunch-tea-dinner." Pippin admitted. "We just woke up a few hours ago ourselves."

"Yesterday was a hard day, after some few hard weeks, for us all." said Aragorn.

"You can say that again!" Pippin agreed. "I don't think I've travelled and fought so much since the War." glanced at the pretty, fair haired Hobbit woman beside him. "Even Diamond's had enough excitement to suit her."

"Maybe a little too much, even for me." she conceeded ruefully, then broke into a pixie grin. "Still, I wouldn't have missed it for anything!"

"Pippin said his wife was a lady of spirit and courage." Boromir observed with a bow in her direction.

"I'm sure he said nothing of the kind." Diamond retorted cheerfully. "but Estella said you were a right charmer and clearly that's true enough!"

"Men have very nice manners." the Hobbit woman next to Sam, Mistress Gamgee presumably, agreed. "I noticed it at Annuminas."

"Pity they aren't catching." from Estella.

"There you go again, making us look bad!" Merry scolded.

"I'm just glad he's here to do it." said Pippin. "Looks like old Gandalf was wrong for once."

Boromir shook his head. "Mithrandir predicted I would die in battle, and so I will - someday. I made the mistake of assuming he meant *this* battle with Draugoth. Though I might well have died had you not intervened, Pippin."

His friend shuddered. "I know, I saw." pulled himself together. "So what are you going to do now you've killed your werewolf?"

"I don't know." Boromir admitted, looked questioningly at his King.

But it was Faramir who answered. "You are coming home with me of course."

Boromir knew the sudden surge of longing for his city showed on his face but said quietly; "I am not sure that is a good idea, Brother." "Why not?" his nephew wanted to know, clearly astonished.

"I was the elder and the heir." Boromir reminded him. "That could cause difficulties for your father."

"It is my right to name whomsoever I please as my Steward," Aragorn said mildly, "and I am quite satisfied with the one I have."

Boromir smiled at him. "I am glad to hear it." to Faramir. "I was trained as a captain of war - I wouldn't know how to govern a land at peace."

"You will learn." said the King. "As it happens I have need of a Steward here in the north for my city of Annuminas and the Royal Domains.* My grandmother, who holds them for me, begins to feel her age and would welcome assistance."

"She's one hundred and ninety-six years old!" Pippin put in, wide eyed.

Boromir was equally impressed. "A very venerable lady!" In the south the Dunedain's span had shrunk to little more than that of other Men. It would seem the Numenorean blood ran truer here in the North.

"She doesn't look much older than Strider." the Thain continued. "Of course he's nearly a hundred himself. Rangers live a very long time."

Boromir looked at his King in surprise. He had realized Aragorn was considerably older than himself but so much as that?

"I told you I was older than I looked." the King reminded him mildly.

"Boromir must come home with me first." Faramir insisted. "He must see Minas Anor for himself." smiled at his brother's questioning look. "Yes we have taken back the old name. I want you to meet your other nephews and your niece. And there is at least one other who will be glad to see you again."

For a moment Boromir couldn't think what his brother was talking about, then he remembered: Idril. his little foster sister who Faramir claimed was in love with him - though Boromir wasn't sure he believed that. And if it did prove to be true he had no idea what he was going to do about it.

"And you must see Moria restored to her glory." Gimli said enthusiastically, interupting his thoughts. "and my realm of the Glittering Caves."

"And my fair forests of Ithilien." added Legolas.

"The great southern road has been rebuilt since you followed it north to Rivendell," said Aragorn, "and the cities of Cardol and Tharbad."

They were all smiling and Boromir found himself grinning in return. "Clearly there is much for me to see and a great deal of catching up to be done." ***********************************************

* These are the ancient Principalities of Dor-Lomin, (the Evendim Hills) and Dunhirion, (the land between the Brandywine and the southern Ered Luin, including the Shire).

"Boromir."

Obediently he urged his horse forward to ride beside his King. Aragorn looked at him. "So, you believe you were not meant to be a member of our Fellowship?"

Boromir smiled. "You've been talking to my brother." the King didn't smile back and he continued more seriously. "The dream came many times to Faramir but only once to me. He was meant to go, not I. No doubt that is why I brought nothing but ill fortune on the Fellowship."

Aragorn's expression was at once appalled and exasperated a look Boromir had never seen on his King's face before, or anyone else's for that matter. It took Aragorn several moments to decide on an answer.

"Boromir, when do you think we first realized the Ring was affecting you?"

He considered. " After Lorien. The Lady Galadriel saw it I know."

But Aragorn shook his head. "You're wrong, my friend. Gandalf, Elrond and even I saw it as far back as Rivendell."

Boromir stared. "Then why -?"

"Why did we accept you into the Fellowship?" Aragorn smiled, a little grimly. "Because we also forsaw, all three of us, that the quest would fail were you *not* a member of the Company."

"But you were wrong, the quest nearly failed because of me!" Heads turned up and down the line of horsemen and Boromir flushed in embarrassment.

"No." The King answered calmly. "Had Frodo not fled from you he, and the Ring, would have been taken by Saruman's Uruks."

"So I have been told, many times." Boromir said impatiently. "Yet surely the same result could have been achieved with less danger. What if Frodo had not escaped me?"

"And now we come to the heart of the matter." said Aragorn. "How did Frodo escape you, Boromir?"

"He put on the Ring and fled." the other man answered warily.

"I had no difficulty tracking Frodo to Amon Hen. You have more than enough skill to have done the same -but did not. Why?"

"With the Ring at a distance its influence lessened, I came to my senses."

"No, Boromir. That is not the way it works." the King frowned. "Can it be you still do not understand?"

"Understand what?" the other Man asked helplessly.

"That the One Ring had a will of its own and that will was working on us all from the moment the Fellowship set out." Aragorn answered quietly. "I felt it, and Gandalf, and Legolas. By the time we reached Parth Galen it was troubling Gimli and even the young Hobbits." *

"But it was I who succumbed." said Boromir.

"Say rather you were the first. It would have destroyed us all in the end." the King sighed. "That is why I let Frodo go, I realized I could no longer answer even for myself." looked piercingly at the other Man. "But had you not been slain I'd have sent you after him."

Boromir could only gape.

"Sam's humility and his love for Frodo saved him in the end," Aragorn continued. "but of all the Fellowship only you were proof against the Ring's power."

"Aragorn, I was the last who could be trusted! You know what happened." Boromir sputtered.

"Yes, but I don't think you do." The King's steady regard was becoming unnerving. "The Ring's power did not lessen, Boromir, you broke free of it. A great deed, I have never heard of the like. The call was meant for you and none other. Faramir could not have done what you did; first frighten the Ringbearer into flight, just in time to save the Ring from Saruman, and then free himself from the Ring's spell so Frodo could go safely."

Suddenly Aragorn smiled, the smile that was like the sun breaking through clouds. "The only thing you did ill was get yourself killed, but I forgive you for that."

"Thank you!" Boromir managed, head whirling. He seemed to remember Gandalf saying much the same, but somehow it seemed more convincing coming from Aragorn. Could his weakness have been a necessary part of the pattern after all? *************************************************

* Gimli and the Hobbits would have been the most resistant. The Dwarf because his people were bred to be proof against outside influences. And the young Hobbits were protected by their innocence and lack of ambition.