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I did not feel dread, but neither did I feel gladness when I woke this morn. Today at dusk we depart from Rivendell to start our quest, and while I am ready to begin, still I have doubts about what is to come. The journey shall be filled with danger; already the Wild is an unhappy place, and with the Ring in our midst, I fear it shall only be worse.
And the road ahead is the least of my worries. While I admit it to none save Gandalf, I am afraid of the reception I may receive in Minas Tirith. Denethor was well-loved by the people when I lived in the City, and I feel that his sons are the same. How will they take to a stranger emerging from the shadows?
I glance across the table at Denethor's eldest, whom is deep within his own thoughts. I imagine this will be the last meal he has in Rivendell, for after he returns to Gondor there will be no need for him to return here again. I know he misses Minas Tirith greatly and is probably the most eager of us to set out from Imladris. He will aid the Fellowship in their quest for most of the road, but he has a bright destination at the end of his journey.
And I? Who knows where my ending will be. The brightest is still far away, out of my reach. Even as I approach it, it eludes me. I may be closer than I have ever been before, but there is still a long way to go before I see it.
I leave the table and make my way to my room to grab my few supplies. On the way out of my chambers I meet Boromir. After a nod of acknowledgment, we quietly walk outside to the front of the Last Homely House.
We are alone for now, but say naught to one another. The nod seemed enough for him, and for me. While we are not friends as of yet, we are going to be companions for many weeks to come and are at peace with that fact.
No, we are not yet close, but perhaps by the end of the journey, we will be.
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