Well, I'm back, and the first update didn't take me as long as I thought it would (which isn't to say that it wasn't worked and re-worked until I was mostely satisfied with it. I'm still working out some details, so please be patient). I hope everyone received their responses.

In this chapter, you meet the rest of the cast (most of them.. .I'll have a few coming in later stories). A quick note about the last section. Boromir is probably a little out of character, but it's like this. . .imagine someone being woken up before they're ready, and really having no desire to go anywhere or do anything, but sleep. Plus, I really don't see him forgiving himself so easily, no matter what Aragorn says.

On with the story!

Chapter One

In Dreams

She felt dirty. So dirty. And not even her two previous showers could erase that. Nearly ten years, she had been a cop. In that time, there were times when Detective Megan Rafferty found it necessary to fire a weapon. She also, on occasion, found it necessary to kill. The latter was hard enough. But never before had she felt so dirty. And no matter how many times she told herself that the truly dirty one, the murderer, the pervert, was behind bars tonight, it wasn't enough. There were some things that no one should see. No human being, whether they were a civilian, a police officer, or a soldier. No one should see such things.

Water pelted her vulnerable skin, and she shuddered. The poor girl was still alive while he did. . .did those things to her. Megan could see it in the terror in her still-staring eyes. She saw it in the blood that dripped down her body. And she was so young. The same age as Megan's little sister. No more than nineteen or twenty. Twenty-one at most. She had brown eyes, just like Kristin. Long, straight black hair. . .just like Kristin. And before getting into the shower, Megan called her sister. . .just to hear her voice. Just to make sure her baby sister was all right. She was twelve years old when her parents adopted the ten-month-old Korean orphan, and from that moment on, Megan was Kristin's protector in all the ways imaginable.

Kristin was fine. Exhausted, but she was a pre-med student. She expected that. And instead of teasing her older sister about her over-protective nature, Kristin remained silent as Megan rambled about making sure she was alright and needing to hear her voice. Maybe Megan's partner, Elena, called her first. Maybe Kristin heard the horror in Megan's tone. The older sister didn't know. And maybe, she didn't really care. She was just grateful that for the first time since she reached the age of sixteen, Kristin accepted her protective nature.

The water rinsed away the body wash that Megan applied to her skin mechanically. For once, the smell of honeysuckle couldn't make her smile. For once, she couldn't call passages from Anne Rice's books to mind by the smell of her body wash. The horror was still too fresh, and Megan wasn't sure if she could ever smile again. It felt like she was violating that poor girl, just by being alive. She said as much to Captain Anders, who told her to take a few days off. She and Elena both. They needed time off, and they would have access to counseling. Things like that. . .they didn't happen in a place like Campbell. It had its share of problems. Drugs, gangs, robberies. . .even the occasional murder. But not this. Never like this.

Campbell, North Carolina was a town of about ten thousand people, located about halfway between Fayetteville and the state capital of Raleigh. On a good day, it took roughly forty-five minutes to reach either city. There were some potteries in the area, but there were far more in other parts of the state. Fayetteville had the two military bases, Fort Bragg Army Base and Pope Air Force Base. Raleigh was the capital. There were the golf courses in the ritzier part of Moore County, which was located about forty-five minutes west of Campbell. All in all, it was just a nice town. They had two cinemas, a nice-sized shopping mall, one or two museums, plus the local college (to be distinguished from Campbell University, which was in another county entirely). It wasn't anything special, but the people of Campbell liked it that way. Not every place could be special, after all. And not being special was special, in a way.

About half of the residents came from outside the state of North Carolina. Megan and Kristin both grew up here, as did Elena. Their captain, Lydia Anders, actually grew up in New Jersey. A popular rumor went around that she came to North Carolina, seeking 'the simple life.' Captain Anders rolled her eyes when she heard that, muttering under her breath about stupid people. She came to NC because she was fed up with the high taxes, which were getting worse all the time. Not because she expected things to be quieter in what the Hollyweird crowd called 'flyover country.' When asked about that rumor, she said simply, 'people are people.' Yeah. People were people. Or monsters. No matter where you were.

After the captain made her suggestion (order?), Megan wanted to protest. She didn't want to take a few days off. She wanted to know why. She wanted answers from that freak. Not a term Megan used lightly, but this time, it fit. She wanted that freak to tell her why he killed Bethany Lawson. But at the same time, she was too sensible not to realize that the captain was right. There were no answers. Not for filth like this. There was another factor. Megan recognized that she would betray that poor girl if her rage prevented her from doing her job. And if Megan didn't listen to her captain, the rage would overwhelm her. So. Here she was.

Her fingers worked mechanically, soaking and then soaping her hair. As a teenager, she was told that conditioner was necessary if she washed her hair on a daily basis. She washed her hair three times now, and not once did she use conditioner. That didn't occur to her. Nor did she care. A girl was brutally murdered, and Megan was determined to make sure her murderer went to jail for a very long time. She and Elena did everything strictly by the book, much as they hated it. It was something they discussed after finding Bethany's body. They both wanted to pound the perp into mush. He wanted them to, as well. Megan could see the disappointment in his eyes when they simply arrested him, and that gave her a small bit of satisfaction. Very small.

Yes. Focus on that. Not on Bethany's poor, mutilated body. Focus on that flicker of disappointment when he realized he couldn't goad his two arresting officers into beating him within an inch of his life. Once more, she rinsed her hair, squeezing out the excess water with quick, sharp motions, then tilted her head back. Megan stood there under the spray for what could have been seconds, minutes, or hours. She would have stayed there forever, but it was getting cold. And she promised that she would call Kristin. A half-smile touched the corners of her mouth. She must have frightened Kristin. Her little sister demanded that she call again in a few hours. If that was true, if she frightened Kristin, she would apologize.

The water was turned off, though when she found herself outside the tub, with a towel wrapped around her chest, Megan couldn't remember turning off the water. . .or stepping out of the tub. . . or even reaching for the towel. She shook herself. Dammitall, the captain was right. If she couldn't track what she was doing when she was simply getting out of the shower, then she had no business being out on the streets. But that knowledge hurt. It felt like she was letting him win. Yes, she and Elena controlled themselves and prevented an accusation of police brutality, which denied him a small win. But that wasn't good enough. It didn't make Bethany Lawson any less dead. Nor did it dry the tears of her parents. It wasn't good enough. It wasn't nearly good enough. Megan's instincts were crying out to get back on the street and. . .

Do what, exactly? That was when her sensible side made itself known. She snorted and shook her head, disgusted with herself. What exactly would she do? Go medieval on some perp's ass? Maybe lose control when she saw someone mistreating a child? And that would help, how? It wouldn't. It would get her suspended, allow the guilty to walk on a technicality, and Elena would be without a partner. No. No, as much as she wanted to be back on the streets, she couldn't do this. Not until she had herself under control. With that resolved, she shoved her feet into the bathroom slippers that were a Christmas present from Kristin, then slipped the matching bathrobe around her shoulders.

She padded out of the bathroom, and to her phone. No messages. Thank whatever deity was out there. On this night, Megan wasn't sure if she believed in any deity. Never a devout woman, her belief in any Higher Being was shaken by what she saw tonight. What she saw tonight. . .how could any loving, merciful Being allow that to happen? Oh yes, she knew about free will, but. . .how? She closed her eyes, her jaw tightening, trying to force the image back. But it came anyhow. Not just seeing that poor girl's body, but holding her as a weeping Elena cut her down. And the smile when they caught that pile of manure. His smile. It was, as Elena said later, nearly orgasmic. Especially when he saw the blood-stains on their clothes.

Enough. Megan opened her eyes, forcing the memory back once more. It probably wouldn't stay away long, but for now, it bought her some time. And any relief was a reason to be grateful. But. . .she was a cop. She wasn't supposed to react like this. She was supposed. . . Megan shook her head, picked up the receiver, and purposefully punched in the number for her sister. It was actually Kristin's cell phone, and she was likely to get her sister's voicemail since Kristin was at the hospital tonight, as she often was when she didn't have classes early the following morning, but that wasn't the point. She was keeping a promise. Megan never broke a promise to her sister, and she would not start now. The phone rang once, twice, then. . .

"Rafferty," her sister said tersely. Megan released a faint sigh of relief, once more taking comfort in the sound of Kristin's voice, and her sister immediately said, her tone changing, "Meg? Is that you, Meggie?" Meggie. Kristin and Elena were the only people who could get away with calling her that. . .the only people her own age, at least, or younger. There wasn't much she could do about people who were the ages of her parents, after the first request to be called 'Megan' or 'Meg.' Fortunately, most people over the age of sixty tended to call her 'Meg' or 'Megan.' 'Meggie' just wasn't as prevalent.

"It's me, Kristin. I just wanted to let you know that I was alright," Megan replied, smiling a little. The police detective sat down on the sofa, tucking her legs underneath her. She made herself a little more comfortable, staring at the family portrait that hung over her entertainment center. It was actually several pictures, with the family portrait in the center, and four pictures flanking it in the corners of the frame. The photograph was taken when Kristin was three, and she sat in Megan's lap, beaming at the camera as she played with Megan's fingers. The elder sister couldn't help but smile, remembering the day that picture was taken. Kristin wore what was her favorite dress at the time. . .a little rose print smock that their mother made for her. Fifteen year old Megan, usually awkward and shy, for once looked serene and at ease, in her own white blouse and plaid skirt.

Beside them sat their mother, Ailsa. Half of her attention was on the two young girls seated beside her, and half was on the camera. But though her smile was distracted, it was also proud. Behind the davenport where the three Rafferty females were seated stood Megan's father, Francis, and he beamed at the camera. Megan's own smile brightened. That was such a good day. After Kristin was adopted, her parents often told her that they were so proud of her, of how well she took having a little sister. But Megan always wanted a little sister, and Kristin's adoption was a dream come true for her.

In each corner was a picture of the sisters' graduations. . .both high school and college. And in all four pictures, the two sisters were cheek to cheek, whether they were side by side, or Kristin was in Megan's arms. Although, admittedly, even at Megan's high school graduation, her sister was already getting too big for Megan to be picking her up and holding her on her hip. Still, she was young and strong, and didn't worry about throwing out her back by picking up her six year old sister. She was so happy, she didn't even get upset about Kristin's candy-sticky fingers in her hair. Oh, Megan adored her little sister, but that didn't mean she didn't get impatient with her. She did. But not that day. That day, she was a high school graduate, and had another great adventure ahead of her with her freshman year of college.

Kristin said softly, drawing her sister's attention back, "I'm glad. I was really worried about you. I never heard you sound like that, Meg, and it scared me." Yeah. Megan could believe that. Ever since she became a cop, she tended to protect her younger sister from the dark side of her work. Hardly necessary, since Kristin was studying to become a doctor, but Megan could no more turn off her protective impulses than Kristin could turn off her desire to heal. The younger woman went on, "Listen, Meg, you said that Captain Anders gave you a few days off. . . would you mind coming up? There. . .we. . .the hospital got a patient this evening, and. . .well, it's kinda weird. Not gruesome. Just. . .weird."

Weird how, exactly? Kristin used that word about as frequently as Megan used the word, 'freak.' Which meant. . . Well, she wouldn't jump to any conclusions. Her sister continued, "You know I've been spending time here as a volunteer, you know, to help with the patients,when I don't have classes. A guy was brought in about four hours ago. . .someone found him in the alley, and called an ambulance. So far, so good, right? Except. . . Well. . .first, the guy looks like he's a Ren Faire reject, and the next Ren Faire isn't for several months. Oh, and of course, that makes me think of you all over again. You do realize I've never forgiven you for getting me addicted to those things, right?"

Megan laughed softly at the mock-indignation in her voice, and sounding encouraged by the sound, Kristin went on, "Anyhow, so they bring him in and he's in real bad shape. We get to work, stabilizing him, but keep an eye on the wounds, for obvious reasons. I mean, I watched more than anything else, but. . . Anyhow, we think at first, he's been shot. Two problems with that. First, there's no powder residue on his clothes. Second thing is, the wounds are all wrong for a GSW. So, one of the residents says, 'I recognize these kind of wounds. They're arrow wounds.' And everyone is like, arrows? As in bow and arrows? And she goes, 'yeah, or maybe a crossbow. Somebody tried to turn this guy into a pincushion.' So, I was thinking. . ."

"Have the police up there been notified?" Megan asked, seeing exactly where her sister was heading with this request. Her mind was already working out the details. This was out of her jurisdiction, and she didn't like stepping on the toes of other departments. It was a professional courtesy, especially since she was currently on paid leave. Of course, she could go, on the grounds that she was visiting her sister. Still, it made her somewhat uncomfortable. Megan was never a maverick cop. She wasn't like Mel Gibson in the Lethal Weapon movies. On the other hand, Kristin rarely brought cases to her attention like this. . .

So when Kristin did ask for her help, she was inclined to give it in an official capacity. Or, somewhat official. She would be off-duty, and using what she learned during her years in the Society for Creative Anachronism (also known as the 'SCA'), but she was still a cop. And she would still be doing her job. Megan thought over what Captain Anders told her and Elena after she viewed Bethany Lawson's body. 'I want the two of you away from this case. In fact, you both are way overdue for some time off. Take a few days, a week. No, no arguments. Yes, we'll be short-handed, but I'm not willing to take chances like that with your lives, or the lives of anyone in this town. Our mission is to serve and protect. . .and neither of you are in any condition to do that.' Words and the spirit of the message weren't always the same, but her instincts told her that Captain Anders would be all right with this. . .she just needed a little more information, first. Megan asked her sister, repeating herself, "Have the Raleigh police been notified, before I talk to the captain about heading up there?"

"Yeah, they have. See, the thing is. . .well. . .we have no leads to give them. . .no bullet, no way of tracing whoever did this to him. That's why I thought about calling you. Sis, you're a Ren Faire freak, and still belong to the SCA. If you could just come take a look at what we've put together, maybe you can at least give the local cops a place to start. I knew you would feel uncomfortable, and I told the detective who came by the hospital that my sister was a cop in Campbell, and that you were also big into Ren Faires and old weapons. He said to come on up, if you could clear it with your captain," Kristin replied.

Megan released a breath slowly, then said, "Okay. But you realize, I'll have to bring Elena with me. I'm worried about her, and I know she'll worry about me. Besides, she knows even more about old weapons than I do." Kristin laughed, but it was true. Elena's minor in college was history. Her father had something of a museum of ancient weapons in his home, and by the time she was fifteen, Elena could correctly identify what weapon belonged to what country and in what time period. Megan wasn't nearly as adept as her partner and knew it.

"Thanks, sis. I'll see you soon. Crap. Gotta go. . .got an ambulance pulling into the bay. I love you!" And with that, Kristin was gone, leaving Megan to stare at the receiver in amazement. It would seem that she definitely shook up Kristin with her earlier call. Kristin never said 'I love you' any more. Well. . .rarely. After a moment, she shook her head. Never mind that. She had arrangements to make. And a partner to call.

Boromir wasn't allowed to rest as long as he should have been. She regretted that. He deserved far more than what she was able to give him. Her brave young warrior spent nearly five of her years in what her modern children called 'stasis,' just time enough for her to bring him back from the brink of death (they called it, 'stasis.' She called it, 'lying between two worlds. . .the world of the living and the world of the dead.'). In human terms, she still couldn't calculate how long, since she moved forward in time. It could have been fifty years for the mortals. . .it could have been one hundred. Either way, it wasn't enough time. He was still very badly injured. . . the damnable arrows had pierced several vital organs, and the final arrow came entirely too close to his valiant warrior heart. But at least now, he stood a fighting chance with modern medicine and technology.

Unfortunately, she brought him into the modern world a little ahead of schedule, because of the grievous harm done to her two of her champions. She watched over them both since they were little girls. She was there when seventeen year old Elena vowed to her weeping mother that she would become a police officer, after her grandfather was killed by murderous robbers. She was there when ten month old Kristin was placed in the arms and hearts of Francis and Ailsa Rafferty, and their twelve year old daughter. She knew them both, inside and out.

So she knew that finding that poor child's body devastated the pair. They both saw terrible things in the past, of course. They were police officers, sworn to protect and serve the people of this small city. But this was something far beyond their normal experience. In truth, it was beyond her own experience. She queried her brothers and sisters, to see if the perpetrator of this evil crime was even human. The being knew from hearing their stories about an evil man in the middle half of the twentieth century, much like Sauron of Boromir's Middle-earth.

Sauron was destroyed with the destruction of the Ring, but that wasn't the end. His evil was reborn in monsters such as Adolf Hitler, in Josef Stalin, and too many others. Because of that, the being wondered if Bethany Lawson's murderer was the modern day incarnation of the Uruk-hai, one of the demons who nearly cost her warrior his life. But no. . .he was human, though just barely. There were people like her darling warrior, those who tried their very best and stumbled, but always got up. Then there were others. Like the monster who did such terrible things to that poor child. She knew that the girl was at peace now, but. . .but she wasn't the reason why Boromir was now in the modern world.

He was there for the people who remained. People like her champions, who had their very hearts and souls torn out by this most recent circumstance. Helping him to heal would also help her champions to heal. All three of them. Oh yes, the young healer in training was among her champions. Still, she wished she could have given Boromir more time. He faced so many bewildering challenges in this strange new world. Before she allowed him to awaken, she might consider wiping his memory. Twas meant as a kindness. Without the confusing memories of the past, he would find it far simpler to join this modern world. It would depend largely on him.

Upon materializing in the present, she placed Boromir's unconscious body in an alley, where she knew where he would be found. Alleys were better for her, as they had less possibility of attracting the attention of local mortals. And she chose Raleigh because Campbell had enough problems at the moment, with Bethany Lawson's murder. The mysterious arrival of a stranger would attract far too much attention in the comparatively small town. No. No, Raleigh was much better for her purposes.

As she placed Boromir on the ground, tenderly lowering his head to the asphalt, he moaned softly in pain, a sound that made her want to weep all over again. His skin was so very pale. . .not as ashen as it was when his spirit fled his body, but also not the vibrant tone of a healthy young man. While he slept, she wondered if Aragorn could have healed him, had Boromir not stopped him. Yes, she knew the name of Boromir's king now. She had much time to listen once she placed Boromir in between worlds.

And still he slept. That was for the best, of course. The young healer in training, Kristin, had neatly folded his clothes and put them away. After seeing to the ambulance that cut off her conversation with her sister, she returned to the hospital room where Boromir lay. She checked his chart, then lightly stroked his blond hair tenderly back from his forehead, murmuring, "You're hot, whatever your name is. If worst comes to worst, and you don't remember it, we'll make one up for you. You really don't look like a John, after all. According to your chart, you're around thirty-five or forty. A little old for me, but you're still a hunk."

That, the being knew, was a compliment among young people. She was familiar enough with the terminology of this time to know that 'hottie' or 'hunk' were alternative ways to call someone handsome. And he was handsome, of course. Her new champion was considered one of the most desirable bachelors in Gondor for a multitude of reasons, not the least of which were his good looks and his status as the heir to the Steward of Gondor. Boromir spent much of his life fighting, and in truth, he had little experience dealing with women.

She had her theory about that, of course. He took delight in the tools of his trade as a soldier, while Faramir took comfort in his books. It was her belief that rather than find comfort in the arms of a woman, Boromir took comfort in his sword and the camaraderie of his fellow soldiers. . .he could trust his weapons. But with women, there was the ever-present fear that they would leave. . .that they would die. His mother died when he was barely ten years old, just a child. Which led to a question, or more appropriately, a fear. Once Boromir was stronger, what would prevent him from turning away from her champions?

The answer was there immediately. His honor. His strong need to protect others. When all was said and done, Boromir was a protector. His fierce pride and honor wouldn't allow him to turn away from her champions. Especially since he would be in their care. No. No, Boromir would remain, long after he regained his strength. Never mind that her other champions were all quite capable of taking care of themselves. They were women, and Boromir was taught since childhood to protect women.

She stifled a smile. 'Twould be interesting to see, to say the least. Kristin had more than twenty years of her sister's protectiveness, and nearly as many of Elena's. Neither Megan nor Elena were protected as Kristin was, and she believed it would be far more difficult for them to accept Boromir's protective nature. Kristin, most likely, would roll her eyes in exasperation. But in the end, she would accept it. It was entirely likely that all three would surprise her. . .they had been surprising her since the moment of their respective births.

That was, in fact, one of the reasons she loved them all so much. They were so utterly unpredictable in some ways. . .and equally predictable in others. Boromir would have his work cut out for him, if he was to protect the trinity. But she had no doubt whatsoever that he was up to the challenge. Kristin checked Boromir's vitals one last time, then left the room, her long black hair a silky rope down the middle of her back. She would be back. She would always come back. She was too much like her sister to do otherwise.

Her sister. Megan. Thirty-two years old, a cop for ten years, and a detective for the last three. While she was a young detective, only twenty-nine when she reached that rank, it was hardly unheard of. Her partner Elena was six months younger than Megan, and attained the rank of detective when she was twenty-eight. They had been partners for years, and friends even before that. While Megan was the 'oldest sister' of the trio, it was Elena who was supposedly the toughest one. A street-smart girl who was far more vulnerable than she let on. In some ways, she reminded the being of Lady Eowyn, the young shield maiden who became Boromir's sister-in-law when she married Faramir. Logically, that would leave Megan as Arwen, but the fit wasn't right. And the being knew neither was a Middle-earth reincarnation.

No, while Elena and Megan both had old souls, neither of their souls were quite that old. Arwen and Eowyn were in this time, of course. One was a doctor in the Australian military, and the other was a child's advocate in the courts, a protector and a defender of children. It was possible that Boromir would meet the reincarnation of his queen at some point, though she hoped not. For them to meet would mean. . .well, she knew it was entirely too likely. Elena and Megan often protected children who witnessed. . .or experienced. . .crimes.

The others were present as well, not all of them in the occupations one might expect. And not all of them carried the faces of their previous selves. Some did. But some carried the faces of people whom Boromir had known before, and not their souls. That fact alone caused her to fear for Boromir, for it would break his heart. He would mistake the modern-day doppelgangers for the people he had known and trusted. She could only hope that such a mistake would not cost him his life, not when she fought so hard to save it.

But that was in the future, and now, he had to recover from his devastating injuries. The doctors were still uncertain how he survived. And that would remain a mystery to them. It was unnecessary for them to know the truth. When she chose, she could be just as mysterious as young Galadriel. For now, it was enough that the sisters and Elena knew of Boromir's existence. For now, it was enough that her young Champions would soon be whole once more. She bent and lightly kissed Boromir's forehead. . .then vanished as if she had never been there.

Elena Gutierrez was at a loss. During the years she spent on the force, she never found herself on leave like this. Despite the role of the fiery Latina she often played, Elena kept her emotions, and her temper, under control. She was a cop. To do anything else was to betray her sacred trust, and Elena took her oaths seriously. Whether she was protecting and serving the people of Campbell, North Carolina, taking care of her family, or watching out for the Rafferty sisters, Elena took all of her oaths seriously. She didn't allow herself to lose her cool, and she didn't let things to get to be too much for her. Until now. Until tonight.

If she closed her eyes, she could still see Bethany Lawson hanging there. She could see Megan's horrified expression, and feel Bethany's sticky blood as she cut the girl down. Like her partner, too, Elena immediately noticed the similarities between Bethany and Megan's younger sister Kristin. This leave was supposed to help her get her head together. How could she do that when she kept seeing those godawful images in her mind, playing like a never-ending movie? And now Kristin was worried about Megan. . . well, she could understand why. Despite Kristin's occasional frustration with her sister's protectiveness, the girl really wasn't prepared to deal with Megan being the vulnerable one for once.

Something which Elena found somewhat amusing, since Megan was far more vulnerable than her sister recognized. Megan was often painted as the stable one, the rock. Elena was the fiery one, Kristin was the pretty one. . .Megan was the rock. And those. . .stereotypes. . .were true, up to a point. But the descriptions didn't go far enough, because as far as Elena was concerned, all three were pretty. And all three could be fiery, when the circumstances warranted. Similarly, all three took turns being the rock.

The trouble was, right now, Kristin was the rock, and she was totally unprepared for it. Or so Elena thought, until the phone rang. It was, surprisingly enough, Kristin. She had spoken to Megan, who seemed more. . . herself. Which was to say, she seemed more in control of herself. But that wasn't why Kristin was calling. Something that surprised Elena anew. The young pre-med student told her, "I just talked to Meg about this as well. . .we have a John Doe here at the hospital. He. . .it's a little weird. He was badly injured." And proceeded to tell Elena exactly why this was so weird. First, he wasn't a GSW. . .instead, the injuries he suffered to his chest, abdomen, and shoulder were consistent with those of arrows.

It got more interesting. His clothes, Kristin described as medieval. Actually, he looked like a Renaissance Faire reject. . .those were Kristin's words, at any rate. His injuries were consistent with puncture wounds caused by arrows, but the arrows were no longer in his body. The local police had no place to start. . .would Elena agree to accompany Meg when she called? There was only one answer to that. Where Megan went, so did Elena. They had been friends since the first day of high school, when Megan went to the defense of the new girl, who had attended St. Monica's for the previous eight years.

Megan, like the majority of Campbell High's students, was neither a prep, a geek, or a jock. She fell between the cracks, and was nothing at all. That was fine by her. She quietly went about her education with friends from all three groups. And the only time she left the comfort of the shadows was to defend someone else. . .a newcomer who fell victim to the nastier preps. Someone like Elena, who was quite capable of defending herself, but that didn't make her any less grateful to the quiet young girl standing up to the prissy little bitches who looked down their perfect noses at anyone who didn't wear designer clothes.

Still, it took Elena a little time to let down her guard. She was a proud girl, and she wasn't about to simply give her trust, even to someone who defended her. It was a trait that drove her mother insane, for she believed Megan would be a good influence on the slightly-wild Elena. But she wouldn't push it. Nor would the other girl. Instead, Megan slipped back into the shadows, until Elena was ready to trust her. In the meantime, Elena found her own way, her own niche in her new school. She was the experiment in the family. If this experiment worked, her younger sisters and brother would eventually go to the public high school. Elena didn't care one way or the other about where her siblings went to school, but she didn't quit, and she was determined to make something of herself.

In the way that was so often the case, it was no single, dramatic act which ultimately won Elena's trust and loyalty for Megan. Like the town that nurtured them both, Megan wasn't into dramatic acts. She simply was, and as Elena grew to realize that Megan didn't feel sorry for her, and thus, didn't consider herself somehow superior to Elena, the newcomer allowed her guard to drop. By the time Christmas rolled around, the pair were in the process of becoming friends. For reasons Elena never truly understood, the prissy brats who caused her trouble on her first day loathed her, and delighted in spreading lies about her through the school. It didn't seem to make a difference to Megan. . .except when she heard people referring to her and Elena as 'the goody-two-shoes and the slut.' Meg tended to take exception with that. And not because of the insult to herself. Insults to Elena, however, were another story.

So now, here they were. . .in their early thirties. Not just friends, but partners as well. One of the happiest days of Elena's life was when Captain Anders told her that Megan was her new partner. It wasn't as easy as she thought it would be, in the beginning. She already trusted Megan deeply, but being partners wasn't the same as being best friends. She and Megan had to learn to anticipate each other's moves. Their minds working in the same patterns wasn't good enough. . .because training and instinct were sometimes diametrically opposed. But in time, the pair moved as a team, strengths and weaknesses on both sides balancing out.

After assuring Kristin that she would accompany Megan, Elena went into her room to pack for the trip. Strangely enough, there was no doubt in her mind that Captain Anders would okay this trip. Especially once it was mentioned that she and Meg were only trying to give the Raleigh police leads. . .trying to point them in the right direction. Lydia Anders was a firm believer in the idea of reciprocity. . .or, more appropriately, 'scratch my back and I'll scratch yours.' They might need the aid of the Raleigh police department at some point, depending on what the Lawson investigation turned up. There were times when more than professional courtesy was required, after all.

As Elena began organizing her clothes, her phone rang yet again. . .only this time, it was her cell phone. Elena grinned to herself, recognizing the ring tone. She snapped the cell up from her night stand, where it had been resting, and said, "You know, you don't waste much time, querida." Her partner's laughter rang out, and Elena continued, her smile broadening, "I'm in the process of packing now. . .did you want to call Captain Anders and let her know what's going on, or shall I do that?"

"Well, I was thinking of letting you do it, acushla, since you're soooo good at it," Megan teased lightly, using her favorite Irish Gaelic endearment (also the only one she knew, but that was beside the point). Elena rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue, even though her friend couldn't see it. Megan continued after a moment, "Seriously, though, I'll give her a call. Next order of business. . .do you want to drive up, or. . .?" Elena thought about that as she retrieved her overnight bag from the closet. It had a little more room in it, to accommodate the additions, but she knew she would need a second bag as well.

"We could take the train or the bus up, and let Kristin ferry us," the slightly younger woman answered. A sound best described as a 'meh' came from her partner, and Elena added, "Yeah, I agree. All right, I'll drive, and you sleep." The next sound she heard was a raspberry blown over the line. Elena chortled, "You might want to wipe off the phone when we're finished, Meggie." She was rewarded with another raspberry. It was a running joke between the pair. . .unless Megan was driving, she would fall asleep almost immediately during a long drive.

"Pot, kettle. . .we're cops, we take sleep where we can get it," Meg retorted. Yeah, like doctors and military personnel. However, that never prevented Elena from teasing her friend about it. Especially since it was a habit left from Megan's childhood. She rarely said 'when I was a little girl' any longer, since she was considerably shorter than Elena. . .she barely met the department height requirements. Elena, and some of the veterans, often teased her by reminding her that she still wasn't very big. The veterans got a pass. Elena? A raspberry. Of course.

"Yeah, well, you get some sleep yourself, short-stuff," Elena told her partner. Meg's silence was worth a thousand words. She would be getting about as much asleep as Elena would that night. The taller partner said softly, "We caught him, Meg. At least we have that. And her parents weregrateful to know that he was off the streets." It was small comfort, for both her and her partner. He was off the street. Her parents were grateful that the man who murdered their daughter was caught. . .that was something they could give the couple who lost their child. Elena didn't bother with 'alleged.' She would leave that to the lawyers and the journalists.

"We caught him. But I'll still dream," Megan replied hoarsely. What could Elena say to that? What could she possibly say to that? Of course Megan would dream. They both would. But only one of them had a sister who even remotely resembled poor Bethany. Elena thought about going over. . .neither of them should be alone. However, Megan sighed finally, "I'll be all right. Pinkie promise. Mrs. Watkins is bringing over Nico. She heard about Bethany's death, and when I got back to the apartment building, she told me that Nico would stay with me."

"I need to move into that building," Elena said, not for the first time. Mrs. Watkins was, in many ways, a dream neighbor. Eighty-five years old, she was the widow of a World War II veteran, the mother of a firefighter, and the grandmother of a police officer. She absolutely doted on Megan, and often 'loaned' her German Shepherd, Nicodemus, to the young detective after a trying case. Nico was an eighty pound lap dog. . .a big baby when he was alone with Mrs. Watkins, Megan, or Elena. Try to threaten any of his ladies, though, and he gotnasty.

"So why don't you?" Megan asked, also not for the first time. Elena made a face, knowing full well that her partner couldn't see it. Not that it mattered. Meg went on, "Anyhow, I think I hear Mrs. Watkins and Nico now. Shall we discuss this further in the morning, once we've slept?" That was probably for the best, and she said so. The two friends exchanged a pair of 'good-nights,' and then hung up the phone. With a sigh, Elena sank down onto her bed. Maybe she should have gone over to Megan's anyhow. It would be a long night.

She was used to being the little sister. For much of her early life, she was the little sister, the youngest child, the baby. And she was a little spoiled. She knew that. She recognized that. Maybe that was where her drive to heal came from. Because she was the baby. Because she was a little spoiled. . .because she was protected, from the moment she arrived in the United States, and was placed in the arms of Ailsa Rafferty. She had everything any child could ask for. Loving parents, an adoring older sister. She was lucky. She knew how lucky she was. And that was why she needed to heal. That was why she had to take care of other people.

When she was little, and Megan was away at college, she was allowed to play with her sister's old toys and dolls. Kristin liked playing nurse with them. . .liked being the one to take care of others, even if they weren't really real. By this time, she was learning that not everyone was a little sister. . .some of her new friends were big sisters and big brothers, and they took care of their little brothers and little sisters. At least, they helped their mommies to take care of the babies. Kristin was the baby, so there was no one for her to help take care of. No one except the dolls and the stuffed animals. . .both hers and her sisters.

As she got older, that changed. When Megan went back to college for her sophomore year, she was nineteen and Kristin was seven. As Meg held her tightly, she whispered, "Take care of Mom and Dad for me." Pleased with this important job, Kristin did just that. Their parents were rarely ill, but when they were, Kristin was always on hand to help in any way she could. Looking back now, she was sure that she actually got in the way far more often than she actually helped, but her parents always thanked her for what she did. Even if it was something as simple as carefully carrying a tray with orange juice to Daddy when he had a cold, or covering Mommy up with a blanket when she took her naps. Megan had her way of taking care of people, Kristin realized, and she had her own. So that was what she did. She took care of their parents. After all, they weren't as young as they used to be.

She just never figured that she would take care of her own sister, before she even had her medical degree. . .for that matter, before she was even out of college. Scratch that. She never thought. . . Kristin Rafferty sank back against the wall, rubbing at her eyes wearily. She wasn't ready to be the big sister. Her older sister was the rock, the one from whom everyone else drew strength. It wasn't fair, of course. Megan was a cop, absolutely committed to the protection of the people of Campbell, to the people she had known her entire life. But it was also. . .even so. They all drew strength from her. Even people who were supposed to be her sources of strength. People like their parents. . .like their cousin Gavin.

Their parents depended upon Megan, especially when Kristin was small. And Megan didn't mind. She wasn't especially popular at school. . .she spent most of her time on her studies, with Elena, and with Kristin. If Francis and Ailsa Rafferty wanted to go out, then Megan was ready, willing, and able to take care of Kristin, up until the time she went to college. Elena would come over, and the two would study once Kristin went to sleep. . .or they would watch movies. . .or just talk. Kristin herself came to regard Megan as a constant in her life. So much so that Kristin cried herself to sleep every night when Megan first went to college. It wasn't the same without Megan.

She never told her sister that, of course. When Megan came home, there were too many other things to tell her. Kristin just started first grade, and there were so many things she wanted to tell her big sister. Everything she learned, and all about her teachers, and her friends. It sometimes seemed to her parents and her sister that she had a new best friend every week. Too many times, she would fall asleep in her sister's lap, listening to Megan talk about her own adventures at college. Not surprising, she and Elena were roommates. What surprised everyone, as Kristin learned later, was that it didn't destroy their friendship. Not everyone was that lucky. Kristin knew she wasn't.

Speaking of lucky. . . She had work she needed to do, and she wasn't here to complain about her bitch of an ex-roommate. The raven-haired student pushed off the wall and returned to the room where their John Doe rested. Explaining why she was so drawn to him was an impossibility for her. She just. . .had to be around him. Kristin knew it sounded idiotic, but she had this overwhelming feeling that he needed her. Fortunately, since she came up with talking to two SCA lunatics (namely her sister and Elena), no one really minded that she went in to check on him ever so often. It wasn't really encouraged. . .it was never strongly encouraged, in fact, to become attached to the patients. Even for the volunteers like herself. But. . .she was left alone. At least for now.

She slipped inside the darkened room. The shades were drawn as the sun went down, and Kristin moved slowly to one of the lamps, guided by the light from the hallway. She switched the lamp on, and straightened up, eyeing their patient. Not surprisingly, he remained unconscious. Kristin hadn't told Megan or Elena, but the man awakened briefly and tried, somewhat weakly, to fight them. He seemed terrified. The girl shook her head. What had happened to him that he reacted with such terror when people were trying to help him? They sedated him, of course, before he could tear any of his stitches and start bleeding once more, and he remained unconscious. He would be waking up again soon. Maybe when he did, they could at least find out what his name was or where he was from, since he had no identification with him. Kristin knew from listening to the med students and the residents that patients couldn't always remember what happened to them.

The pre-med student picked up his chart once more, scanning what she already knew. He was between thirty-five and forty, at their best guess. Aside from the wounds to his chest, gut, and shoulder, he seemed to be in excellent physical condition. Very physically fit. Around six feet, give or take an inch. Weight, around one eighty, and most of that was muscle. Kristin put down the chart and looked at the man. He was, as she noted in the past, very good-looking. In that brief time when he regained consciousness, she discovered that his eyes were green. His hair was dark blond, worn almost to his shoulders, and he sported a rather attractive goatee.

Right now, his face was slack, his head listing to one side on the pillow. She would almost think he was sleeping, rather than unconscious. Kristin shook her head, murmuring, "Who are you, and what happened to you?" His clothes were in a drawer, neatly folded. She placed them there. When she had the chance, she'd have them washed, so the smell of his spilled blood wouldn't overwhelm the room. Ren Faire reject. . .that was what his clothes suggested to her. And yet. . . There were some things that didn't quite add up. Some things that didn't. . .that felt wrong. Horribly wrong.

For instance, while they were working on him, after she was hustled out of the room, she heard someone saying that given the wounds, and the blood on his clothes, he should have been dead. He lost a great deal of blood, and given the abdominal wound, he should have been bleeding inside. He wasn't. The internal damage should have been far more severe. It was severe, yes. . .but. . . Kristin shook her head once more, frowning. It didn't add up. Not for her. And, she was betting, not for the others, either. The weird arrow wounds were bad enough, but there were too many other things that didn't. . . It just wasn't right.

That wasn't her job as a doctor. Her job, as a doctor, was to heal. But she was also the sister of a cop, and Kristin's own curiosity was engaged by this strange man with the dark blond hair and haunted green eyes. Haunted. Kristin froze, remembering the look in his eyes just before she was shoved out of the room. He stammered something in a language she couldn't understand, but what caught her attention was the look in his eyes. Terrified, yes, she noticed that immediately, but he also looked haunted.

The girl touched his hand, then his cheek, and murmured, "None of that matters. Who you are. It doesn't matter. But this I promise you. We'll find out what happened to you, who did this to you, why. . .and then they'll pay. I swear it." She would be a doctor when her study was complete, but her sister would find justice for this man. Kristin bent down and kissed his cheek, stroked the unexpectedly-silky hair, then slipped from the room. This man wasn't the only one who needed comfort this night. She couldn't be there to comfort her sister on this night, so she would comfort the ones whom she could reach.

He drifted. There was no pain here. . .no sorrow. Only darkness. Only peace. The peace of the grave, but peace nonetheless. He fought for so many years, against the shadow of Mordor, against the evil that would destroy all that he loved. For once in his restless life, he had no battle to fight, and that was the point, was it not? That he was no longer alive. He was dead, and beyond pain, beyond fear, beyond despair. Beyond everything except this most blessed peace and silence.

It was not to last. Against his will, he was being drawn back from the peaceful sensations. Drawn back toward pain so intense, it was a struggle for him to breathe. He didn't want to go back. He wanted to stay here, even if in his soul, he knew he should return and atone for what he had done. He was so very tired. A tender voice murmured, I know you are, child, and were it possible, I would allow you to rest much longer. But you are needed, sweet boy. You are needed, and you have never been able to turn away when you were needed. Not when you were a child. . .not when you became a man. I have need of you, my brave one. My children have need of you.

He resisted. No one needed him. He failed them all, no matter what Aragorn said. Aragorn had not seen the look in Frodo's eyes when the Ringbearer fled from him. And Merry and Pippin. . .! At least his land, his beloved Gondor, was in good hands with Aragorn, assuming the quest succeeded. The voice repeated, You are needed, sweet Boromir. You are needed by my daughters. They need your protection, Boromir. They need your skill in battle. They need your honor, your loyalty, your compassion. They need you. They are heroes and champions, my daughters, but in turn, they have need of a hero and a champion themselves.

A hero? A champion? Him? What utter foolishness! When he was needed most, he failed. He failed his people, he failed the Fellowship, he failed. . .he failed Merry and Pippin. But he had only wanted to save his people, to protect his brother and his city. The voice told him, Of course you did. You were not the only one who was tempted, my Boromir. You were not the only one who desired the Ring. You were exhausted, lonely, and desperate. Easy prey for that evil little Ring. It corrupted others, Boromir, including the Ringbearer. At the last, it was not Frodo of the Shire who destroyed the Ring, but Gollum. Oh, Boromir, do you not see? Yes, you fell. . .but you rose to your feet, and you proved your words, and the worth of Men, to Aragorn. Do not despair, sweet prince.

He wanted to believe her. Her? Yes. Her. Twas a woman's voice. She said then, with a regretful sigh, But you cannot be convinced. Until you encountered that evil Ring, you never fell. And that is what you cannot forgive in yourself. Very well. You are not ready to listen. Not ready to forgive yourself. Because you cannot forgive yourself, you will forget. You will forget Gondor, Aragorn, your brother, your father and the impossible burden he laid upon your shoulders when he sent you to Imladris. You will forget the Shards of Narsil, the Council of Elrond.

Boromir, son of Denethor, heir to the Stewardship of Gondor, protested. He had no wish to forget! And he was well aware that he sounded like a whining child, but the owner of the voice did not understand his treachery. However, the voice was firm, You will not remember. This is not an act of punishment, but an act of compassion. Forget, sweet child. Forget, and find in that oblivion the key to the redemption you so desperately desire. The redemption which you've attained in the eyes of all but yourself. For a moment, Boromir saw a woman's shape, darkness lit by light. . . and then. . .

And then there was nothing once more, leaving Boromir in silence and darkness.