A/N: Alright, so this chapter might be a little bit list-y, but it's kind of necessary if you want to understand what happened last chapter. So, here goes. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, namely Nemo. Also, thank you for follows and favorites!

And, despite what it may look like, this is not going to turn into Boromir/OC, or at least not this OC. She's 16, guys, and he's 30. Not gonna happen. So, just throwing that out there.

The crackling heat of a nearby fire woke Boromir, along with the sound of boiling water. Wondering why on earth Aragorn had allowed a fire, he sat up like a shot, before groaning as pain flared in his chest and starting to flop back down. To his surprise, his fall was stopped by gentle arms, who lowered him the rest of the way.

"If this is how you treat your wounds, it's a miracle you lived to see your second battle," came the gently teasing voice, and he opened his eyes, finding a set of deep black eyes to meet them, "You'll tear yourself right back apart if you keep flopping about like a fish out of water." The face drew away, and he looked around, following the petit girl's figure as she crouched beside a tripod. Using a crudely whittled spoon, she stirred the contents of a large pot as she said, "Actually, you woke at a most opportune time, I just finished the soup." She pulled out two wooden bowls of a similar quality to her spoon and scooped some of the food into them, carrying them over. "Sorry there's no meat, but no animals will be coming near here for quite a while." She set the bowls down, and carefully helped him sit up, propping him against a nearby tree. Then, she handed him his bowl, saying, "I'd imagine you wouldn't take kindly to being fed, and your one shoulder should be fine."

"Thank you." Boromir said, looking curiously into the bowl. The broth was a pale tan, and in it floated a multitude of different plants, all chopped nicely. As he took a cautious sip, he found that the mix had a strangely tangy taste, as if there were fruits in the mixture as well. "What is in this?"

The girl shrugged, taking a sip herself. "I do not know their names in any tongue but my own."

"And what tongue is your own?" He asked.

She chuckled, and he bristled slightly at the thought she might be laughing at him. "You misunderstand me - literally, my own tongue, in the sense that it is mine, and no one else's." She shrugged again, taking another gulp of soup.

Boromir studied her as he continued to eat, reflecting on what he knew of her. He had seen her as a beast of some sort when he had first woken, and somehow she had raised him from the dead. And yet, she had said that she was not a necromancer. She lived alone, if what she had said before was any indication, spoke her own language, and, he could now clearly see, wore a tunic and hose like a man. A criminal, perhaps, cast out by her people? And what people were they, he pondered. He, as of yet had not seen her ears, but her hair and complexion warred with her eyes to say if she were a man or an elf. Perhaps she was some sort of half-breed, rejected by both for her parentage. Deciding that there was really only one way to find out, he asked her, "Will you answer the questions you avoided yesterday?"

She froze in the middle of her action, looking at him. "Perhaps, if you ask the right way."

Boromir pondered this, thinking out his next words carefully before speaking them. "If I asked you what your race was, would you tell me?"

She shrugged yet again, but this time it was an uncomfortable action. "I would, but I cannot."

"You cannot?" Boromir exclaimed softly.

"No. I was raised by men, but... I am not like them."

"In what way?" He prompted.

"Well, amongst other things..." he saw her hesitate, and offered her an encouraging smile. "I can, um, raise the dead."

Boromir's breath caught. Of course, he had known that she must have, for she herself had confirmed he had died. And yet, hearing it out loud... "How?" He whispered, his fingers going unconsciously to his dagger.

Setting down her bowl, she ran her hand through her hair, leaving it more rumpled than before. "Do you really wish to know?"

"Yes." He instantly replied. "Very much."

"It's a long tale."

"I have a long time."

Their eyes met across the space between them, each silently willing the other to give in. Eventually, the girl dropped her eyes, shaking her head. "Fine. But if I tell you my story, you must tell me yours."

"Of course."

She stood, retrieving more of the broth, before resettling herself beside him, so that she too was leaning against the large trunk of the tree.

"To spare you asking any more questions, I may as well just start from the beginning. As I was told, my father died in a battle of some sort, and my mother died in giving birth to me, her only child. I lived in a small town in the mountains, where such things are bad omens, and so I was already looked upon as bad luck. The old woman who took me in was taking care of several other children at the time, to the point where he home was more an orphanage than anything else. Both she and the other children wished to have nothing to do with me, and so I found myself mostly alone. I had no friends, no family, no one who cared for me. I was given a bed and food, but little more." She again brushed her hair back, another nervous action. "And I was fine. I convinced myself that being alone was better. That there was no fear of losing anyone, no need to mourn. I spoke only rarely, and spent most of my time out in the woods, with the animals and trees, learning from them instead of the people who hated me. But, I would always return, as I needed them, despite their scorn. I was young, I needed their food and their shelter. Or at least, I thought this to be true. I later found that this was false."

"I went through my first shift to the Middle Realm when I was ten years old." Boromir opened him mouth to ask a question, but she interrupted, saying, "I will explain. There was another child, a little boy, whose parents had also died. He had just arrived, and was very sick, but people decided he was cursed, and left him to die. Knowing he was not cursed, but like me, I went to him and tried to help him. Finding a kindred soul, I allowed myself to become attached to this boy, thinking perhaps we could be alone together in this world. I kept him alive for months, and yet he did not recover. I stayed by his side, trying to keep him breathing, and so I was there as he drew his last one. Distraught, I unknowingly slipped the bonds of this world and slipped into one no living person was meant to see." The girl drew up her knees, wrapping her arms around them as might a little child. "Shall I explain it to you, or shall I continue?"

"Would I be able to understand?" The Gondorian asked, his meal all but forgotten.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not." Her fingers were twining and untwining now, slowly and thoughtfully. "I know not it's true name, but I call it the Middle Realm. It is a land between life and death, where it is indistinct. Everything that lives glows white in this realm, and that which is dead is darker than the darkest of nights. And, every living thing has it's own song, which can be heard in the realm. "

"What kind of song?" Boromir asked, trying to picture what this realm might look like.

"It depends." She looked around. "For example, my song is like that of a Nightingale, but yours is like a drum. I know not why the songs differ, only that they do. And, that they can change. The first time I entered the realm, my song was that of a single woman's voice, though I did not realize what it was at the time. But one thing that always stays the same is that, if all things are coexisting, the songs will blend together into a most beautiful choir." She shifted so that she was looking at him, and no longer resting against the tree. "The glow in every living thing is their 'essence', what most people would call a soul. Unlike many people believe, the soul is not lost when the body is; or at least, not instantly. There are many layers of the middle realm, though they are not literally one on top of the other. The closest thing I can equate it to is one box inside another, though this cannot truly capture it either." She sighed. "It is a most complicated place. But every living thing resides partially within the first layer, in the form of their essence. And, when they die, the core of their essence retreats down to the second layer, usually, but veins of it almost always remain connected to their body, with varying strength, depending."

"Depending on what?" Boromir pressed, wanting now to understand.

"Lots of things. As far as I can tell, the only things that can create these bonds are love and regret, one often being present in the absence of the other. The stronger the emotion, the larger and firmer the ties. Over time, the core of the essence sinks down through the layers, and as it does the ties to the body will weaken, until they fade all together. At that point, the soul drops out of the Middle Realm, and becomes irretrievable. When I found you, your core was lower in the levels than I'd ever been. Had I found you only slightly later, your soul might have exited the Middle Realm while the ties to your body still lingered, forcibly dragging them out."

Frowning, Boromir looked around. "How long was I d... dead? The trees sun speaks of only a short time having passed. How could my soul be so low in the levels?"

She sighed. "Not always does the core settle just one layer down. If one fights death, and remains living even after their time has come, they can be granted a small amount of time. But, it comes at a price. The longer one remains in their world against death's wishes, the further down the layers they are plunged. I know not how long you fought death, but you were six or seven layers down in only a day or two, almost four times faster than any I'd ever seen."

Boromir nodded, deciding this was probably it, as she continued. "When I am on the same layer as the core, I am able to grab it and pull it back to the body, though if I do not repair what killed them, they will just die again. But I must be careful, or the core will try to enter me, believing I am their living body. I have to block it out, or risk having two people living within me. " A shudder racked her body, as she said, "I have more than once had to expel a being from me when I was careless." She shook her head, as if to ward of the grim thoughts. "But once the soul is back inside it's physical body, it will once again flood it, trying to regain it's hold there. If what killed the person is no longer present, they will most likely live."

"And this is what you did with the boy." Boromir finished for her, and she nodded.

"Yes. I brought him back, not quite knowing what I was doing, just knowing that he didn't look like I did, filled with light. Though, when I returned to the physical world, he was still as ailed as before, he was breathing again, and I had a chance to save him. I had been able to see what was wrong while in the other world, as every organ of the body is outlined with one's essence, and I was able to begin to fix it once back in the world I was meant to be in. However, I was not alone while I fixed the boy." She looked up, and he could see her face had gone pale. "The old woman had seen me, had watched as I appeared to change from a human and into a monster, the monster you saw yesterday. She called me a demon, and cast me out, along with the boy who I saved. Their rumors spread faster than we could possibly move, and so we were turned away by every town and village we came to, shunned as demons come to kill them all." Her eyes were distant, as if she were seeing things he could not. "I didn't know how to get food or how to support myself, much less a sick little boy. When he died the second time, I wanted to save him again, but I did not know how to re-enter the Middle Realm; the last time it had been an accident. So, but the time I figured it out, his soul was gone, and I was alone." She came back to the present with a jerk, forcibly loosening her arms and legs so that she sat naturally against the tree again. "After that, there is little to tell. I gradually figured out what I could and could not eat, and found my way to a small island in a river where no one comes. I learned to hunt, to cook, and to keep myself alive. And, I learned how to slip in and out of the realm. I lived in peace here for almost five years, practicing my skills on animals and plants who died on the island, working out how the Middle Realms works." She looked over at him. "And then, you came."

Looking away, Boromir nodded. "Indeed. And I am very grateful for your assistance."

The girl smiled, this time looking as if she might actually mean it. "Well, I'd like to think I was given this ... skill, curse, whatever it might be... for a reason."

Boromir nodded again, allowing them to lapse into silence for a time. Finally, he asked, "And none of them gave you a name? Not the old woman, not the boy, no one?"

She shook her head. "No. No one felt the need to call me by name, and the boy was too sick to."

"And you didn't make one? Didn't you want something to define yourself?"

She shrugged yet again. "I don't need one here, and I do not think of myself in the third person, so-"

"But don't you want to be able to to say 'I am somebody'? You've put a name to all those plants, why not to yourself?" He insisted.

She mulled this over, as if she had never really thought about it herself. "Well," she began, "I suppose because I didn't want to give myself the wrong one."

He laughed, and the girl looked up in surprise. "There is no wrong one!" He told her, "You are exactly who you say you are!"

Slowly, she shook her head. "I do not know. I will not need a name here, and-"

"No, it simply will not do. If you will not give yourself a name, then I will give one to you." He looked to her, and slowly she nodded.

"I should think you would choose a better one than I." she told him, twisting a strand of her hair tightly.

He nodded, realizing she probably hadn't heard any names at all for the last five years. "Well then. I think you are... Omana."

"Omana." She repeated, pronouncing it slowly and precisely, as if to see how it fit.

"It means giver of life in an ancient language, long forgotten by most." He told her, and she slowly nodded, smiling.

"Yes." she told him. "I think I am Omana." And, in her eyes, he could see that there was a sudden sense of security. The nameless, suddenly named.

"Omana." The word seemed to roll off her tongue, graceful like elvish.

"It means giver of life in an ancient language, long forgotten by most." Boromir's eyes were lit with hope as he looked at her, and she felt a strange sensation in her chest, one she had never felt before. She realized that this was what it was like to have someone care, to have someone actually worried about what you thought of what they said.

"Yes. I think I am Omana." She whispered, feeling as if something had clicked into place. There was now a label to all the things that went on in her head, a label to this body that she inhabited, a label for the person she was. Omana. Her lips pulled into a smile.

"I think you are too." Boromir said to her, smiling back.

"Omana..." Feeling very pleased, she settled comfortably against the tree, the sense of wholeness almost overwhelming. "It is lovely. Thank you, Boromir. May I call you such, without your title?"

"I think it acceptable." He said, a smile in his voice.

She nodded her thanks, before saying, "Well, I have told my story - now you must tell yours."

He shook his head slightly. "It will not be nearly as exciting as yours."

"You promised!" She chided. "We made a deal, now you must hold up your end of the bargain!"

He laughed, holding up a placating hand. "All right,all right! But do not blame me when it involves no magic on my part."

"Oh, but it will involve a battle, won't it?" she said, crossing her legs and leaning forward attentively. "That seems mighty exciting to me! Magic is boring. I want to hear about an adventure!"

"Indeed, it was quite an adventure." He looked towards the treetops. "I suppose it started when my father, the Steward of Gondor, heard that Sauron's ring had been found, and that it had been brought to Rivendel. I was sent to see that it came to Gondor, but that is not quite what happened." His smile became sad. "It should never go to Gondor." Snapping out of his reverie, he looked back to her. "Instead, it was decided that the ring must be destroyed, thrown into the fires of Mount Doom, and that, of all people, a tiny halfling would carry this great burden. Accompanying was a band of friends and guardians - a wizard, an elf, a dwarf, three more hobbits, and two men, one of whom was me. We set out on our journey, not knowing how very strong the enemies we would face were. To get to Mordor, where Mount Doom stands, we had to get through the mountains, but we could not get over them, and so we had to go under them, through the old dwarf kingdom of the Mines or Moria. However, no longer was it a kingdom - every one of the dwarves had been slain by the goblins that had taken up residence. It was here that our wizard was taken from us, by a creature of shadow and fire called a Balrog. We fled to the land of the elves, who somewhat reluctantly let us in. They replenished our supplies, even giving us boats to try to outrun our enemies. Unfortunately, our enemies were faster than we thought. These were no orcs who pursued us, but a new breed of creature we had never seen before. They were stronger, faster, and more vicious than orcs, and more terrifying. Blissfully unaware of them, we camped upon the shore, waiting for the night to fall before crossing the river. And this was where my fate was decided." Omana watched as he visibly closed off, seeming to sink slightly into himself.

"It's okay." She told him, "You can tell me."

He rubbed his hand over the stubble growing on his chin. "You will think less highly of me."

She shifted to face him, all excitement at the tale fading as she realized that this was what had bound him so tightly to this world. "I have been thrown out to die by the people who raised me, and yet you, a total stranger, have already given me that which they could not. There is little that could make me think less highly of you."

Though Boromir did not look very convinced, she saw the shift in his eyes that told her he would speak. "The ring, it is very powerful. It is a weapon that could destroy whole armies, and yet is much more dangerous to the user than the opponent. The allure of it's power was so great, and I thought... why not keep it? It wormed it's way into my mind, and I was too weak to fight it." She watched with surprise as he turned his face away, as if to hide tears. "I tried to take it from the one who carried it. I would have - I would have killed him for it. He barely escaped with his life, I still do not know how. Only that I am grateful that he did. Had I acquired it, the world would most likely have fallen to Sauron already." His voice had faded to a whisper as he spoke, and Omana, not having interacted with humans for five years, did not know what to do.

"Few could have done better." She tried, but her words were quickly thrown back at her.

"Eight others did." His hands rubbed his face again, his own nervous motion. "Eight others did, where I could not."

Realizing that following up this train of thought would only make things worse, Omana tried a different tactic. "Well, what happened then?"

"What?"

"After that happened, what did you do? Obviously he didn't shoot you. Who did?"

Boromir's eyes narrowed, as if he was struggling to regain his previous train of thought. "Ah, yes. Well, the new race of monsters I spoke of, they attacked soon after that. Two of the hobbits were caught in the fray, and I strove to save them. I fought off many of them, but one, their leader, had brought a crossbow. There was little I could do as I fought to save their lives. I took the first arrow, and kept fighting, and the second. It was only when the thrid struck home that I fell. I watched, helplessly, as the Hobbits were carried off, to I know not where. And then, their leader came, with his crossbow in hand, prepared to strike me down. But, the other man in our fellowship, by the name or Aragorn, slew him before he could. Though I was dying still, it gave me enough time to tell him what had happened. And to say some things that needed to be said." Even as he finished his story, she could see that he was decidedly malcontent. "I remember nothing more."

They sat in the gloomy silence, neither of them sure what to say, but knowing that something needed to be said. Finally, Omana spoke up, trying yet another way of approaching the topic.

"Boromir," she started, "am I a monster?"

"What?" he exclaimed, "No! How could you say that?"

"Do I not go to the realm of the dead?" she asked, "Do I not become a creature who seems to drag the light away from the sun?"

"But you return life to those who have died!" he countered, "To those who deserve life!"

"Indeed." she said, locking his eyes to hers, "So if I am not a monster, how could you be one?"

"Because I was corrupted by the power of the ring!" he snapped, "Becuase I tried to kill for it!"

"But you did not kill him - you instead gave everything you had to save your friends, including your own life!" she snapped. "Have you never heard the phrase 'no harm no foul'?"

"I do not believe it applies here!" Boromir retorted.

"Boromir," she said softly, her tone changing from chastising to soothing, "Do you not believe your friends would forgive you for your transgression?"

Boromir sighed, slumping against the tree again. "I do not know."

Omana studied this man, who was weighted with regret for these things he had done. This man, who appeared to believe that, if not for him, there would be no evil in the world. And, seeing that he could never truly free himself of these things on his own, or if he could he never would, saw the need for her to take action. "Then ask them." Boromir looked up from the stone he had been determinedly studying. "As soon as you are well enough to travel, go find them and ask them for forgiveness. You will not be at peace until you do."

Boromir ran his hand through his hair again. "You say it like it is simple."

Omana shook her head. "It is anything but simple. But I do believe that it is necessary."

Please review! Don't care if it's two words, or if it's constructive criticism! Just please give me some feedback!

I also would like to hope the next chapter will be better than this one, because this one basically justa explains what all is going on here. So... yeah. :)