Footsteps

By Evendim

This is a not for profit work of fan fiction based upon the works of J.R.R. Tolkien

Chapter Three

The Man Who Would Be King

ooOoo

Erestor made a second round of the table, pouring tea into delicate china dishes; his expression as he re-filled the Gondorian's cup was one of chagrin. How could eggshell porcelain survive being grasped by that meaty great paw? Glorfindel was clearly reading his friend's mind, for the blond was shaking his head, and an audible 'tsk' rent the silence in the huge kitchen. Glorfindel lectured Erestor regularly about his judgemental ways. Glorfindel, who having been granted a second chance at life, was so much more aware of the fragility of the second born, for they were near to the end of their life span before they had gained a fraction of the wisdom of the Eldar, and had not centuries to squander learning to appreciate porcelain. Silly little cat; Glorfindel's latest expression conveyed his disappointment to Erestor with consummate eloquence. Much to Erestor's astonishment, and to Glorfindel's delight, Boromir did not crush the delicate dish, and furthermore he was refraining from drinking from the finger bowls. Erestor's right eyebrow climbed up his forehead, highlighting his surprise when the mortal delicately dabbed the blackcurrant jam from his lips and fingers with the pristine napkin. Glorfindel covered his own eyes with one elegant, long fingered, hand, and audibly groaned. The mortal could easily read Erestor's thoughts, and Snarky Cat was about to get his comeuppance.

"Shocking, one knows," said Boromir with a grin, and a glint of mischief in his jade eyes, "one even lifts the wood when one avails one's self of the porcelain, but hush! One should hate to be mistaken for a man of culture!"

"Ha!" Glorfindel exploded into laughter as Erestor's face stained deep wine from embarrassment.

"One did not think…" Erestor began, but Boromir leapt in with a stab at what was to follow.

"That we oafish mortals had plumbing in Minas Tirith?"

"…otherwise!" Erestor concluded huffily.

"Get away!" Pippin said in amazement.

"One swears it is so, upon one's…honour!" said Boromir just as Aragorn entered the kitchen, and how unfortunate was Aragorn's timing, for it was hanging, unspoken, between the two men present that one of them lacked the quality being sworn upon by the other.

"Aye, well, I really ought to be running along, face to wash, feet to comb, you know how it is!" Pippin was one of life's innocents, but he could recognize tension when he was exposed to it, and it was fairly swirling about this room.

"Thank you, little one, I appreciated your company today," said Boromir.

"Och, any time, big man, any time, ye only have to whistle. You can whistle?" Pippin asked cheekily.

Not dallying to await a reply, Pippin exited the kitchen, eager to be away before these two stags clashed antlers yet again.

"Do not hang about like a question mark, Estel, be seated, Glorfindel shall slice you some bread," said Erestor as he topped up the tea pot with freshly boiled water.

"His hands are not painted on," said Glorfindel, "he may slice his own bread."

"That is hardly the attitude of a credible host!" Erestor chided.

"Estel is not a guest, for he has a chamber here, for when he chooses to stay here," said Glorfindel, "but limiting the social skills of a genuine guest, that is a less than charitable attitude, o' pompous one!"

"I…I…!" Erestor's jaw was swinging, and his face was flushed with embarrassment once more.

"Catching more flies, snooks, it is fast becoming a habit. Excuse me, gentlemen, I have my collection of Noldorin daggers to re-arrange," said Glorfindel as he bowed and stood to leave. Before the elf lord from Gondolin fully made his escape, Erestor deftly deflated his expanded ego.

"He resorts to doing so, seated, closeted, one might say, as he awaits the senna pods kicking into action," said Erestor, and, oh, revenge was sweet!

Aragorn, healer extraordinaire, caught the inference of constipation instantly, and snickered in a truly infectious fashion. Boromir was aching to release a trapped belly laugh, but he was constrained by the other man's presence. The last impression Boromir wished to give was that the ranger was in any way forgiven for his devious ways.

"Oh, I miss this when I am out in the wilds," said Aragorn in an attempt to break the ice between him and his countryman.

"Then perhaps you ought to remain here," suggested Boromir, "in your chamber."

"I am certain that you would wish that," said Aragorn, Estel, Strider, Thorongil…Eru…so many appellations were enough to make Boromir's head spin. The Dúnadan was but one man, and not even an imposing one at that!

"…but one man," Boromir said aloud, musing to himself, no longer even contemplating the easy to dismiss individual now seated opposite him, sipping scalding tea, as though he did not possess pain receptors.

"…your pardon?" Aragorn murmured.

Boromir wondered if he had missed the opening to this sentence, or had the ragged-bearded individual spoken in his own unique abbreviated fashion once again.

"I was thinking of my father," said Boromir.

"Did I provoke such a thought?" Aragorn bluntly enquired.

"No, for I would not contemplate you and he in the same thought. I would not contemplate you at all. My oath is sworn to the Lord of Gondor, and you, sir, are not fit to lace his boots!" Boromir said with utter contempt.

Erestor had already left the chamber, and it was as well, for this was descending into a battle of words, and, as Gandalf had predicted only the previous evening, until Boromir was permitted to vent his spleen, the two mortals never could inhabit the same space.

"You do not know how it was, between Denethor and I." said Aragorn. "You were…"

"Not there?" Boromir anticipated the excuse about to be offered, and now he countered it. "But I was there. I was two years of age when you slunk away under the guise of duty, and never returned!"

"Destiny was upon me, I had to leave Minas Tirith before my identity was discovered," Aragorn said in his own defence.

"Which one…?" Boromir asked as he now placed both palms flat upon the oak table, almost as though he was pinning them down mentally before they assumed a life of their own, and throttled the shaggy individual seated opposite. Grey velvet robes looked askance upon the man, for he had not the quality to display them to any real effect.

"You were but a small child, you could not possibly remember me," said Aragorn.

"Not in any great detail. I have shadowy memories of the Captain from Rohan. My father's Adjutant, and sole confidante," Boromir replied, his tone icy, his eyes like chips of ice, for he had learned that every commander needs someone to hand to whom one may unburden one's thoughts, and fears. Thorongil had been that special one in Denethor's life, a bastion, who stood between Denethor and his severe and disapproving sire, Steward Ecthelion.

"I regretted the deceit then, and I regret it still, but too much depended upon my retaining my anonymity. I only ever esteemed your father, and it was not my intention to wound him by my departure." Aragorn's eyes were welling, and Boromir had no wish to feel empathy with the man. Looking past the pleading eyes that tried to hold his own cold ones, Boromir updated his future king on the state of his one time dearest friend.

"He grows old before his time. His hair is silvering. He is but in the prime of his life for one of his lineage and yet he is worn out, like a horse drawing too great a weight, over too long a period, with no time allocated to regain its strength. He is harnessed to your load, ranger, and he shall drop in your harness 'ere you remove it, and take the load from him. How may I respect you, when I see daily how the burden my father bears is stealing him away from both myself, and my brother? Do you know how it feels to wake every morning to the same thought one fell asleep tussling with the night before? Can you not divine the state of his mind given he sent his heir on this…fool's errand?" Boromir challenged.

"I am not the dishonourable man that you seem to have branded me," said Aragorn, for how could he change this younger man's opinion of him with mere words. Boromir was a man of action, and it would be by both word and deed that Aragorn would win his support. That was for the future, journeying upon the quest they were soon about to undertake, for now humility would serve Aragorn's cause best.

"You had the opportunity when we met that night in the Sanctuary to name yourself to me. You did not take that opportunity. Worse, you did not even acknowledge that we had even met. I still have the wooden sword that you carved for me when I was but a child. I slew dragons with it, before you left, naturally. After you left, my quarry changed somewhat. By then I was practicing against the day I would slay yrc! No longer a game, you see, even then I was attempting to fill your shoes. The shoes perhaps; but the rent you made in Denethor's soul never healed over. I still have that sword. I used it to give my oath to my weeping father on the day his lady left Arda. Quite informally, you understand. I did the deal formally upon the seventh anniversary of my birth. By then I had set aside toys, play, and…hope…Estel!"

ooOoo

The courtyard outside the kitchens

Pippin was gnawing upon his lower lip, a habit he had formed to combat nervousness; Merry said it made him appear 'shifty'. The youngest of the four hobbits present in Imladris had not wished to abandon his new friend utterly, but had somehow sensed the two men needed to clear the air between them. That sense of foreboding Pippin had felt was akin to the atmosphere in the Shire when a thunder storm was about to break.

"You had better not be eavesdropping, Pippin," said a refined voice by the Took's elbow.

"I am looking out for a friend," said Pip, "if it is any of your business, Frodo Baggins!"

"…'ere, don't' you go disrespecting Mister Frodo like that," said Samwise Gamgee.

"Erm, kindly do not tell me how I may behave, Sam Gamgee. In fact, none of you has the right to tell me what to do," said Pippin.

"Sam was not telling you what to do, Pippin," said Frodo.

"Indeed he was, and as for all this 'Mister Frodo' stuff, well, I call it toadying, for you are no more entitled to that courtesy than any one of us, Frodo, and that is my final word upon the matter!" Peregrine was the most even-tempered of Halflings, but every once in a while he stood up to the others constantly ordering him around, and today was one of those rare occasions.

"Hark at the young 'un," said Merry with a snigger.

Pippin, as he was universally known, was the youngest of Frodo's companions. He was only twenty-eight years old, which was considered very young for a Hobbit.

"And you can stop that, too, Meriadoc Brandybuck, mind your own beeswax," said the vexed Pippin.

"Come away from the doorway," Sam coaxed anew.

"I am waiting for Boromir," said Peregrin Took in his most grown up tone.

"Why?" Frodo asked impatiently. "What does he need with you as a friend? We have no dealings with the men of the south!"

"I am not dealing with a 'man of the south'; I am supporting my friend, just as I did when we you needed help reaching Rivendell, Frodo. I want all of you to leave me alone. I don't want Lord Boromir to think we have been discussing him. Well? Go away. Shoo!" Pippin ordered.

"Come away," said Frodo, "he shall come back when his curiosity is satisfied, for no one topic holds Pippin captive for long!"

"Aye…?" Pippin called after his departing friends. "Well, we'll just see about that, then!"

Well, so much for caring, thought Pip, or lending support to a fellow traveller. Was he the only one who still remembered their pledge to defend the ring bearer? How were they going to do that, if they could not even find it within themselves to feel compassion for the troubled man from Gondor? Well, Pippin was made of sterner stuff. He would not desert his new friend, and certainly not just to be seen to do as he was told.

TBC

For the reviewer Nimbus Llewellyn who enquired as to the origins of the nickname given to Erestor: Snookums, and its varying form, snooks, they originated within my tales, of which I had some 189, reduced over time to 139, dating from Oct 2003, archived under my pen name Evendim, and others under my other pen names Ivriniel, and Eambar. I recently removed the remaining 139 in order to come back to this fandom writing afresh. I could not reply in private as you did not leave me a contact link. I hope this explanation serves.

Evendim