Chapter Four Onward

Bright early morning sunshine slanted through green leaves overhead and gave glimpses of a crystal clear blue sky. A lovely morning, but too warm so early in the season. There would be rain by afternoon and more enemy would be tracking them. The cavern, secure as it might appear, could nonetheless become a death trap.

"My thanks, Legolas," Aragorn said, and with a muffled groan of relief, he lowered the stern of the boat to rest among the scrubby bushes close by the shelter. At least this, the second boat had not required them carrying it the full distance, having yesterday arrived almost to the half way point before they were attacked. As for the third boat, he and Legolas could not afford the danger of being caught in the open again, nor did they have the time. And, more importantly, there was no longer anyone capable of rowing it. Aragorn had never felt quite so exposed and defenceless, having left Gimli on watch by the ruins and gambled there would be no more enemy on the hunt so soon while they collected the second boat. The Dwarf emerged from cover close by and flashed a smile that immediately said all was well.

"Welcome back!" Gimli greeted.

"That was fast!" Merry added, appearing from the bushes close by, his arms laden with more firewood.

"Any developments?" Aragorn asked and pushed aside the clumped cut branches and small bushes that hid the stone entryway to follow Merry back inside, while Gimli remained on guard, speaking a moment with Legolas.

"Frodo has eaten a better breakfast than in a long while and gone back to sleep," the Hobbit reported. "Sam is very happy."

"Gimli has a theory about that," Legolas told him as he too, entered.

Aragorn huffed a laugh. "Gimli always does!"

"Indeed! He believes Frodo is feeling better because The Ring has been silenced."

Aragorn's brows climbed. "I hadn't thought of that, but it does follow."

"Also, that Frodo enjoyed threatening the thing, and seeing Boromir win against it," Merry put in.

Stepping into the darker interior, Aragorn nodded. "The thought certainly improves my mood. So, how is Boromir?"

"He's awake," Pippin reported from where he sat on guard at the Man's side. "And talking sense at last."

"Talking for himself, at least," Boromir corrected and ruffled the younger Hobbit's curls.

Aragorn saw with relief that Boromir did indeed appear much stronger. He sat with his back propped against a low stone wall that was cushioned by a bed roll. He still looked terribly pale, the vivid bruise a dark blot just above his left eyebrow. The white of the bandage about his upper right arm stood out against the shadows at the back of the old ruin. He walked around the fire-pit to stand smiling down at the wounded Man.

"I am glad to see you recovering, my friend," he said.

Boromir lifted his head to return the smile when a shaft of intense sunlight suddenly streamed through the portal where Legolas was readjusting the foliage screen at the entrance. Boromir flinched and threw his left arm up to cover his face.

"The light still hurts your eyes?"

"It's nothing," Boromir said. "It will pass."

Legolas called an apology and warily, Boromir lowered his arm and squinted up at Aragorn. "How much time have we lost?"

"A day." Forestalling more comment on that subject, Aragorn knelt at the Man's side and, holding up a hand with three fingers splayed asked the standard question. "How many?"

"I can see well enough."

"And?" Aragorn persisted.

Boromir gave an irritated sigh and muttered something under his breath that could have been a curse directed at all healers. He leaned forward a little, trying to get closer to the target, blinking and focusing as best he could. "Two?"

Aragorn said nothing but turned to prepare more athelas tea.

"Well?" Boromir grouched.

"You missed one," Pippin reported cheerfully. Boromir gave another loud sigh. And, seeming to feel some morale boosting was in order, Pippin added, "But you're much better this morning than you were last night, Boromir. I was really worried."

That comment softened Boromir's mood, his lips quirking at the corners. "You were?" Pippin nodded and even Boromir must have been able to see the wide-eyed sorrow of his expression for he reached out and drew the Hobbit into a quick, gruff hug. "You should know by now that I always bounce back."

"That's true," Merry agreed. "You certainly bounced off that wall in Moria. I thought you were a goner then for sure." Boromir snorted dry amusement. "You hit your head hard but you mustn't have been concussed that time because you didn't talk much afterward."

"Talk?" Boromir frowned and thought that over. "I was talking last night?"

"A fair bit." Pippin said. Aragorn threw a warning look at the Hobbits but they only flashed cheeky grins. This was too good an opportunity for teasing.

"I dreamed Faramir and Garad were here," Boromir said slowly. "I thought I'd had too much to drink."

"It would have been funny if we weren't so worried," Merry said.

"I was talking to Faramir as if he were here, wasn't I?"

"You called him a mother hen," Pippin said, Merry finishing, "And some other less complimentary names that would have got your mouth washed out with soap if you were in the Shire."

"They tell me I do that sometimes, when I'm fevered," Boromir said, and lifted a hand to gingerly trace the large bruise on his forehead. "I don't remember hitting my head. How did that happen?"

"Ahh, well." The Hobbits looked direct at Aragorn, immediately implicating him.

"I lost my grip and the current slammed you into the rock," Aragorn said, guiltily glad that Boromir could not focus well enough to look him straight in the eye. "I am sorry."

"Sorry!" Gimli snorted sourly. He clumped inside, lugging Boromir's water-logged shield and propping it close to the fire. "Don't listen to him, Laddie. What he means to say is he somehow managed to get your sorry hide back to shore despite the safety line giving way and your great lump of a foot being trapped and dragging you down."

"Oh…." Boromir said slowly. "Then it is I who must apologize. You did well, Aragorn. My thanks."

"Apologize?" Aragorn squatted down to hand over the mug of steaming tea. Boromir reached, and missed, his eyes still not focusing properly. Aragorn said nothing but took Boromir's left hand and curled it about the cup.

"Yes." Boromir swallowed some tea and grimaced at the taste. "I forgot to tell Frodo to tell you about that before I passed out."

"How could you need to apologise, Boromir?" Pippin asked. "You were unconscious!"

"You did it deliberately?" Aragorn said.

"Did what?" Gimli growled. "Sometimes I swear you two are as bad as Elves. We can't read your minds."

"Just as well, all things considered," Boromir commented dryly. Gimli gave a great grunt of irritation and the Man explained. "I deliberately wedged my foot in the crevice."

Gimli gaped. "What? Near bleeding to death wasn't enough?"

"I didn't near bleed to death. My feet kept slipping, and I knew my full weight could break the arrow shaft. If it gave way, Frodo and I would have been sucked into the whirlpool."

"There was a whirlpool?" Sam squeaked in alarm from the other side of the fire.

"Right behind us." Frodo told him, sitting up to pat Sam's arm and give him a wry smile.

"You knew?" Boromir said, squinting blearily toward Frodo's voice and flinching as the firelight caught his eyes.

"I could see it from atop your shoulders, Boromir."

"Oh." Boromir dropped his eyes, avoiding the light. "I never knew. You gave no sign. I doubt I could have done so well had I been trapped out there, unable to swim."

Frodo huffed a half laugh and climbed to his feet, Sam hovering anxiously. "I don't believe that for a moment. Not a moment." He came round the fire to stand close at Boromir's side. The Man tried valiantly to meet the Hobbit's eyes but it was apparent he could see little more than a blur and was tracking by movement and sound alone. Frodo bent, took Boromir's free hand, and held it close to his heart.

"Thank you, Boromir," he said intently. "Thank you, for everything."

Boromir did not look up, but simply nodded. Then, as Frodo let go, Boromir said, almost in a whisper, "Some of it deserves anything other than thanks."

Before Frodo could respond, he lifted his head and a grin spread like dawn-light over his otherwise shadowed and battered features. "But I am glad, Frodo, most glad of the outcome."

"Now there's an understatement if ever there's been one!" Impulsively, yet shyly, Frodo leaned forward and touched his lips to Boromir's bruised forehead. Aragorn was amused and touched to see a spread of colour wash away the Man's pallor.

"There is only thanks owed," Frodo told him. "And remember this, you won. You showed me it can be done. I will never forget that, Boromir. It will carry me through, it will see me through." Frodo's voice caught and he turned away.

Boromir seemed puzzled yet reassured all at once.

"Look at the two of you," Merry said, trying for a scolding tone and failing. "Pale as mushrooms in the moonlight and rambling on like as if you've eaten the wrong kind!"

Boromir spluttered a laugh, and tension fled the group. "Do you have any of the right kind, Master Meriadoc? I am famished!"

"As a matter of fact, I do," Merry replied smugly.

"Mushrooms?" Gimli all but drooled into his beard. "Now where did you find those? I never let you scamps out of my sight for a moment."

"It's a cave, Gimli," Pippin said with exasperation. "You must know you can always find mushrooms in a cave."

"Only in moldy caves," Gimli huffed. "Our homes are not moldy. And this is, by the way, not a cave."

"Near as," Merry said.

Aragorn shook his head and gripped Boromir's shoulder. "I am glad that you are well enough to be hungry," he said, then with a pointed glance at the two younger Hobbits, added, "But sorry that we will all starve if we must wait for this debate to be decided."

"Give 'em 'ere, and let me cook 'em proper," Sam said, reaching for the bag. "There's still some of that dried venison, too. And some herbs. And for once a real fire pit to cook on. Now, if only we had some 'taters'."

"It seems we are saved," Aragorn smiled.

"What time of day is it?" Boromir asked, abruptly serious.

"Second breakfast time," Pippin informed him cheerily.

"Good. We can be back on the river by midday."

"What?" Pippin exclaimed. 'But Boromir, you are not well enough to be –"

Ignoring the comment, Boromir peered up at Aragorn to ask, "You went for the second boat. Was there any sign of the enemy?"

Aragorn sighed heavily. "No."

"Yesterday I fought a much larger, more cunning enemy. It could only have been one of the Uruk-hai of whom Celeborn warned us. It was marked with the White Hand."

"Painted on the face?" Boromir nodded and Aragorn said, "Yes, I caught a glimpse of such a one myself and Legolas reported putting an arrow into it. He tells me it was intent on attacking you and the Hobbits." Frodo and the Ring was left unsaid.

"Uruk-hai," Gimli said, "Just what we need." His deep voice was an ominous rumble in the sudden quiet, punctuated only by the crackle of the fire.

"It is not far now to the Falls," Aragorn said. "There we must make some decisions. "

***

After a most enjoyable hot meal, relished all the more because it had been eaten inside rather than outside at the mercy of the elements, most were not keen to leave. Only Boromir and Legolas shared Aragorn's growing sense of urgency – the Uruk had survived the battle, and though wounded, would by now have reported to the main band. The creature had come so close to capturing its prize, it would be eager to reclaim the trail. All the more so for believing that one of the warriors that travelled with the Fellowship had been killed. Aragorn cast a swift glance forward along the trail to the riverbank where Merry and Pippin were guiding Boromir to the prepared boats. The Man's eyes were even less use out here in the bright sunshine. His heart contracted at the memory of how very near they had come to losing him.

Aragorn was keenly aware that of them all other than Frodo, he himself had the most vital decision facing him – should he accept Boromir's plea and return to Minas Tirith and at last give Gondor its King? Or at least another defender. Denethor would not be best pleased, but then, by the confessions Boromir had made as to his father's state of mind, there seemed no other choice but to dare his wrath. Yes, he would return to Gondor, but when?

Aragorn turned to look behind where Sam was, as ever, assisting Frodo, carrying his pack as they too made for the boats. Frodo could not be expected to face Mordor alone. Gondor must wait. Boromir and his brother must – somehow – continue to hold the White City as the enemy's forces grew ever stronger.

Reaching the other Man who stood waiting to step last into the boat as Legolas and Merry and Pippin finished packing it, Aragorn clapped him on the shoulder in a gesture of friendship and support.

Boromir turned to him with a smile, and said cheerfully, "So, I am reduced to baggage."

"Not for long. Enjoy the break from rowing while you can."

"I will rest my sword arm. I have a feeling it will soon be needed once more."

Aragorn let out a heavy sigh. "Yes, the enemy cannot be far behind us. We must keep moving, otherwise I would not –"

"Please, don't say it again," Boromir scowled. "I tell you I will not succumb for being exposed to a little bad weather."

Aragorn merely nodded and turned to place his pack in his own boat, not repeating his concern that Boromir had not fully recovered and was still fighting off the remnants of fever.

"We'll be sure to keep him warm, Strider," Pippin announced cheerfully.

"Come on, then," Merry added, reaching for Boromir's arm. "Get in. We've laid blankets over some leather in the bottom so we can wrap them about you."

"Thank you," Boromir said with as much good grace as he could muster. He squinted bleary-eyed at the bank, trying to spot the slippery places where much coming and going had churned up the mud. Legolas took his other arm, ignoring an irritated sigh to assist Boromir safely into the boat.

Aragorn lifted Frodo and Sam in turn into his boat, neither having managed alone in the past without making it lurch alarmingly and scaring themselves before the journey even began. At the moment, Aragorn suspected Frodo was more afraid than ever of returning to the river, and none would blame him for it. Gimli sat ready in the prow, eyeing the water darkly. The Dwarf too could not swim, and would much have preferred to walk for all that travel by river required no exertion.

"All set?" Aragorn called both to his own passengers and those in the other boat. A chorus of varied answers returned.

"Keep the boats as close together as possible," he said again, and could almost see Legolas' exasperation. If he'd said it once he'd said it ten times, Aragorn knew, and no doubt would say another ten times before the day ended.

They had traveled less than an hour when the sun disappeared amid heavy, scudding, metal-grey clouds. Rain soon followed, a steady chill downpour that would soon have drenched them to the skin if not for the wondrous warmth and water-repellent qualities of the hooded Elven cloaks. Those who were not rowing would feel the chill much faster. Aragorn found there were some advantages to Boromir's impaired vision for it meant he could regularly check the Man's condition or at least as best as was possible from some distance. Prior to setting out, he had asked Legolas to signal him if he thought Boromir's fever was worsening to the point that an earlier stop would be needed, and that signal came by mid afternoon. Aragorn could see for himself that Boromir no longer sat tall and straight, but was hunched forward in his cloak, and the Hobbits had somehow managed to tuck themselves more snugly about him.

Aragorn steered his boat closer still, meeting Legolas' worried eyes. He nodded and together they struck out for the dim line of the shore, masked in drifting veils of rain. As soon as the boats touched bottom, Aragorn forestalled Boromir's expected questioning as to why they were stopping so early. "There is a high crest behind the trees. I will climb it and see how far we are from Amon Hen. Also if there is any sign of the enemy."

"They won't be falling any further back for our halting now," Gimli grumbled. Then, as he clambered awkwardly from the boat and looked toward Boromir, he understood and added, "But we can all use some hot tea. And I am glad of the chance to stretch my legs."

Legolas could not let that go. "Says he who has almost the shortest legs of us all."

Gimli glowered at the Elf and said with as much dignity as possible, "A compact form is much the better for endurance. It grieves me to hear you are having difficulties with those ungainly limbs, Legolas."

The two kept up the banter, covering as Merry and Pippin hurried to report to Aragorn in an urgent whisper. "Boromir's much sicker, though he won't let on." Merry's eyes were dark with worry as he looked up at Aragorn.

"He's been shivering so hard it rattled the boat," Pippin added.

"I know," Aragorn said. "Do not fear, some more athelas will see him restored."

"I can hear you whispering over there," Boromir grouched, stumbling a little despite Legolas' steadying hand as he climbed from the boat, "And I know what you're about." He took a few shaky steps up the bank to stand and glare as best he could at Aragorn. "You cannot afford to risk the entire group for my benefit, Aragorn. You know that."

"We do not stop long," Aragorn said stiffly. Boromir was right and that only made Aragorn all the more angry. "Hot food now will make all the difference between a mild fever and survival." Boromir shook his head, set to continue the argument, and Aragorn snapped, "If I am to be Gondor's King, I will not begin by delivering a dead son to the Steward!"

The two men stood like stags with locked horns a long moment, the rest of the Fellowship gaping at them uneasily.

Then, suddenly, a faint smile broke the stern set of Boromir's features. "Father would not be amused," he agreed.

He lifted his gaze and managed to focus enough to look disarmingly direct into Aragorn's eyes, searching, seeking how much truth was carried in his words. Aragorn met that examination unflinching, and Boromir gave a quick sharp nod. He made the effort to lift his wounded right arm and grip Aragorn's forearm. "But the Captain General of Gondor must tell his King when he might need to reconsider his strategy."

The words hit Aragorn with a tidal surge of emotion. He had never dared imagine to be given that title by Denethor's son. He held the other Man's gaze and, as unashamed tears filmed his eyes, returned the forearm grip. He could not trust his voice to accept what was surely a vow of allegiance.

"As well as concede when his judgment is correct," Boromir added, suddenly swaying on his feet.

"Sit, my General, before you fall!" Aragorn steadied him and helped him sit down.

Boromir added wryly, "Though it will be more the trial for me, obeying a King who is also a healer!"

Aragorn snorted, and suddenly he was laughing, and the Fellowship relaxed. "The sooner we get water boiled, the sooner we set out again. I would like to reach Amon Hen by nightfall."

"I will go to the top of the crest," Legolas offered. "And see what may be spied through all this rain."

"My thanks," Aragorn said. "Come Merry, Pippin, help me unload the dry firewood from the boat. Sam –"

But the most pragmatic of the Hobbits was already unpacking the utensils needed to make a hasty meal.

"Thank you," Aragorn said, wondering if he had said it enough to Sam in their long journey.

A short time later, they sat huddled under their cloaks, as close as possible to the small fire that spat and spluttered in the rain. The flames were shielded as best they could manage with the green boughs Gimli had chopped from the surrounding trees. Aragorn hoped that those branches, combined with the now heavier rain, would also protect the fire from spying eyes. Legolas had returned to report a long sweeping curve of the river lay ahead of them, and beyond, just visible to Elven eyes, stood the Argonath.

"The statues are really big enough to be seen from so far?" Pippin asked.

"Indeed."

"And they were Kings of Gondor?" Merry continued.

"The High King, Elendil, and his younger son, Anárion who was the first King of Gondor".

"Wasn't there another son?" Pippin said, taking his turn.

"Yes, Isildur," Aragorn put in, as Legolas looked expectantly to him. "He was King of Arnor." Aragorn was not concentrating on the conversation, as pertinent as it was to him. Despite the hot athelas tea, Boromir's condition seemed to be deteriorating rather than improving. And if it could worsen even with athelas to aid him, Aragorn feared for his friend's survival. Yet they could not stop, for though Legolas could not see them, he had quietly reported to Aragorn that he was certain the Uruks were but a half day behind.

"Try to drink another cup," Aragorn urged, placing the refilled tin mug in Boromir's hands, and noting they trembled with an inner chill.

Boromir nodded, his silence further adding to Aragorn's concern. He took one small mouthful, then paled, overcome by a wave of nausea. Aragorn had never known anyone to be other than eased by the herb. Boromir put down the mug to lift his unwounded arm and rub at his eyes.

"The headache is worse?" Aragorn guessed.

"A little. It is nothing," Boromir said, but the hoarse whisper of his voice belied the reassurance. He squinted painfully toward Aragorn and added more firmly, "We have wasted enough time. We must move or –"

Aragorn knew he cut himself short for the sake of the Hobbits. But it was clear enough – remain here another hour and risk dying at the hands of the Uruks.

"We will go now," Aragorn said, standing.

"But –" Merry and Pippin looked from him to Boromir in confusion.

"We leave now," Aragorn repeated, kicking damp soil over the fire. "Help Boromir into the boat and see he is covered against the rain."

"I can manage for myself," Boromir grumbled, but accepted the helping hands as he staggered to his feet.

"Aragorn," Frodo asked. "A moment to speak with you?"

"Of course."

They took a few paces away from the group, and Frodo whispered, "The Ring is active again. Worse than ever. It drains Boromir's strength, I can feel it. It desires his death. Does that mean it knows help may be close at hand?"

Aragorn avoided answering. "Is there anything that might counter its will?"

"It seeks your mind now, Aragorn. It will kill Boromir, then try to take you."

Aragorn stood silent a moment, feeling a chill deeper than any winter. He had known Boromir stood between he and the Ring all the way from Rivendell. And now that formerly unbreakable bulwark was gone, not in Boromir's failure, but rather because of his victory. The Ring would expend no more of its strength, waste no more time, trying to erode that fortress wall. Rather it would kill the proud heart that held it at bay and may have kept Aragorn from falling. How had the Man endured and resisted that insidious voice so long, all the while dreading what he might find when he returned to a beloved home so precariously besieged?

Frodo stood watching Aragorn, pity and understanding full in his eyes.

"I know," Aragorn admitted. "I have felt it, today, in the boat. It desires my doubt. It offers an easier way."

"It lies." Frodo's youthful face twisted into a sneer of hatred. "Ever it lies, ever it seeks to destroy all that we love, all that brings joy and beauty. I will not allow it, Aragorn, I will not!"

Frodo's raised voice drew Sam's attention and Frodo waved him brusquely away. "Not now, Sam."

Both Frodo and Aragorn could see the hurt in the loyal Hobbit's brown eyes as he turned back to his work.

"You see?" Frodo said. "That is how it would have things. There is only one answer. I must leave the Fellowship. Soon. And alone…."