A/N: This chapter has been a long time in coming. I have been preoccupied with new projects, not least the Game of Thrones/Vampire Diaries crossover I have been writing with my brother, called 'A Red Sun Rises'. (It's in the Game of Thrones section, by 'Tempest Rulz', if you're interested.) But my muse seems to be back, and it wants me to finish up my old stories too!

As always, Boromir, Gandalf, etc. belong to the brilliant Professor Tolkien. Leila is mine.

(Btw, during my absence, I met Sir Ian, and it was just the most awesome awesome thing about being a journalist because I could legitimately ask him questions. I was in a hurry to get to another job which included the prime minister being boring, and could only speak with him for three minutes. I felt I was being horribly rushed and rude, but he was very very gracious about it!)

Anyway, enough about me. On with the tale!

Chapter 10: Off the Record

The tree shivered in the cold wind blowing from the north. Boromir shivered internally along with it. Its bare branches looked more like bone. Dried bone of a long dead creature which might have, once upon a time, been magnificent to behold. He couldn't help but think that the fate of the tree foretold the fate of Gondor and everyone else in Middle-earth. 'It's just a tree,' he thought to himself. 'A tree like any other tree. Trees die.'

"Yes, that is the White Tree of Gondor," said the wizard.

"If it is dead, then why do you keep it?" asked Pippin. The question was directed at Boromir this time.

"We keep it in the hope it will one day flower again, little one," said Boromir. "Although…" His voice trailed off as he descended into all the dark possibilities that the tree would never flower again. They were becoming more and more likely with each passing moment as the darkness drew closer, coming to smother them once and for all.

He shook his head, as if to clear his mind of these dark thoughts, although Leila knew they kept plaguing him. She wished there was something she could do, but what could she do, short of telling him not to worry because Frodo was going to deal with it?

"Come," said Boromir. "My father will know of our arrival by now and I am most anxious to pass on what information we have so that we may prepare for battle. "

"Maybe I should stay outside," said Leila.

"Don't be ridiculous," said Boromir. "You have nothing to fear. You are my guest."

"This is the business of great men, and I have no part in it," said the girl.

'You know the most out of all of us," said Boromir. "With knowledge comes power and with power comes responsibility."

"I have the responsibility to not change the course of history," she said.

"I am not asking you to interfere; merely to observe. History has already been changed, Leila. I think you know that better than anybody," he countered. She had no argument against that.

"Like I said," continued Boromir. 'You have nothing to fear whilst you are under my protection. Do you not trust me?"

"I trust you," she replied. "I don't trust myself not to say the wrong thing."

"Then don't say anything," said Gandalf, interrupting them for the first time. "That is a simple enough solution to all your problems. Pippin, I would advise you to do the same."

"But I don't know any history-changing secrets," protested the hobbit.

"Oh, you know more secrets than you should, Peregrin," said Gandalf. "The more you say, the more mistakes you make."

The guards, who must have at least been aware of their hushed conversations, stared ahead impassively. For a moment, Leila wondered if the steel-clad figures were actual men or statues. Then one of them blinked, confirming their status as the former. What was it with feudal societies and treating security as ornamentation? These were like the Beefeaters in England, only without the ridiculous hats. If she were a queen, she would have wanted to be very sure her security personnel were alive and capable of moving.

Their footsteps echoed as they stepped inside the great hall of black and white marble—mostly white. Great vaulted ceilings enhanced the echoes as the sound waves bounced from one surface to another, making them sound like the footsteps of giants.

There was a path of black marble down the centre, leading up to a black marble dais and a black marble throne. Everything else was white, from the vaulted ceilings to the life-sized statues of kings long dead which lined the black path. The stone of which they were carved looked to be translucent, more like white jade than marble. Each of them held a sceptre and an orb, looking like any other king out of Earth's Middle Ages.

An empty chair sat at the base of the throne, also made of black marble. One had to wonder where all the marble had come from. Did Gondor trade a lot with the dwarves? The books had mentioned nothing about human miners although she had to assume that there were some.

"Where is my father?" asked Boromir of one of the servants who stood meekly by the dais, looking almost like ornaments themselves.

"My Lord Steward is indisposed. He bids you to go to his study, milord, for he much desires to speak with you alone," said the servant.

Boromir glanced back at the rest of them. He wasn't happy about the situation, and his lips were pressed together in a thin line. "Very well," he said. "See to it that my guests are properly settled. I shall go to my father immediately."

"Would you like someone to take you to him, milord?" asked the man.

"I have lived here my whole life. I should like to think I know the way around my own house."

He spoke as a man used to having his orders obeyed, which he was, but this was not the Boromir Leila had known. She'd known the man. This was the lord.

Although he still looked the same , he seemed to have grown in stature, and the mask he now wore hid all traces of the man who had jested with her and the hobbits. He turned to Gandalf. "You must come with me, Mithrandir," he said. "I fear my power of speech is not enough this time."

"You know I would have come even if you had not asked," said Gandalf. "But it pleases me that you did."

Boromir turned to the manservant. "See to it that my guests are settled comfortably. I want them both housed in the west wing."

For a moment, the servant goggled at him and gave an uncertain glance at Leila and Pippin. Boromir's forehead crinkled just a little.

"At once, milord," said the manservant as he beckoned to Leila and Pippin to follow him.

—

The familiar hallways of the citadel felt constricting and alien to him as he strode through them to his father's study. Yet, they were not the ones which had changed. Stones remained very much the same year to year. He was the one who was different.

Boromir found the door of his father's study shut. The polished oak had darkened with age, giving the door an air of solemn dignity, much like the man it hid. He knocked. The sound was dull to his ears.

"Who is it?" came his father's muffled voice from within. He sounded slightly irritated to be interrupted, although there was nothing unusual about that. His father was a man with a lot on his mind.

"It is I, Boromir," he replied. "I have brought Mithrandir with me, for we bear tidings from the west."

In moments, the door was flung open. Feeble rays of sun trickled through. The man who came out and embraced him was a lot older than he remembered. Boromir might only have been gone for half a year, but his father had aged ten. His dark hair, once simply threaded with silver, was half grey, and lines of worry had been engraved deeply in his visage.

"At last, you have returned, my son," he said. "You cannot know how much I have been looking forward to this day."

He invited them into his study. Boromir closed the door behind him.

Denethor bade him sit. "Let me have a look at you, my boy," he said. He sat behind his heavy wooden desk, opposite his son. The mountains of maps and documents, piled high on the desk, seemed to be threatening to swallow him, but he was smiling. How long had it been since his father had smiled? He had one of those faces, people said, that did not know mirth.

"You have grown so thin and brown," said Denethor, frowning at the thought of what sort of life his son had led in the wild. It made Boromir feel a rush of love towards his father. It was difficult for Denethor to show that he cared about someone, and if he was expressing his concern, then he must have been quite concerned indeed.

"I am well, Father," said Boromir. "It is you whose health concerns me. You look tired."

Denethor dismissed those worries with a wave of his hand. "It takes more than this to kill me," he said. "It will be some years before you will be Steward, Boromir. I hope it does not disappoint you to hear it."

"On the contrary, I pray I never have to become Steward," said Boromir. And as he said it, he realized he really meant it. He'd already given the first half of his life to Gondor. Was it too much to ask that he be able to live at least a part of the rest of his life for himself? He did not want to sit in the Steward's chair and grow bitter and cynical like his father, while the outside world crumbled around him, out of his control.

And perhaps he wouldn't have to. Aragorn was coming. Riding through the city, he had felt the suffocating ambience radiating from its inhabitants, as if they despaired of ever being rid of the shadow. Perhaps a good Steward was not enough for Gondor. She needed her king.

"Of course you will be Steward one day," said Denethor. "No man lives forever, and I am no elf. But it will not be for a while yet, I assure you. I'm not as close to death as everyone seems to think." His brow darkened. "What news have you brought from the west?"

"Not good news, I'm afraid," said Boromir. "Mordor is set to march on our gates with a host of tens of thousands. We must join forces with Théoden of Rohan if we are to stand a chance of surviving, Father."

"We must, must we?" said Denethor. His voice had chilled by more than just a few notches within the last minute, and his flint grey eyes became harder than stone, and more cutting. "Have you truly lost your way, Boromir, that you would open our gates to that ranger of the north who has no more claim to this throne than the mercenaries who sell their swords?"

No one had been expecting that, although Boromir suspected Leila must have known, which was why she had been so nervous.

Gandalf stepped forward, allowing Boromir a graceful retreat. "The Rohirrim have ever been the allies of Gondor, Lord Denethor," he said. "With the enemy marching on your doorstep, you need your friends now more than ever. Light the beacons. It is the only way."

"And when your friends are wolves dressed as lambs?" asked Denethor. "Enemies march on Gondor from both directions, Mithrandir."

"Father, Gondor needs Rohan's aid!" said Boromir, unable to abide it any longer.

Denethor stood up so rapidly that he almost overturned his desk, and would have if it had not been so heavy. The inkwell toppled over, and black spread over the pale yellow sheets of parchment scattering his desk, obliterating words and spreading across a map of Gondor.

"Would you betray your own father?" he demanded. Boromir stared at him, speechless. What had prompted his father to accuse him of such a thing? He was indignant, and he was pained his father would even think of it!

"Had you only taken Isildur's bane from the Halfling and brought it back here, Gondor would have been saved! Do not think me blind. I know you could have."

"You know not of what you speak," said Boromir quietly.

"Do I not? Or do you still think me a fool. You disappoint me, Boromir. I would have expected Faramir to fall prey to the wizard's smooth words, but you. You!"

He sat down again.

"Gondor has no need of horsemen or rangers from the north," said Denethor. With that, he bent back down over his spoiled documents and did not look at them again.

Just like that, they were dismissed.

—

"You would have thought they would have let us go in and listen at least, after having come all this way," said Pippin as he smoked a pipe on the white stone balcony outside his room, determinedly trying to blow smoke rings. He managed one or two, but mostly the smoke just came in a stream out of his mouth. He'd tried to convince Leila to try it, but she had adamantly refused. "Aren't you the least bit curious, Leila? I thought you would be at least as curious as a Took."

The girl was still carefully examining their meal consisting of a great variety of cold meats, preserved vegetables, cheese, and breads. The artichokes had been excellent; tender, with a delicate smoky flavour, and just sour enough to excite her taste buds. She was feeling human again now that she'd bathed in a deep wooden tub filled with hot water and changed into fresh, borrowed clothes. She'd even made an emergency hair conditioner out of lemon juice and oil, which had made the maids look at her oddly.

"They'll tell us everything soon enough," said Leila. "Besides, I'm relieved. The thought of meeting Boromir's father terrifies me."

"You'll have to meet your future father in law sometime," said the hobbit, which made her almost spit out a mouthful of cranberry tonic. As it was, the liquid went down the wrong way, and she spent a significant amount of time coughing out her epiglottis, with Pippin patting her back unhelpfully.

"Don't be ridiculous," she finally managed to gasp. "Boromir and I are friends."

"That's what they all say, and the next thing you know, they're married," said Pippin.

And then, a timely knock on the door saved Leila from further embarrassment and the need to explain herself.

"Who is it?" asked Pippin.

"It is I," came a familiar voice.

"The door's not locked," said the hobbit. "Come in!"

Boromir came in and shut the door behind him. Before they could greet him, he'd sat down and poured himself a cup of wine, which he then downed in one gulp. His face was pale, and his eyes were troubled.

"What's going on? What's wrong? Did someone die?" asked Leila.

He stared at the flickering flames in the hearth. The unsteady orange light cast dark shadows on the sharp planes of his face. He remained that way for a long time, still and unmoving. Finally, he turned to his two increasingly confused and worried companions.

"Forgive me, Pippin, but would you mind if I borrowed Leila for a moment?"

"You're more than welcome to," said the hobbit, beating a hasty retreat, no doubt to find Gandalf and demand what was going on. Finally, it was just the two of them. Leila sat down beside Boromir on the long couch.

"What's going on?" she said. "Come on, say something. You're scaring me."

"I do not know what I ought to do," he said softly. "On one side is my father, and on the other, my brother and king. I am torn between the two. If you were in my place, what would you choose?"

"There is a third side," said Leila.

"A third side?" he asked.

"I think you know better than I do which side that is," said Leila.

"Gondor, of course," said Boromir, "but I cannot tell which decision would be in Gondor's best interests. Aragorn might be the rightful king, but he has not been here in decades, whereas my father has consolidated his power.

"But Gondor needs her king. The people look to him to make things right. Not me, not my father. The king. The very idea of him gives them hope, and with hope, they can see the end they are fighting for. Not for us lords to remain in power. What do they care about that if we cannot protect them and give them peace? I have come to realize the common people do not care who rules them as long as he —yes, or she— is just and fair and can let them prosper. They care not for bloodlines and legitimacy. That is the game of lords."

"I think you've just answered your own question," said Leila.

He gave a small chuckle, and some of the burden seemed to fall from him. "I do not know what I would have done without you," he said. "No, do not answer that, for I know that answer as well."

"So I take it the discussion did not go smoothly?" she finally ventured. She doubted Denethor would have taken kindly to the idea that he let Aragorn assume sovereignty over the country he and his forebears had ruled for so long. Hell, if she'd been in his place, she'd have been furious as well.

"It was a disaster," he said. "My father wants the…you know what I'm talking about. He thinks it will save Gondor." He shook his head. "I am glad I was here to mediate it. His love for me shields me from the full brunt of his wrath. Had it been Faramir…I shudder to think how it would have played out."

"You're a good brother," said Leila. "Faramir's lucky to have you."

"I should think so," said Boromir. He paused. "From tomorrow on, the entire city will be making preparations for war, and I would hate to leave you all alone in the Citadel"

"Don't worry about me. I'm no one of consequence. Who's going to hurt me?"

"On the contrary, your head holds a lot of valuable information," said Boromir. "Besides, you are my guest, and what sort of host would I be if I abandoned you to your own devices? If you do not object, I should like to move you to a safe place until such time as I will be able to do more for you."

"You're not trying to sequester me away like a mistress, are you?" she asked, mostly in jest.

"I would never!" He sounded so indignant and insulted that she regretted even suggesting it.

"I wasn't serious," she said.

"But I am," he said. "I do believe it would be a safer place for you, but if you disagree, you only need say so, and I shall move you back to the Citadel."

—

Minas Tirith was a city where class mattered. Much like medieval Europe, people of different statuses seldom mingled. The tiers of society were separated by the levels of the city, which they called circles. However, there were some who transcended the boundaries of class and status to establish their own niche, using wealth and sheer brilliance.

The seventh circle was dedicated entirely to government and, of course, housed the palace where the ruling steward and his family lived. The sixth circle was where wealthy noblemen had their houses, and the Houses of Healing were also there, although Leila questioned the common sense of putting what was, essentially, a hospital, so high up. What if someone got injured in the first circle? By the time they managed to get the patient up here, they might have died already!

House prices decreased as they went lower down into the city. The first circle was the Gondorian equivalent of a ghetto. Each circle had its own contingent of soldiers, who doubled up as law enforcers. The army and the police were one and the same in Gondor. Apparently, their case-closing rate was rather low; something which Boromir had been wanting to rectify for a while, but simply hadn't the time to, what with all the incursions by Mordor's forces.

Boromir took her to the third circle, where less wealthy noblemen mingled with wealthier entrepreneurs and great scholars. "I own a house here," he said. "No one knows of it, save for Faramir, and everyone else believes if I had a house anywhere in the city, it would be on the sixth circle."

"Oh my God, you have a bachelor pad?" she asked.

"A man needs his solitude sometimes," said Boromir. "I can trust you with this secret, yes?"

"I would never breach a source's confidence," said Leila. "Journalism ethics."

"I was under the impression gossip mongers have no ethics. Then again, you do not seem to be very good at it."

"I don't need to breach my code of ethics to get stories," said Leila. "You tell me everything that need to know."

"Only because I know I am…what do you call it? Off the record."

He led her down a little side street, nestled in a wildly overgrown garden. The branches of dog rose bushes spilled over the edges of the path. The orchids had yet to flower, but the branches of the crab apple trees, which hung low overhead like a natural gazebo, were covered with buds. Boromir had to duck to avoid hitting his head on the branches.

"Do you have a gardener?" asked Leila.

"He's lame, deaf, and almost blind," said Boromir. "But when my mother was alive, he helped her to cultivate the most beautiful roses. After she died, my father dismissed him and redesigned all the gardens for they reminded him too much of her. But I always remembered, and when I bought this house, almost twenty years ago now, I hired him to tend my gardens. I thought, perhaps, I could recreate a garden my mother used to have. Alas, I did not have the time, and he grew old. I cannot bear the thought of replacing him, however. This is his home as much as it is mine."

The doorway was low, barely tall enough to fit Boromir. The door was made of polished oak with brass knockers and studs, more for show than for actual defence. The housekeeper answered before Boromir had even knocked on the door twice. She curtseyed awkwardly, and then quickly began to tell her master about all the preparations she had made for his visit, and asking him how long he would stay.

"Not long, I'm afraid," he said.

"Of course, your duty calls, milord," said the housekeeper, whose name was Nimmir. "Oh, how sick I am of this damned shadow!"

"Valar willing, it will not be for much longer," said Boromir.

"I have no doubt about that, now that you are back," said the woman. She peered curiously at Leila, who was beginning to feel like an exotic exhibit at a zoo.

"Nimmir, this is Leila," said Boromir. "She is a travelling storyteller from the east, and she will be a guest in this house."

"You have never brought a woman to this house before, milord," said Nimmir as she examined the younger woman with eyes which reminded Leila of airport security. She looked from Leila to Boromir, as if demanding answers.

"She saved my life," said Boromir. "Now she is my guest, but I think it would be more appropriate for her to stay here rather than in the Citadel."

"Well, in this case, you are most welcome, milady," said Nimmir, dipping her head in Leila's direction. "I shall see to it your room is ready." She immediately left to do what she'd said she would do, leaving Boromir and Leila standing in the foyer of the house.

"She was nurse to Faramir and I when we were boys," said Boromir. "She's very protective of us. When my father no longer had need of her services, I arranged a position for her here. She lives here now, and keeps everything ready for me should I want to stay for a while." He paused. "Well…what do you think?"

"It's beautiful," said Leila. And she meant it. While the Citadel itself was gorgeous and awe-inspiring, it hardly felt like a place where people lived. Boromir's 'bachelor pad' actually felt like a home, and the simple décor —no ostentatious vases or plaster sculptures anywhere— was so very him.

He left her soon after to settle in, having already taken far too much time out of his busy schedule to make sure she was comfortable. However, he promised to try and come back later in the day if he could and bring both Pippin and Gandalf with him so they could at least have supper together. "Don't worry about me," she said as she ushered him out the door. "This is Minas Tirith. I don't think I'm in any danger of being eaten by an orc here, and I can amuse myself well enough."

"There are more dangerous things than orcs and trolls in the world," said Boromir, "and not all weapons are made of steel. As much as I love Minas Tirith, I cannot deny there are dangers in her streets as well, and I know you will be exploring as much as you can."

"I've survived twenty four years just fine on my own," said Leila. Well, not entirely on her own; she'd had her parents and friends and all those people to help her, but she wasn't exactly friendless here. "I think I can survive just a few hours without you. Now go before they blame me for keeping you from serious matters of state. That is not something I'm willing to take responsibility for. "

Not entirely convinced, but knowing that he was being completely irrational, Boromir finally left the little house and garden.