Chapter Twenty Two: Plans Before Dawn.

Illustration by Skye

When next Boromir woke he felt much stronger and much hungrier. The room was dimly lit, the fire banked in the hearth, and he could sense it was late at night. Perhaps not long before dawn. He lay on his right side, and could plainly see Faramir had not left him all night. His brother was sound asleep on the camp cot he'd carried into the room. Smiling, Boromir rolled onto his back, hoping to find a jug of water on the table on the other side of the bed. He saw, with surprise, that Faramir was not the only one who had been sitting vigil. Aragorn, looking somewhat cleaner than before, was also asleep. He sat in the large cushioned chair he'd moved to the end of the bed so he could lift his booted feet to rest on the mattress. No doubt leaving mud on the coverlet. Again, Boromir smiled. Aragorn looked more comfortable than Boromir could ever recall seeing him. He had changed out of his battle filthy clothing and wore only a grey-blue tunic and shirt, his sword belt buckled over it. His head was tilted back against the rest, and his long legs crossed. His face was serenely composed and Boromir frowned as he realised fully how different, how much more tense, the man looked when awake. And little wonder for so much responsibility weighed on his shoulders.

Sighing at that thought, Boromir licked his lips, feeling very thirsty. He needed something to drink! Ahh, there it was -- a pitcher and cup on the small table. Boromir reached for it, and grunted faint annoyance at his stiffness and the jab of pain in his ribs. His city and his King needed him and he had no time for his wounds to heal fully. That small sound had predictably enough, alerted Aragorn. The man's booted feet met the floor with a thump that startled him fully to wakefulness and caused Boromir to spill the water he was trying to pour into the cup.

"Determined to manage without help, again?" Aragorn said dryly as he got to his feet and stretched.

"I did not wish to disturb your sleep."

Aragorn crossed to the table, took the cup and filled it. Then he gave it safely to Boromir. "I have slept long enough," Aragorn said. "It will be dawn soon." He moved to the fire and built it to a new blaze that added some warmth to the cold room. Boromir drained the cup and put it down then tried to push himself further up in the bed. He gasped as pain knifed through him. Cursing, he held a hand to his ribs.

"Take care!" Aragorn warned. "The stays have not yet been replaced on those broken ribs."

"Perhaps that's why I was able to sleep so comfortably," Boromir said sourly. "Those bandages near strangle me."

Aragorn's lips quirked in a wry smile. "I am glad that you are recovered enough to complain about such things."

"And you would be in a fine temper if you had to lie here abed while battles are fought before your walls!" Boromir lowered his voice as he saw Faramir stir in his sleep. He sighed heavily, ignoring the pain. " And indeed inside the walls as well."

Aragorn nodded grimly and sat back in the chair to yawn and scrub tiredly at his face. "Yes, Gandalf told me." He cast a keen but shadowed look at Boromir as if about to say something but unsure if he should.

Boromir could easily guess what it was. "Much has happened," he said quietly. "Faramir told me about --" He looked away, had to swallow hard before he could say it, "-- how our father died."

"Sauron's work. If only --" Aragorn sighed and left off what ever he'd intended saying, to finish simply, "I am sorry."

Boromir studied Aragorn a moment noting the return of the familiar lines about eyes and mouth as duty dragged at him. He bunched up a fist and almost pounded it hard into the table before remembering his sleeping brother. He punched the bed instead, which gave much less satisfaction. "First the cursed Ring!" he said in a sharp whisper. "Now the enemy eye pierces my father's mind through some far-seeing stone."

"A palantir. Such was also the cause of Saruman's fall."

Boromir cocked an eyebrow. " A foul and powerful weapon, then, surely. " Aragorn nodded, his jaw set. "Gandalf tells me Saruman is dead? Orthanc is taken from his control?"

Aragorn nodded then shrugged. "Grima Wormtongue had his vengeance. It was his dagger took Saruman's life."

Boromir grunted. "It grieves me to learn of Théoden King's death even though such an honourable death in battle is as he would have wished. I do wonder –" Now it was his turn to pause while he hunted for the right words to broach a delicate subject. But Aragorn knew why he hesitated.

"You travelled to Rivendell through the Gap of Rohan. I take it you stopped at Meduseld?" Boromir nodded. "Then you would know, you would have seen Théoden as he was before Gandalf freed him."

Boromir frowned and leaned forward. "Freed? It was some kind of spell?"

"Yes. Saruman had possessed him, was using him to his own ends."

Boromir groaned and rubbed at his face. "Then my father was not the only one to suffer so cruelly at the hands of the enemy. I could wish he too had found death in battle, rather than –"

"I am sorry," Aragorn repeated. "If only we had reached him sooner, maybe --"

Boromir shook his head slightly and looked direct into Aragorn's eyes. They both knew the truth. "My father was a different man entirely to Theoden King. A more – possessive, distrustful man. And one broken and embittered after my mother's death. No, Aragorn, I thank you for the wish, but we both know he would have been far the more difficult to reach. My brother and I tried often enough but a short while back. " Aragorn said nothing, but nodded and looked away. "I am glad, most glad, that Gandalf was able to help Theoden for when I last saw him he was little more than an invalid, his mind gone. I will admit I was deeply shocked to find him so. He was not the wise and astute ruler to whom I had spoken two years hence.. He showed no interest in the affairs of state and had given great power to one who --" Boromir's mouth curved down sourly. "One who was most unworthy of such trust."

"Grima Wormtongue," Aragorn's tone was as sour as Boromir's expression.

"The very same. I hope you can tell me he at least was brought to grisly justice?"

Aragorn shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Legolas brought him down. I regret to say that I am the man responsible for his having escaped us in the first place."

Boromir's eyebrows climbed in surprise. "Oh?"

Aragorn's lips pursed into a thin line. "Bare moments after Theoden was freed he drew sword and would have slit Grima's throat had I not intervened. At the time, I thought it better the King's first act should not be the taking of a life. Now –" he shook his head. "Well, let us say I will not be so hasty to spare such a creature in future. " His keen eyes flicked up to meet Boromir's gaze. "My mercy may have cost many good men and elves their lives at Helms Deep for it could only have been Wormtongue who carried word to Saruman of the fortresses' one weakness."

"Helms Deep has a weakness?"

"The culvert under the Deeping Wall."

Boromir frowned puzzlement. "I have seen it. I do not understand how it could be –"

"Saruman created some kind of explosive powder that has the force of -- of a small volcano when lit. His Uruks had only to place it there and light it. The wall erupted beneath my feet. The next I knew I was regaining my senses amid a pile of rubble. Only Legolas' quick action prevented the Uruks slaughtering me where I lay."

Boromir stared. "If the Deeping Wall fell how then could…? Rohan rode to our aid yet after such a fate?"

"They lost many men but were saved from complete defeat by Gandalf and Eomer's arrival with a full éored." He gave Boromir a crooked smile. "There Grima's evil plotting worked against him for he had Eomer exiled and those loyal to him -- by far the greater number of riders – went with him. Gandalf called them back in the very nick of time. We could not have held another hour. The Uruks had us penned in the Keep."

"From that battle you rode to Isengard?"

Aragorn straightened and smiled more genuinely. "We did. We expected to find a bitter fight. However our good hobbits and their Ent friends saved us that labour."

Boromir sat silent a while. "It seems every one has been busy as I lay fevered. I must go to Merry and see how he fares, and I should speak with Eomer and ask after his sister. It astounds me to learn she and Merry rode unseen into battIe to defeat the Witch King!"

Aragorn nodded. "She feared a cage, she told me once. I felt then that such would not be her fate. Yet I had not expected – "He sighed. "When Eomer found her on the Pelennor, he feared her dead. She lay close to her dead uncle. She had tried to save him – but his injuries –" Tears shone in Aragorn's eyes and his voice broke. "The Nazgul had thrown both he and Snowmane as if they were but toys."

"I am truly sorry," Boromir said. "Theoden was a man of great honour and greatly loved by all. Faramir tells me Theodred too is dead?"

"Yes. Eomer is now Rohan's King."

"So much death," Boromir said softly. "So much grief." There was a long grim silence. "I need a sword in my hand again, Aragorn. There are murders to avenge and Minas Tirith's honour and life at stake." Aragorn said nothing but simply sat frowning down at his boots. "Something more weighs on you, Aragorn. Is it -- has there been word of Frodo?"

"No. And that is good news for we would certainly know it if Sauron had The Ring." He rubbed a hand slowly over his bearded jaw, lost to thought a moment. "I have spoken with Gandalf and Eomer. We are agreed we must keep Sauron's attention fixed on us if we are to give Frodo and Sam any chance of reaching Mount Doom unseen. Our soldiers are weary yet I fear they must soon ride out with me to the Black Gates and challenge Sauron to open battle. "

"You will challenge Sauron openly?" Boromir drew a sharp breath, flinched, and sat straighter.

Aragorn's brows lowered to cast shadow into his eyes. "I will. It is long past time he faced justice." He stood and in one fluid move drew his sword from its scabbard. It was not the weapon he had carried throughout The Fellowship's long journeying. The fine long blade caught the firelight and shimmered as if a living spirit moved within the steel. "Anduril, The Flame of the West." Boromir was struck by the man's presence as he stood tall and proud, sword in hand before the fire. This was not Aragorn the Ranger, but King Elessar he saw now. And it seemed to him that he looked upon Elendil himself come to life. Sudden hope surged within him – this man – this returned king – would bring long-suffering Gondor its victory at last!

Then Aragorn smiled with familiar humour and became once again simply his friend and comrade in arms. "You last saw this blade in Rivendell on the day we first met," he said. "You cut your finger on it and left your blood on its steel."

"This is --?" Boromir's eyes widened in awe.

Aragorn nodded and moved closer to the bed, holding the sword hilt first for Boromir's inspection and adding softly, "I wondered often at that portent – Gondor's blood anointing Elendil's blade after so many centuries. It was a call to me of sorts. A call and an awakening made clearer with your words at the Council – "by the blood of our people are your lands kept safe."

"Aragorn," Boromir growled uncomfortably, "please don't remind me how badly I –"

"No, Boromir," Aragorn interrupted him, holding the blade just short of his grasp. "Never apologize for what you said that day. You were right. Your people, my people, our people, were indeed fighting and dying for Gondor while I lingered in the wild. And all their hope lay in awaiting the return of their king, a king who would not listen. You made me listen, Boromir, and I am ever grateful."

"Aragorn," Boromir's voice was rough with emotion and he kept his eyes lowered, "You give me far too great a part and more merit than I ever earned. It was, sadly, my father as much as anything that kept you at bay. Would you not have ventured to return to Minas Tirith if not for that hostility?" He dared meet Aragorn's gaze and asked softly, "Had you insisted on your claim sooner, might not you have forced Gondor to choose between a Steward and a King? Sauron would have enjoyed that."

Holding Boromir's gaze, Aragorn nodded. "That too, is true. And yet you brought me to dare to try, to know that my people could wait no longer, and to give Gondor my oath. You showed me what it was to love Gondor above all else." Boromir looked away, his face burning with both pride and embarrassment. He heard Aragorn's soft chuckle for his discomfort, and a firm hand squeezed his shoulder gratefully. "You taught me much, my friend. And despite your discomfit, I could not let it go unremarked or unthanked."

"Since you insist, I will accept your thanks," Boromir said and lifted his head with an abashed smile. "But, please, once is enough. Show mercy, My King!"

Aragorn laughed, and there was a sound from behind them, the cot bed creaking as Faramir sat up. "I am sorry, brother," Boromir said and turned quickly to him. "I meant to leave you sleep. "

"And miss this moment?" Faramir said and flicked a meaningful glance from him to Aragorn. " Losing a little sleep is small price to pay. " His eyes widened as he saw what Aragorn was holding and Boromir realized Faramir could read the elvan script engraved on the blade. "The Sword of Elendil!" Faramir's voice was an awed whisper. "Renewed shall be blade that was broken."

"Yes," Aragorn said quietly. "Sauron will not have forgotten the blade that cut the Ring from his hand. Whether you admit it or not, Boromir, you did much to return this sword to the fight. I would have you hold it now. For I would have it carry the love of both Steward and King for Gondor. Only so great a power will bring about Sauron's end." Aragorn placed it hilt first into Boromir's hand and he closed his fist reverently about it.

"I feel its power," Boromir said, awed and amazed. He traced its length with his eyes, and added, "And its hope." Then, looking away to Aragorn he shook his head and smiled for the expression of fondly amused memory in his friend's eyes. "I called it nothing more than a broken heirloom."

"Surely you did not?" Faramir looked at him askance as he came round the bed. He halted as one mesmerized and gazed at the blade that reflected the firelight.

Boromir snorted. "I did that and worse. I let it fall and did not pick it up." Faramir gaped at him and shook his head. Boromir grinned and looked up at Aragorn. "Though I would have had I not been so embarrassed by my clumsiness and so discomfited by the blue eyes pinning me from the shadows."

"And so you forced me to pick it up," Aragorn said, his intent tone not matching his casual smile. "It was the first time I ever dared take up Elendil's weapon – and it affected me deeply. For even as I doubted my strength I felt the first stirring of hope, the first call to battle for Gondor." Aragorn watched as Boromir tested the blade's balance. "I, the sword, and your brother have changed much since that day, Faramir. And it was that moment that first brought us together. To later be tested and forged by fire."

Faramir dragged his gaze up to meet Aragorn's eyes with a deeply thoughtful expression. "Then, there may have been a greater power at work to cause the sword to fall."

Aragorn met that gaze in silence for a long moment, then he nodded and smiled. "Indeed, I believe you may be right." He turned to look teasingly at Boromir, "So you see, my friend, perhaps you were not so clumsy after all!"

Boromir snorted amusement, then grunted a little with the strain of holding the sword's weight. His arm trembled with the effort. "Here, little brother," he said gruffly, "take the sword before I shame myself and drop it a second time."

"May I?" Faramir asked with both surprise and longing.

"Of course," Aragorn said, and took it from Boromir's hand to hold it out to him hilt first. "Your love, too, has well earned the right and will yet help mete justice to Sauron."

"I am honoured." Faramir accepted the blade with a courtly half bow that was all reverence.

"That reminds me," Boromir said, and looked from his brother's rapt face to Aragorn, "I have a boon to ask of My King."

Aragorn regarded him with wary curiosity that faded to a slight frown as he said, "I will gladly grant anything that does not require you overtaxing your strength. I fear you would leap from your sick bed to ride out with me."

Boromir sighed. "I would, but I well know it would be futile to attempt it."

Aragorn lay a sympathetic hand to his arm and squeezed. "You have already come near to death for Gondor more than once, Boromir. I would allow myself this one indulgence and keep My Steward safe as might be until he is fully healed."

Boromir nodded. "My thanks, Aragorn. And the boon I would ask concerns just that for I would have my brother serve equally as Steward at least until I am again well."

Aragorn exhaled and smiled relief. "Gladly will I grant such a boon, for it is a boon indeed!" He looked to Faramir to add, "I would be most honoured to have not one but two such capable Stewards at my side for however long you wish it so."

Faramir bowed again and lay the sword across his arms to deliver it formally back to his king. "It is my honour to serve, for I have long dreamed and hoped to see the day of your coming to us, My King."

"My thanks, Faramir," Aragorn said softly. He resheathed the sword smoothly and straightened to add with a wry smile, "But I am not yet crowned, nor will I claim such until I see Sauron defeated."

Boromir, who had turned to his brother with pleasure and pride for Aragorn's ready acceptance of the dual Stewardship, felt his own smile fading. "How soon until you plan to ride out?"

"Two days, no more than three." Aragorn studied them keenly. "Sauron still has his agents and their palantir here. They will no doubt seek to cause more trouble. It is vital to Minas Tirith's safety to find and stop them as soon as possible. That will be your task in my absence. Should the challenge fail at the Black Gates..." He sighed and lifted his face to the first light of dawn that etched the windows in silver. "Our people will look to you to hold. My Lord Stewards."

Boromir met Aragorn's eyes, reading the truth of it. The battle at The Black Gates was one he could not fight. His body could not heal fast enough and so he must see his friend and King ride into peril without him. Though that knowledge galled him, he nodded and said intently, "We will hold. We will hold until Frodo destroys the cursed Ring. We will hold, and you will return. My King."

Chapter Twenty Three – Seven Together Again.

"It worries me when you frown like that, Aragorn," Boromir said, watching as his friend examined Boromir's left hand and arm. He was greatly relieved to be out of bed and dressed at last. Or at least, half dressed, his upper body was still bare except for the clean linen bandaging that Aragorn had neatly wound about his chest and side. The shoulder had not yet been bandaged for Aragorn wanted to more closely inspect the broken bone and torn muscle. Boromir sat in the chair by the bedchamber window where the light was best and awaited the verdict as patiently as anxiety would allow. Though he had tried several times in the past two days since his waking, he still could not lift his left arm at all and had little if any strength in the hand. He knew all too well that such severe wounds could lead to permanent damage, and already he wondered how good a one-handed sword man he'd make. Others had managed it well enough, though they could not compare to the skill Boromir possessed with a blade. Or had once possessed.

"I am sorry," Aragorn lifted his head and met Boromir's eyes with a wry smile. "I am not frowning at your shoulder, it is healing quite well given what you've done to it of late. I was thinking of something else."

"If my shoulder is healing so well, why can I not yet move my arm?" Boromir asked bluntly, but broke the eye contact before Aragorn could read his dread of crippling injury.

Aragorn shook his head. "You expect too much from it too soon. You must be patient, it will take months to return to full strength."

"Months?" Boromir could not keep the dismay from his voice.

Aragorn nodded and his fingers pressed gently into the muscle of Boromir's forearm. "Can you feel that?" he asked. Boromir nodded but before he could say anything, Aragorn's fingers moved to close about Boromir's left hand and squeeze the palm. "Close your fingers about mine," he said, "as hard as you can."

Boromir sighed but obeyed and was further dismayed when he found it was all he could do to make the fingers bend let alone apply any pressure. Attempting to force more from them achieved nothing other than a stab of pain in his shoulder.

Aragorn did not miss that reaction. "Enough. Let go." He lowered Boromir's arm and stood back to look at him with wry sympathy. "There is pain when you try to make a fist?"

Boromir sighed again. "Elrond has taught you his trade well," he said glumly. "Only a healer can ask so many questions before providing answers."

Aragorn chuckled, and the sound was so reassuring and pleasant that Boromir couldn't help but smile a little in return. "I did not mean to test you so," Aragorn said. He picked up the last roll of bandaging and moved behind Boromir's back to begin winding it carefully but firmly about the shoulder. "Yet I must ask one more question – you fell on this shoulder when you wrestled with the Witch King?"

"I did not wrestle with him," Boromir growled, then admitted, "Yes, I was thrown back against the steps of the Great Hall."

"Hmm," Aragorn grunted. "I fear the bone has been cracked anew and the muscle severely bruised." He pinned the bandage in place and stepped forward to meet Boromir's worried eyes with gentle commiseration. "Believe me when I say you are fortunate this arm has not been permanently crippled. You must take what solace you can in that for it will take much time – and patience – to see it heal fully. I am glad you still have feeling in your hand. For a time I feared the poison may have damaged the nerves."

"Poison," Boromir said sourly. "How I begin to hate that word."

Aragorn clapped him on the right shoulder. "You do seem to have had far more than your share." He bent toward the table and collected the last of the pieces of white linen, this one fashioned in a triangular shape. "You will need to wear this for some weeks yet. That arm must have complete rest."

"Rest," Boromir sighed and ducked his head as Aragorn slipped the sling into place. "That's another word to add to –" he hissed a sharp breath as Aragorn tied the knot in the sling and it pulled a little at the tender place on his neck. "—the list."

"Forgive me," Aragorn said, " I forgot." Boromir felt the man's gentle fingers brush lightly against his shoulder and neck as the knot was settled into a more comfortable position. Then Aragorn lifted the hair away from the nape of Boromir's neck and his thumb rubbed very gently over the scratch. Even so light a touch brought a faint flare of burning pain. Aragorn exhaled a small sigh, and the sound worried Boromir as much as had the frown.

"How does it look?" he asked.

"Much better than it was. And yet not as well as I had hoped. Perhaps only Sauron's defeat and the destruction of the Ring will rid the poison of its power completely. Hold your hair away from it while I prepare some more athelas."

Boromir obeyed, moving his right hand up to keep his hair back while Aragorn bit off a small piece of the fresh leaves from a small dish on the table. "You must be getting tired of the taste of that weed by now."

Aragorn gave a strangled sound of amusement, then, finished with his chewing, he said, "It does seem to have become a staple in my diet these past two days." He moved behind Boromir again. "The athelas will be more effective in direct contact with your blood – I'm going to break the wound open a little again. Be still now, this might hurt."

Boromir braced himself but said truthfully, "I have a new understanding of pain since Amon Hen."

"I do not doubt it." Aragorn's free hand squeezed Boromir's right shoulder, successfully distracting him as the other hand came up quickly and the fingers pressed and pulled at the scratch. Boromir drew a sharp, gasping breath. He would have sworn Aragorn had held a burning flame to his flesh for the flash of fiery pain was enough to bring stinging tears to his eyes. The burning was immediately smothered by the cool wet touch of the moistened athelas. Boromir exhaled relief. Aragorn finished his work with a small piece of glued bandage that covered the newly opened wound. "There, all done," he said and turned away to collect Boromir's shirt and tunic from the chair back on the other side of the table. He held it while Boromir got to his feet and dressed awkwardly then resettled the sling carefully over his sore ribs.

"My thanks, Aragorn," Boromir said sincerely and squeezed the man's forearm in a brief gesture of gratitude. "I've developed somewhat of an aversion to Minas Tirith's healers."

Aragorn nodded and smiled. "Understandable." He studied Boromir a moment then nodded approvingly. "It is good to see you on your feet again."

"Believe me," Boromir said with a wealth of feeling, "I am at least as glad of it! Maybe now I can do something useful."

"You freed many other wounded men from Sauron's torment, Boromir," Aragorn said softly. "They would hardly say you have done nothing of use." Boromir grunted – it was difficult to register that success when he had not met the men in the Houses of Healing as had Aragorn. Boromir bent carefully to collect his sword belt "You think you will need a weapon inside the House?" Aragorn arched an eyebrow in mild amusement but reached to help Boromir when he could not manage the clasp one-handed.

"I am eager for my chance should that cursed Physician of Poisons and Knives cross my path," Boromir growled and took satisfaction from the familiar feel of the sword hilt in his grip as he slid it smoothly into the scabbard.

"Indeed. But perhaps you might allow me to question him before you lop off his head?"

Boromir glanced up at his friend as he settled the sword at his hip, his lips curved with wry pleasure. "I do not intend to give him a quick death, Aragorn. We will both have our chance at him."

"Good. It was he I was thinking of earlier. If he has access to a palantir, and is consorting with Nazgul – we need to find him and quickly. He cannot know we have discovered him, yet he seems to have vanished into the very stones."

"He can't hide forever," Boromir said. "And we have Tower guardsmen watching for him at every gate. Though I agree it would be better if we had our chance at him before you ride out tomorrow. I would not have spies lurking at your back."

"Nor I yours," Aragorn said and squeezed his shoulder as he turned to the waiting supply lists on the larger table in the middle of the floor. "But for the moment, in my role as healer rather than warrior…" Aragorn let it trail off questioningly until Boromir looked back at him. "I ask that you ration your strength." Seeing Boromir's beginning scowl he smiled and added, "At least leave the fighting of Nazgul to the rest of us."

Boromir gave a faint bow and said with equal teasing, "I've had my turn with the Nazgul – those that remain are all yours."

.Aragorn chuckled and bent to pick up one of the parchment sheets from the table. Boromir sat and read in silence a while, but looked ever more frequently toward the door. "Surely they must be nearly here by now," he said impatiently. Then he frowned anxiously, "Unless Merry is not sufficiently recovered to walk so far?"

"I assure you again, his wound was not serious. It was the Nazgul's touch that did the greater damage and it was driven from him two nights ago."

"For which I thank you," Boromir said. He shook his head. "Merry and the Lady Eowyn, facing down and killing the Witch King." He snorted. "I almost wish I had been there to see the moment the Lady revealed herself to him. The creature taunted me with the knowledge that no man could kill him. And how does the Lady Eowyn fare now? Her sword arm was broken?"

"I feared so, but it seems it was not so bad. The bone is undamaged, though the muscle will take longer to heal." Aragorn paused and added intently, "And her heart perhaps longer still, I deem."

"Yes," Boromir sighed sadly. "It is a grave loss to us all, Theoden's death. He was a fine man and a staunch ally to Gondor. Yet to the Lady Eowyn he was more a father and her grief will be a heavy burden."

"I will miss him," Aragorn said softly. "I knew him but a short while but having fought at his side, the bond was deep between us."

"I am sorry," Boromir said and touched his hand briefly to Aragorn's arm. Boromir looked again to the door and said, "Where are our two hobbit friends? I feel we are in need of their cheer. And to me, it seems an age since I last saw Merry."

"He should be here soon. No doubt Pippin will be taking his time and showing him every sight along the way."

"With a long commentary on each one," Boromir agreed dryly. "In that case perhaps we might yet get through all these supply lists. Have you been able to secure any more horses?"

"A few," Aragorn nodded. "So many were injured in battle if not killed."

"As with horses, so with men," Boromir said heavily as he looked at the figure on the sheet Aragorn gave over. "There are barely enough here to constitute a battalion. Sauron may not take so small a bait."

"We can hope the King's banner may yet draw him out. And these men, though few, have fought Mumakil and Nazgul on the Pelennor and will not be shaken by the sight of the Black Gates."

"Aragorn…" Boromir began. He sighed heavily. "If only there were some other way."

"I fear there is not. But do not lose hope – we may yet return in triumph. For all that Gandalf says Frodo has moved beyond his sight, I believe he would know it if –" He left it unsaid. If he were dead.

Boromir nodded. "Yes. And Sam being with him gives me much cause for hope. You did not see him at Osgiliath, Aragorn. He has changed. There is pure steel in him now. It is a sad thing in its way, but also…" He looked up from the parchment he held to meet his friend's eyes. " to be greatly admired."

Aragorn held Boromir's gaze thoughtfully. "I do not doubt that Sam was called to the journey from the Shire on more than Gandalf's whim. He –"

"Do I hear my name being taken in vain?" Gandalf said cheerfully as he stepped into the room. "You are looking much better, Boromir! Fit enough to face a hobbit onslaught, I hope?"

Boromir stood and turned eagerly to the door. "They are here?"

"Listen," Gandalf said. Sure enough from down the hall came the sound of bright chattering voices and laughter.

"There is a sound to gladden anyone's heart," Boromir said, and had to clear his throat to take the huskiness from the words.

"Indeed it is, " Gandalf said, then repeated softly, "Indeed it is."

And then the two small figures appeared in the entryway. Sunlight slanting in from the hall windows lit their faces and haloed Merry's golden curls. "Boromir!" he cried and came at a run into the man's embrace as Boromir went down on one knee.

The next he knew Boromir had his good arm about Merry's back and was holding him tight to his chest. He lowered his head to hide the tears that brimmed in his eyes. Merry was saying something but Boromir couldn't be sure what it was for the hobbit's voice too was taken by emotion.

"Here, you two," Pippin announced after a bare moment. "I need to get my share of this hugging to the bosom thing!"

Merry turned a little in Boromir's grasp and looked over his shoulder to sniff loudly and say, "As if you haven't already hugged him when I wasn't here!"

Boromir chuckled and was instantly glad of the easing to his tight throat. He ruffled Merry's hair. "Best to humour him, I think, Master Brandybuck."

"It's so good to see you again," Merry said as he stood back to let Pippin enjoy a brief hug. He met Boromir's eyes and said intently, "So very good."

Boromir nodded, unable to say anything as all the emotion returned in a rush. Merry was far too pale and thin, and there was bruising about his forehead. He also looked taller than Boromir remembered, though Pippin had told him the tale of the Ent draught and he'd expected that. There was something very different in Merry's eyes – a hint of deep sadness and a grave wisdom. He had ridden the charge with the Rohirrim and been at Eowyn's side to defend a dying Theoden from the Witch King. Boromir broke the eye contact as tears of pride made his vision swim. He held his hand out to Merry in the manner of one soldier to another and said, "Well met, my warrior friend. Well met. You make me proud." He lifted his head to include Pippin in his glance, vividly recalling Faramir's description of the hobbit's daring jump onto the burning pyre to save him. "The pride of Rohan and of Gondor."

Merry returned the grip as best he could with his much smaller hand. "You showed us the way of it, Boromir," Merry said softly. "The way of courage, at Amon Hen."

"I –" Boromir looked down at his boots. "No." He denied softly. Amon Hen was not a name he would hold in memory with pride for himself despite what others said. "But I thank you," he added more brightly and looked up again when someone moved in the doorway. "Faramir!" he greeted with a genuinely relaxed smile. "You have met my good friend Meriadoc Brandybuck of The Shire and now most valiant warrior of Rohan?"

"I have," Faramir said and returned his smile with a knowing affection that eased away the touch of Amon Hen's shadow. "The Lady Eowyn tells me victory would not be hers but for you, Merry." Seeing the hobbit discomfited by the praise, Faramir added lightly, "Pippin and I have been showing Master Brandybuck the sights of Minas Tirith. Or what can be seen of it between here and the Houses of Healing."

Faramir turned to deliver some message from Eowyn to Aragorn and Boromir's intent gaze went again to Merry. The hobbit stood looking up at him with what must be the same feeling in his eyes – an avid intensity, a hunger for the sight of the other, and for its affirmation of a moment both had feared would never come. He started a little as Faramir clapped him warmly on his unwounded shoulder and said with a broad smile, "It does my heart good to see you on your feet again, brother! Already you are looking much stronger."

"I do feel much better," Boromir returned the smile.

"Well," Gandalf said into the happy silence, "where there are two hobbits can food be far away?"

"I hope not," Pippin said plaintively. "I've worked up quite an appetite walking over here."

Boromir laughed and Gandalf turned to him to wink and say dryly, "You surprise us, Master Took! It is such a long way to march on an empty stomach."

"Joke all you like about it," Pippin said with dignity. "But I will fade away unless I find some food."

"Then, come this way. Gimli and Legolas are waiting and will be impatient to see you and Boromir both up and about again, Merry," Gandalf said. He waved an arm toward the hall and ushered them out, adding, "Faramir and I have prepared our own little surprise for you all. Not without some help from the Steward's household!"

They went no further than two doors along the hall before they entered a large sunny room with which Boromir and Faramir were well familiar. They had often enjoyed meals here, not the hasty meals of everyday, but those of more formal occasions. Nonetheless, Boromir blinked in amazement and Merry and Pippin uttered simultaneous cries of delight. The long and ornately carved dining table was laden with steaming platters of roast chicken and other meats, as well as beautifully presented dishes brimming with freshly baked bread, vegetables and fruits. Taking pride of place in the centre of the table was a multi-tiered tower of intricately decorated pastries and confections. "Look at this!" Pippin exclaimed, closely followed by Merry's "It's wonderful! But I don't' know if I'm quite that hungry!"

Faramir laughed. "You and my brother both will eat as much as we can pile on your plates for you are terribly thin! Will you help me Pippin?"

"Happily!" Pippin declared. "It's part of my duties to serve the Stewards, isn't it?"

"It is indeed," Faramir said and exchanged a wistful look with Boromir. Neither brother was as yet accustomed to thinking of himself as Steward. Faramir had agreed to hold the title along with his brother at least until Boromir was fully recovered and able to leave the Citadel. Faramir had asked that his decision on Boromir's desire for a permanent dual Stewardship not be given until after the battles were done. Boromir could only hope that day would arrive soon and in triumph.

Boromir crossed the room to thank the kitchen staff who stood along the wall, each of them beaming with pride. Last in line stood Beth, the old, grey-haired and heavily bosomed cook, with tears trickling over her ruddy-cheeked face. She had been the only motherly figure the brothers had known after Finduilas' death and had often brightened their days with special treats or given them comfort and advice where none other could be found. Boromir broke with protocol and bent to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. "My lord!" she said in a scandalised tone but he could see the pleasure beneath the blush. "You have done the city proud," Boromir said and clasped her hands warmly. "Where did you find all this?"

"It is not as much as it looks, Boromir," she said, then hastily corrected, "I mean, my lord Steward, but we all wanted to do something special to welcome you home. "

"I thank you," Boromir said again and added with a smile, "though I am not sure my appetite is up to it."

Beth glowered at him fondly and said, "You have a lot of catching up to do and you need good food if you're to heal quickly." Boromir nodded and made to turn away but Beth dared ask, "Is it true, my lord? The dark haired stranger is truly our King and he healed you and the others?"

Boromir turned and met her eyes with all the pride he felt for Aragorn showing in his gaze. "He is and he did indeed save me from the fever. Aragorn has well-earned the crown, but he insists he will not accept it formally until the final battle is fought and won."

Beth nodded and then shooed him toward the table. "Go, eat, before it gets cold!"

"Thank you," Boromir repeated, then paused and looked thoughtfully to the chamberlain, "What of the Houses of Healing and the men in the barracks?"

"None have been overlooked, I assure you, my lord. Food has been sent to all on the Citadel level at least."

"Good," Boromir said. "For I would have none go without." He turned back to the table and stood a moment, basking in the sight of his friends reunited. All but two. He prayed that the day would soon arrive when he would see Frodo and Sam sitting here, laughing and healing as were Merry and Pippin.

"Come, sit down, Boromir!" Gimli called impatiently. "We will not eat until the guest of honour joins us."

Boromir smiled and took his seat at the head of the table. He gave Aragorn a wry regard and said, "I hope that the next time we do this, you will take this seat, and further that all nine of the Fellowship will be present."

Aragorn returned his smile and lifted a glass in salute. "I'll drink to that."

"And I!" Gimli seconded.

Legolas who sat at his side, groaned. "I don't' know how you can face more wine, Gimli, after last night."

"Who said anything about wine?" Gimli chuckled. "You'll note I'm holding a tankard, not a glass. More ale, Legolas?" That drew an even more pained groan from Legolas.

Boromir eyed the Elf sympathetically. "I take it Gimli took you on a tour of the ale houses last night?"

"He did," Legolas said. "It seems one of your Captains promised him all the beer he could drink."

"That would be Garad," Boromir said with a smile. "He has a special duty at the moment, but hopefully will join us before this meal is over. I would have had him here if I had known of it beforehand."

"Special duty?" Gimli asked curiously.

"You recall the night we arrived, he insisted on spreading the news of my return?" Boromir asked and Gimli nodded. "He was taken to some chamber high in the east tower and found something there that may be of great interest to us all. If he was not mistaken in his description."

Gimli eyed him gravely and nodded again, but said no more, aware that it was not something to be discussed in a room full of gossiping servants. Boromir could only hope that if his father had indeed been using a palantir, it would be found. And soon. Before the enemy could use it to cause more harm to Minas Tirith.

After dinner Faramir ushered his guests to a meeting room further down the hall. Though there were urgent matters that needed discussion, it was also true that seven of The Fellowship had at last been safely reunited and were reluctant to see the end of this happy interlude. The more so because all but Boromir would ride out in the morning to face deadly peril. Faramir knew his brother desperately would have liked to go with them, but his injuries would not permit it, and the pending separation tore at him badly though he tried to hide it. Aragorn had asked that Faramir too stay in Minas Tirith to aid in the search for the spies, and to guard against possible enemy attack from within the city walls. Sauron's evil intent had already cost Gondor one Steward and Aragorn was determined it would not rob its people of another, nor take from him a much loved and valued friend.

The depth of the bond between the two men had at first been a surprise and a marvel to Faramir who had so long known a brother opposed to the very notion of the kingship of Gondor. But now, knowing more of the trials the Fellowship had faced, and of the dire need for unquestioning trust between them, Faramir could see the forging of it and better understand. Boromir had been greatly yet subtly changed by his journey and it was an ongoing revelation to Faramir, this wiser and somewhat humbler brother who had
always been a natural commander of men and whose hard testing gave added depth to his ability to lead. Boromir's confidence and faith in Aragorn was so much a part of him that it needed no words, and was already flowing from him to his captains and staff and from them would be conveyed to the people. That Boromir, who was so greatly loved, had found Aragorn worthy of his love would see the returned king take the throne with the good will and joy of his kingdom.

It was left only for Aragorn and Frodo to bring to all the lands this final victory. Tonight, every family in Minas Tirith would sleep little, dreading the parting that would come with the new day. Dreading and hoping all at once, for this was the last chance, the last struggle for the world of Men. The next few days would see a terrible bloody end or a wondrous new beginning. Faramir could sense the tension of it in the very air and stones of the city and see it in the eyes of his new friends.

Faramir led them on ahead of Boromir who was last to leave as he again thanked the kitchen staff and made arrangements for the left over food to go to the women and children of the lower levels of the city. There were many, far too many, who were newly orphaned or widowed and those too who struggled to care for men who had been savagely maimed and crippled for life. The price of victory was already cruel beyond imagining, and still the battle of Pelennor may yet prove but a preface for worse horrors to come. Faramir guided his guests down the hall and stepped back to allow Aragorn to enter the room ahead of him. The man met Faramir's gaze with a knowing intensity that seemed to indicate they shared the same grim thought. And then Aragorn nodded sharply, smiled and gripped Faramir's arm before passing and with that touch came undeniable power and reassurance. Here was the same compelling presence, the same vital blood that could call a man back from the very realm of death itself.

If any would free Middle Earth from darkness and deliver a new and undimming dawn, it would be Aragorn, King of Gondor.

Faramir felt suddenly that in Aragorn, Gondor was invincible and it was perhaps more than any his brother who had delivered to his beloved city its king and its salvation. He smiled, fiercely proud and newly hopeful as he turned and looked back down the hall. Boromir looked anything but invincible, here where only Faramir could see, he allowed the pain to show a little as he rubbed at the arm in its sling and his shoulders seemed bowed
under the weight of the Stewardship. Yet there was still a weary smile on Boromir's lips and a wryly-amused expression, a quirk of an eyebrow, as he drew closer and read what must be an odd elation and hope in his brother's eyes.

"What's gotten into you, brother?" Boromir asked, smiling more broadly as he met his eyes. "You look ready to charge afresh into the fray and woe betide the enemy!"

"Something about Aragorn has that effect on me," Faramir said with a somewhat abashed laugh. Then more seriously he added, "He gives me hope."

Boromir's eyebrows climbed but he nodded agreement. "Aragorn is hope," he said steadily. Then, mischievously, "It's one of his names."

"I know," Faramir snorted. "I'm the expert on Elvan languages remember!"

"I could not forget it," Boromir said dryly. He looked into the meeting room from which came the sound of Pippin's laughter and Gandalf and Gimli's deeper voices. "Ever onward!" He took a step forward but perhaps too quickly for fresh pain crossed his face and he stumbled a little.

Faramir took his arm to steady him. "You are staggering with weariness," he said. "If you would join the search for spies on the morrow you must soon take some sleep."

Boromir leaned close to whisper; "You sound like Aragorn, little brother. I will not fade away for sitting and listening to plans. But do give me a poke in the ribs if I start to nod off should Gandalf go on at any length or anyone start spouting Elvan poetry."

Faramir snorted. "I will, though I may have to hunt to find a spot that is not bandaged."

"True!" Boromir chuckled.

They entered the softly candle-lit room to find everyone relaxed and waiting. Gandalf had just filled his pipe and stood puffing at it as he leaned on the hearth mantle and gazed into the fire. Gimli sat astride a padded footstool and prodded at the blaze with an iron poker. Garad stood by the side table in the corner, a wine bottle in his hand as he hunted for suitable glasses. Merry and Pippin were engrossed in animated conversation, contentedly sprawled side by side on a long low lounger whose back was to the door. Pippin, Faramir noted with amusement, had smuggled a pastry from the dinner table and was munching happily even as he spoke. Aragorn and Legolas were standing together near the bookshelves that lined the wall and were casually studying the titles. All had kindly left the two largest and most comfortably cushioned wing-backed chairs closest to the warmly blazing hearth for the brothers. Faramir sat and watched as Boromir took the chair opposite. His brother moved stiffly and barely concealed a groan of relief as he eased what had to be an aching shoulder and ribs.

"I see you found the wine decanter, Garad?" Faramir said cheerfully and as he met the man's eyes he gave a sideways look at Boromir by way of a hint that his brother could use some pain relief.

"I fear there is long talk ahead, My Captain," Garad saluted him with a glass and winked to assure message received. "I will need the sustenance!" He said nothing further but immediately collected another glass, filled it and placed it in Boromir's hand.

Faramir returned Garad's impudent grin gratefully and was glad of his company. He had arrived in time to share the meal and report briefly that he had found nothing in the east tower. The Ranger did the rounds with the wine as Aragorn and Legolas pulled smaller seats closer to the group and sat down. All looked expectantly to Garad who would deliver his news in full here in the more secure surrounds free of servants. He placed his wineglass on the low table that stood close to Boromir's chair and remained standing as he gave a more detailed account of the search. He concluded with a frown, "If not for my vivid memory of the odd shape and placement of that room, I may have thought I was mistaken. But it was the right place, for all that it now appears no one has entered it in a long while."

"It seems the enemy are at pains to make us believe they were never here," Boromir said, wincing a little as he leaned back to sip at his wine. "If not for your inadvertent admittance, Garad, we may never had known of the palantir."

Garad nodded. Gandalf blew a smoke ring from his pipe and said, "We can but wonder how long and how much information has reached Sauron in the past months. But it seems most damage was done in the reverse direction - in the attempt to bring down Minas Tirith from within."

"Despair is a powerful weapon," Faramir said sadly and exchanged a grim look with his brother.

Boromir flinched and looked away to say, "As to how much information may have reached Sauron, I fear it will have been brought to his attention that The Ring reached Osgiliath then disappeared again."

"If it is any comfort," Faramir said softly, "Sauron would have known that despite our father's use of the palantir."

"How?" Gimli asked.

Boromir sat up straighter and gave his brother an intent look. "Yes. I remember now, Faramir. Back in Osgiliath you said something about some proof being given you of the madness of the Ring? But we were interrupted before you could explain."

"Both you and Gandalf have asked for this story," Faramir said quietly, "And it seems all the more important now. I wish I had thought of it sooner."

"There has been much else to take our attention of late," Gandalf said dryly. "But perhaps we should not delay the telling any longer."

Faramir nodded but cast an unsettled glance at Merry and Pippin who were watching him closely. They had been told of Frodo and Sam's appearance in the ruined city and would be eager for any detail. "I fear it will be a painful telling, especially for our hobbit friends. Forgive me if I distress you, Merry, Pippin. "

The hobbits exchanged guarded looks then regarded Faramir with identically grave and sorrowful expressions. "I think we can guess some of it," Merry said, "For Sam told us at Parth Galen that he was increasingly worried for Frodo's health - and particularly for the strength of his will. Sam said he dared not leave Frodo's side."

"Yes, that is the way of it." Faramir said, relieved that they were not completely unaware of the Ring's erosion of Frodo's mind. But still he found he could not hold their eyes as he continued. "When the Nazgul attacked Osgiliath I directed Frodo and Sam - and Gollum -- to shelter and asked that they stay there. But Frodo at least did not obey. Soon after I left them, I heard Sam calling anxiously to him. I turned to see that Frodo had climbed
the stairs that carried him high on to the bridge rampart. The Nazgul suddenly swooped up right in front of him and hovered there, waiting." Faramir heard the collective gasp of horror from all in the room, and he flicked a glance to Boromir and saw his brother had grown very pale. "Frodo was caught in The Ring's spell. Illustration by Kim Kincaid He drew it from its chain and held it out. I'm not sure what he intended." The air in the room seemed to thicken with the horror of the image and the silence was profound. "Thankfully, Sam arrived in time to grab Frodo and they both fell back to roll down the stairs. The Nazgul was then driven off." Faramir dared turn to read the hobbits' expressions and seeing their dismay decided there was no need to burden them with what had happened next.

"Good old Sam," Merry said faintly and tried to find a smile.

"I am now all the more glad I dragged him into this quest," Gandalf's light tone was just as forced. "So," he concluded grimly, "the enemy knows more than we thought."

Boromir muttered a curse and put his wineglass down to rub a hand over his brow. "Will they then be more closely guarding Ithilien and the passes? Or might they yet believe the Ring came to Minas Tirith?"

There was silence as everyone considered the possibility that Sauron was even now hunting for Frodo and Sam. "If The Eye no longer watches and suspects the White City," Aragorn said slowly, "we may have far less chance than I had hoped of drawing its attention away from Mount Doom as we ride to the Black Gates."

"I think," Pippin spoke up hesitantly, "there is at least some chance Sauron will believe the Ring is still here with us."

"Go on," Gandalf urged.

"Why so?" Aragorn asked and leaned forward to place his elbows on his knees and regard Pippin intently.

"You did not want to distress Merry and me," Pippin said and looked to Faramir, "And I thank you, Faramir. That is also the reason I have not spoken of this before - it seemed to me there was no use opening fresh wounds. For you too, Boromir."

. "My thanks, Pippin," Boromir said with a wintry smile and lifted his glass. "But I fear there is little you could reveal that would add more darkness to my dreams."

Pippin drew a great breath and blew it out. "Well then, it's just this - while I was sitting with you Boromir, the night of the battle, I overheard much of what Denethor said to that evil physician of his. He, well, he made less and less sense as time went on."

"I remember some of it," Boromir said, and looked down to swirl the wine in his glass. "The last I heard from my father was his belief that all hope was lost and his plan that we should die like the heathen kings of old."

Aragorn hissed a sharp breath. "You were aware of --?"

"No," Boromir assured, turning to his friend with a grim smile. "Thankfully I did not fully understand what he meant at the time. And I have no memory of -- of the funeral pyre." He looked up at Pippin to deliver a gentle smile. "Your vigilance saved me there, Pippin. But I did not mean to interrupt -- you heard something else from my father?"

"Yes." The hobbit licked his lips nervously and flicked a sad glance to Faramir. "He became more and more certain that The Ring was yet in Gondor somewhere. He said he had seen it come to Osgiliath, and he did not believe. Well, he did not believe that his youngest son would have had the strength to do anything other than take it for himself. And, and for the wizard with whom he was in league."

Boromir groaned and rubbed again at his brow. "That sounds indeed something he would say."

"Yes," Faramir said quietly. "And I cannot say I fault him for it as I became fully aware of The Ring's madness only after I witnessed Frodo attack Sam." He gasped and looked with quick apology to Merry and Pippin to find them staring at him, aghast. Boromir lifted his head sharply and fixed him with a piercing gaze. "I am sorry, I did not mean to reveal that. There was no need to burden you all further."

"Frodo attacked Sam?" Pippin said with disbelieving horror. "But - but he would not, he didn't' hurt him, did he?"

"No," Faramir assured, but had to add truthfully. "Though it was a near thing. For he did not know it was Sam he had drawn sword against."

Boromir drew a sharp breath and pressed a hand to his ribs. Merry exclaimed, "He drew Sting against Sam?"

Faramir nodded and held the hobbit's eyes. "I fear so. But I must assure you he would never have done so if he had been aware of his surroundings. He seemed to be completely lost in some kind of horrible trance. Sam drew him out of it and he fell back and dropped the sword. He was very nearly broken by the realization of what he had done." Only Faramir who was sitting closest, heard Boromir's anguished whisper, "Yes." And the thought came to him, that though he would never have chosen to reveal what he had seen, surely it may now bring some comfort to his brother to know that no one was immune from The Ring's destructive power.

"Yet, that Frodo and Sam were, in the end, able to overcome the Ring's will even with the Nazgul so close at hand, gives me fresh hope." Gandalf said. He tapped his pipe against the mantle, then checked the bowl and drew fresh pipe weed from the pouch hidden beneath his new robes. Somehow that sight washed away the horror and drew a faint smile to Faramir's lips. "And it seems that Sauron's cruel torment of Denethor may yet prove his own undoing, for it must have sown the seeds of uncertainty. Sauron too would never believe anyone could have the strength to let the Ring go. He may indeed yet believe it is here among us."

Aragorn nodded thoughtfully and said, "Then we must find a means of reinforcing that belief."

There was a long silence as everyone considered that problem. Then Legolas said, "It will have been a severe shock to Sauron that his carefully created Demon World failed to long provide him with extra strength." Both Aragorn and Boromir turned to regard the Elf questioningly. "He must wonder what great power was found to call Boromir back from the very brink of death." Legolas smiled faintly. "He could never guess it was the very King's blood that turned the tide of the fever."

"Your blood, Aragorn!?" Boromir stared.

Aragorn couldn't' help but grin at his friend's open-mouthed astonishment. "Yes," he said dryly. "I may have forgotten to mention that the athelas I fed to you was covered in my blood. I took a scratch during the battle, and did not realise I had bled all over it until Gandalf drew my attention to it." Boromir continued to stare speechlessly and Aragorn added mischievously, "I hope you are not too nauseated."

Boromir laughed suddenly and shook his head. "If your blood was all that could save me, I am glad you did not need to spill more of it!"

"As am I," Aragorn grinned at him. Then he looked back to Legolas. "So, my friend, you think we should give Sauron an answer to the riddle - though not the right one." Legolas nodded and smiled secretively.

"Of course!" Gimli declared. "The Ring!"

"A clever plan," Gandalf said. "All we need do is speak openly of its use - or at least, of the use of a powerful talisman, and word will soon enough reach our traitorous physician. And thus soon travel to Sauron."
Aragorn stood and crossed to squeeze Pippin's shoulder. "I doubt we would have thought of this without your keen memory, Pippin. Thank you! I now have much more hope that we may yet succeed in giving Frodo clear passage to Mount Doom. "

Pippin bounced on his toes and grinned up at him to say cheekily, "Glad to be of assistance!"

"How should we begin spreading this story?" Garad asked.

"We must not be too obvious," Gandalf said. "But many in the city are eager to confirm the rumour that only the arrival of the King himself saved Boromir. All we need do is embellish the story a little!"

"And," Merry put in, "Since Sauron thinks it is we hobbits who have been carrying the Ring, he'll be all the more unsettled when he sees Pippin and I heading for the Black Gates."

Boromir sighed heavily and Faramir cast him an anxious look, but his brother only smiled wearily and raised an eyebrow for the hobbits' courage and persistence. Faramir and Boromir knew as well as anyone else present, that Sauron could as easily believe it was Aragorn who carried the Ring. But none would deny Merry and Pippin's valiant need to do what ever they could to aid their friends. Faramir could only hope that somehow Frodo and Sam would survive the peril of Cirith Ungol and the ordeal of the Plains of Gorgoroth to safely reach Mount Doom.

"Now that we have our plan in place," Aragorn said, " I suggest we all get what rest we might - we have a long road ahead of us tomorrow."