Disclaimer: And it is ... still not mine.

Chapter Twenty-Five
A Conspiracy Masked

Riker explained his plan. All of it. Picard listened intently. Riker knew he was already trying to think of something else – anything else – that would have a chance of success. But he also knew that, in the end, Picard would agree. Because this was the only way.

"…and once the Ring is destroyed, if Q keeps his word, we all return to the Enterprise." There was silence for a moment. "The End," Riker finished with a shrug, trying to lighten the mood. "That's all I've got."

"I don't like it, Number One," Picard concluded.

That didn't mean he wouldn't agree. It meant he was desperately trying to think of something better. "I know, Sir. Believe me, I don't like it, either."

"Why not someone else? Perhaps Data–"

"I thought of that, Sir. But Data is a Hobbit. Sauron knows that a Hobbit has the Ring. If Data – or Geordi or Dr. Crusher – were to go, instead, we would tip our hand. An Elf or a Dwarf might be even more suspicious, in a way, being so far from their own lands. That rules out Troi and Worf, and O' Brien, as well, for the same reason. That leaves you and me, Sir."

"Then I'll do it."

Riker shook his head. "You can't. Sauron is watching you, Sir. You're a Wizard. He would sense your presence long before you entered Mordor. Besides, Sir," he added with a smile, "it's a dangerous away mission, and, as your First Officer, I'm not going to let you go. It has to be me, Sir."

"And the second part of your plan – how, exactly, am I supposed to convince soldiers from Gondor to follow me?"

"There's a man named Faramir waiting outside with Wesley and Data. If I give the word, he will follow you without question."

"Could you ask him to take your place, then?"

"I could. And I have no doubt he would volunteer, if he knew what I was planning. But you need him, Sir. Gondor needs him."

"I thought you were their king."

"I am. But they don't know me. They know Faramir. They love him. And they will follow him, even under the shadow of the black wings."

"What?"

Riker shook his head. "That's been happening, Sir – words and phrases coming to my mind."

"How long?"

"Since we arrived in Rohan, I suppose. Since I … since I spoke to Brooke before she died."

"Do you think she did something to you? Or Q? Could it be his doing?"

"It could. But if I had to guess … I don't think so, Sir. I think it was me. When I healed Brooke, when I broke Q's spell … it wasn't all me. It was Aragorn, too. Somehow, I was drawing on the strength of the character, the power of this world. There's a power here, and, whatever it is, among other things, it's helping my memory. Deanna will probably want a long talk with me once we get back, but I don't think it's doing any harm.

"As I was saying, Sir, all you have to do is convince Faramir to follow you. The soldiers will follow him. And Eomer is waiting at Edoras, ready to ride to Gondor at my say-so, as soon as he's sure that Rohan is safe from Saruman. I saved his land, so now he wants to help me save mine."

"You seem to have made a few friends in high places."

Riker nodded. "I've been in a position to. You've been here with Q."

"Whom you convinced to help us with four words."

"Well, he hasn't agreed to let us go yet. But I think he will. So far, he's been willing to give us a sporting chance. So do we have a plan?"

Picard nodded reluctantly. "Make it so."

"I will, Sir. And there's one more thing."

"What is it, Number One?"

"Faramir. He's Boromir's brother. He will have questions, and, sooner or later, he will need answers – answers I couldn't give him. He'll want to know what happened to the Fellowship after you left Moria, what happened to Brooke."

"I see. What should I tell him?"

"The truth – whatever that is. He will believe what you tell him, but the truth would be simplest, and less trouble than coming up with a plausible story. And I wouldn't worry about the truth not being believable – Brooke was enough like the Boromir he would have known. Faramir will understand that the two of you had your … differences."

"Very well," Picard agreed. "So now what?"

"Saruman!" Riker called. "Saruman, we have a plan."

Immediately, Q reappeared. "You have a plan? Well, from the looks on your faces, it's a fun one, too. Well done, Aragorn; you've earned yourself an ally. As for you, Gandalf the Grey—" He snapped his fingers, and Picard's robes became a dazzling white. Q grinned. "Or, should I say, Gandalf the White?" In his hands, Q held a new, shining white staff.

Riker studied Q skeptically. "You're giving him more power? Just like that?"

Q shook his head. "No, Aragorn. I am merely giving him the means to use the power he already possesses." He held out the staff. "It's yours if you want it, old friend."

Picard hesitated, but reached out and took it. Q smiled. "Is there anything else that you will need?"

Riker nodded. "Enough food for a long journey. Horses for Data, the Captain, and Faramir to return to Edoras, and for Wesley and me to be on our way."

Q nodded. "The Ents have already found where I keep my food. Horses are on their way. And you might also need this." He snapped his fingers, and a round bundle appeared in his hand.

The Palantir, Riker knew without even being able to see it. But what was he supposed to do with that? The answer came to him without a second thought. He took the bundle from Q and handed it to Picard. "It's the Palantir. Give it to Data to look after; his curiosity will take care of the rest."

He looked at Q, who smiled approvingly. "And for you, Aragorn." He held out a small, glass object.

Riker took it, and, immediately, it glowed brighter. "Thank you," he nodded, tucking it inside a pocket. "Can we go now?"

"Of course. You've been wonderful guests." He snapped his fingers, and they were all standing beside the door. "Come back and visit any time."

Riker opened the door. It was dark outside, but he could see Data, Wesley, and Faramir standing at the bottom of the stairs, waiting. Data held a torch. Riker held up his hand before they could say anything. "We must talk privately – the five of us. Come."

They followed him away from the tower, past the storerooms, and out into the open, under the stars. Riker glanced at Picard, who nodded, and they all sat down. Riker again looked to Picard for permission to continue. He knew he had it, but he needed Faramir to see that the two of them were in agreement.

"The time for secrets is past," Riker began. "Faramir, some unusual things will soon be asked of you, and you have a right to know why. I told you that I was one of a company of nine that set out from Rivendell, but I never said why or where we were going." He nodded towards Wesley. "Faramir, this is Frodo Baggins. He has in his possession the One Ring, the Ring of Power taken by Isildur, King of Gondor, long ago. We are traveling to Mordor – to Mount Doom, the only place where the Ring can be destroyed. Very soon, Frodo and I will set out to continue the journey. Pippin, may I see your map?"

Data removed the map from his pocket, and Riker unrolled it. He studied it for a moment, unsure. The best thing to do, he decided, was just ask. "Faramir, there is a secret entrance into Mordor, a path called Cirith Ungol, by Minas Morgul. What would be the best way to get there?"

Riker half-expected Faramir to insist that Cirith Ungol was too dangerous, that there must be a better way. But he didn't. They had braved the Paths of the Dead together; Faramir had seen what Riker was willing to do to get where he needed to go. So Faramir simply turned to the map and considered the question for a moment.

"Crossing the River at Osgiliath would attract attention. Your best chance is to cross the Anduin here, at Cair Andros, and then turn south."

"How long will that take?"

"From here, Cair Andros is four days' journey. From there, Minas Morgul will be two days' journey on foot, and then a difficult climb up the mountain pass."

"Seven days, then?"

"More or less."

"Faramir, time will be crucial. I need a definite answer. Seven days?"

"Yes."

"And once we're in Mordor, how far to Mount Doom?"

"A three day's walk, I would say, if you take the straightest route."

"Good. Now, if a small force – a few hundred riders on horseback – were to leave from Minas Tirith, how long would it take them to reach the Black Gate?"

"My lord?"

"How long, Faramir?"

"On horseback? Three days."

"You, Eomer, and Gandalf are going to command that host. You and Eomer will each choose two hundred men whom you can trust, and ride to the Black Gate. You must arrive there as Frodo and I are nearing the end of our journey. If all goes well, you will prove to be a sufficient distraction."

"There is one problem, my lord. My father may have other plans, my lord."

Picard opened his mouth to tell Faramir what he could do with his father's plans, but Riker shook his head. Faramir wasn't trying to wriggle his way out of the situation. His repeated use of "my lord" made his intentions clear. He simply wanted Riker to make his request an official order; only then could he justify to his men why he was disobeying his father, the Steward of Gondor. "If the Lord Denethor has other plans, Faramir, I order you to disregard them. And, as your king, I order you to take command of two hundred soldiers and lead them to the Black Gate."

Faramir nodded, and Riker thought he saw a hint of a smile. "I will obey, my lord Aragorn."

"Thank you, Faramir." He turned to Wesley. "We should leave as soon as possible."

"Just us, Sir … Aragorn? The two of us? Where are the others? Are they all right? Is Sam all right?"

Riker glanced at Picard, then repeated the news for the third time. "Sam, Merry, Legolas, and Gimli are safe at Edoras. They will be riding to Gondor with the others. Boromir is dead."

"Dead?" Wesley stared. "From the poison? But I was shot, too – but maybe that water Treebeard gave me did something. But – she couldn't – Commander, this is all my fault." He buried his face in his hands.

Riker and Picard exchanged a glance. Riker shook his head. Better to let this play out. Faramir got up and sat down beside Wesley. "You knew my brother well, then?"

Wesley looked up, taking in the similarity for the first time. "Boromir was your brother?"

"Yes."

"Faramir, I'm so sorry." Some small corner of his mind registered the ridiculousness of apologizing to a fictional character, but it was the closest he could come to apologizing to Brooke herself. "It was my fault, Faramir. He was trying to protect me, to protect the Quest. But it all went wrong."

Faramir laid a gentle hand on Wesley's shoulder. "What happened, Frodo?"

"He saved us, Faramir. All of us – more than once. He got us through Moria, even after Gandalf was injured and Aragorn was killed. Or, at least, we all thought he was dead – I'm not sure what's going on any more. There was a Balrog, and Boromir fought it off, and the bridge broke, and the Balrog fell, and Boromir almost fell, too.

"And then we went to Lothlorien, and Boromir was the one who convinced the Elves not to shoot us all. We had all decided to stay in Lothlorien, but Boromir, he convinced me to come with him and continue the Quest—"

"Convinced?" Faramir chuckled. "With the help of a blade, I doubt not. Nay, Frodo, do not seek to shield me from the truth. I know my brother. Proud, fearless, often rash. If he was determined to continue on, it would not surprise me to learn that he was willing to use force."

Wesley nodded. "All right – the truth, then. He attacked me, he took the Ring, and he dragged me away with him while I was unconscious. But the thing is, Faramir … he could have kept the Ring for himself. He could have just gone on alone, but he didn't. He gave It back to me. And do you know why? Because he knew that was what you would do, he said. He told me you were wise enough to … to know that there are some perils from which a man must flee. He was afraid – and rightly so – of what It would do to him if he kept It."

Tears shone in Faramir's eyes. Tears of grief, perhaps, but also, Wesley knew, tears of pride for his brother's decision. Brooke had triumphed, in the end, over the Ring's temptation, and that, at least, gave Faramir some comfort. But, finally, Wesley couldn't stall any more. He looked away, afraid of how Faramir might react to what he was about to say. For a moment, there was silence, but, at last, Wesley found the courage to continue.

"When we reached the waterfall – Rauros – we stopped to wait. Boromir knew the others would follow us. But I … I panicked. I took our boat right out into the middle of the river to try to paddle back to find them. I was so scared. I didn't know what I was doing. Boromir chased after me. But there … there were Orcs on the other side of the river. We were both shot.

"We got the boat back to shore, but then the Uruk-Hai came. Your brother was rash and reckless, sure enough, Faramir, but he was also right. If we hadn't left Lothlorien when we did, I don't know what would have happened, but it couldn't have been good. He did what he had to do in order to save all our lives, even if it cost him his own.

"I don't really know what happened after that," Wesley admitted. "Somehow, I ended up with the Ents, and here we are. Faramir, I'm so sorry. If I hadn't – If I hadn't been so stupid—"

There was silence for a moment. At last, Faramir spoke, his voice quiet and gentle. "Frodo. May I tell you a story?"

"A story?"

"Yes. Two brothers were hunting in a forest. The younger brother wandered off on his own, and, after a while, realized he was lost. Suddenly, he was ambushed by bandits. Without thinking, he called for his older brother, who came running immediately. There was a struggle, and the older brother was killed. Help arrived, and the bandits were captured and brought before the king. Now tell me, Frodo. If you were the king, who would you punish for the older brother's death? The younger brother, for his carelessness? Or the men who killed him?"

Wesley looked up. Faramir's face was wet with tears, but there was no anger. No blame. "You … you don't blame me?"

"No, of course not. Frodo, if I am to blame anyone for Boromir's death, should I not blame those who meant him harm? Clearly, though you may have had your disagreements, it was never your intention to lead him to his death. My brother died defending his friends and a Quest he had sworn to protect. That is as he would have wanted it. He would not blame you, and neither do I. You carry a heavy burden, Frodo Baggins of the Shire. Don't carry the weight of Boromir's death."

Wesley wiped a few tears from his cheeks. "Thank you, Faramir. And know this: Your brother's death was not in vain. I will finish this Quest. And, as the Ring falls into the fire, I'll think of him."

Faramir placed a hand on Wesley's shoulder. "That is the only thanks he would have asked for: That you finish what you set out to do, and that you remember him with honor." He gave Wesley's shoulder a squeeze. "You must leave soon, Frodo, but, if we both survive, I hope to see you again. You Halflings are a kind-hearted people."

"They are, indeed," Riker agreed. "But come. We have lingered long enough."

Horses were waiting for them when they returned to the tower. They quickly found enough food, but Riker lingered for a moment in the storeroom, searching.

"Can I help you find something?" came Q's voice, and, immediately, the entity stood beside him. "It would be quicker than looking through all those mixtures yourself and taking a guess."

Riker hesitated for a moment, but then nodded. "All right. But I need you to simply give me what I ask for, no questions asked."

"Very well." Q actually looked quite interested. "What is it you want?"

"Enough poison to leave someone unconscious for a few hours but do no other harm."

Q made a show of rummaging through a few shelves before pulling a small bottle from the back of one. He handed it to Riker; the liquid inside was a deep blue. "Anything else?"

"A dagger. A small one."

Q snapped his fingers and handed Riker a small dagger, which Riker immediately concealed inside his cloak. Then he tucked the bottle inside a pocket. "That'll do."

"May I ask, Aragorn, who, exactly, you are planning to stab and poison?"

Riker smiled wryly. "Oh, you can ask. But, if I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise."