Author's Note: What's this? People are already falling in love with Menion? VINDICATION! I'm a sucker for a companion animal, what can I say? Aragorn gets Brego, so Boromir gets Menion, deal with it. Anyway, who's hungry? Anyone for roast mutton?

By the way, since the last update, this story was featured on an episode of the podcast Stranger Than (fan)Fiction. It was featured in episode 8, but I definitely recommend checking out the podcast if you want to hear some of our fellow nerds reading and analyzing fanfics.

Chapter 10

The next few days were uneventful, even peaceful, but despite the fair weather and the buoyant spirits of his companions, Boromir found himself unable to relax. Ever since he had heard the Orc-cries that night on the cliff, he had had the nagging suspicion that they were being watched, even followed. No matter how he tried to convince himself that he was being irrational and paranoid, the feeling would not go away. In fact, the further they went, the stronger it became.

Boromir had learned a long time ago to trust his instincts. They had saved his life many times, when his mind was too cluttered to do it instead. When he realized his mind was losing this battle, he decided to give in and request Thorin's permission to scout around the area.

A request that Thorin flatly refused.

"You'll be needed to help set up camp, and you have first watch tonight besides," he replied. "This is no time to try and play hero. You're not in Gondor anymore."

If Thorin had been trying to get a rise out of him, he nearly succeeded. Boromir had actually opened his mouth, his heated reply ready on his lips. But just as he was about to give Thorin what he felt was a well-deserved tongue-lashing, a memory of another argument sprang to his mind.

"It is a gift! A gift to the foes of Mordor! Why NOT use this Ring? Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe! Give Gondor the weapon of the Enemy. Let us use it against him!"

"You cannot wield it! None of us can! The One Ring answers to Sauron alone; it has no other master."

He had let his pride get in his way then, and many times since. And to what end? The Fellowship splintered, Merry and Pippin captured, and his spirit tainted by his betrayal.

So, Boromir swallowed his pride—quite literally, considering the steadying breath he took—and nodded. "Very well, Thorin. As you wish."

Thorin fixed the Man with a long, hard stare, seeming to appraise him. Boromir returned his gaze unflinchingly, his shoulders set.

Finally, Thorin nodded once. Apparently, he had found whatever he had been looking for, and he had been satisfied. He turned forward and nudged his pony into a trot as they approached an old, ramshackle farmhouse.

Boromir let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Not so very long ago, that conversation would have taken a very different turn, and he knew exactly who would have been responsible for it. He supposed the problem was that he wasn't used to taking orders from anyone except his father.

Well, he thought to himself, I suppose I'd better get used to it. I'm neither in my own lands nor my own time, so I expect I'll be taking orders from others for some time.

"What do you think, Menion?" he asked, patting the stallion's neck affectionately. "Think I can stop being such a proud ass and play nice?"

Menion snorted and tossed his head. Boromir swore he was laughing. "All right, all right, I know it's a tall order. But I still need to try." Menion snorted again, shaking out his mane. "Now that was rude."

An amused chuckle from beside him made Boromir look up. Bilbo was politely covering his mouth to hide his smile, but Boromir could tell from the way his shoulders were shaking that the Hobbit was definitely laughing at him.

He grinned impishly. "Well, he's certainly intelligent enough to talk if he could. Maybe if I pretend to understand him, it will work."

"Oh, aye," said Bofur, trotting up to his other side. "Or maybe he'll get so angry at you missing the point that he'll learn how to speak just so he can tell you how ridiculous you sound. Oh, and to tell you to use your own feet for a change." Boromir and the others laughed merrily.

"We camp here for the night," Thorin announced over the laughter.

Glóin started building a fire as Fíli and Kíli led the ponies away to be unburdened and tethered. Boromir followed, wanting to check Menion's knees again. They'd been healing well, and hopefully he would be able to take the bandages off permanently tonight.

As he had hoped, Menion no longer had need of the bandages. After untacking his horse and rubbing him down, Boromir tethered him to a tree, giving him a long enough lead that he'd be able to get at plenty of grass. Discreetly, he slipped the horse an apple he'd brought from his pack, which Menion gobbled down greedily.

After a few more pats and soft words, Boromir made his way back to camp. Bombur had already gotten a delicious-smelling stew going on the fire and was passing out portions to the others. He looked around, surprised, as he noticed Gandalf was not present. He found out from the others that right after he, Fíli, and Kíli had gone to tend to the animals, Gandalf had stormed off in a huff after an argument with Thorin.

Now that was unusual. The Gandalf he knew could certainly be a bit short-tempered, but he'd never gotten so frustrated with any of them that he'd just walked off on his own. Of course, Boromir thought grimly, we were in much more danger, then.

Boromir decided not to occupy his mind with puzzling out the Wizard. Gandalf would be back in his own time and fretting after him like a mother hen would change nothing. Instead, he took his own bowl of stew and ate quietly, observing the others. Bilbo soon departed towards the trees with two more bowls, evidently for Fíli and Kíli.

A startled whinny echoed through the trees. Boromir looked up, his dinner forgotten. The others did the same as the two young Dwarves meant to be guarding the ponies came barreling out of the woods.

"Trolls!" they cried, nearly tumbling over each other in the process.

Boromir sprang to his feet as Thorin strode over. "Where? How many?" Thorin asked, his hand already resting on the hilt of his sword.

"Three of them. Back there," Fíli said, pointing in the direction they came from. "They have a camp in the trees. They stole four of the ponies."

Suddenly, Bofur looked around in confusion. "Where's Bilbo?" he queried.

"We sent him to sneak into the camp and free the ponies," Kíli explained.

Boromir paled. Bilbo was no fighter, and Hobbit or no Hobbit, he could still be caught. And against three Trolls, there would be little he could do. Evidently, the others were thinking the same thing. With weapons at the ready, the group crept as quietly as they could into the trees, following Fíli and Kíli to the Trolls' campsite.