Rivendell was far behind them, a memory of peace and the harbinger of troubled times. The Fellowship had travelled far into the Mountains, where the air was thinner and it was harder to breathe. Boromir had tried to count the days and the nights, but had soon given up, disheartened by the way the cold days seemed to merge into the endless, even colder nights. He would shiver on the ground, his cloak bundled under his head for a pillow, and a rough blanket his only covering against the icy night, and wonder why he always felt such a sense of doom surrounding them. His dreams were sometimes troubled, and he would wake suddenly, and lie for hours listening to the breathing of his companions.

He felt on the edge of the Fellowship, an intruder perhaps, the hobbits were all together, Aragorn and Gandalf were forever whispering together, even the dwarf and the elf seemed to be thawing slightly towards one and other. Gradually though the feelings were diminishing, and he realised he had a role to play within the group.

The appearance of the One Ring at the Council of Elrond had unnerved him, for it

meant that Mordor was indeed strengthened and he feared for his country. Too long had Gondor held back Mordor unassisted, it seemed only right that they should take the Ring to Gondor and strike hard against the Enemy. He was sure that this was the only right course of action, and he had tried to convince Aragorn. The other Man was stubborn though, and too reliant on those damned Elves. Could he not see that his race needed him, the elves had long since protected their own interests, it was Men who would win this war?

His rambling thoughts were interrupted by two contented Hobbits. Merry and Pippin had flung themselves on the ground, already drawing out food from their packs, making themselves as comfortable as possible on the hard ground. It was hard for the hobbits to travel, the men had longer strides, and it took two or three hobbit strides to match a man's. Aragorn had pronounced this area safe, so it appeared that they were resting here tonight. Gratefully, Boromir swung the heavy shield from his shoulders, running his hand over the centre embellishment as he placed it carefully on the ground. He sat beside it, his back resting against a rock, knees drawn up, and placed an arm over his eyes, to see if he could catch a few moments sleep while the sun still warmed him.

It seemed that it wasn't to be, as he listened to the Hobbits bickering. He welcomed their company, liking their irrelevant manner to the quest, their idle banter soothing his troubled mind.

"Well, its not quite the Green Dragon," Merry sniffed.

"But nowhere is," Pippin countered. He bit contentedly into a brilliant green apple. "Not without Rosie Cotton anyway"

"Rosie...always a smile and wink for a tired, hardworking hobbit."

"Well, that explains why she never winked at you then,"

"Maybe not, but she never winked at you either," a laugh, "It was always Sam she saved her smiles for"

Boromir gave a quiet chuckle at their dispute. Merry heard it, and turned to the tall warrior.

"Well, what about you?"

"Me?" Boromir examined the edging on his shield, and seemingly found fault with it.

"Isn't there a place that you would rather be? Instead of stuck halfway up a mountain?" Pippin asked the question shyly, still in awe of the huge proud warrior.

Both hobbits waited eagerly for his answer.

"Anywhere where there isn't inquisitive hobbits" he half snarled, but the smile on his face, proved he was thawing.

"We were going to share our supper with you, but we'll leave you in peace." Merry was a picture of wounded hobbit pride.

Boromir grinned at their indignation, it was easy to speak to their gentle humour.

"My wife." His cheeks coloured as he spoke, "Anywhere she is, I would like to be."

The hobbits were stunned into silence for a moment.

"You have a wife?" Merry managed to form the words at last. "And you still came on this journey?"

He shook his head, as if he couldn't understand the madness of it all.

And suddenly Boromir couldn't either. He bitterly regretted leaving Minas Tirith, but as usual his duty and pride had driven him to this.

"If we do travel to Minas Tirith, you shall meet her."

 That moment couldn't come soon enough for Boromir.

That night, as the icy wind cut through him to his bones, he dreamt of her.

He lay not upon the hard ground, but within his bed, soft and warm, bathed in the white moonlight. His wife, slim and unclothed, lay in his arms, eyes closed, and lips parted, breathing steadily. He drew warmth from the heat of her body, and pulled her closer to him, brushing his lips against her brow. Her eyes, black in the moonlight opened, and she whispered his name. A slim arm swept around him, and she raised her mouth to his. He kissed her softly, wrapping her securely in his arms, but even as he kissed her, his mind was drifting, and he pulled away. The ring. The ring was calling him, and then he saw it, it lay on the sill of the window. The warmth of it was removed by the harsh moonlight, and it lay cold, and brilliant, waiting for him. He untangled himself from Daya and the blankets, and walked slowly to it, his hand outstretched, ready to take it for himself. The city of Minas Tirith lay below him, the White Tower silver in the night. The Ring was his, he would use it to defeat Mordor, and protect Gondor, Minas Tirith would be saved. His fingers were nearly brushing the chill metal.

"Boromir?"

"The Ring, Daya. The Ring. It will help me to save Gondor."

His voice seemed very far away, and almost false.

"Boromir?"

He turned reluctantly away from the Ring. Daya stood there in the pale light, garbed in black trousers and doublet. Her hands were clasped to her stomach, and when she held them out they were red, coated with blood.

"Daya!" he cried out as she fell.

The blood was dark on the black cloth and slick on the ground.

He was still crying out her name as he woke, sweat pouring off his skin, tangled hair sticking to his face, grey blue eyes searching the night without seeing, still within his dream, his wife, life seeping from her body, the light fading from her warm eyes.

As the image cleared he saw Pippin sitting up, half covered by his own blanket, watching him sleepy and bleary eyed.

"Hungry?" he asked.