Fury flickered in Aragorn's eyes. "You are as arrogant as your father," he spat, "and not half as circumspect! How do you think a 'just king' would deal with one who spoke so?"

With a snarl, Boromir surged to his feet, and Aragorn rose with him. "Gods, Aragorn, will you cease this?" he said angrily. "Do I fear for them, do I trust you, what would a just king do -" and he broke off, scowling. When he spoke again, his voice was lower but no less angry. "If this is a game, then tell me the rules, but cease these endless questions, these veiled threats!" he said sharply. "Yes, I fear for them, and no, I do not trust you nor do you give me reason to, and you are no king yet! How many times, how many ways would you have me say it? Mad, yes, you are that," he said recklessly, "but must you drive me mad as well?"

"I am mad?" Aragorn said, fury turning to amazement. "You drove Frodo to abandon this quest out of fear of you, and you tell me I am mad?"

And then Legolas was between them. "Both of you cease!" he said in a hoarse whisper. "Your voices carry on the water - would you bring all the armies of the Enemy down on us this night?"

"The armies of the Enemy will cover Middle-earth like fire and ash if we do not defeat him!" Aragorn said, his voice lowered now, but raw. "And yet we carry it to him in his own land!" Startled, Legolas turned to him and saw a glint in his eyes, an expression on Aragorn's face that he had not seen before. "We carry it into his very hands," Aragorn went on, "and yet you fear that our voices will - will -" but he hesitated then, searching the darkness for words, seeing everywhere the flicker of light that the Ring seemed to cast. They carried it to its master, but - no, they went to destroy it. To destroy it, though it had the power to destroy Sauron and all his creatures. And in his mind a vision of the White City, and Arwen's skin, white as those stone walls, soft as the scent of roses on the air -

"Aragorn," said Boromir, reaching out to grasp the Ranger's arm, and Aragorn started violently, turned to Boromir, and their gazes locked, anger vanishing like mist in a flame. All of Gondor was between them, and within them, and all of Gondor would fall if they did not prevail. Aragorn reached unthinkingly towards Boromir, and Boromir's fear left him in a rush, his king before him, and the glitter of power, the salvation of his people.

Then Legolas stepped close to Aragorn and Boromir fell back, uncertain. Had there been a promise in Aragorn's eyes?

"Aragorn," said Legolas softly, one hand on the Man's neck, the other on his face."Aragorn, what are you thinking? Tell me, mellon nîn, tell me now."

Aragorn scarcely felt the touch of the Elf, his eyes distant, lost in the fire that would consume the world, lost in the fire with which he could defeat the Enemy. What folly did they pursue, taking this weapon back to the one who made it? "We cannot," he murmured. "He will find us, he will take it."

"No," Legolas said, "no, he will not. We will destroy it, and its destruction will be his end. Aragorn, you know this."

"But not in time," said Aragorn sharply, his voice low and urgent. "Even now the borders of Gondor falter. Even now, the White City stands at the edge of her doom, and her allies are pressed too hard by enemies of their own, within and without. If Gondor falls, none can stand!"

"Gondor will not fall!" Legolas said, "not unless we fail in our task. But all is lost if we do not do this thing!"

"And all is lost if we do it!" said Boromir sharply. "Aragorn is right - Rohan is the only ally who will come at need and she is faltering. Who else can we look to for aid?" he asked, turning angry eyes on Legolas. "The Elves? They have long since forsaken what alliances they had with Men! It is only to one another we can turn, and there is no time!"

"We lingered too long in Imladris, and in Lothlórien," said Aragorn, his voice heavy with regret and frustration. "Two months in the North and with nothing to show for it but the bodies of black horses, and another month tarrying in the Golden Wood. Our time grows short indeed."

Legolas drew Aragorn close then and began speaking softly, words in Elvish, and Boromir watched the struggle between the Elf and the Man - not a physical struggle, for Aragorn did not move to escape Legolas' grip, but the struggle as their wills met, Legolas pleading and Aragorn answering heatedly, and the words of Gandalf, of Elrond - words he had accepted, but never fully believed - came rushing back to him. What was to be done? Kill the bearer and seize the Ring? Allow Aragorn to claim it himself - but to what ends? Or follow this long path to the end of everything he knew? For whether they defeated Sauron or not, his world would come apart. He turned away, turned his back on the struggle, and looked towards the river that shimmered darkly in the moonlight.

"No!" Aragorn said then, pulling free from Legolas and stepping back, towards the water's edge. "No," he said more softly, "I do not plan to supplant Sauron, Legolas, no."

Legolas watched him warily. "Aragon," he said softly. "Are you well enough to bear this thing?"

Aragorn turned on him angrily. "And if I am not, who shall?" he snapped. "You? Will the purity of the Elves save you from its corruption? We have seen how the blood of Men responds to its call," and he shot Boromir a withering glance, but Boromir saw it not, his gaze following the Anduin.

Somewhere on that river, thought Boromir, his brother searched for him. He remembered Faramir's parting words to him... 'Be home by spring, brother,' he had said, the mirth in those grey eyes hiding the seriousness that lay beneath, 'or I shall come looking.' It was scarcely spring, but somewhere, he knew, Faramir searched for him. Who else, he wondered, searched along that river for the Ring and its bearer?

"When Gimli and the Halflings reach Lothlórien," he murmured, "do you think they will like what has happened?" He turned to face them, the Elf and the Man gazing at him in the moonlight. "Do you think they will send after us," he said, his gaze falling on Aragorn, "or do they trust you this much?"

"Who?" asked Aragorn. "Not Gimli. Celeborn and Galadriel?" He shook his head, his expression sour. "They care not what happens beyond their borders, or did you fail to see that?"

"The Lady showed me hope," Boromir said quietly, not answering Aragorn, "though not the means to it."

"Our hope lies in the Ring's destruction," said Legolas, "for only with that is Sauron defeated utterly!"

"Not only with that," said Aragorn softly, shaking his head and raising his eyes to Legolas'. "Not only with that," he repeated, and went on, "Gandalf has told me, if one of power, or of royal blood were to claim the Ring, all Sauron's mind and heart would be revealed to him, and Sauron would be overthrown and defeated. And all that served Sauron would would forsake him and follow the Ring's new master."

Legolas had paled as Aragorn spoke. "Estel," he whispered, "you cannot think to claim it. You cannot. You would set yourself on Sauron's throne?"

Aragorn scowled. "No, Legolas, no, but this could -"

"Could what?" Legolas spat. "How can this thing of evil do aught of good?"

"If it could turn back the tide of Sauron's forces," said Boromir, "that would be a great good indeed, to the eyes of one who has spent a lifetime trying to stop that tide from breaking on his people!"

"Your people will be crushed as surely as if Sauron had won!" said Legolas, turning furiously to Boromir.

"I would not supplant Sauron, Legolas," Aragorn said sharply, "but Boromir - the White City," and the Ring was a warm and comforting weight in his hand, still his, not lost, not delivered to its maker, and he felt it shiver through him as moonlight shivers through a dreamer waking beneath the stars.

Legolas took a quick step forward, but Aragorn caught the movement and knew the Elf reached for the Ring. Unthinking, he felt the sudden hard impact of his hand on Legolas' face, heard the choked cry from Boromir, and Legolas had fallen to one knee, the unexpected blow staggering him.

"Aragorn!" Boromir's voice was a gasp, and Aragorn glanced at him, dropped his gaze to where the Elf knelt on the marshy ground. Saw Boromir swiftly kneel beside Legolas and Legolas brush away the Gondorian's touch. The ancient eyes were flecked with anger as Legolas raised his head to look at Aragorn, but his expression turned quickly to soft sadness, and Aragorn shook his head as if to clear it, his breath coming sharp into his lungs.

"Aragorn," Boromir repeated, and Legolas stood.

"Estel," Legolas said gently, stepping forward and raising his hand to cup Aragorn's cheek, and Aragorn's gaze took in the strange familiarity of the ethereal creature, and he wondered at how flesh and bone dwelt beneath that silken skin. Redness touched the place Aragorn had struck, blood rising to the surface. Legolas' voice was swan's down on the wind. "It calls to you," he murmured. "I know."

Only then realizing he held it, Aragorn dropped the Ring as though it burned him, and Legolas caught both Aragorn's hands in his own and drew him close again, whispering soft and heated words in Elvish. A moment passed in stillness, Aragorn suffering himself to be held, his eyes drifting closed as Legolas spoke, and then he pulled free again and stepped away, watching both his companions warily.

"Legolas is right," he said, his voice low. "I shall bear this thing, and shall - shall cast it back into the fires that made it."

His voice faltered, and Boromir felt more than heard the Ringbearer promise the Ring's destruction.

He shook his head in disbelief. "Aragorn, what of Minas Tirith?" he said, pleading. "You have struck a cruel blow, to speak so of the White City, to speak of her faltering, falling, and yet still refuse to use what weapon we have!"

Aragorn rounded on Boromir. "I will strike more cruelly yet if you question me!" he said fiercely, and saw Boromir's gaze fall on the Ring glittering just beneath the linen of his shirt, power radiating from it as heat from a fire. Aragorn stepped forward and caught Boromir's jaw in his hand, forcing the Gondorian to meet his gaze. "You will beg me to treat you as well as I did the creature Gollum," he whispered, "if you try to take this thing from me, or to sway my mind from our purpose. I tamed him, wild and savage and desperate though he was," he said, a murmured threat, like the threat of death that slides along the edge of a blade. "Think not that I cannot tame you."

The power of the Ring seemed to surround them both, but it was familiar now, as familiar as these sudden changes in Aragorn's mood, these shifts in his thinking. His king before him, the glitter of power... and Faramir's voice a sudden whisper, a cool breath slipping through the tongues of flame that licked at his heart. Boromir closed his eyes, Aragorn's grip painfully strong, but he did not move to escape it, and he let the memory of his brother ease through his mind, and stay him from acting. After a moment, Aragorn released him, and Boromir staggered backwards a pace.

Legolas watched the exchange with a sense of hollow alarm. Aragorn had seemed to be taken by the Ring, yes, but he had thrown it off, had he not? Had he? Its evil still pulled at both Men, that was clear, but Aragorn had resisted it, had - had -

He touched the bruise that would rise on his cheek. If Aragorn had not spoken of his sorrow for the blow he had struck, surely Legolas had seen it in those silvery eyes.

"Boromir," said Aragorn then, and both Man and Elf turned to him. "Boromir," he said again, more softly, and stretched out his hand towards the other. "Let us be friends, Boromir. We have a common purpose."

Boromir hesitated only a moment. If Aragorn wished for comradeship, and Faramir was indeed even now searching for them, he would give Aragorn comradeship. All else could be determined later; now, he wished only for the violence of the Ringbearer's moods to be placated. He clasped the other's hand, and let himself be drawn into Aragorn's strong embrace.

Long into the night, Legolas watched the sleeping Men, and wondered. Yes, Aragorn's temper was short, and his wrath more often expressed than in less troubled times, but was that strange? They all felt the strain of their journey, had felt it for weeks, and Aragorn, in truth, for much longer. And though he was quick to anger, once the blow was struck his anger was quick to dissipate as well, and no damage had been done, truly, had it? The Gondorian bore the marks of their struggles, yes, though Aragorn was not unscathed by his rival, but the injuries were scrapes, easily bound and quick to heal. And this - he touched the bruise again - this was a small thing. He had had worse in the playful scuffles of his youth. Perhaps it was for the best. Perhaps this was all that was required - obedience from the Steward's son, and wordless forgiveness between himself and Aragorn.

Aragorn and Boromir lay close together, and Legolas watched them, the rise and fall of their broad chests, and all through the night, the Men's breathing never ceased to match.

Minas Tirith

Faramir was preparing to saddle his mount when he heard the familiar voice and turned, startled, to see the wizard lit by the torches that warmed the pre-dawn dimness of the stables. A smile leapt to his face. "Mithrandir!"

"I was told I would find you here," the other answered as Faramir strode forward to meet him.

"Had you been but a few moments later we might have missed each other," he said. "I am leaving on an errand."

"I have a greater errand for you," Gandalf said, "no matter how urgent the one you already undertake."

Faramir shook his head, frowning. "I think not," he replied, "but ask of me what you will, and I will do it if I can."

Faramir's face grew pale at Gandalf's reply. "It concerns your brother."

"My brother," he murmured. "What do you know of Boromir?"

"Your brother reached Imladris," Gandalf said, "though I fear he may not have liked what he found there."

"Is he well?" asked Faramir, careful to keep his voice even. "Where is he?"

Gandalf shook his head. "He was well as of some days ago," he replied, "or as well as could be expected," and Faramir scowled.

"Please, Mithrandir, speak plainly! Where is Boromir?"

"Patience, child," Gandalf said, and Faramir bridled at his words but quelled his sharp response. This was Mithrandir, his friend, and - more important, at the moment - a wise counselor and one who had, it seemed, laid eyes on Boromir within the past weeks. "Let me tell you what has passed," Gandalf went on, "and then we shall speak of where Boromir may be, and what might be done to aid him, and to aid us all."

The sun was over the horizon before Gandalf finished his tale, and Faramir stood from where they had been seated in his rooms and moved to gaze out the window. "So, the king returns," he said at last, "yet has seized this weapon which you-"

"Not seized," Gandalf said, interrupting, "but accepted. I believe he only wanted to help Frodo."

Faramir turned to face him, and Gandalf was surprised by the wariness in the other's countenance. Had so much of Denethor entered the boy's character? "And you would have me go in search of them," Faramir said, "to try to - " and he hesitated. "To try to do what, exactly?"

Gandalf sighed. "Had I known Aragorn was so," he began, almost to himself, then faltered, and continued softly, "had I known he would accept the Ring, or that Frodo would offer it, I would have ordered things differently." He shook his head and took a breath. "The Ring is treacherous, and uses even our better selves against us. It will work on your brother's pride, and his love of Gondor, and also on Aragorn's, and his sense of duty and of destiny," he said, and Faramir's studied expression belied the anger that had begun to seethe below the surface. Too often had he heard his brother accused of pride as though it were a shameful thing. Proud he might be, but not without cause, and always, always the good of his land, his Steward, and his men had come before all. "You, my young scholar," Gandalf went on, "have never let pride rule you, and you see, I think, where strength and power must be eschewed 'ere they come to ill ends."

Faramir paused, considering which of the conversational paths he might take, and then said, "I will go to find my brother, as you must have known I would. I am glad you ask it of me, for it had been my intent and your tidings give me both greater hope and a clearer path."

Gandalf nodded, and would have spoken, but Faramir continued, his voice cool as water. "You have often thought of my brother as our father's creature, I think," he said calmly, and Gandalf looked up. "And I think you may have believed that I look to Boromir as part hero, part tool." He paused, meeting Gandalf's gaze. "It is not so," he said. "I see my brother's faults, but I think you see only his faults, and it will not serve you to underestimate him."

"I do not, Faramir," said Gandalf, shaking his head. "He is Gondor's champion. Yet I deem he could not be so did he not take joy in battle, and pride in power, and this will make him vulnerable to the Ring."

Faramir turned back to the window. "Boromir's heart belongs first to Gondor," he said, "and if he takes pride in protecting her, I will not fault him. But you wrong him if you think he finds joy in killing, or that in desiring power he has anything but the good of Gondor in his heart."

"It matters not," said Gandalf. "The Ring will corrupt it. It has started its work even before we entered Moria, and in that pit all evil gains strength."

After a moment, Faramir turned back to Gandalf. "Tell me more of the one you say would be king," he said. "The one who... 'accepted' this weapon. Does he have my brother's faith?"

"He had your grandfather's faith," Gandalf replied, and Faramir raised an eloquent brow.

"And that should comfort me?" he said. "Aragorn served Ecthelion under a false name and never admitted to his lineage, vanished into Mordor with none knowing him truly, and now is somewhere on the Great River with my brother, an Elf, and the Ruling Ring, and this should prove his worth to me?" He shook his head, watching Gandalf finish filling the wooden bowl of the pipe. "Come," he said at last, annoyed to hear the irritation in his own voice. "If you would light that thing, let us at least go out into the fresh air."

With a slight smile, Gandalf inclined his head and rose, and together they left Faramir's chambers and made their way out into the courtyard. Morning sun gleamed on the white paving stones, turning them gold and pink.

"You did not answer me," said Faramir as they walked towards the fountain. "Does Aragorn have my brother's faith?"

Gandalf sighed. "I cannot answer you, Faramir," he said, "for I do not know, but he has my faith."

"What of the vision I told you of?" Faramir asked, ignoring Gandalf's last remark. "This surrender I felt? Could it mean that Aragorn has already claimed the Ring himself?"

Shaking his head, Gandalf answered, "I know not that either. I do not believe so, for had he, Sauron would have been overthrown, and I think that even now you here on the borders of Mordor would have seen some change, some sign."

Faramir's expression darkened. "Do you tell me that if Aragorn claims this thing, Sauron will be defeated in that moment?"

Gandalf turned to Faramir and answered sternly, "Sauron, yes, but also Aragorn, and all the free peoples, for we would only replace one dark lord with another."

Faramir nodded slowly, ignoring the wariness in the wizard's gaze. After a time he said softly, "In that moment?"

"The One Ring cannot be used, Faramir son of Denethor," Gandalf replied. "It is wholly evil, and no good end can come of it."

"Only ill ends approach us now," Faramir replied calmly. "Or do you know of aid which has been kept secret from me?"

"Faramir," said Gandalf, reaching out to grasp the other's shoulder. "If you believe nothing else I have ever told you, believe this: all is lost if the Ring is claimed, by Sauron or any other! If Aragorn claims the Ring, he will grow terrible in power and the desire for power, and all of Gondor and the West will fall to him. Our only hope is in the Ring's destruction, for then is Sauron overthrown and no new evil set in his place."

Nodding, Faramir said, "I am glad for your counsel, Mithrandir, as always."

"You have ever been Boromir's strength," Gandalf said urgently, "Do not fail him now, at the last. Find them, and see that the Ring is destroyed."

With a sigh, Faramir answered, "I will not fail my brother, old friend. No, I will not fail him. But again you did not answer me."

Gandalf stood, leaning heavily on his staff. "No, Faramir," he said, his voice weary. "Not in that moment. But all too soon, and I do not believe that you, or your brother, or any of us could overthrow him when his power is gained."

"And how long before his power is gained?" asked Faramir.

"The power to defeat your will?" asked Gandalf sternly. "The power to defeat your brother's will, and bind you both to him so you could not move against him?" Gandalf's voice was stone and iron. "That would happen as soon as the Ring was his."

Faramir nodded thoughtfully. "I see," he said after a time. "I see. But tell me, Mithrandir," he said then. "How is it that Sauron could ever have been defeated in the first place?"

Gandalf frowned. "I do not understand you," he said.

Faramir glanced east, towards Mount Doom. "When Isildur took up the sword and cut the ring from Sauron's hand," he said, "how could he have done so if the Ringlord could bind all minds to him, and prevent them acting against him?"

Scowling now, Gandalf replied impatiently, "I know not. Some trick of fate, perhaps, and I would not trust fate to be so kind a second time. You must believe me," he went on, his tone urgent. "The Ring is altogether evil, and cannot be used! Our only hope is its destruction."

Faramir nodded again, thoughtfully, and said, "I will find my brother, and do what must be done."

Gandalf watched him for a moment, then shook his head. "I must return to Rohan," he said finally. "There is much to be done there if they are to aid Gondor when this tide breaks against you."

"I fear their help will be too little, and far too late," said Faramir, "but do what you can, my friend." Faramir touched his hand as they turned towards the Gate and said softly, "You know, Boromir has ever been my strength, as well."

Blue eyes met grey, and held, and after a moment, Gandalf nodded. "I know," he said. "I know."

On the Anduin

Haldir and Orophin had traveled through the night and into morning, and when they reached Emyn Muil, they slowed, maneuvering their light boats towards the shore and looking for signs of another's passage. Finally, Orophin waved to his brother and Haldir joined him.

"Here, they brought the boats from the water. The tracks lead towards the North Stair."

"If they brought the boats with them, then they will have carried them down the stair and will have returned to the river."

Orophin nodded briefly, and said, "Shall we follow?"

In short order they had made their way down the long stair and after a quick search for sign of their quarry, returned to the river themselves.

After a time, Orophin said, "Mithrandir spoke of a Man of Gondor, the brother of the one who travels with Estel."

"Faramir, second son of Gondor's Steward. I remember. What of him?"

"He commands men in Ithilien; his brother will know this. The question we must answer is whether they will travel towards Mordor in secret, through Ithilien where these Southern Rangers are, or will go to Minas Tirith where the Steward's eldest son has soldiers."

"You mean that if they go to destroy it, they will choose Ithilien, but if one of the Men claims the Ring, they will go to Minas Tirith and from there to attack Sauron."

Orophin shrugged. "It seems likely."

Haldir shook his head. "If one of the Men claims the Ring, is not all lost?"

"So the wise tell us," Orophin replied.

"Then if they were to travel to Minas Tirith, we could believe all would have been lost?"

"It would seem so."

Haldir smiled slightly, though from his own boat Orophin did not see. "You doubt it," said Haldir.

"No, no," said Orophin thoughtfully. "I only think that even when all is lost, as long as one lives, one must attempt some victory."

They traveled some ways further before Haldir spoke again. "I do not think Estel will claim the Ring." Orophin was silent, and after a moment Haldir went on, "I do not think he will claim it, but if he does, I wonder how long it will be before the Ring claims him."

"I think that Estel is stronger than most Men, and he lived long with the Elves," said Orophin, "and has spent many years hardening himself against just such a thing as this. Preparing himself." He paused, then said, "I think it would not take him all at once. We might have time to - to do what must be done."

"Are we certain of what that is?"

Orophin laughed. "Well, no my brother, we are not. But perhaps things will order themselves such that we may know when the time comes."

Another few miles swept past, and Haldir said, "If they reach Ithilien before either of the Men succumb to this thing," but he hesitated then, and trailed off.

"You would not wish to find us pitted against the whole company this Faramir commands," Orophin said, guessing his brother's train of thought.

"I would not," Haldir replied.

"Well," said Orophin, "Mithrandir seemed to put great faith in him. Perhaps we worry needlessly."

"Perhaps. Still, I wish we had a firmer plan."

"Yes," Orophin said with a chuckle. "'Right this wrong' is not the most detailed of strategies."

Haldir chuckled as well, and said, "Perhaps, as you said, things will order themselves for us."

"And if they do not," said Orophin, "we will make our opportunities and take what victory we can."