Aragorn said very little while we rode down the Anduin; nothing more than instructions on when to paddle. I mostly stewed the whole time, running over how blasted obnoxious the man could be. And he would be my king someday-- at least, if he survived... I shook my head, that path of thoughts led to an even worse end than taking the Ring. I looked to the front of the boat; Aragorn's back returned a blank gaze, although his posture denoted ongoing disapproval.

I reached down and fiddled with my pack. The sun had just passed the meridian, and I felt about ready to eat something. Aragorn could handle the boat fine by himself, this part of the river presented no obstacle.

I untied the straps and lifted the top flap of my sack. Let's see: oilskin-wrapped diary from Faramir (along with a small twinge of guilt-- it was still all but empty), lembas in a leaf, my lucky dagger, more lembas in a leaf, a whetstone, another leaf with lembas inside it, cloth and oil for maintenance of my sword and shield, a lembas-containing leaf, and finally! a strip of sun-dried seasoned beef. I never did like lembas, it was too good to be true-- a bite of cake to keep you strong for a day? Must be a catch. But good, tough, Gondorian-stock beef... I settled back in the sun, chewing happily. After a moment, I grinned to hear Aragorn sniff.

"What's that smell?" he inquired, turning almost halfway around.

"Beef jerky."

"It smells like an entire cow," he replied irritably. "Do you not think Orcs can scent that? You might as well hold a giant flag up with 'prey for Orcs' on it."

"Sounds like a good idea." I knew I shouldn't do it, but baiting Aragorn was really very fun, and by now I knew well enough how to get at him. "My sword hand could use some exercise."

Aragorn muttered something, grabbed his oar and gave several harsh strokes. I chuckled-- but quietly, I was dry and didn't plan on getting splashed at the moment-- and stretched out in the boat. Aragorn kept muttering from the prow and I looked idly around the land we were passing through.

Currently, the Anduin still passed by the fields of Rohan to the West, but to the East the marshes of the Nindalf seeped away its water, slowing the current. I had never been here before, but could recall the map well enough; the marshes must be the Nindalf, and the mouths of the-- Entwash, I think, were coming up on our right. Then Cair Andros.

I frowned. Would Aragorn plan to visit the garrison there, or continue past it? The river was treacherous around Cair Andros. Aragorn did not appear the least bit interested in talking to me, now that I had finished that oh-so-unwise beef jerky...

I yawned and stretched. Aragorn twitched slightly, and I half-expected him to tell me off for making noise, but he stayed silent. I almost felt I could drift off to sleep: the boat fiasco added to the long climb at Rauros left me still exhausted. But even a Ranger such as Aragorn could only look one direction at a time, and my knowledge of the countryside could become important. No, I needed to stay awake.

I sighed and decided I really ought to put something in Faramir's diary. I knew the Elves fascinated him, and he'd hoped for an extensive volume on the Fair Folk and their ways, but to be honest I'd forgotten about his gift since-- since Rivendell, probably. Now I retrieved it and sat contemplating it.

The diary was plain, dark brown leather, an embossed seagull the only decoration to distinguish front from back. I smiled slightly, turning it in my hands-- were my brother a book I imagined he would be like this one, albeit with far more written inside. No frills, but very fine quality; even my limited knowledge of books and their making told me Faramir had spent a not-inconsequential sum on this gift. I opened it and thumbed through the first three pages, all I had managed to write.

July 8, 3018

Now in Rohan. Lost my horse while crossing the river, but I know Éomer, the king's nephew, and am on my way to his dwelling; he may lend me a horse. Country is strangely empty-- two days walking and not a single herd seen yet. Fire is getting low, better prepare for sleep.

July 17, 3018

Éomer came through. Fine horse physically, slight attitude problem. Seemed to think I'm a stable hand and not supposed to actually ride him. Disabused him of this notion. Still only one herd spotted; Éomer tells me Orcs are crossing the river. He seems strangely withdrawn from the Éomer I saw last; some problem at Edoras. Leaving tomorrow morning.

August 2, 3018

Reached the Gap of Rohan. Strange smoke rising from Orthanc, that old watch tower. Some wizard lives there, Father thinks well of him but I have never seen him. Must be doing something. Toyed with the idea of visiting him, but don't know how much longer it will take to reach Rivendell. Need to keep moving.

August 9, 3018

Following the mountains north. Rivendell in the mountains far north, somewhere not too far from a river, or so said Father. Planned to get more exact directions from the locals, but no locals seen since Rohan.

August 27, 3018

Found a river. Not far enough north though. Still no-one met.

October 25, 3018

Arrived in Rivendell last night. Elves not very respectful, but I didn't take it to heart-- they are the Elder Race, after all. Faramir has always wanted to meet Elves, but somehow I was never that intrigued. They seem distant, and when they talk to you there is no forgetting how much higher they are than you; at least, how much higher they imagine they are. Elrond is the Lord of Rivendell, and rather more respectful than the others, but that makes sense. He is half-human, after all. I'm some kind of many-many-many-times-grand nephew to him.

He told me it was a very good thing I arrived when I did. He's holding a Council today, and I'm the only Man here that I've met. Elves are attractive enough, but they certainly don't look like any use fighting Orcs, from what I've seen. Perhaps these Elves have been protected by this valley for so long they no longer worry about battle.

Despite the apparent weakness of most of the inhabitants in the arts of war, there is an indefinable Power in this valley. Maybe one of the effects of a ruler who is half-Elf, half-Man.

Here's the messenger, the hour of the Council is come.

November 4, 3018

The Council was very interesting. Many people arrived there, including Elves from out in the East somewhere who actually looked halfway dangerous, and Dwarves from even more distant lands. Mithrandir was there also. Father never did like him that much, but Faramir trailed him around whenever he came to Minas Tirith; I didn't shun or follow him, but it seems he really does do a lot of things out in the Wild. I don't think I'll put down anything else I learned there, it was really too much. I did, however, get my question answered.

Seemed everything in the dream was explained more by current events than by any responses I received. Another Man was there, one of the Rangers of the North; I think I heard once that they were the remnants of the North Kingdom. His name is Aragorn; he says he has the Sword that was broken, and that he is the heir to the throne of Gondor. I hope he does come with me to Minas Tirith. Quite apart from his claim of kingship, which I plan to investigate soon (many of the Elves seem to know him), he looks like a hardy fighter, and his charisma is undeniable. He would be a mighty aid to us.

The Halfling referred to, literally, a fellow half my height named 'Frodo.' He, and his three companions, are very interesting fellows, almost like well-brought-up children-- disrespectful at times, but not meaning anything by it. He was the one to bring Isildur's Bane.

Father had no clue what that might be. But Frodo produced a ring, and Mithrandir's story told that it was the One Ring. Everyone seemed to agree that the only course of action would be to destroy it, even Aragorn, who I'd looked to for some sense. I tried to reason with them, but they were set, and I am become one of the companions for Frodo on his Quest.

If, as they say, destroying it would defeat Sauron, that makes good sense. But if we go to Minas Tirith, we can regroup and use the Ring to defeat Sauron's armies. Then go and destroy it; Barad-Dûr is too powerful to attack. This, I think, is the complete plan, although they did not state it in so much detail. Such a weapon must not be thrown aside before we get at least some use out of it!

I sighed. I had been blind, even then. Reading this diary only reminded me of my foolishness; even the way the Elves seemed so obnoxious twisted at my conscience. Above all, my reasoning about the Ring was like reading the transcript of a drunkard's thought process; I hoped I would never encounter such Evil again.

I glanced up and found that my reading had taken up nearly a quarter of an hour; we had floated on down past a turn in the river, and far ahead I could see the first entering stream of the Entwash. Aragorn was still ignoring me, though, so I turned back to the book. I reached into the slim pouch attached to the spine of the book and pulled out the pen Faramir had included. I'd picked up a new inkpot in Rivendell, and fished that out of the bag now and began to write.

February 29, 3019

Much has happened. No time to write here. In boat on Anduin. Aragorn acting haughty, making cutting remarks. Hobbits, Gimli and Legolas gone to Mordor. Aragorn and I going to Minas Tirith. Mithrandir

I stopped writing for a moment. Mithrandir... true, I had never looked up to him as Faramir did. But I had never mistrusted him as Father did, either. And at the Council he had shown himself to be far greater than even Faramir had guessed, and greater still when he led us through Moria: when we watched him, helpless, fall in battle with the Demon. The hard sorrow was gone, the tears had been cried in the Dimrill Dale and in Lórien. But the ache held on, and I hesitated before writing the next line; I wanted it to be a remembrance of the wizard, of all he had done for us, rather than a mere note in a diary, bereft of emotion.

Mithrandir gave himself in Moria, fell in battle with a Demon of fire and darkness to save our lives.

I fiddled with my pen, then found I had lost all interest in writing. Thinking about Mithrandir put me in an understandably melancholy mood; I used a flap from my pack to blot the page, then tucked the diary back into its oilskin protection.

Ahead of me, Aragorn stirred. "I did not know you were given to books, Boromir." He sounded almost apologetic.

I smiled sadly. "I am not, to tell the truth. Book knowledge has its place, but in times of war that place is behind knowledge of war and combat. Faramir has far more book-learning than I." Aragorn nodded without looking back.

"What do you write?" I squirmed slightly. I had no interest in Aragorn reading my diary, small though it was, with its shameful statements; nor did I wish to discuss it with him.

"It is nothing. A diary Faramir gave me when I left; he wished to know of the Elves. But I have been remiss in writing in it; so I wrote an entry today." Aragorn nodded; though he said nothing I suspected he would try to continue the conversation, and to head him off I picked up my oar. "Do you think we should paddle some to try and shorten our journey?"

He didn't answer for a moment. "I think we should conserve our strength, above all," he replied after thinking. "We have no knowledge of the situation in Gondor, and know not how we may be needed when we arrive there. Better to arrive slightly later and ready to fight than arrive early and be useless from exhaustion. However," as I shifted restlessly, "arriving too late and well-rested will serve us not if the hour of greatest need is already past. We can paddle somewhat, but we need no mad dash down the river."

I shrugged. Aragorn reminded me a little of that saying I had heard from the Hobbits: "Go not to the Elves for counsel, for they will say both yes and no." Right in the middle, that was his answer.

"We shall most likely reach Cair Andros in four days, if we go at the same pace we set before Amon Hen. Was that place still garrisoned when you set out, or had you pulled back to protect your closer borders?"

"Still garrisoned," I replied thoughtfully. "But, Aragorn, that reminds me of something I meant to ask you. Do you plan to take the boat through the river there? It is not entirely safe, though far less dangerous than Sarn Gebir. And are we going to Osgiliath, the true frontier? Or straight to Minas Tirith?"

"Paddling a boat through a war zone would hardly be... prudent," Aragorn answered, and I could have sworn he was smirking at my question. "We shall find more information at Cair Andros, if it has remained free." I nodded.

"Since you don't seem worried about making the best time possible," I offered, "do you think I could get some rest? There's to be no looming danger, and you appear to have everything well in hand." He nodded, and I laid myself down and deliberately drained the cares from my mind. After a minute I was asleep: the first completely peaceful sleep I'd had since Lórien.

-Author's note-

Wow, the last chapter was really popular! Thanks everyone who reviewed! I liked it best too-- whether that means anything or not...

Someone wanted to know about Merry and Pippin: this is just a story about Boromir. As tempting as following Frodo's new (and improved?) story would be, I'm sticking with the Son of Gondor. No POV changed or anything.

Also, I've decided to discipline myself from now on (shock!) and update once a week, every Friday afternoon around 4 p.m. Since I'm in France, 6 hours ahead of American readers, and FF.net takes up to 24 hours to post the update, that'll mean it will be readable no later than, hmm... 8 a.m. on Saturday morning for all on the Eastern seaboard. BUT I am also preparing to leave for vacations come the weekend; vacations will be two weeks long, then I shall return (hopefully). So no updates during that time-- I'm sure I'll have plenty of scribblings of some vague value from that time, though. So there should be plenty of updates the week after. Namarië!