Thanks for the reviews, everyone, and don't forget to let me know what you thought of this chapter... This story is kind of my pride and joy right now (everything else is Van Helsing and silly, but worth checking out of course :) and I'd love to know what you think of Denhamir...

Chapter Three: Arriving

Arriving in Rivendell was a bit of an ordeal. There were trumpets, and fanfares, and elves who stared with wide, vacant eyes, and a tiny girl who came up to Boromir and said, "Will you please sign my—" just before Boromir's horse knocked her down.

"My Lord!" said Athel,unhappily.

"What did I say about calling me that?"

"But, Sir, the child—"

"Ah—" said Boromir uncomfortably, "whoever she is, tell her I'll settle the matter with her at a later date. No need to get into that in front of everyone."

"But—"

"Impatient, is she? Very well. I will speak to her now, but tell her she must not bring the child with her. It's likely to pull my beard, or something of the sort."

Athel simply stopped speaking, struck dumb by the unusual persistence of Boromir's obtuseness, and Denhamir, who'd been giggling for the past several seconds, broke into the conversation.

"Really, brother, you must tell me about your adventures in Rivendell. I'm told some of the elves are very resistant to friendly overtures by men."

Boromir blushed. "Ride on, Athel. And kindly refrain from mentioning such subjects in front of Denhamir, he is an impressionable young man and I wouldn't wish— never mind. Just ride on."

"You wouldn't wish Father to hear about any of your escapades," supplied Denhamir cheerfully. Boromir stared at him in consternation. "What'll you give me, to neglect to mention it to Father?"

"I let you accompany me, is that not enough?"

"No."

"Then—"

"You promised Faramir a colt from your mare Hannra."

"I did?"

"Yes. Funny, isn't it," said Denhamir thoughtfully, struck suddenly by the incongruity of things, "that our noble brother who is so circumspect in every detail, condescends to take bribes when it comes to Father finding out about you?" He considered. "Perhaps he knows that if Father heard some of such tales, he could possibly disown you, and perhaps Faramir doesn't wish to be Steward, either." He considered some more. "Intelligent Faramir."

"A horse, eh?" said Boromir, who had a bit of a one-track mind.

"Yes, a horse."

"Very well, I promise to give you a colt of my mare, if you refrain from carrying such slanderous tales to Father," said Boromir dutifully.

"Wonderful," said Denhamir. "And, brother—"

"Yes, brother."

"He was referring to the child whom you knocked down with your horse— "

Yet another fanfare drowned out Boromir's reaction to this, somewhat to Denhamir's regret.

There was a period that followed in which Boromir, Denhamir, and Athel were invited to sit down and have some tea. Boromir, prompted by Denhamir, refused on the basis that they'd come a long way and they wanted to get the business, whatever it was, done with as quickly as possible. They were instead led before Elrond, a tall, kingly, and rather sinfully ugly elf lord with a permanent scowl and a habit of announcing things that were perfectly obvious to everyone else.

"Ah," he said loudly, "Boromir, you are here."

"I am," said Boromir. "I'm here."

"I am glad you are here."

"I am glad I am here, also."

These two, Denhamir thought, couldn't deserve each other more.

"I see your youngest brother is here as well."

"Yes, Denhamir, my youngest brother, has accompanied me."

"Wonderful," said Lord Elrond sourly. Denhamir was reminded slightly of his father, and wondered if there was possibly some familial connection. After some consideration he put this aside as unlikely. The blood of the Steward's household was as pure human as it was possible to get. It was evident in everything they did, from Faramir's quiet earnestness, to Boromir's brash heroics, to Denethor's proud favouritism, to Denhamir's self-centredness. Briefly Denhamir wondered what his mother's fault had been. A weakness for strong, over-bearing men, perhaps.

Elrond now rose and walked to the window. Staring from it, he proclaimed, "The time has now come, Boromir of Gondor, to suppress the Evil that stirs in the hearts of many."

Boromir translated this to himself, moving his lips silently. "Ah— yes, Lord Elrond, that would probably be a good idea."

Elrond turned his inimical glare on him. "This Evil cannot be treated lightly, Boromir. It is the Ultimate Evil."

Denhamir rejoiced inwardly that there was now another capitalized letter to add to the canon.

"It is the Evil that leads to War, and Death, and Ultimate Destruction."

Conscientiously, Denhamir added these to the list.

"None shall profit by it who wish to lead their lives in peace and harmony."

This also took a few minutes to decipher, and then Boromir said, "Well— suppose we try and stop it then."

Elrond shook his head and said, slowly, "No, Boromir. The only way to stop this great Curse of Evil, this Ultimate War, this Drastic Death, this March of Doom, this Wave of Destruction, this Tide of Hate, this Bane of Man, this Horror of the Elves, this Athlete's Foot of the Dwarves— would be to take the One Ring to the Fires of Mount Doom and There Cast It Into the Flames, to Melt and Be Forever Gone." Elrond, caught up in the moment, was throwing capitals in more or less at random.

Boromir said, "Well, why don't we do that then?"

"It cannot be done," said Elrond. "Do not even think it."

"Of course it can be done," said Boromir, with the simple-minded stupidity of the simple- mindedly stupid. "All we have to do is gather together a fellowship of willing, heroic, and above all uncomplicated people who can't quite put two and two together, and convince them to take the Ring to Mount Doom and Cast it Into the Flames."

Capitals, Denhamir noted sadly, were, apparently, catching.

Eldrond took a great while to think this over, nodding slowly and trying not to squint. Then he said, "Good point."

Boromir beamed.

"I shall bring this out to the Council this evening."

"Don't neglect to mention that it was my idea."

"Of course, of course." The elf lord's face, however, held a sneakiness that Denhamir nearly laughed at, but he stopped himself in time.

Boromir turned to Denhamir, flushed and smiling. "Now, little brother, that the pressing business is taken care of— can we eat?"

"I can," said Denhamir, "for my part. I'm inclined to have doubts about your ability to masticate without dropping bits all over the table and depostiting salivaic residue on the unsuspecting nearby diners."

But by this time Boromir had already left the room, and Denhamir's wit went unnoticed.

This put Denhamir in a bit of a bad mood.


The Council met later that day, complete with representatives from nearly every species in Middle-Earth, save for the much-maligned Orcs. Briefly Denhamir toyed with the idea of becoming a Speaker for the Orcs— clearly they were lacking in good representation.

He mentioned as much to Boromir.

Boromir stared at him in consternation.

"Are you joking?"

"Am I laughing?" Denhamir shot back whimsically.

"No, but—"

"Then clearly I am not joking. Tell me, Boromir, don't you in your heart of hearts find it a bit unfair to relegate an entire species to doom by assuming they one and all are thoroughly Evil?" Denhamir had wanted to practice his capital letters— obviously he would have plenty of chances. He sat back and waited for Boromir's response.

It was quite a while in coming. Boromir thought hard for several seconds before divining the true meaning behind his brother's eloquence. "Um— no," he said.

Denhamir sighed.

"Well, I do. As a forward-thinking citizen of Gondor, not to mention part-time soldier and son of the Steward, I think it is time for a new age in Middle-Earth— one in which all inhabitants, regardless of their race and background, may expect the same sort of rights that, at the moment, we attribute exclusively to Men and Elves."

This one took even longer to register with Boromir, who squinted very unbecomingly. He looked as though he were wishing for an unobtrusive dictionary, possibly one he could carry around in his pocket so as to have it at the ready whenever Denhamir tried to trip him up with words.

"That is Treason, Denhamir, and I would counsel you to beware how you speak. Especially do not mention such things before our father."

"Treason? I think not. Yet I agree it is not politic to opine in such a manner, when before the ruling powers— perhaps I will mention it to Faramir. He will feel obliged to communicate it to Father— it is after all a righteous thing, is it not? And thus he will take the blame." Denhamir considered this with a slight smile. "Yes, that's the thing to do."

"We must do something about Faramir's standing with Father," said Boromir, immediately sidetracked by the allure of a topic he could understand. "He is the Steward's second heir, and were anything to happen to me—"

"God forbid," said Denhamir piously.

"Yes, yes, of course, but— I am a soldier of Gondor, it is not inconceivable. And were something to happen, Faramir would take over as Steward—"

"You needn't explain things to me, brother, I know."

"And I wonder about the psychological impact of Father's disdain."

Denhamir stared in amazement at Boromir's unusual use of long words, then laughed as it sank in. "You think that Faramir would go insane because of Father's rejection, and lead Gondor into insanity with him."

"Well, perhaps not exactly insane—" Boromir shifted uncomfortably. "But it is disconcerting to think—"

"It is worrisome, true," agreed Denhamir. "But I do not worry so much about Faramir's mind as much as his body. Think, brother— should someone treat you the way Father treats Faramir, what would you do?"

"As a soldier of Gondor— challenge him to a duel, I suppose."

"Yes. And if you had Faramir's intellect, and sense of propriety—"

"If I were like Faramir—" Boromir stopped open-mouthed and turned to Denhamir. "You suspect Faramir of harboring— ill-will towards our Father?"

"Of course, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, but I—"

"Possibly fatal ill-will," said Denhamir musingly. "Just think, Boromir, you may inherit position as Steward sooner than you supposed."

This effectively shut Boromir up and Denhamir went back to pondering the dynamics of racial integration. What would happen, suppose, if orcs and elves bred—

The seeds were planted, and Denhamir knew Boromir would never look at his younger brother quite the same way again.