A few answers for you all...

Here is "the lass," Nikoru. :)

Glad you liked the last chapter, Mat...

And I wasn't specifically depressed, otto's goat (Otto? Goat?) But I was seriously worried. My dad's been having some possible heart trouble for the past week. But they think its okay now, though they won't get the results back for another few days. Freaked me out for a while, I have to say.

And anyone else reading? PLEASE REVIEW!!! Uh, thanks.

Chapter Ten: Last

"Last night, I was thinking," said Boromir by way of introduction.

"Uh-huh," said Denhamir abstractedly. He was looking through the crowd, searching for a face.

"And I have come to the conclusion that you ought to travel with me, with the Fellowship."

Suddenly what his brother was saying sunk in and Denhamir fixed a look of such horrification on him that even Boromir understood it for what it was.

"What makes you think that?"

"Well— it would be good for you. Make you more rounded. As a man."

"If I want to be more rounded as a man I would eat things like that object you're attempting to stuff in your mouth." Denhamir knocked the pastry from Boromir's hand and glared at it. "I have no wish to travel to— where are you going again?"

"The land of Mordor, wherein shadows lie," said Boromir as if by rote, "to the crack of Mount Doom, there to cast the Ring in and—"

"Yes, that. I have no wish to go there. Incidentally, why don't you just take the Ring from that little hobbit person and take it back to Father? That is what he wanted you to do, isn't it? If he wanted one of his sons to travel a long ways away in perilous situations he would have sent Faramir."

Boromir thought about this and, after a moment, chuckled. "I cannot take the Ring. I have been duly warned of the effects it could have."

"By Elrond? Who listens to elves?"

"By Elrond and by Aragorn."

"What does he know," said Denhamir dismissively. "At any rate, Father wanted the Ring brought to Gondor—"

"It will not go to Gondor!" shouted Boromir. Denhamir, somewhat taken aback, closed his mouth and raised his eyebrows. Boromir sighed and shook his head.

"I do not wish to discuss it, brother. But, take my word for it. And— come with us. You might as well. What else would you do to occupy your time?"

Denhamir had, by this point, several plans teeming in his mind, but he just smiled enigmatically. "When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow. It is still early, and there will be plenty of time to get provisions together."

"Ah. Perhaps I too will leave tomorrow. I cannot seem to get rid of this headache." To Denhamir's mind came a sudden vision of a cool, white face, and a cool, white hand pressing against his forehead, taking away his pain. Once again he began to search among the faces of the assembled elves and humans. "Brother, do you recall the young woman who sat alongside us at breakfast?"

"The serving girl," said Boromir.

"She was not a serving girl."

"She looked like one."

"She wore clothes of rich fabric and royal design."

"She brought you breakfast," objected Boromir.

Denhamir smiled a little, reminiscently. "You do have the most annoying habit of going by appearances, brother. You must try to get past that." He turned from him and saw, like a brief flash of blinding light, the face he had been searching for. "Will you excuse me?"

"Where are you going?"Boromir enquired, but Denhamir had already walked off.

He slid through the crowd, wondering if things were always this busy amongst the elves. Ahead of him he saw a small head with thick dark hair turning aside into a shallow recess— as he attempted to follow his way was blocked by Elrond himself. Denhamir gave a slightly guilty start.

"Faramir?" said Elrond with a frown. "What are you doing here?"

"I am not Faramir. I am his younger brother, Denhamir."

"Denhamir?" amended Elrond with a frown. The elf lord had the most dour expression Denhamir had ever seen— well, apart from that of Denethor, perhaps, thought Elrond would have given even the Steward a run for his money. "What are you doing here?"

"I am attending my brother Boromir," said Denhamir. "You spoke with him yesterday?"

"Ah yes, I recall. He caused quite a disturbance in the dining halls last evening," said Elrond with a frown.

"Er, yes—"

"And I don't believe that your conduct was much more exemplary," commented Elrond, with a frown.

"I am sorry," said Denhamir perfunctorily, craning his neck to see past him.

"In fact I believe a window had to be repaired," said Elrond, frowning.

"I will see that you are reimbursed," said Denhamir. He frowned as well. It appeared to be infectious.

"It was a very expensive window—"

"Lord Elrond!" said Denhamir desperately. "Perhaps you can help me. I wish to inquire about the name of a certain person—" Taking Elrond's arm, he turned him till they could both just make out the figure of the pale-eyed girl, who sat cross-legged on a bench, examining the heel of one slipper. "The young woman. Who is she?"

"As far as I can recall," said Elrond, with a frown, "which is in all actuality quite far, her name is Brisaen. Her father is Broan of Theserisa. Her grandfather is Bronwen of Theserisa, and her great-grandfather, who attended the birth of Arwen, was Calenboren, likewise of Theserisa. Her great-great-grandfather was also Calenboren, Calenboren's father, and unless you know the sequence of the family tree in its most minute details, recounting the adventures and accomplishments of the two individuals can become quite confusing—"

Any moment, Denhamir knew, the elf lord would break into more capitals. He hastened to interrupt him.

"And she is unmarried?'

"Unmarried? Of course she's unmarried," said Elrond with a frown. "If she had been married I would have mentioned the name of her husbandly owner. I don't know what you think I—"

"Thank you," said Denhamir brusquely, and turned away.

Just in time, too, for behind his back Elrond rumbled, with a frown, "Calenboren himself was quite a Warrior, in the Time of the Anger—"

Denhamir made his escape, searching out Boromir once more. When he found and rejoined him, Boromir looked hard at him, searching his face.

"What is wrong?"

"Nothing! Nothing is wrong, brother. Why?"

"You look— odd."

"Thank you very much," said Denhamir easily.

Boromir considered for a moment longer, then promptly forgot about the whole thing. "Will you still not tell me what your plan is, little brother?"

"What do you suppose it is?"

"I would guess that you intend to meet up with Faramir and patrol along with his command."

Denhamir laughed outright. "Honestly, brother, do you listen to nothing I say? Even if I say it often enough? I will not, repeat, will not even attempt to prove myself a soldier of Gondor. I will not pretend to be anything other than what I am— a self-serving, intelligent, and above all free man. I am free to choose my own path, and free to accept or not accept the consequences of my actions. There is no need to worry about me. I am quite fond of living and the only thing I truly hate is the idea of being tied down with dependents."

"You may change your mind someday," said Boromir.

"No," said Denhamir. "On this account, never."

"We will see," said Boromir.

"Certainly we will."

One night left before he departed.

One night ought to be enough.