The Last Goodbye

by rugbytackle-me

A different take on how Aragorn and Arwen met and how this affected the journey of the Fellowship...Contains an OC. No slash.

8. A Life Reborn

Chapter 9

A Life Reborn

/This chapter follows the story of Boromir and Tithe and their journey after the Fellowship split./

All he saw was darkness. All he felt was pain.

The party heading up the River was silent. Every so often Boromir jerked in his pain. His pulse, though slightly stronger, was erratic and faint, his breathing shallow. The medicine had begun to work and he calmed slightly, still lost in his unconscious state. Tithe sat at his side, clutching at his hand, trying to send her life into him. The elves around her were quiet, focused on their task of sailing the boats up the River to the Lady Galadriel. They had never seen death or sickness before and they didn't know what to make of it, of the man lying in one of their boats, knocking on death's door.

The River, normally fast and dangerous, was now placid and let them past with ease. It was under the control of the Lady of the Golden Wood, far away as she was. Her power was immense. The boats sped past the land but Tithe saw nothing, her gaze fixed on Boromir's closed eyes and the cold hand she held. She was crying, silent tears that trickled down her face onto Boromir's blood-stained tunic. The arrows were still there, great ugly things with black feathers and dagger sharp tips. Blood had seeped out of the holes in his tunic and ran little rivers down his chest. They had managed to stop the bleeding but had left the arrows for the Lady to remove as they didn't want to wound him further.

As the sun began to set the woods loomed up in the distance. They looked dark and foreboding in the dusk. The boats turned swiftly into a dock and a stretcher was waiting with 4 elves to carry it. Tithe scrambled out and stood on the land, watching their progress like a hawk. She need not have worried. The elves were gentle and lifted him like he weighted nothing but a feather. He was placed on the stretcher and the elves set off, Tithe running along side them. Occasionally Boromir would moan and cry out in pain. She tried to shut her ears to block out the sound but it was no use.

Up the stairs went the elves and into a room. A bed lay bare and the room was sparse, with only one chair and a table. The windows were open and the breeze fluttered round the small room. Boromir was transferred from the stretcher to the bed and the elves left Tithe alone with him. She knelt by the bed and prayed silently to whatever God was up there that Boromir would live to fight orcs once again. She had just finished when Galadriel swept in, followed by a trail of healers and people to look after the young Lord.

Tithe was pushed to the back as the crowd swarmed round the bed. Voices filled the air, calling for water and other healing herbs and people dashed back and forth, from other rooms, bearing the necessities. Tithe couldn't understand what was going on. Sometimes orders were in the Common Tongue but most were in Elvish. She could only make out one voice-the voice of the Lady Galadriel, in her deep soothing tones ordering others around.

Suddenly an arrow was free and passed down the line to a messenger elf who would bear it far from the room and dispose of it correctly. Barely had the first arrow disappeared another was plucked from Boromir and that too was rushed away. Finally the last arrow was free and they could begin fully healing the injured man. Luckily for him the arrows were not poisonous as they were intended to kill from the first shot, not over a period of time. It was a miracle that Boromir had survived. The orc had failed as Boromir still lived, as much as Tithe could understand. She heard another sound from the bed, a voice she knew immediately.

It moaned and yelled abuse for the pain the hands on him were causing.

"Boromir!"

Tithe shouted over the heads of the taller elves. Another scream of pain resounded round the room in answer. The elves stepped back and allowed her through. Boromir lay back, his eyes closed in pain and exhaustion. Around his torso was a huge bandage. It covered him from his neck to his stomach. He turned his head and forced his eyes open.

"Tithe."

His voice was broken and cracked-no more than a ragged whisper. She knelt by his side again and took his hand, cold and clammy. Stroking hair out of his eyes she asked him,

"How are you feeling?"

"It hurts." He replied, pain filling his voice from the breath he had to take.

"Boromir, you must drink this. It will fight the pain and help you heal." The Lady Galadriel handed him a beaker and he had just enough strength to drink liquid before falling back to sleep.

"Will he be okay?"

"I am not sure. It is up to his body and mind if he wants to heal. We have done all we can. Now we have to wait. Hopefully the medicine will take away some of the pain and make the choice easier for him."

And how much pain he was in. It stung him from every angle on his body. Even in sleep he could find no escape. He just wanted to die than live through this. Anything would be better. He cried out in his dreams, not sure if they were out loud or just in his troubled mind. Everywhere he looked he saw the huge orc captain. He ran for his life but could not escape.

All around him, there was only sand, no trees or houses or any signs of living. He was trapped in an extensive world that went on as far as the eye could see. It was twisted. He had no choice but to fight. He reached for his sword but found nothing hanging by his hip. He looked round for it but it was not there. It had vanished off the face of the Earth. Twigs littered the ground, despite the lack of trees, and, thinking a twig was better than nothing, he picked on up and brandished it in front of him. He ran towards the huge beast but no matter how fast he ran he could not reach it, to kill it with his twig sword.

The orc stood and chose a huge black arrow and notched it onto his bow. He pulled back the string and took aim. The bow sang with evil as the arrow was released. It moved in slow motion, heading for Boromir's heart, intending to kill him. Boromir tried to doge it but he couldn't, no matter how hard he tried. He looked down at his feet and found them rooted to the ground and he was a tree swaying in the wind. He looked round himself in a panic. He mentally screamed for help. No one came. The arrow was coming ever nearer and Boromir began to sway more frantically. This only caused himself to root deeper into the sand. The arrow was just metres away now and he watched it come closer, accepting death. Just as it was about to hit his chest he woke.

Night had fully set in now and he couldn't see anything. He took a deep breath to try and calm himself but ended up trying not to cry out in pain at the agony it caused him. The bandage was wrapped tight around him, so tight it made the shallowest breaths uncomfortable. Red patches dotted the crisp whiteness of it; the wounds had opened and were leaking again. He looked round the room again hoping to find he recognised some of the shadows. He did not. He shifted in the bed, uncomfortably hot. Pain ripped through him, almost making him black out. Lying still he regained his breath before shifting again. He had to move. He needed the heavy blankets off, he was dying from heat. The covers scratched on whatever bare skin they could find. It burned! Everywhere felt like a fire travelling over his body and he couldn't bear it. He wriggled again and this time the pain that tore through him was too much and he left the world of the living to drift in the sea of unconsciousness. Blood poured through the thick bandage and the fever ran through his body with its dreadful fire. Boromir lay still.

Tithe jolted awake from her light doze. The moon rose high in the sky. Around midnight. She sat up on her small bed at one end of the room. Making sure he was asleep she padded softly over to his bedside. He had already told her what he thought of her sitting by his bed day in day out. He had been touched she thought but hadn't known how to show it. She took his hand and dropped it. It was so hot. She touched his forehead. He was burning up. Moving quickly she ran outside to where an elf stood guard.

"Quick! Get the Lady Galadriel. It's Boromir! He's gotten worse!"

The elf ran off down the hall while Tithe returned to Boromir and took the jug of water lying on a table by his bed. She tried to get him to drink some but he would have none of it in his sleep. The Lady was in the room in seconds, this time without the trail of people she had last time. She took one look at the man on the bed and shook her head.

"He has got the fever. There is nothing more I can do for him. He will either survive or of die. He is unconscious so he feels no pain. All we can do for him is force water into him and keep the wounds clean, change the bandages and pray he pulls through. Hopefully now the poison will not start."

"You mean there was poison?"

"Yes but we put medicine on it-to stop the effects of it. It should be washed out of his body naturally. I will leave you here for the rest of the night and someone will be along in the morning to relieve you so you can sleep and so forth. Call for me if anything changes in his condition." She smiled warmly at Tithe before leaving the room.

Tithe stood there, disbelief on her face. Was there nothing she could do? How was Boromir going to survive now?

The elf at the door came in with a basin of cold water and strips of cloth.

"You can bathe his forehead from time to time. It may help him."

She thanked him. It could not change Boromir's condition but it would let her be able to do something and not feel so helpless. It would also take her mind off other problems-like what she was going to do if Boromir did not make it and how she could break the news to Faramir without killing him in the process. God how she missed him. She needed him right now-to help her through this tough time, to whisper in her ear that it would be okay, both she and Boromir would survive this and be fine. But he couldn't. He was miles away, back in his home country, dealing with problems of his own. Life could be so cruel.

She picked up a cloth and submerged it in water. Picking it up she wrung it tight, then placed it back into the water, she had wrung it too dry. She got it right the second time and folded the wet cloth before placing it gently on Boromir's forehead. She could almost hear the hiss as hot skin met cool cloth. She winced and patted it down softly on his head. He moaned in his sleep and shook involuntarily. She sighed and settled down to keep a round the clock watch on Boromir.

Her days fell into a pattern. She would watch over Boromir each night, sponging him down and making sure he was comfortable. In the mornings a healer elf or the Lady herself would come and change Boromir's huge bandage. Usually as Boromir had moved in his fever there would be patches or spots of blood. Because Boromir was so big it would take at least 2 elves to hold him up while another unwrapped and re-wrapped the white cloth around his chest and stomach. All the time Boromir remained unconscious. He had not woken and they would be forced to make him drink some liquid to keep him alive.

You could see the change in him. The once shiny golden hair was now limp and hung around his face in straggly ends. His eyes were sunken and his face gaunt. His skin was almost transparent in colour. No one would have recognised this sick man as Boromir, heir to the Steward of Gondor and Captain of the Tower Guard. This man looked on his death bed, too weak to even open his eyes let alone lift a sword and behead an orc with it. His skin burnt with a fever yet he shivered with such force that it scared Tithe. She kept the blankets wrapped tightly him but was often worried he might burst from the fire burning inside him.

And then one day, out of the blue, he woke.

They had just changed his bandages and were settling down to another day of sleeping (for Tithe) or watching over him. They were just about to leave when his eyes opened and he coughed- a real hacking cough. They all turned to look at him, shock clear on their features. He coughed again and raised his head weakly. A headache throbbed in his temples so he lay back down on the soft pillow behind his head. Faces crowded his vision as all tried to see him at once.

It was all too bright for him and he closed his eyes once again. He felt too ill and tired-his body ached everywhere and he felt like he hadn't slept in years. He shifted deeper into the covers and was reminded of the huge bandage round him. He sighed. It was all too much at the moment and he wanted to go back to sleep but voices kept tugging at him, pulling him back from the brink of sleep. One voice in particular stirred his memory. It called to him insistently, telling him to wake up. For her, for the elves who had looked after him and for his brother. His brother. He didn't have a brother did he? It would be brilliant if he did but he didn't have any family. He didn't know where he came from. Was this his birth? No, it couldn't be, he knew about it. What had happened?

All he could remember was an incredible pain and a face looking down onto his. Maybe this was death then, maybe his family were all dead and they were calling him to come and join them. Then the pain struck him. This couldn't be death, it hurt too much. Noise swirled round his ears and light blinded him when he opened his eyes. He didn't want to wake up; he wanted to return to the cooling darkness of sleep. But those voices-they kept coming at him. He tried to swat them away but he didn't have enough energy to lift his hands.

He grudgingly opened his eyes the tiniest distance and found the light had dimmed to a more manageable level. His eyes opened fully and tried to take in his surroundings. There was so much. Four heads crowded round his head, the room was white, birds sounded outside and leaves rustle din a light breeze. He lay ignoring the voices that babbled at him above his head and just listened to the woods around him. His eyes stared into nothing, his mind resting. Hands waved in front of his face, forcing him to return to the living.

Emerald eyes looked up-bright with life-life that hadn't been seen there for a long time. A smile broke on one face-so bright it seemed it would split the face in two. He turned to it, memories flooding back. A long journey-other people. A quest for something. A Ring-that was it, a ring. He could remember that. But no names. Faces flooded him, drowning him with information. A girl's face clouded his vision, a different girl from the one that smiled above him. A different girl whose memory brought sadness to him. Such sadness. It crashed on him like waves, almost reducing him to tears right there and then. But why? He shook the memory away and once again focused on the face above him. He stared at her. Her mouth moved and she spoke to him, telling him of her joy of him waking, that he would live and they would go to Minas Tirith and join Faramir. He just had to heal now. He listened to her, not knowing what she meant. Minas Tirith? Where was that? Who was Faramir and more importantly who was she?

The voice from the girl trailed off when she realised that Boromir wasn't replying to her happy chatter. He wasn't even smiling. What was wrong? She frowned in puzzlement.

"Boromir? What's wrong? You are not speaking. Is something the matter?"

"Well it's just," He broke of to cough. "It's just I don't know who you are, you seem to know me but I do not have the pleasure of knowing you. You talk about…about a place…"

He broke off into a coughing fit, over taxing himself this early on. When he regained his breath and the pain had passed he started again. "A place, Minas Tirith… and a man…Faramir. My…brother?" He waited while he regained his breath yet again. "I am at…at a loss of who…who he…is…and where…I am." He stopped and let his breathing return to normal. He looked up at Tithe.

Tithe stared at him speechless. What had he said? Was this some kind of joke? She searched his face, his eyes-looking for a trace of mirth but he wasn't joking. He was looking up at her, waiting patiently for an answer. But she had none to give. She looked round helplessly to Galadriel. What was going on? Galadriel stepped forward and took control of the situation.

"Do you know your name?"

"Boromir, well I…presume it is…you said it…to me."

"Do you know where you are?"

Boromir shook his head.

"Do you remember anything of your family?"

Another shake.

"Your home?"

Another shake.

"Your friends?"

"No."

"How old are you?"

"I don't know."

"Tell me what you remember. What do you know about your injury?"

He took a breath and started to talk, not stopping nearly as much as the time before, water cooling and soothing his parched throat.

"A mission, for a Ring. There was a…group of us. Maybe 10. After that I…know nothing. All I remember…is a great pain." He thought again. "And a face. Looking down…on me. Tears. There were…tears. He was…he was crying."

"A man? What did he look like?"

"Black hair and…grey…grey eyes. Tall I think. I don't know how…how I know that but I…I do."

"But you don't remember any names?"

"None."

"And nothing of your life before this mission?"

"I…I had visions. A girl brought sadness. A man…brought hatred. Another man…love. Nothing more."

Galadriel didn't know who the girl was but she had guessed that the two men were Denethor and Faramir. Together with Tithe's help maybe they could piece together Boromir's life. He had lost his memory. Not all but most of it, all those he had loved and names had fled his head, bringing him no recognition. It might come back with time; it might stay hidden forever under the pile of stress that had been placed on Boromir. It was so sad; such a great man reduced to nothing by the evil in the world. She excused herself and Tithe from the room and led the distressed girl away.

"He has lost most of his memory. Not all but a great part of it."

"He doesn't even know me. He didn't recognise my voice or face. How?"

"The stress of his injury. His body and mind have been through a great deal of pressure. He was lost in the confusion."

"Will it last forever?"

"I do not know. It may be but something may trigger it to return. Again we put his life in the hands of fate. But stay with him. Tell him stories of the Quest and of pieces of his life you know. I know you don't know a lot but you know his brother, tell him about Faramir. They share the strongest bond in this world. Nothing can separate them. Even death."

Tithe dried her eyes and squared her shoulders.

"I will do my best. Do not worry."

She left the powerful elf standing alone in the corridor. Galadriel hadn't seen this in her mirror. She turned quickly went to find Celeborn. She entered their rooms silently but her husband still sensed her presence. He looked up. She bowed her head and heard him utter a soft sigh.

"Not good then my dear?"

"Sadly not. He will live but he is not going to enjoy his life. He will live a life of frustration and it will eat away at him, just like the Ring. Is there no escape for him?" She paused and drew breath. "If he died he would have died with honour. Did I make a grave mistake? Should I have left him to die?"

Celeborn crossed over to his wife. "You see the girl by his bedside? There for him and his brother. She would have endured a worse life if you had left him to die. Imagine the guilt she would have felt to deliver the news of his bother's death to her lover. You know that. And then there are the others. Faramir, can you imagine a world where the brothers are apart? I think not. Aragorn wants him for Steward, Merry and Pippin want their friend back, the one who tried to save them. You know you did right. It will pass."

She gathered strength from his calmness, restoring her faith in herself. She composed herself and left to go and look in her precious mirror.

It showed so much yet it showed so little. Sometimes the Queen of Elves felt it would be the death of her even though she could not die. Taking a deep breath she looked over and into the glistening of the pool's surface.

Tithe closed the door firmly behind her and prepared herself for the worst. She had to be strong. Boromir was lying in a half doze, still very much weakened from his wound and the fever that lingered in his body. She crossed over to the bedside and he made an effort to get up. She pushed him lightly back down.

"You shouldn't move so much. Just lie still and you will heal faster." He relented and lay back down.

"You wanted to know who I am yes? And where you are?

He nodded.

"My name is Tithe. I am not from this place. It's called Middle Earth. You have lived here all your life. I do not know where I come from. I'm a traveller. There is a great war going on in Middle earth. That Ring that you know about, it is part of the war. You were part of a company chosen to destroy the Ring, so it won't get back into the hands of its master. You can remember some of this can't you?"

Boromir did not speak for a moment.

"I…I don't know. I try so hard but I only get flashbacks. Only pictures with few words. I…I want to…to remember but I don't…know how." His eyes closed again. He was tired and needed sleep yet here she was pushing him, it wouldn't do.

"You need some rest. We have plenty time to talk. Sleep now." He nodded, eyes still closed and his breathing evened as he fell into sleep.

His familiar hair and eyes now seemed to belong to that of a stranger. The wounds bled some more and suddenly it seemed to Tithe that it was over, that although Boromir was alive , he did not want to be here, he would rather be dead and this was his body's way of telling her. She stood and left the bedside and was drawn to the window. The room was high and looked down on the elf city. The city was bustling with people, making ready for the day. Sentries were being sent out, everything else was peaceful. She yawned. Sleep was creeping up on her and over her and suddenly she realised how tired she was.

Crossing over to her soft bed she collapsed on it and closed her eyes. Her mind was allowed to wander and it settled on Faramir. His smile lit up behind closed eyelids and she could just about imagine his arms around her waist and his soft breath tickling her ear as he lulled her to sleep with stories about the elves. What was that one he loved to tell so much? She couldn't remember but he had changed the elvish names for theirs. Tithe had laughed and told him the elves wouldn't be happy with him for that. He had just redoubled his efforts to finish his beloved tale. She drifted off into a deep sleep-one that she had not had for so long.

Later when Lady Galadriel came to check on her patients she found both fast asleep. Sleep could either be the best healer or the worst but by the peaceful looks on her faces she presumed she was safe. She took the rare chance of a break to look in her mirror, maybe see how Aragorn was getting on or Frodo and Sam or even Faramir. That could help Tithe. For although the girl didn't know it she was also here for healing. She had carried a huge burden, trying to save Boromir's life and working things out with Faramir.

She needed rest and relaxation and with Boromir on the mend maybe she could get it. Though there was the small problem of Boromir's mind going but maybe the mirror would show the out come of that as well. Boromir needed a break also-he had been given a hard life.

When Tithe next woke the sun was high in the sky and streaming into the room, warming it up. She stretched lazily and sat up. The room was empty except for Boromir. He was still asleep was she crossed over to check on him. The bandage had been fouled again by blood and pus from his wounds, leaking great trails down the crisp whiteness. It would need to be changed again. But this time he was awake and she feared it would hurt him a lot more now he could feel pain again. She touched his forehead softly and was relieved to find it considerably cooler. The fever was at last leaving his body after having free reign in it for over 2 weeks.

He moved under her touch and his eyes opened sleepily. His green eyes looked at her in confusion and it made her want to weep. He didn't know her and he never would. She snatched back her hand and fled from the room, crying a broken 'sorry' as she went.

She didn't know where she was going as she ran blindly down the corridors. Down the stairs and out past the guards at the door to run free on the green grass. She dodged trees as she ran with a frantic pace, leaving the city behind and going deep into the woods where she could at last find some privacy to cry her heart out.

Galadriel sighed as she watched the girl run, hands covering her eyes that were over flowing with tears. She was about to move to follow her when another figure left the great tree and slowly followed the path of the distressed girl. Haldir. He looked back up to her window and nodded at her. She smiled. Haldir, one of her oldest friends and most trusted. He had realised what she was going through and had gone to find her. Now there were just the other dozen problems to be solved.

She left her window and made her way slowly to Boromir's room. She could have walked her in her sleep she had been there so many times in the last few weeks. And it had only been a few weeks, three at most. It seemed like a lot longer, even to an immortal being like herself.

Boromir looked on in horror as the girl fled from his room, tears streaming down her face. What had she said her name was? Tithe, yes Tithe that was it. What had made her so horrified of him? He looked down at his wounds. Was it that? Those scars that would never heal? He searched his memory, what had caused them? And it came to him in a flash. An orc, a word he didn't understand, but it had been an orc. With a bow and arrow. And these marks on his chest were the holes left by the arrows. He touched a spot of blood gingerly and bit down hard on his lip to hold in a scream. There were more pools of blood. He searched along his chest some more. Twice he more he held back screams of pain. Three arrows had hit him. Three. And by the marks they had left on him they had nearly killed him.

How was he still alive? Somehow he knew that a man who had three arrows in his chest and stomach region would not live to fight again. But here he was, living through the pain that each breath brought him and learning again. Learning so much everyday it made his head spin. And not big things, little things, like what food was again and how he dealt with pain. The wounds had shattered these small little things from his memory and he was learning again. The door creaked and he looked over, trying to see over the bandage that blocked his sight. He could only see people if they stood right over him and looked down. He hadn't tried to sit up yet, breathing was painful enough. A Lady walked into his line of sight. It was a lady he recognised. Something in his brain clicked.

"I know you. I've seen you before, and I don't mean yesterday. Before, yes with a group of people. You sheltered us and gave us food. You sent someone away. Someone close to me. I-I can't remember who it was. Wait! I know. He was called F-Faramir. That was his name. I was sad and angry but you made me understand. Who was he?"

Galadriel was almost crying with happiness. He knew a name, and not just any name, his brother's name.

"He was your brother Boromir. Your brother. Do you remember him more now?"

"My brother?" He thought for a moment, straining his memory. "My brother? Yes, I do remember him." He spoke slowly as if the thoughts were just coming to him. "He-he was younger than me. And he had copper hair. And…and grey eyes. He-he…" Boromir broke off. "That is all I can remember.

"What about his personality? You remember his physical features yes but what abut him?

"Him? He was kind and-and loving. Yet he was strong and fearless. He was a good man and he did his duty well." He paused again, tears shining in his eyes. "I can remember. My memory, it is coming back isn't it?"

"Yes Boromir." She graced him with a smile. "Yes Boromir, you are remembering. You are on the path to recovery. It was a small step as he is closest to you but you will recover, hopefully you will recover all."

"You mean I may not remember everything?"

"I am not trying to dampen your hopes Boromir, merely make sure you don't get them set to high for then you would be crushed if something did go wrong."

"You speak as if you know already. What? Tell me if you know something!"

"Boromir I know nothing that is certain. I do not mean to anger you."

The man sighed. "I know, I am sorry, I did not mean to snap. It's just," he searched for the word. "It's just hard, knowing you might be able to remember everything while on the other hand you might live in doubt for the rest of your life. And I think I might remember everything but then something sticks and all your hard work seems to fall into ruin. I tried last night. I thought of the Ring and tried to remember the names of the people I travelled with. All I could remember was pictures, especially of Faramir. I got a name really quickly but it vanished once I tried to find it again. It's like my mind is in the same state as some of the rooms at home. All dusty with no order whatsoever. I wish I had a cleaner really."

She laughed lightly and moved away from the bed.

"It will come if it is meant to be. Do not try too hard or you will never succeed."

Boromir listened to the advice carefully but he did not reply for a while.

"The girl, Tithe, she ran away crying. Why? Was it something to do with me? I did not do anything, so as I can remember."

"Tithe has been through a lot. Let me explain what I can to you and see if you remember."

She took the chair and pulled it back up to his side and sat down, before beginning to talk.

"I will start from the beginning. The Ring. You know it is to be destroyed but you don't know why. There is a Dark Lord in Middle Earth, his name is Sauron. Many ages ago he wanted to take over Middle Earth and have it as his own. He made powerful rings to enslave the masters of each race. He made seven for the dwarf Kings, he made three for the Elves and he made nine for the mortal men, Kings of Old. But he made another Ring. A Master Ring you could say. It controlled all of the Rings and had in it the very essence of Sauron. The Elves saw through this as did the dwarfs but the World of Men did not. They fell prey to Sauron and those 9 men became his servants, bound to him forever. They became known as the Ring Wraiths. Or Nazgul. Riders in black who do not need sleep or food. Such fearful creatures that pour fear into the hearts of their enemies just by their cry.

Sauron also had other servants and slaves. He had the orcs, elves he had taken and mutilated so they knew no love or kindness. All they know is hurt, how to kill and how to hate. They hate everything, trees, nature, everything. He also had men who had been lured by his power or enslaved by fear. But a Last Alliance of Men and Elves gathered to fight one last time against Sauron and his growing Army. The battle was being won when Sauron came and fought himself. With the power of the Ring no one could defeat him. It was in that moment of defeat that he knocked away the King of Men. His son, Isildur, ran to his father's side. He took up his father's sword and swung round at the Dark Lord in fury.

He managed to cut the finger with the Ring off. Sauron was defeated and we had won. An elf, by the name of Lord Elrond, took Isildur up into Mount Doom, the one place where the Ring could be destroyed. They reached the top and Elrond told Isildur to throw the Ring into the flame but he would not. He had been consumed already in that short space of time and he was filled with the need of power that this Ring gave him. He kept it and it led to his death. The Ring was lost for many, many years before it was found again by a creature Gollum. He took it and kept it in his hidden mountain cave for many years until it was found again by a Hobbit."

"A Hobbit? What is that?"

"They are called the Little People. They are roughly half your size, sometimes smaller, sometimes bigger. They have enormous feet, all hairy and they are tremendously happy creatures who have a great love for food." She smiled as she told Boromir of the happy little beings.

"A Hobbit found the Ring?"

"As strange as it seems yes, a Hobbit by the name of Bilbo Baggins. Bilbo kept the Ring also for a great many years. But unlike the others, he was not consumed by the evil. In fact until only a few months ago he never thought anything about it, thinking it was just a magic Ring that could turn him invisible when he put it on, which the Ring does to the wearer. At last the wizard Gandalf found out about the Ring. Bilbo left the Shire, the place where Hobbits live, and travelled to Rivendell, home of Elrond Halfelven. But he left the Ring in the Shire and it was passed down to Bilbo's nephew Frodo Baggins. When Gandalf learnt of the Ring's true heritage he sent Frodo away to Rivendell also where a counsel would be held. There the fate of the Ring would be decided. Frodo left the Shire with his 3 friends and fellow Hobbits, Merry and Pippin and his faithful gardener and servant Sam. But the Ring Wraiths knew where the Ring was as the creature Gollum had been found by Sauron and his forces."

"Sauron? But he had been destroyed in the big battle. How was he still alive?"

"Sauron's life is bound to the Ring, as long as the Ring survives so does he. He is at the moment only a disembodied eye, he has no body."

"Ah I see. So anyway Gollum had been found."

"Yes he was found and tortured in the dungeons of Barad-hur, in Mordor where Sauron resides. At last he broke and told the orcs and Sauron that it was held by a Hobbit of the name Baggins of the Shire. The Nazgul were released to find and kill the Hobbit and take the Ring back to Sauron so he could rule again. Frodo fled from them to the village of Bree. Men lived there and there they found a friend, an ally, a Ranger of the name Strider. He took them safely to Rivendell. I will not bore you with the details of the journey there."

"No! Please do. I wish to know." Boromir interrupted.

"Very well then. The Ring Wraiths again caught up with them on their journey to Rivendell. Aragorn managed to fight them off but Frodo had been wounded by a Morgul blade. He was fading into the shadow world to become one of them, a Nazgul. Aragorn…"

"Who is Aragorn? I thought you said a man called Strider travelled with them."

"I did and I do not stray from that. Strider is what Aragorn gets called in Bree. He has many names but his true name is Aragorn Elessar. He is the heir to the throne of Gondor; he is the descendant of Isildur. He lived in Rivendell for most of his childhood until he learnt of his lineage. He decided to become a Ranger, protecting from afar. He is the most skilled of these people. Does that answer your question?"

"Yes thank you. Please carry on." In truth it did not but he wanted to hear more of the story.

"Aragorn hurried them on to Rivendell, carrying Frodo who was too weak to walk. He was away from the camp one night, trying to find a healing herb that would ease Frodo's pain and hopefully slow the reaction until he got the Hobbit to Lord Elrond, who is a skilled healer. He was found by a horse, a horse sent by Lord Elrond to find Frodo and the Hobbits. But the Ring Wraiths found the horse and a great chase took place. The horse managed to get to Rivendell and there water was set on the evil creatures, sweeping them downstream. Arwen, daughter of Lord Elrond, took Frodo to her father. Frodo managed to heal under the care of Elrond and a council was soon called.

Someone from every race of the Free Peoples of Middle Earth had been called. Aragorn insisted that someone from Gondor or Rohan was to come. He felt he had been influenced by the Elves too much. You or your brother were called, which ever was willing to come. But by chance both of you were available. You came and a Fellowship was chosen to destroy the Ring. Both you and your brother joined. Aragorn also went and the Ring bearer was the little Hobbit Frodo. His fellow Hobbits came with him, Merry, Pippin and Sam. Legolas represented the Elven World while Gimli came for the Dwarves. Gandalf the Grey was to be your leader. You set out and all was going as well as could be expected. But another joined when you had left Rivendell. Tithe.

We do not know her past or where she came from but she was here for good so Gandalf deemed fit for her to travel with you.

You tried to cross the Pass of Caradhras but the mountain would not allow it. Then you went under the mountain, away from the powers of the evil wizard Saruman. You managed to get through but at a cost. You lost Gandalf as he fell fighting a Balrog, an evil demon of the ancient world. You came here next to rest and recover for the next part of your journey. I sent your brother back home where he was needed. You were to stay with the Fellowship and help them with their task. It was a saddening time. Tithe and your brother had grown close, so close they took the next step and became lovers.

You were saddened to see another close one leave you. The Fellowship lost a brave and valuable fighter but it continued. The Fellowship left by the River Anduin, making towards Amon Hen. From there Aragorn would decide your path. When you reached Amon Hen you were not so lucky. Orcs, in the power of Saruman, attacked you. You left Tithe, who you had sworn to protect for your brother, in hiding, safe from the beasts and went to the aid of the Hobbits, Merry and Pippin. You had grown close to them and could not bear to see them die under the cruel blades of the orcs."

"Alas you were overpowered by the orcs and, though you fought bravely, they were too many, especially the leader. He shot you from afar with 3 black tipped arrows. Three times you were hit in the chest but twice you got up and carried on fighting. You fought against the foul creatures until you're last breath. They left you for dead when you went down for the last time. Their leader remained to finish you off, with a 4th arrow into your heart. But you were saved. Saved by Aragorn. He had heard your horn call and had come for you. He killed the beast and ran to your side. But it was too late and you both knew it. You were dying, as good as dead, and Aragorn saw what he thought was your last breath.

He left you there, on my wishes and headed off after your beloved 'Little Ones'. They would avenge your death. I had sent elves down the River to pick you up, knowing I had little time. Tithe crept from her hiding place and saw you there, pale as the moon and as cold as death. She cried for she had failed and there was nothing to be done. She cried for the pain of losing you and for the pain of your brother. It would break him to know your death. I could not let that happen so I sent elves down to fetch you and I would try my best to heal you and get you better."

"You almost didn't make it; the fever would be your downfall as I knew it would strike. But you survived somehow. Your mind was in ruins, it still is, but you are alive. Tithe ran because of that. Yes you were here, but you were not the Boromir she knew and loved. You couldn't remember her; after all you had been through. It almost broke her heart. She has been under too much stress. She saw your dead body; she lived through the horror of your death. I think it was all too much for her. You looked at her when you woke with no trace of recognition in your eyes. I know all this is not your fault but…" She trailed off.

Tears started in Boromir's eyes. His death. He had died. It was a strange thing to hear of your death. He had died. His hands gingerly touched his wounds once again. This had killed him, yet somehow by some miracle he lived. God he felt sorry for Tithe, to see him dead. He shivered. It was a chilling thought. He looked back up to Galadriel.

"What can I do?"

"Nothing but hope your memory returns. If she returns later tell her of your brother. It will lighten her heart. She loves your brother so very much and to not have to bear the burden of explaining what happened and how you do not know him would be like a great weight lifted from her. She will come back later once she has had time to breathe and think things over. I will leave you now to rest, for it seems you did not get any during the night. Sleep will help you heal."

His eyes were already struggling to stay open and before she had left the door he was emitting gentle snores. Another problem solved.

She collapsed by a tree, unable to run any further. The trunk was solid behind her back as she rocked back and forth from the force of her sobs. Tears drenched her hands and the front of her dress. She would have worn trousers but had changed during her stay in Lothlorien, back to a more feminine style. Her knees curled up to her chest, a defence against the world.

Haldir heard her before he saw her. Her sobs resounded round the forest. She was curled up at the root of a great tree, almost like it was protecting her. He walked with the grace of an elf but not with the sound. He made as much noise as possible so he would not scare her further.

His boots crunched loudly on the leaves, making her head snap up. A hand hurriedly wiped away the stray tears from her reddened eyes. He smiled and crouched down beside her.

"Do not be afraid to cry. It is good to let forth your emotions. Tell me Tithe, why do you cry?"

"Do you not know? Boromir! His memory has gone! He knows nothing. He didn't know me, or Aragorn or even his own brother! How am I to explain this to Faramir? It would break him!"

Haldir sat down properly and pulled the girl into his arms as she broke down once more. She clung to him, soaking his tunic, but for once the placid elf did not mind. He sat still, stroking her hair and whispering elvish word of comfort, even though she would not understand. At last her sobs quietened and she sat and listened to the strange but beautiful language. Tears still ran tracks down her face and every once in a while she sniffled. Haldir released her a little and sat back, giving her her own space.

"How are you feeling now?"

"Much better thank you. I'm sorry about your tunic, it's all wet."

He shrugged the apology away. "It does not matter, I have others. Now would you like to stay here for a few more moments or do you wish to return?"

"I think I should return."

"This is not about what you think you should do but about what you want to do. And that would be?"

"No, I do want to go back. I want to see how Boromir is."

"Then we shall go." He offered her his hand and helped her to her feet.

Walking slowly he guided her back to the main city. He took the longer route just in case she had not been truthful with him and did need a little bit extra time to collect her thoughts and sort things out mentally. He escorted her back to the room that she shared with Boromir.

"I will leave you now but if you wish to talk feel free to come and find me." He turned to leave before stopping and giving her one last piece of advice. "And smile Tithe, you look beautiful when you do."

She gave him a weak grin and then watched his back as he moved down the hall.

Tithe crept back into Boromir's room and lay down silently on her bed. Pulling the covers tightly around her she tried to fall asleep once more but a noise from Boromir's bed kept her awake. She owed him an apology. Wiping her eyes one last time she called over softly.

"Boromir?"

There was silence for a moment before, "Tithe, is that you?"

"Yes, I-I just wanted to apologise for my behaviour. It was not right to run out on you like that but I've…"

"It's okay." He interrupted her. "I understand. You don't have to explain anything to me."

She smiled over at him even though he wouldn't see.

"I was going to tell you something. Galadriel came to see me today. She told me the story of the Ring."

"And did you remember anything?"

"Not of the quest no, well a few odd bits but nothing major. But I did remember my brother."

"What!" She sat bolt up on her bed and stared over at him. "Faramir?"

"Yes."

She scrambled out of bed and half ran over to his bed, perching on the edge and looking intently down on him.

"Well? What did you remember? Tell me!"

He chuckled softly at her persistence and impatience.

"She was asking me something but I remembered her from somewhere, in someplace, at sometime. She had sent him away and I was angry. And I remembered his name and what he looked like and a bit of his personality. But I couldn't remember anymore."

"Boromir! That's great! It's more than great, it's amazing. I am so happy!" She leaned down and gave him a huge hug before suddenly realising that she was hurting him. She pulled back and hurriedly apologised but she couldn't keep the grin off her face. A memory! Would he have more? She would have to wait and see but for now she would tell him all she knew about Faramir, to help him recognise his brother. But Boromir beat her to it and asked her a question before she could open her mouth.

"Why were we at the meeting?"

"Pardon?"

"Why were myself and Faramir at the council? Galadriel had said we were available but why had we been chosen?"

"Boromir, you are son to the Steward of Gondor, heir to the Stewardship of Gondor. You are considered very high up in society and as Gondor protects most of Middle Earth from the creatures of Sauron then you would be very helpful when talking about the Ring. They would need some who had been there and seen the fighting and knew the conditions. You were very important."

"I was important?"

"Very important. Believe me."

"And we were very important to the running of Gondor?"

"Yes, you commanded the Armies between you. You were much needed in Gondor."

"But if we were needed so much in Gondor then why were the both of us at the council? Surely one of us should have stayed at home to help our father?"

Tithe was caught. Caught in a trap. She couldn't shrug off that matter now, she was too deeply involved. Boromir had caught her out. She had been too happy with the fact that Boromir was returning, slowly, to his normal self. She hadn't been watching her words and now she was about to cause him pain, pain that wasn't needed now. For if she told him the real story he would withdraw back into himself and have no hope of regaining his lost memory. For if you learnt something you didn't like then there would be no way you wanted to find out other things that could hurt you. Tithe knew, she had been through it herself, once, a long, long time ago. A different world, a different problem, the same outcome.

It had been a terrifying time for her, she knew no one there and even after she still couldn't remember her past. She may have known about it before but from now on she couldn't remember anything. Hopeless as it was she had tried again and again but nothing. It used to keep her awake, night after night, wondering. She had known her parents, she was sure of it, but now she didn't. The story she had told Elrond, all that time ago, had been a lie. She did have a home, she did have a loving family but now she wouldn't know them if they came up and hugged her hard. It had tormented her when she was younger, still only a child. Now she had grown to a young woman and had managed to push those memories away from her mind. It was all in the past, she had to let go. And she had managed. Occasionally though thoughts came unbidden to her, and one had scared her witless.

A woman, stranded in the middle of a huge pool, heavy clothes pulling her down. She had thrashed about and screamed for help. The pool was ringed with men, laughing and jeering her, watching her die a slow and agonising death. Tithe had been caught between 2 of these men, held back as she kicked out at them to try and save the woman. A hard knock was thrown against her head and she gave it up, sagging into the grip the men had on her. But worse was yet to come. The woman still struggled, way out of her depth and a hand forced Tithe to watch. She tried to close her eyes but was pricked until she gave way and opened them.

The woman had stopped screaming, accepting that no one was coming to save her, but still she thrashed and tried to swim under the mass of clothes that she wore. Her eyes locked with Tithe's and her mouth mouthed one word. Daughter. That was her mother out there, being drowned by these men. No one was helping her and they made her daughter watch.

She had been young she knew that by the small amount of strength she had used to try and escape. She willed herself to not cry and her heart hardened against the world. She had vowed revenge for her mother's death as the head finally drifted under the water and out of sight. Tithe had accepted her fate and told the leader of these men she gave herself to them. She had grown with them, learning their ways of fighting.

Her cold eyes and brave soul gave away nothing of the hatred she felt towards these men. They assumed she had forgotten about her mother, being as young as she was. She became one of their best fighters though they never knew. She would practise in secret, building up her strength. At last her chance came for escape. She was introduced to a young man, both handsome and strong, one of the best men in the pack. There were no other women with them. She had been graciously chosen to marry this man so he could bring more strong boys to the pack. The men either recruited boys from villages they passed through or stopped in towns for a while and slept with the whores there. Tithe was their one wife, it should have been a great honour for her or so she was told.

She had smiled and let the man kiss her hand before stabbing him in the stomach with a small hidden dagger. He gasped and coughed up blood. The pack stared. Tithe turned on them, murder in her eyes. By the time she was finished not one man stood standing. All lay dead on the ground and that was when the wind picked her up again.

That was the memory that had scared her, making her not want to find out anymore. She had been so cold and she was, in some ways, thankful that her memory had been taken from her. She could have ended up like that girl that killed with relish and delight, laughing as the last man died slowly and in pain and looking them in the eye before whispering those fatal words,

"This is for her, bastard" before slitting his throat slowly and painfully.

The men had not been armed and she had killed the rest of them before turning to the Leader. He had been the last to die, to meet the fate that had awaited him all those times. With her memory went her fighting skills. She could not use those daggers that Legolas carried with the deadly accuracy she once had known. And once again she was thankful.

"Tithe?" Boromir touched her hand gently and brought her out of her memories. She blinked and refocused.

"Are you okay? Your eyes went blank."

"Yes I am fine."

He didn't look convinced but dismissed it.

"So are you able to tell me?"

"Tell you?"

"How Faramir and I came to be part of the Fellowship."

"Oh, yes, well you offered your sword and Lord Elrond accepted and let you travel with them, for as long as you wished. You just carried on travelling with us."

"No I did not mean that."

Tithe winced, she had hoped to draw him away from that subject but the stubbornness Boromir had lost was returning fast. He could not be put off.

"About staying home and helping our father, why didn't we? Surely it would have been logically for both of us could have been killed. Do you know why?"

She had been offered the easy way out, a simple line that she could take and be safe. She could tell him she didn't know and let the thought gnaw away at him, just like the Ring had done. It would torment him in his mind, thinking up crazy ideas that he would come to accept as the truth and then believe it. She could slip away now and not touch on it again.

But looking into those eyes, so like his brother's, except green instead of grey, looking at her as if she held all the answers in the world, it was too much, he must know. He must cope with the truth or he would not be Boromir. If he didn't recover…well she didn't want to think of that right now. That was the worst case scenario.

"Yes, I do know why. But Boromir, it's not going to be easy on you. It will bring bad memories for you. I would have you wait until another time before you are told, or until you remember."

He paled slightly and Tithe hoped he would back down. But no.

"I would have you tell me. I need to know. Please."

She sighed and closed her eyes briefly, searching for strength, before meeting him with a steady gaze and beginning to talk.

"Now remember I do not know all the details. I hadn't met you at this time and I have only been told part of it. You had an argument with your father. About marriage I think. He wanted you to get married to some high noble lady but you did not agree with this. He demanded a reason why and you told him that you had found love with another woman, but this woman was not of noble birth, she was not considered good enough for you. You went to find her, with your father and brother. It was in the market I think and there you professed your love for her, she returned it utterly but your father was not happy.

He asked to speak with you privately while the girl went with Faramir. Sendil, I think her name was. She was an old friend of Faramir's and had known you for several years before you became an 'item'. You went to speak with your father. He was furious with you and would not permit you to marry her. You refused to accept this I think and your father's temper snapped."

She paused and took a deep breath. Boromir was as still as stone, he knew something bad was happening.

"I think he hit you. He could not accept the fact that you were disobeying him for some daughter of a nurse. He took his anger out on you. You left, and went to find your brother. You begged him to leave the city for you didn't think he would be safe there. He agreed to come with you and Sendil came to, not wanting to leave you. But news leaked and by the time you were ready to leave the whole city had gathered by the gates. This attracted the attention of your father, Denethor. He asked to know why you were leaving and you told him, in front of the city you made your confession.

Something happened with Faramir, I never was told what had actually happened. Faramir ran, leaving both you and Sendil, on his horse. You turned after him and left the city. Aragorn and Legolas found you sometime later. At first you refused to travel with them but you did in the end. That is all I know. I am sorry."

Boromir did not speak. All the while she had been speaking the memories had returned to him. He remembered that day and the meeting of Aragorn and Legolas; he remembered the journey with the man and elf. He had not been as shocked as Tithe expected; he remembered that he had banished it from his mind until a later date. But something was still bothering him. The girl Sendil, he had remembered the love he had had with her but what had happened to her?

"Sendil? She travelled with us to Rivendell? Where is she now? Why didn't she come to?"

"Oh Boromir I did not want to tell you. Please leave it until a later date."

"No Tithe I need to know. Please, this is all I ask of you for today. It will complete the tale. Tell me, please." He was half begging her now.

"Very well. It is not pleasant though. Before you accepted to travel with Aragorn and Legolas, you and Faramir and Sendil travelled ahead with the other 2 behind you, though you did not know it. You were attacked by a group of orcs. You had gone ahead to scout the land and Faramir was left with Sendil. He did not have a chance to save her. They ambushed him, and the first shot found its mark in her heart. She did not have a chance; she died just a few minutes later. The orcs ran and she died in your arms. I am sorry for having to tell you this."

Again Boromir was silent. He had watched the events unfold in front of him, like watching some thing on screen; he had felt the sadness as the girl had died but it had felt like it had happened to someone else. He hadn't known the girl, he hadn't been at her side while she died and he hadn't loved her. It wasn't him. Yes he felt sad about the loss of life and felt some measure of pain but it wasn't as bad as the pain of his father. For some reason that struck home.

He didn't know why, just that his father's memory was more deeply implanted in his head. He felt awful saying it, like he was betraying someone's dead soul but it was the truth and he couldn't shy away from the truth. The truth was what he needed right now.

When Boromir looked up at Tithe she didn't see the gleam of unshed tears in his eyes or the great pain of loss and sorrow, she just saw gratitude in them. He half smiled at her.

"Thank you. I know it must have been hard for you but thank you."

"Are you not sad or upset?"

"I am, but, and I know this sounds awful, but it felt like I didn't know her. She wasn't a major part in my life. And I do feel bad about this but maybe the real pain will come later. I just didn't think I can fully understand what happened. I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry Boromir; it's not your fault. I think I will leave you to think, I need some rest. Good day." She bent and kissed his forehead before retiring to her small and warm bed. This time she had no problem drifting away.

He lay contemplating what he had heard. He was starting to get a headache but he didn't let up the strain on his mind. He needed to know. The Lady stopped by on her way to see her husband. She peered in and saw Boromir's face was filled with concentration. A small cough broke it. He looked over and smiled at her.

"Yes my lady? What can I do for you?"

"You look as though you are concentrating awfully hard. May I remind you not to put unnecessary strain on your healing body and mind?"

He laughed at the small reproof.

"I am sorry my Lady, I will stop now and try to get some sleep."

She smiled and left the room, satisfied that Boromir would now sleep. And for once Boromir obeyed the powerful elf and settled down to sleep, his mind drifting away from his body.

The days began to slip away for both Tithe and Boromir. Time had no meaning here as elves are immortal and both the humans felt like time was standing still. Boromir's memory was returning, slowly, bit by bit. When he remembered something new he would rush to tell Tithe but still being very seriously injured he was not allowed to leave his bed. Galadriel found she had to place a guard outside his door to stop him from slipping out. His wounds still leaked and he was extremely weak. Although he was beginning to eat again and regain the weight he had lost, he was not yet strong enough to climb down the stairs and then back up again when his short walk would be over. He fumed silently in his room, sulking about the fact, but kept those thoughts quiet, for he did not want to anger his most gracious host.

He would sit and mutter under his breath and look at the door, willing for Tithe to come so he could tell her his new piece of news. She would wander in later after taking a walk with Haldir. She and the elf had become good friends and Tithe often told him her problems and fears for Boromir. He would listen and offer her some advice on how to handle which ever problem the man had brought into the world this time. It was her sane hour in a day of madness. She would walk in the calming woods and listen to the birds singing in their little voices and peace would seep into her, until she returned back to Boromir and he bombarded her with snippets of information that she was slowly collecting into a file, called Boromir, in her head.

The file was becoming extremely full. She would have to start writing it down soon, to remember it all. She was also getting a better picture of Faramir and what he was like when he had been a child, and what he was like now and more of his personality that she hadn't been able to glean from those precious few weeks with him.

The proud man would be sitting up with bed, watching the door anxiously as he waited for her. As soon as she stepped over the threshold of the door he would launch into his talk. She often had to stop to make him start again so she wouldn't miss anything.

Then an elf would come in with a tray of food for them both and they would sit by the window, the only time Boromir was allowed out of his bed. He would be helped over into a chair and there he would sit, with Tithe, eating his food and sipping occasionally from a small glass of wine. They would look out over the peaceful land and, though they never spoke of it, they would wonder where their friends were, if they were still alive?

And what state Boromir's beloved homeland was in. They rarely spoke while they ate, preferring to lose themselves in their thoughts with the company of each other to pull them out if the thoughts were too bad.

After that, once the sun had disappeared completely behind the mountains, they would go to sleep if they could. The night would pass in peaceful silence as the world fell asleep and the night was allowed to come out and play.

A month passed and by that time Boromir had convinced Galadriel that he had healed enough to be allowed a short time away from his room each day. To make this easier for him, not having to climb the stairs each day and being out of immediate danger, Galadriel had moved him to a room on the bottom floor. Tithe had moved into a room beside him, his new room being much smaller than the last. Boromir preferred this room. He was able to see people, see the world again. He felt alive again. Before it felt like a dream, only seeing at most 3 people a day. Now he could see everyone.

When he was allowed out he stayed to the centre of the wooded city. Here the city was alive, people were moving around, and there was noise, blessed noise. After weeks of silence there was noise. He loved to just sit on a bench and watch people walk and talk. Many knew him, though he didn't know how. They would stop by him and ask how he was. He would smile and thank them for the kindness and reply that he was mending. The bandage was still in place, and still the same size so hiding it was a bit tricky. He wore a large tunic, big for even him. It had been made especially as he was bigger in the torso area than a large percentage of the elves. But even with its size it would not button up at the front so he was forced to wear it open, showing off the wounds to the world.

The older elves tactfully averted their eyes but some of the smaller and younger children would come running up.

They had never seen a Man before and they were curious. Boromir could not blame them, he had been curious of the elves when he first met them. They would run into the square, spy him and screech to a halt. Then they would saunter around, trying to be casual. He would laugh and ignore them, pretending he hadn't noticed them. Then came the questions.

"Why do you not have pointy ears?"

"Can you see as far as me?"

"How far can you see?"

"Can I see your wounds?"

"Did they hurt?"

"Can you take off your shirt so I can see the bandage?"

"So where did you come from?"

"Minas Tirith? Where is that?"

The parents would come up and apologise for their child's behaviour. But Boromir would laugh, shrug off the apology and answer the questions as best he could.

"I do not have pointy ears because I am not an elf like you. And no sadly I cannot see as far as you. I can see," He paused and judged the distance, looking for something he could see. "You see that tree over there? I can see that and a little beyond but not much further. You may see my wounds if you wish but they are not pretty. And yes they did hurt, hurt like hell I can tell you. You cannot see the bandage from here? I thought you could see better than me! Minas Tirith is to the south of Middle Earth, one of the finest cities in Middle Earth, save your own of course."

The older elves laughed with him but the children only had more questions.

"You can only see beyond that tree? I can see the leaves on that tree!" A little elf boasted.

"How did you get the wounds?"

"Oh let me see!"

"I've never been to Minas Tirith, mummy can I go to Minas Tirith?"

He laughed. Such joyful beings.

"You really want to see my wounds? I do not think your parents would like me to show you. And it would be boasting really, to say I survived them."

"Oh no please, you must let us see them! Please."

"Where did you get them?"

"I got them from an orc. He shot at me with 3 arrows. All 3 hit me. These wounds are the result."

"An orc? What is that?"

"An orc is a creature, it was an e… it's an ugly creature. Not the nicest of beings. Stay away from them." A collected sigh ran round the elder elves who had gathered to listen.

"So can we see your wounds?" A small elf asked impatiently.

"Maybe another day little one. I have to get back now. I am tired. I have to rest so I can heal."

"Will you be here tomorrow?"

"Of course." He stood and left the group, leaning heavily on his cane to take a lot of the pressure of his stomach and chest. He hobbled back to his room and sat on his bed. He hadn't really though about what had happened on that day. Maybe he should. But for now the small elf children had worn him out and as much as he hated to admit it he needed sleep.

He used to think that to show tiredness was to show weakness, for that was how he had been trained. But now he knew sleep was perhaps the best healer in the world, that and time. Since he had joined the Fellowship his out look on the life and views had changed so very much. It was amazing what a few short months could do for someone, in the company of all different races and all different cultures.

The elves for example lived for nature and honoured it completely and utterly. The dwarves went for stone and loved all things bright. The Hobbits world seemed to revolve around food and happiness, a seemingly great lifestyle for Boromir. He would love to become a normal Hobbit, away from the wars and fighting and the difficult world of politics. Before this journey he had thought of elves as beings who no longer cared for any other and who pranced around woods, singing songs and forgetting about the struggling world of men. Dwarves he had no experience of. They were merely a being here on Middle Earth that seemed to have no purpose. They built and mined and helped no one else and liked no one else. He had not even thought that the Hobbits existed. They were merely part of legends; never had he thought that he would be travelling across Middle Earth trying to protect one for them.

His plans for the future had never involved leaving Minas Tirith. His life had consisted of marrying Sendil, living long enough to see the end of the war and raise his children in comfort, for he would be Steward, he would rule his beloved city. He would grow old and either pass the Stewardship down to eldest son or, if he had no sons, give it to Faramir and his family. It had all seemed so simple. But those plans had been made before his father had hit him, before his wife to be, Sendil, had been killed, before he had met Aragorn, rightful King of Minas Tirith. Before he had heard of the One Ring.

Now he was caught in a world, standing on the edge of a knife, if the balance was unsettled it would fall and no one knew which way. They could fall into shadow, ruled by Sauron, or they could stumble and fall into peace times, where Minas Tirith and Gondor would be restored to the beauty that she had once been, where people did not have to travel in fear of being slaughtered by orcs. Men would live in peace and perhaps the races would mingle and a union would come to Middle Earth.

He laughed at that thought, for such a thought it was. But this place did that to you, made you think of things you hadn't thought of before. Peace was such a strange thought to Boromir have known fighting for all his life. He did not know what he would do if the fighting ended. He was a soldier, not a politician or noble man; he had grown up with the sword and would most likely die by the sword. Faramir would prosper; his forte had always been lore and languages, politics and talking. Boromir had none of his skill. Thinking about that the future scared him. What if they found no use for him? He was just an old soldier, no use anymore, past his prime and with no talents.

With questions filling his head he settled down to sleep, determined to go back to the little elves and answer their questions. When he woke the next morning Tithe had been and gone. She preferred the quiet of the woods to the bustle of the elf city. She went with Haldir and in the shade of one of the big trees they talked about everything they could think of and then some more. At first, when Boromir remembered that she was in love with his brother, he had been afraid that she would leave Faramir for the silver tongued, blonde haired elf.

But that idea was quickly dismissed. He knew that Tithe was sad because she was away from the man she loved and that she was just looking for a friend to talk with. He was annoyed that he couldn't be that person, that he was too weak. It was a strange feeling to feel so protective of a man who, to him, he had never met and could only remember vaguely.

A knock at the door signalled someone had brought him breakfast. He struggled up into a sitting position while the elf came through the door, followed by the Lady Galadriel. She gracefully took the tray out of the elf's hands and dismissed him while she sat herself at the side of Boromir's bed and placed the tray on the small table that fitted across his chest so he could eat in bed. He didn't like to start eating while she was in the room, it may be deemed as bad manners. She laughed at his hesitation.

"Please Boromir, eat. I have already eaten and I am not offended."

He bowed his head and tucked into his meal.

"I was hearing, Boromir, that you were entertaining some young elves yesterday. Answering their questions. They seemed quite eager to see your wounds as well."

He looked up guiltily from his food. Was she angry at him? He couldn't tell from the expression on his face. Did she not want him to speak with the elves again? That he was a sign of weakness, a bad role model for them, just because he had had the thought of taking the Ring? He swallowed the mouthful of food he was eating and began to talk.

"I am sorry, my Lady, if you did not want me to talk to them, but they were eager and I just couldn't resist." He cringed. Did he have to say that? It made him sound even weaker! But paused and carried on.

"They were intrigued by the world of Men and as you know I am proud of my world so I was eager for them to learn a little bit about a different race, especially my own."

She graced him with a smile before answering to him.

"Boromir I am not angry that you chose to speak with them. It is good for them to learn. The older elves, parents of the youngsters, were also intrigued with your stories. They wish to hear more. The elves, though learned in the ways of the world, are still not positive about everything. They are interested about you. I came here this morning to ask if you wouldn't mind telling them a little about yourself."

Boromir's mouth fell open a little. He hadn't been expecting that.

"I-I would love to My Lady." He stammered out at last.

"Good." She stood to leave. "Same place as yesterday and the same time? Would that suit you?"

"Yes, thank you."

She moved soundlessly towards the door and once again paused as if another thought had just struck her.

"I hear the young elves asked you a question. About your wounds?"

"Yes they did, they were curious to what they looked like. I said their parents might have some objections to that idea."

"Yes they might well. But I wanted to ask if you had seen your wounds?"

"Well no my Lady, there is usually a few elves in my line of sight when they change the bandages."

"And do you wish to see your wounds? I hear many soldiers do."

"I was curious My Lady. I've never been struck by an arrow before. I am curious about the body."

"Well I am presuming the bandages will need changed today yes?"

"I think so; they usually get changed everyday to stop infection."

"Then if you wish you will be allowed to look at you chest. That is only if you wish though. The elves may have to wait." With that she left, leaving the tinkling sound of her laugh to Boromir's ears.

He finished his breakfast and then began the laborious task of dressing himself. He had been offered someone to help him but as soon as he was able he did it by himself. It took him roughly half an hour each day but he did not mind as it took up time and Boromir had a lot of time on his hands. Getting the tray off the bed was one of the hardest parts as he had to pick it up and the lean over to reach the floor. When he picked up a heavy weight it often felt like someone was poking hot irons into his stomach. And then when he bent down it seemed as though someone was poking a thousand swords into him all at one and all as sharp as the devil himself. But once that part was over it was relatively simple. He just had to swing himself out, stand up, and then take off the breeches he wore to bed and replace them with clean ones and finally pull the tunic lightly over his arms to hang open at the front. Eventually he was dressed and ready for the new day.

Glancing at the sun he saw it was nearly time for meeting the elves. He grabbed his cane and took off at his stilting walk. As he came out of his door there was an elf waiting for him to finish so he could take away his breakfast tray. Boromir nodded and smiled at the elf before taking off down the corridor.

The sun was bright this morning, bringing with it a gentle heat and a small breeze to cool everyone off. He walked under the arch that he walked through every day and made his way to the bench he had claimed as his own. It was not a far distance from the house but far enough for him to feel like he had gone somewhere. It was in the main square of the town and was usually busy but today it was packed. He wondered what was going on. Maybe it was a market day or something. He pushed through the crowds, hoping that his bench had not been taking and that he would not be forced to find somewhere else to sit.

Luckily the bench seemed the one place that hadn't been taken as it was sitting, as if there was some sort of curse on that bench that no one was allowed to sit on it. Everywhere around it there were elves sitting and chatting. He moved towards the bench, looking for the small children he had met yesterday. There was a small crowd of them, about 20, in a huddle, whispering, more than there had been yesterday. A voce hailed him and he looked round. Tithe was there, with Haldir by her side. She moved towards him and seated him on the bench.

"Tithe, what's going on in the city today? It's awful busy."

She laughed at him.

"Boromir, they came here because of you. They want to hear your tales."

He blanched. "Me? Why would they want to hear of me?"

"Oh don't be stupid Boromir! You are famous, a great warrior, heir to the Steward of Gondor. They're interested in you."

"I was only expecting to talk to a couple of kids and a few adults. I didn't reckon on the whole population of Lothlorien being here! I can't talk to all of them!"

"Oh Boromir! You've made speeches before haven't you? And this isn't the whole population! You can do it!"

"But what will I talk about? And yes I've made speeches but that was mainly to soldiers! I can deal with soldiers."

"Well just pretend that all these elves are part of your army and you are giving them a speech."

"I can't do that! With soldiers you just yell the orders and that's it. I can't yell at elves!" he whispered hotly to Tithe. Little did he know that all the elves could hear their whispered conversation.

They chuckled softly at Boromir, not mocking him but laughing at his lack of wanting to yell at the elves. Suddenly Boromir looked up aware that the chatting around him had stopped. He coloured as he realised that they had heard his conversation. The elves smiled at him encouragingly. He sat up a little straighter, aware of his audience, and cleared his throat.

"Em good morning to you. Uh well I'm presuming you're all here to hear me yes?"

The elves sounded their agreement while Boromir stammered for words to say. Never had he felt this speechless before. He could fell himself turning even redder at his loss of words. A small elf child helped him out though.

"Excuse me sir, but where do you come from?"

He turned gratefully to the small child.

"As I presume most of you know I am a Man. I am a man from Minas Tirith, capital city for all men, in the land of Gondor. My name is Boromir and I am son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor so therefore I am heir to the Stewardship of Gondor."

As soon as he was started on the topic of his homeland everyone could hear the pride in his voice. This was a man that loved his city more than life itself and was immensely proud of it and its deeds. The little children sat in rapture and awe. He paused again, again not sure of what to say next. He could launch into a history of Gondor but he felt that most here either knew its history or didn't want to. Again a little elf came to his rescue.

"What's a Steward?"

"A Steward is…" He paused and started again. "Gondor doesn't have a King at the moment to rule over it. So in place of the King there are Stewards. They run the country while the King is away and keep the city for when he returns to reclaim his rightful position. But even when the King returns the Stewards shall remain, for every King needs a Steward to help him run his country. Often the Stewards will know more about the country than the King because they are the ones who communicate with the people. But the King holds the ruling power."

"So where is your King then?"

"He is lost at the moment, but he will return soon enough and take up the throne."

There was a pause. Boromir did not know what to say. He looked round for help to Tithe but she just shrugged her shoulders and left him on his own. Again Boromir could feel his face redden. He felt a small tugging at his arm and looked down. A tiny child of about 2 looked up at him, thumb in mouth. He smiled at her. She took her thumb out of her mouth to ask him her question.

"Why you carry that?"

Her thumb immediately went back in her mouth.

She had been pointing at the sword he carried at his side. Galadriel had told him it would be easier for him to not carry it around, make walking easier for him. But that suggestion was like someone asking him not to put his clothes on in the morning, his sword was like a part of him and it went everywhere with him. He had politely refused her offer to have it kept safe for him and kept it with him. It hung by his side, in its old and battered scabbard. The sword itself was in perfect condition because Boromir never allowed it to get out of shape or form as he knew perfectly well what would happen to you if you were found without your sword in perfect condition. You would die. He had seen it done to men with rusty swords or battered blades that weren't sharp enough. And he had learnt well from that lesson.

He bent lower to speak to the small child, looking up at him with round wide eyes. He started to speak but the child once again took her thumb out of her mouth and lifted her arms up to him. He blinked. What did the child want? He did not have much experience with children, except Faramir but he had been a child when Faramir was one. Tithe lent forward to whisper in his ear.

"Pick her up. She wants picked up."

"What!"

"Pick her up."

Tear were welling in the child's eyes and Boromir scooped her up quickly in his strong arms before she started crying. He sat her gently on his knee and supported her with an arm behind her back. She gurgled happily and settled down.

"My sword little one? Why do I carry it? Well I am a soldier, always was one. If I didn't carry my sword I could die. I learnt in Gondor that the better you can wield your sword then the better chance you have of living when you are in the Army. I am a soldier in the Army of Gondor, an officer really, I am Captain of the Tower Guard, one of the highest positions you can get. I go and fight the orcs of Mordor. They come to our land, hoping to kill us, hoping to take our city from us and rule Middle Earth.

We defend our city, almost every man is in the Army and they are all proud to be able to defend their families from the orcs, proud to serve Denethor. Proud to put on the livery of the White Tower. I have the uniform with me but I cannot put it on because of this bandage. This sword is a symbol of where I am from as are these."

He pulled up his sleeves and showed them the bracers he wore. On them, inscribed deeply in the thick leather was the tree of Gondor.

"These were my father's when he fought for Gondor. As my sword was once his as well." He paused for a moment then beckoned to a small child.

"You, yes you there. How are old are you?"

"Me sir?" The child was overawed at the man and dashed forwards, proud to have been chosen. "I'm 10 sir."

"10. And can you use a sword? Can you shoot a bow and arrow?"

"I cannot use a sword sir and I have not started my training for using a bow and arrow either."

"When do you start training?"

"We have to be 25 at least. Most don't start until they are 30 sir."

"And what age would you say I was?"

The elf thought for a moment.

"Remember that I am not immortal and my looks do not deceive my age." Boromir told him.

"I would say you are about 70."

"70? I look that old? No lad I am 40. 40. That's only 10 years older than some of the lads that start their training. And when do you think I started my training?"

"25 sir?"

"What's your name?"

"Sisal sir."

"And you are 10 yes?"

"Yes."

"Well Sisal I got my first proper sword, a metal sword not a wooden one, at the age of 8. That's 2 years younger than you. I got lessons everyday and by 10 I could fight, properly. But I didn't see my first battle until 15. I was sent as a soldier, under the command of another man, to go and fight orcs. At 20 I was given the Captain of the Tower Guard and for 20 years, up until this day I have fought. This sword has saved my life time and time again.

In the world of Men boys begin to use swords at the small age of 8. They join the Army at 15, sometimes even younger. And why do we have such young boys fighting for us? Because we need them. Without these soldiers we would fall. We do not live forever and we cannot afford the luxury of staying a child for long. Even before proper training begins boys beg for small wooden swords so they can run around the streets and fight each other. It is very common in Minas Tirith. So there are boys back in my home, younger than you, learning the skills of fighting. While you sit in your lovely forest, admiring its beauty and taking your time through life, there are boys out their fighting for their lives.

Taken away from their mothers. Many die before they get the joy of taking a wife or having children. I do not blame you for this and I know you must think that this is terribly cruel for the children but we must do this or we would be over run by orcs."

He drew his sword from its scabbard and held it out towards the boy.

"Take it." He instructed the boy.

The elf took it and almost dropped it because of its immense weight. Boromir stood slowly, taking the small child with him in his arms, holding her safely so she would not fall. He towered over the small boy, but not so as he as threatening.

"Heavy isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Can you lift it?"

The boy put both his hands on the hilt and heaved the great tip of the sword up. He could only hold it for a few seconds before it fell back onto the grass.

"I didn't expect you to be able to lift it. I barely could at your age. Here, give it to me." The boy obliged and handed the huge weapon over. Boromir held it with one hand, the weight nothing to him now as he was so used to it. He still held the child in his other arm, her small hands wrapped tightly around his neck. She was staring at him with wide eyes. The small children sat in silence, in a sort of awe over his strength. He swung it experimentally a few times, safely away from the children of course, it would not do to behead one.

His face contorted in pain as his arm pulled on muscles that should not be used yet. His chest was burning and he put the sword back into its scabbard. He sat down abruptly on the bench with the pain. A few of the faces looked at him worryingly, hoping he wasn't going to die on them there and then. He regained his breath and looked back up.

"I am sorry, this is not what I meant to talk about. I feel I have offended you. I did not mean to say that you laze around while we grow and fight, for you do not. I know this. I was just trying to show the differences between Men and Elves. I am sorry."

Haldir, who was standing by Tithe, just behind him, laid a hand on his shoulder. "We know what you meant and we take no offence."

Boromir smiled. "So was there anything else you wished to ask me?"

"The wounds! Can we see them?" A crowd of little elves shouted out.

"The wounds? But I myself have not seen them. And I do not think this is the best place and time. It would be quite repulsive I am sure, for some of the wounds and illness I have received have been quite gruesome.

"You have had other wounds?"

"Of course, I have had plenty injuries. But of course you do not get sick do you? I forget that. Ah it must be blessed not to have to suffer colds or fevers."

"What are they? What do you feel like when you have them?"

"Fevers make your blood burn, you are hot to the touch but inside you are freezing and you want more warmth. It sometimes feels as though you will burst from the heat. I had one just recently, the result of the arrows. Colds make your nose run and it blocks up your sinuses and you can only breathe through your mouth. They are not pleasant but there are worse diseases that you can die from but I have been lucky enough to be spared them."

"What injuries have you had?" An older elf asked him this time. "We fight mainly from the trees with a bow and arrow. We do not sustain many injuries."

"Then I would guess that I proved a source of excitement for your healers? Yes?"

They laughed and nodded their agreement.

"I have had countless smaller injuries, from sprained ankles to broken bones. Cuts and bruises aplenty. Gashes that cut deep into your skin and burn like fire, muscles overstretched and torn, lumps on your head, like a hen has laid an egg there. These can be mended easily enough, a piece of cloth and some fresh water every day and you will be healed but if the orcs have poisoned their weapons then you are in trouble.

The poison festers in you and you have no real chance, we have not been able to find a cure for that yet. You will die; a slow and agonizing death. If you are lucky you will be given a fever so that you feel no pain. And if you are not lucky…" He shrugged. "You have no hope and can only pray for your death to hurry. It is the way of life."

"It seems awfully harsh and hard to be a man." The speaker did not show themselves.

"We know not about another life we can lead. It seems only natural to us. Of course other men live better than us. Those in Rohan have a better life than us, I am not saying that they do not have to fight, for of course they do, they have the Urak Hai of Saruman to deal with. But they have horses and it is much easier to fight from horses than it is on foot. You have the advantage of height. But that said, and all the hardships we have to live through I am proud to be a Man of Gondor, proud of the heritage of my city and of my people who have survived."

A silence fell as the words sank in. Boromir looked down at the little child in his arms. She had fallen asleep against his shoulder, thumb still in her mouth. He smiled down at her, so peaceful and hopefully when she grew up the only war that she would know was the war told in stories, maybe peace would come and she would not have to know of all these matters. Of course it all depended on that little Hobbit, out there somewhere with that heavy burden. Aragorn would protect him of course, if Aragorn was with him surely the Hobbit would win and the rule of Sauron would fail before it even begun.

He had hoped and prayed for it all his life and he still did. Each night he would pray to the Valour that he would keep his brother and men safe from harm. The prayer hadn't worked on the night of Osgiliath. Only Boromir, Faramir and 2 other men had escaped the terror that had been wrought on that night. It had been a carnage of blood and men and then the Black Riders had come. They had swooped down on the remaining men that still fought on, among dead friends, weeping, but still killing. The Riders had been the last straw for them and they had thrown down their swords and let the monsters come.

They had died there among their friends but with no one to comfort them as they did so. Boromir had grabbed his brother and the nearest men to him and thrown them over into the River. They were exhausted and grief hung heavily on them but they swam, swam until their bones ached and they felt they would drown if they carried on. They had at last reached safety and had dragged themselves back to Minas Tirith. They had been treated like heroes but they didn't feel like heroes.

Boromir had almost given up, like the other men, but they wanted to honour their dead friends and when they fought they fought for them. And he hadn't given up his superstition of praying for the safety of the people he loved.

A new voice broke through his thoughts, a clear and tinkling voice that healed almost as well as her hands.

"Boromir, I think you have done enough talking for today. You need to come with me now, there is healing that still needs to be done. For one, your bandages."

He looked up, brought out of his memories. He looked down once again at the child sleeping in his arms and nodded. He stood and looked round for the mother of the child. An elf stepped forward and took the child from him, smiling their thanks. Boromir retrieved his cane and slowly followed the Lady across the square and back into the cool Houses. She led him back to his room. He was silent; the only sound filling the spacious corridor was the thump of his cane as it hit the floor. She opened the door and held it for him. He walked past and sat down on the bed. A healer entered and he took of the tunic that partially hid the bandage. The elf began to undo the bandage at the back.

The bandage was wound away slowly while Boromir hissed with pain as it stuck to the blood and pus that had leaked. He looked down at his chest. The skin was pale, almost white, from weeks hidden behind a bandage. The gaping holes marred him. He pulled his head away. He couldn't look at them. They were ringed with black and had driven deep into his skin and body. It felt like he was looking at someone else's body, that these were someone else's injuries but still he couldn't look at them. For him they held all the shame he had been trying to hide from himself.

He focused on a tree outside his window and his eyes stayed there while the wounds were cleaned. He flinched in pain but made no sounds. Only when the bandage was once again wrapped around him would he look away and back down at his chest. The bright white hid a world of dark and shame. It was unnatural but maybe that was the way the world went round, goodness sheltering evil and never letting it be seen until the evil grew too strong and had to be uncovered and then treated before it was hid away again. He shivered despite the heat in the room. It was too creepy to think about just now, and this wasn't the right setting, he felt it should be some dark forest, where evil lurked round every corner, not in this peaceful place where he sat everyday in brilliant sunshine.

He lay down on his bed, tired by the day's events. The heat in the room as making him sleepy and he gave in and closed his eyes.

He only woke the next afternoon. He felt refreshed and had a nervous energy about him. He didn't know why but something was going to happen that day and he couldn't wait for it to happen. He got up and changed his clothes and then walked out to find the dining hall. Breakfast had long since been taken away and he usually didn't take any lunch or dinner for that matter as he was usually asleep by mid afternoon at latest. He had never explored the Houses where he had lived properly and now he felt like it was time. He wasn't meaning to creep round as he was hardly silent with his cane and heavy breathing. Any elf who wasn't deaf could hear him coming a 100 yards off. He came across such an elf and politely inquired where the dining hall was.

He was given directions and off he set once again. But of course he was never good at remembering directions at the best of times, unless for battle, so he got lost. He wandered around for a while before realising that he was back where he started, at his own rooms. He cursed and set off again though this time luck was with him and he found Tithe.

"Boromir, where are you going?"

"I was looking for the dining hall as I slept in today and missed breakfast and now I was looking for lunch. Can you take me there?"

"Of course, but why didn't you come and ask me?"

"I didn't know you were in your room because you are usually away out walking with Haldir."

"Ah yes I forgot about that. Well come with me and we shall find you some food."

She took his arm and led him down a corridor and then past a few more until they reached a great door that Boromir was sure he had passed before. She opened it and led him through. It was a huge hall, filled with tables and chairs and there was enough space to get the whole of Minas Tirith's population in with room to spare. He gaped while he was led away to a seat that an elf had pulled out for him. Tithe chose to sit by him though she did not want any food as she had already had lunch. There were a few elves dotted around the room, finishing up their meals.

Boromir was still gazing around the room when a bowl of soup was placed in front of him. He ate it hungrily and as soon as his spoon hit the bottom of the bowl it was whisked away and a plate of food, meat and potatoes replaced it. He wolfed it down fast enough and Tithe was worried he would cause himself indigestion. He sat back, satisfied and gulped down a glass of water. She laughed at him and patted his arm. He smiled back at her, glad of the company.

It was now around 3 in the afternoon and the sun was well up. Boromir decided he wanted a better view and Tithe led him up the stairs to one of the highest points. It took them a while to reach that point as Boromir had to stop to regain his breath at several points. He was breathing heavily when they reached the top and Tithe wondered if it was such a good idea to bring him here. But he was as stubborn as ever and convinced her that he was fine and that they should stay here so he could look out. And look out he did. But he didn't like the view.

Here the sun may have been shining brightly but it wasn't so over to Gondor. A huge black cloud was there, covering the sun and making it seem like an eternal night. He gasped for breath, his country, ruined. Evil was setting in there for sure. It might have been like that for days and yet he was here, not knowing and seemingly not caring. God he could almost feel the evil creeping back over him. A shiver crept up his spine. He wanted to tear his eyes away but he was compelled to just stand and stare. Tears ran down his face though he didn't notice.

Tithe was by his side, her hand on his arm, not sure what to say. She could see a huge space of darkness over the place where she assumed Gondor was. Was this the cause of Boromir's pain? She glanced over at him and was shocked to see tears running down his face.

"Boromir! Look away! Boromir, what's wrong?"

"Leave him. It all hangs on this moment." She spun at the voice to find the Lady Galadriel behind her.

"What? Can he not hear me?"

"No, he must see this and you must let him, however much it pains him. It hurts us all. This is the moment between life and death, between victory and failure. It is in this moment that we know if Frodo has succeeded in his task. If he has indeed managed to put the Ring into Mount Doom or if he has succumbed to the lure of the Ring. The moment that Sauron has been trying to avoid." She moved towards them and also looked out of the window. "All we can is wait in silence to see the outcome."

Tithe gripped Boromir's hand even though he did not feel it. She was certain that he was hoping and praying with all his heart that Faramir was okay, wondering where he was, if he was out there. She got a sudden image of a mass of armies standing out side a pair of huge black gates. They were the armies fighting for good. At the head of this Army she saw Aragorn, his banner unfurled and his true heritage on show to everyone. The King had returned to Minas Tirith but if this King lived to see his country was another matter. Facing Aragorn's Army there was Sauron's minions.

They outnumbered Aragorn at least 10 to 1 but he still stood; no fear in his face. Beside him she could see the familiar faces of Legolas the Elf and Gimli the Dwarf and little Pippin, the Hobbit that Boromir loved so much. And there was another face, a very familiar face but it couldn't be. Gandalf was there, not dressed in his usual grey but robed in a shimmering white almost too bright for the eyes. Merry was not there and neither was Faramir but if that was a good thing or not she could not say. They all stood awaiting their fate. And then she was jerked back out of her vision and she was back standing beside Boromir and Galadriel.

A scream pierced the air. It blew round them and passed on. A great wind struck up and blew harshly around Middle Earth. Everything was getting sucked up with it, everything evil was being taken away. The rains were taken and sucked into Mordor. The black land seemed to groan under the stress. Then there was silence. The clouds broke and a sliver of sun was let through so the land beneath it began to light up. Another screech was heard but this time it was neither evil nor as piercing. It was the call of the eagles. The sky was filled with them as the clouds were lifted from their gloom and the sun was allowed to soak through.

Boromir was still as tense as a drawn bow. He strained forward, as if trying to see what was happening in Gondor. Then a sigh came from Galadriel. Tithe looked over at her. She was smiling.

"It is over."

Three words. And those three words changed everything. With them came the feeling of peace and happiness. She turned to Boromir and tugged his arm. He moved slowly as if recovering from a dream. The words had yet to reach his brain but she didn't care. Her eyes were shining with happiness and she threw her arms around him. She knew he understood when she felt him hugging her back. The pain in his chest was gone and he pulled her tighter. She was crying with happiness as the world was ridden of the evil that had festered here for too long. He picked her up and swung her round before setting her down and pulling back from her. He stroked the hair out of her face and smiled.

"It's over."

Relief was plain in his voice and he turned to the Galadriel and hugged her too. She gave a little gasp of shock before laughing. Down below them the elves were singing and dancing. Birds were chattering in the trees. Boromir felt his heart was going to burst with the joy rushing through him.

"It is over. At last we can go home."

To be continued…