Aragorn's eyes twinkled. "So this great secret we have all been at such pains to keep is in fact known to all of Minas Anor?"

"And to at least half the kingdom as well." Boromir admitted ruefully, "I must say I feel more than a little foolish."

"But it's all right," Merry asked anxiously, "you don't mind everybody knowing?"

"I mind," Boromir said wryly, "but I couldn't bear to live a lie either. If my people can forgive my weakness then I am grateful to them." he turned to Faramir. "And I hold you to your promise, Brother. I expect that monstrosity in the Fountain Court to be gone by morning!"

Faramir grinned broadly. "It will be. What need have we of a statue when we have the original back again!"

Aragorn turned away to conceal a private smile as he filled his pipe. At least Boromir was no longer hiding himself away and nursing his shame in secret. Though his King feared that finding a place for him in the realm would still pose a problems.

The light was fading from the sky outside the windows of Aragorn's privy chamber, high up in the Tower of Ecthelion, any minute now a page would be knocking at the door to light the candles. He decided not to pursue the question of Boromir's future just yet. They had more immediate concerns. "The Council believes this attempt at sorcery is forerunner to a new war with Near Harad."

Boromir nodded. "I fear they're right there, Aragorn, it's just Herumor's way."

The King rose, pipe in hand, to slowly pace the room. "Your friend Esarhael impressed me. It would take a Man of unusual parts to survive so long in a land overshadowed by Mordor untainted."

"He is a good Man," Boromir said simply. "with no good choices. His kings have been captives of Black Sorcery for three generations now. And while we may see Gondor as bulwark and champion of the Free Peoples, to him we are the hereditary enemy of his blood." he shook his head. "I don't know what I would have done in his place."

"Yet what he said about our common heritage was true." Aragorn mused. "The blood of Numenor runs in the veins of the Men of Near Harad. Whatever our differences we are still kin. I want you to talk to Esarhael for me, Boromir. Try to make him see Gondor as an ally against the Shadow."

"I've said as much to him more than once." the other Man replied, rising. "Unfortunately we Men of Gondor have not always dealt justly with our neighbors. I can't altogether blame him for his distrust of us."

"What about us trusting them?" Pippin demanded. "We're not the ones who keep sending assassins and curses and who knows what else!"

Boromir gave him a quick smile. "That is the other side of the coin."

"But this Esarhael is a Man you trust." said the King. "And he, I think, has some trust in you too, Boromir. It's a place to start."

"I'm afraid my return from the dead may well have destroyed whatever faith he once placed in me." Boromir said ruefully. "He hates and fears anything that savors of sorcery, but I will try."

--

The main room of the guest house given to the embassage from Near Harad had been transformed; layers of richly colored and intricately patterned carpets and hangings, and pelts of strange southern beasts concealed floors and walls. Curiously shaped bronze lamps burning scented oil replaced candles, illuminating chests and low tables inlaid with nacre and semi-precious stones. One of the boy musicians and a couple of aging menservants huddled in a corner, as far from Boromir as they could get, staring at him with white rimmed eyes. Esarhael entered, bareheaded, wrapped in a loose blue-green gown.

"I never could understand how you managed to maneuver so quickly with all the baggage you insisted on dragging along." Boromir remarked conversationally.

The older Man's mouth quivered in something that might have been the beginnings of a smile. "And I have never understood why you Westerners make a virtue of squalor." the trace of humor vanished. "They said you'd been killed."

"They were right." Boromir answered baldly.

The Haradrim's face hardened. "They also say your king is a mighty necromancer." "That's a lie!" Boromir flared.

Esarhael did not blench but in the corner somebody, maybe the boy, whimpered. Southron lord looked away long enough to smile and say something gently in Haradic and his three servants scuttled through a door. The winter blue eyes locked again with Boromir's. "The Dead fought for Elessar at Pelagir and Minas Tirith, and now he brings you back from the Dark Shore as well yet you say he is not a necromancer?"

"The army of the dead were oathbreakers, bound to this world until they finally fulfilled their allegiance." Boromir replied, forcing himself to speak calmly. "And Aragorn did not bring me back."

"Then who did," Esarhael challenged, "the Elvish Queen?"

That actually made Boromir smile. "Hardly. No Elf, or Half-Elf would dare to meddle with the Doom of Men." He took a step closer to Esarhael, then another. The Haradrim paled slightly but held his ground. "I am neither wraith nor revenant, Esarhael, but mortal flesh and blood just as I was before."

"Not quite as before." the other Man answered tensely.

Boromir hesitated, he wasn't sure exactly what had happened in the Hall. He'd acted on instinct, knowing only he must keep Faramir from touching that fell thing. He had no idea what Esarhael, the casket bearer and his brother had seen to make them look at him so - nor did he want to know. He did not speak, merely held out his hand.

Esarhael took a deep breath, visibly bracing himself, and took it. Some of the tension went out of him and he smiled faintly. "Yes, you are flesh and blood." he released Boromir's hand and sank down onto the heaped furs beside a small table holding goblets and a decanter of colored glass. Boromir sat cross-legged opposite and accepted the glass of Southron wine Esarhael handed him. "What happened?" the Haradrim asked matter-of-factly.

"You know I was one of the Fellowship that accompanied the Ringbearer on the first part of his quest." Boromir began carefully. "We were attacked on the banks of the Anduin above the Great Falls by Uruk Hai in the service of Curunir (1). The Ringbearer escaped across the river with his squire but two of his kinsmen were taken by the Orcs and I was mortally wounded."

"All this I have heard." Esarhael agreed. Boromir took a deep breath. Now it got difficult. "My remaining companions; King Elessar, an Elf and a Dwarf, laid my -" he faltered on the word, "my body in one of our boats and sent it over the falls, but it didn't sink. Faramir saw it miles downstream at Osgilliath and it must have carried me to the sea and over it into the West but of course I remember nothing of it."

The Haradrim's mouth quirked. "Of course not."

Boromir continued even more carefully; "I do remember something of the Halls, most clearly being asked if I were willing to return. I consented and my spirit was restored to my body, which had been healed of its wounds, and then I was brought back oversea to Middle Earth."

"Brought back how?" Esarhael demanded.

Boromir swallowed. "By Orome, one of the Valar." and saw the Haradrim's face go hard. He could guess at the lies Esarhael'd been taught concerning the Lords of the West. Time to change the subject. "Clearly Herumor intends another war. We are forewarned and ready, he will fail. How many tens of thousands of your people must die before you see he is the enemy, not Gondor?"

"There seems to me little to chose between our Dark Sorcerer and your Sorcerer King." the Haradrim answered bitterly.

This time Boromir managed to keep a rein on his temper. "If you can truly see no difference between Herumor and Aragorn then you are not only blind but a fool, and I know very well you are neither. I love sorcery no more than you do, Esarhael, you know that. Would I follow a king who was a sorcerer?"

"You served a Steward who was one." Once again Boromir had to quell an impulse to anger. Esarhael seemed incapable of seeing the difference between the Black Arts and the kind of Power Aragorn and Denethor wielded. "My father was no sorcerer, nor is my King." Time to change the subject again. "I know what you fear, Esarhael, nor can I blame you for it given the histories of our two nations, but Aragorn is of a different kind than the Ship Kings of Old. He desires only what is his by right; Harondor and Umbar. And Near Harad as an ally not a subject province."

There was a long silence before Esarhael said, grimly: "I wish I could believe that."

"You can. You must know I am speaking the truth!"

"At least what you believe to be true." the Haradrim conceeded. Boromir looked at him helplessly. It was as he'd feared, in Esarhael's eyes he, Boromir, was now hopelessly compromised by the 'sorceries' wound around him. Given the other Man's background he couldn't blame him for his instinctive revulsion against anything savoring of Power, but neither could he think of any way of overcoming it.

"Aragorn understands you had no part in Herumor's treachery. The safe conduct he gave you holds, you are free to leave whenever you wish."

Esarhael bowed his head. "Thank you."

Boromir got to his feet, suddenly overcome by the weariness of a long and difficult day. "At least think about what I have said."

"I will." was all the Haradrim answered It wasn't much but it would have to do.

--

The air in the King's privy chamber was blue with smoke from his pipe and Sam's. Boromir tried not to cough and wondered again at the curious customs of the North. "I don't think I did much good." he reported. "It seems you have a name for sorcery in the Southlands, Aragorn."

"So I have heard." the King sighed. "And difficult to deny since I have indeed done the things they say."

"Yes, but your magic isn't like the Enemy's!" Sam protested. "Anybody with sense can see that."

"Unfortunately we Men don't have the good sense of Hobbits." Boromir smiled, then seriously to Aragorn. "Esarhael told me he sees little to chose between you and Herumor," he made a small gesture of defeat, "and I couldn't find the words to convince him otherwise."

The King nodded, face shuttered. "Thank you for trying, Boromir." he glanced out the window and got his feet. "And good night to you both." he paused in the doorway to look back at the other Man with a hint of a twinkle in his eye. "And, Boromir, there is to be a meeting of the full council tomorrow at the third hour. I expect you to attend."

The other Man bowed, grimacing. "As you wish."

The door closed and Sam gave Boromir a commiserating look. "I suppose that's the down side to being officially alive again."

He got a rueful smile in reply. "One of them. Where are you staying, Sam?"

"Guest house on the south wall." the Hobbit finished cleaning his pipe and tucked it safely into a pocket, got up and stretched. "Rosie's probably wondering what's happened to me."

"Mistress Gamgee undoubtedly had the good sense to go to bed hours ago." said Boromir holding the door open for him. "Why are you still up, Sam?" he couldn't see the Mayor's face as the Hobbit proceeded him down the stairs, but saw his ears redden.

"I wanted to apologize again. I'm really sorry, Boromir, but you were dead. It couldn't hurt you any more - or so I thought - and it might've helped Mr. Frodo and me."

"I understand, Sam, don't worry about it." A guard opened the small door at the foot of the stair letting them out into the tangle of narrow alleys that ran between the buildings crowding the Citadel. "I'm just grateful you can forgive me for what I nearly did to Frodo," Boromir continued as they wound their way to the south wall, "Frankly I never thought you would."

"Oh I was angry with you at first," Sam answered. "thinking a great Man like you should have been able to stand up to the Ring."

"Indeed I should have." Boromir agreed quietly.

"But then I saw what it was doing to Mr. Frodo," Sam continued, a little sharply, "how it was taking him over, bit by bit, no matter how hard he fought. And I started thinking maybe I'd been to hard on you. And then -" he swallowed, "I took it myself. I thought Mr. Frodo was dead, killed by that spider thing, and I wanted to lie down next to him and die too." his voice was thick with tears and Boromir put a consoling hand on his shoulder. "But there was still the Ring. It had to go to the fire or Mr. Frodo would have died for nothing, and there was nobody left to take it but me." he looked imploringly up at the Man. "I had to try didn't I? even if it meant overstepping my place."

"You did the right thing, Sam, if the Ring had still been on Frodo when Sauron's Orcs found him all would have been over."

"That's what he told me too; taking the Ring was the best thing I could've done whether he was alive or dead." the Mayor scrubbed his sleeve across his eyes before faltering on. "So I took it, and then it took me! Just for a moment or two but it seemed like forever." he shuddered. "Mr. Frodo was right, I didn't know anything about it. I'd no idea what he, and you, were fighting."

"You were in Mordor itself, Sam, where the Ring was at its strongest. You should be proud you were able to refuse it." Boromir told him.

The Mayor startled him by giving a scornful little snort. "If you ask me I should be ashamed of myself for falling for it even for a minute. Me, a great warrior and hero! Addled as I was I saw through that right enough, though it took me longer than I like to remember."

"But you are a hero, Sam." Boromir told him. "One of the greatest heroes of the Age. Even our enemies think so, why else would Draugoth have risked all to kill you?"

Another snort expressed Sam's opinion of that. Then he looked somberly up at the Man. "It was different for you, you really could lead armies and all the rest. How can I blame you for giving in to the Ring when I nearly did too?"

"But you didn't." said Boromir.

Sam didn't quite roll his eyes. "Well I don't blame you, whether you think I should or not!"

"And I'm grateful for it." said Boromir.

They reached Sam's guest house. Standing on its doorstep he looked up at the Man. "My other reason for sitting up was to see if you were all right after handling that nasty thing."

Boromir blinked, badly taken aback. The possibility of taking harm from the mace had never even occurred to him, but given his past experience with such things - "I think I'm all right. I hope I'm all right."

"I think you are too." Sam said quickly, reassuringly. "I thought you would be the way your Light pushed that Dark right back into its box -"

"My what?" Boromir interrupted, crouching down so he could look the Hobbit in the face. "Sam, what are you talking about?"

The Mayor frowned, as if a little puzzled. "When you went past me I could barely see you for the Light. And when you reached for the box the Dark rising out of it went right back in."

The Man had seen the Darkness but - "What light, Sam?"

"The Light coming from inside you." the Hobbit answered calmly. "Merry and Faramir saw it too, so I wasn't just imagining things -" he saw the alarm on Boromir's face and added quickly, "I'm sure it's nothing to worry about - Mr. Frodo used to shine like that too sometimes. I think it's got to do with fighting the Ring."

"Very likely." Boromir managed through a tight throat. "I - I hadn't realized..." he got to his feet. "Good night, Sam."

"Good night." the Hobbit went inside, leaving the Man staring at the closed door.

So that was what Esarhael had meant when he'd said he, Boromir, wasn't quite the same as he'd been. The Haradrim must have seen this 'light' too, and the casket bearer as well. 'I am out of my depth,' Boromir thought despairingly, 'and have been ever since I rode into Imladris all those years ago. Not only don't I know what to do, I don't even know what I can do!'

--

(1) Curunir, 'Man of Skill', was Saruman's Sindarin name, the name by which he was best known in the south. Just as Gandalf was known as Mithrandir