The rain had stopped by the time dawn decided to grace them with its presense. Piccolo was exhausted though it did not show on his face or his performance. He hadn't pulled a full nights run for at least a long decade. With a mental smirk he figured he would at least gain something from the exercise even if it wasn't a full nights meditation.

Beside him, Shadowfax was huffing great lungfulls of breath that misted the air. He could imagine how the horse must feel, at least partly. He wasn't carrying a wizard and slumbering Hobbit, after all.

In the distance a great crumbling ruin was making itself known through the fog. Minas Tirith didn't look half as impressive as its name had implied.

Piccolo looked over to Gandalf to make sure it was indeed their destination and saw the look of worry and thought on his face and knew it was. It, just like every other place, was being worn under the heavy weight of war.

As they approached, a small band of warriors hollered from the crumbling towers and several riders made their hasty way toward them with weapons drawn. Piccolo frowned and wondered if this was the typical reaction of all men on Middle Earth. It had seemed so this far.

"Who goes there?" A strong voice called.

"Gandalf and friends." The wizard responded. His voice carried strong and clear as though he was not speaking against the wind and distance.

The lead horse suddenly slowed to a stop and those behind followed suit. By the time the trio had made it to them, most of the drawn weapons had been restored to their sheaths and holsters alike.

The leader turned his horse before Gandalf could stop and as a group--and without a word--they moved through the entry and into Minas Tirith.

Gandalf quickly dismounted and rubbed down Shadowfax with a handful of straw as the horse strained to quiet itself. "Wipe him down well and give him the best feed and water you have. He has done a great feat during the night and deserves a well rest."

A stable hand nodded and, a little exaspirated at not having a reign to guide the horse with, motioned it to follow him and was surprised when the horse did just that.

Pippin stood on his own two feet and stared with wide eyes around him.

"Another halfling!" A voice filled with awe spoke softly. Pippin's head whipped around and he looked excitedly up into a scruffy and weary face.

"Another halfling? Then you've seen others?" The boy's eyes were wide with hope.

The man nodded his head. "Aye, two of them. One with a great burden."

"Frodo and Sam?" Pippin's heart squeezed in joy and sadness.

"Yes, I believe that is what they called themselves. You know them?" The man asked, eyes curious as he took in the bubbling Hobbit in front of him.

"Yes, my God, yes!" Pippin, so overjoyed, hugged the man at his waist and wept happy tears into his tunic.

Before the man could grow embarrassed or ask someone else what was going on, Pippin released him and flew to Piccolo and bounced around the Namek with a swatch of Piccolo's violet tunic clutched in his small fist. "Did you hear? Sam and Frodo are alive!"

Piccolo couldn't help but grin at the boy's enthusiasm. "Yes, I heard."

"Well, isn't that great news?" Pippin demanded, as though he expected Piccolo to jump and dance around with him.

A low rumble of laughter came from the Namek and several men around them stiffened while reaching automatically for their swords. Piccolo ignored them. "It is good news. It's a pity we missed them."

A bit more satisfied with Piccolo's display of mirth, Pippin nodded and smiled brightly at the man he had accousted not a moment before. "I don't suppose you would have a bite to eat?"

Gandalf frowned deeply and grasped the Hobbit by the arm. "Peregrin Took!"

Piccolo grinned at the look of confusion that crossed Pippin's face.

Surprisingly, the man laughed. "Of course, but I cannot keeping calling you 'little one' and if you walk around asking to speak to the 'man' we will get no where very quickly."

Pippin grinned and held out his hand good-naturedly. "I'm Pippin."

The man smiled and took his offered hand easily. "Faramir."

The smile fell from Pippin's face and his skin grew pale. "Faramir?"

The warrior frowned and released the Hobbit's hand. Pippin turned to Gandalf and the wizard nodded gravely to answer a question unasked. The Hobbit then turned to Piccolo, as though he needed reassuring from his reassurance.

Piccolo looked carefully at the man and carefully scanned his ki. A deep breath through his nose completed his thought. The man was Boromir's brother. Piccolo curled his lip. "He has the same smell."

Pippin took the sentence as an affirmation, Faramir however took great offence.

"Am I to assume you find my smell offensive?" Faramir challenged, eyes flashing.

Piccolo resisted a growl. He had little reservation to leave Boromir to die in the woods after attacking Frodo, and even the man's repentance by sacrificing himself to save Merry and Pippin had done little to soothe the bristling anger Piccolo felt. So far he had no quarrel with Faramir, but that could be easily remedied...

"That wasn't what I meant, but now that you mention it..." Piccolo curled his lip into a sneer, just showing the edge of one elongated eye tooth.

"Enough!" Gandalf spoke with final authority. Piccolo seethed but stepped back. Faramir looked between the two of them with a deep frown.

"I never thought you one to take on orc, Gandalf. Are we losing so badly?" Faramir growled.

Piccolo's fists clenched but Gandalf stepped forward. "He is not an orc, Faramir, but a great warrior as I have ever seen. And he did not mean offense to you," Gandalf glanced at Piccolo to make sure the Namek kept his peace, "he was only affirming that you are the brother of Boromir."

Faramir stiffened. "Boromir? You know what has happened to him?"

Gandalf shook his head slowly. "I was not there and have only heard the tale."

Pippin, all this time looking between the three with wide anxious eyes, cleared his throat. It didn't help much to remove the fog of emotion from it when he spoke. "I knew your brother."

The Lord Faramir fell to his knees in front of the Hobbit to watch the emotion on the boy's face better as he listened.

"He gave his life in protecting my own." Pippin spoke proudly.

Behind him Piccolo snorted. Faramir glanced up and frowned. "I take it you did not like my brother much."

Piccolo did not answer directly, only stared hard at the lined face of the other. "He had his failings. I only hope his brother is different."

A dark cloud passed over Faramir's face and a pain that went far beyond Piccolo's jibe hardened his eyes. He stood and failed at squaring his slouched shoulders. He stared hard into Piccolo's onyx eyes. "He is." The words a harsh and bitter whisper.

After a tense moment, Faramir motioned a couple of his men over. "Take them to the inn, get them food and beds." His voice was weary and sounded hollow.

He turned to Gandalf, "Perhaps we should talk, Gandalf. There is much written on your face." Faramir didn't sound enthusiastic but more resigned.

The wizard nodded and gave Piccolo an exaspirated look before he followed the young lord to a private room.

Pippin bounded happily after the two guards and called to Piccolo. The Namek watched Faramir's retreating back and furrowed his brows. He began to rub unconsciously at the base of one antenna as he thought deeply over what he had seen.

After a span of ten minutes with many men passing around him in a wide berth, Piccolo finally grunted and followed the sound of Pippin's happy laughter toward a building with a broken and weathered wooden sign that read 'Inn'. He would have to think over the odd man later, after a good draught of cold water and deep meditation.

--

The darkness was as thick as pitch and at odd moments Goku thought it was a little harder to breathe, as though he was sucking in the oppressive air. He knew it was only in his imagination. He had never been afraid of the dark in his long life--short as it may have been spent on the earth, but all those years of being dead or training in otherworld still counted, right?--but the Godforsaken pit gave him the willies like no other.

Whenever he felt the darkness pressing in on him and he thought the last thread of his sanity was going to snap, a brush of Vegeta's shoulder against his arm brought a much needed flush of relief.

They had been walking for hours in the dark though it felt like far longer and much shorter all at once. No daylight, no moon, no stars to map the passage of time. Only the prevailing dark.

As Goku grew further on edge, the others settled into the routine of stepping one foot before the other through the cavern. The monotony of it lulling their minds of thought and only motion.

Aragorn stopped, as much as he wanted to continue on his legs ached with each step and his shrunken stomach screamed for food. Behind him, Legolas stopped as he heard the ranger pause, the others hadn't noticed and Gimli bumped head first into the elf's hip.

The dwarf cried out and gripped his axe handle with renewed vigor, the cry awakened the dormant minds of the saiyajins behind him. Trunks drawing his sword and Vegeta tensing in preparation.

It was Goku laughing that calmed everyone down. "And you guys say I'm on edge."

Gimli, realizing too late that the demon he had found was only Legolas, grumbled about foolish elves stopping without warning.

Trunks resheathed his sword with a deep sigh and Vegeta frowned so harshly into the darkness it seemed to darken further if it were even possible.

Aragorn cleared his throat. "Forgive me, I should have told you all we were stopping." Goku felt with his fingers to those in front of him, his sharp saiyajin eyes only seeing them once he had brushed his fingertips across the clothing on their backs. He made his way to Aragorn and dropped beside him on the earth, not daring to recline back against the stone wall.

"So we're taking a break then?" He asked. Partly excited to stop, partly mortified that they would have to stay in the cave longer than necessary.

"Yes, I am weary enough without putting us in danger by continuing on." Aragorn spoke softly, knowing they could all hear him without his need to raise his voice. He unbuckled his satchel and felt around until his fingers glanced over a paper of jerky and piece of lambas.

Silently he began to eat and relaxed against the cold stone wall, his aching body telling him to lay down and sleep.

Legolas and Gimli sat down as well, Gimli rummaging for his pipe and tobacco. He grumbled to himself a moment before sighing in defeat. "Does anyone have a match or flint?"

Aragorn fumbled a moment and placed two small pieces of flint in the dwarf's hand. Feeling much better already, Gimli struck them repeatedly--the small bursts of light searing into their pupils--until a small fire began to curl the first pieces of tobacco.

A harsh wind suddenly whipped though the tunnel and blew the flame out.

Goku stiffened and shivered. "They don't like the light."

A small, compact body sat heavily beside him, and Goku leaned imperceptibly onto Vegeta. The ouji was still frowning. "I don't like it when you talk like that, Kakkarot."

A shrug made Vegeta rock a little. "Sorry, 'Geta." Goku whispered.

Gimli growled then and stood, pacing back and forth. He began shouting like a raving madman into the darkness. "All I want is a smoke, devils! What kind of spirits would begrudge a dwarf of such a right?"

Legolas gripped Gimli's forearm and pulled him back onto the earth. "Patience, Gimli."

The dwarf muttered to himself incessantly for the next five minutes, and finally irritated beyond belief, Vegeta stood. "Here you blasted, dwarf!" Vegeta set his fingertip over the pipe bowl and a flicker of ki lit the whole of the tobacco quickly. Gimli puffed as fast as he could as the harsh wind blew around them but even as the flame died, the embers of the tobacco stayed lit and the dwarf settled back with merry contentment.

Vegeta dropped again beside Goku, annoyance radiating off of him in waves. Goku suddenly elbowed him. "You know, Vegeta. I don't think the wind would be able to blow out our ki."

The elder saiyajin looked at the other with an 'and your point is' kind of look and Goku grinned. "Well, maybe we can have some light that they can't blow out!"

Aragorn shifted uncomfortably beside him. "I do not know if that is such a wise idea."

Goku's enthusiasm dropped and the old fear slowly crept back in. Aragorn seemed to notice the melancholy that wrapped the saiyajin like a blanket and sighed softly. He was more afraid of the power that the saiyajin would show--afraid to be lost in the heat of it again--more than he was worried what the cavern's wind would do.

"Perhaps before we rule it out, you should try a bit first." Aragorn said.

Immediately, Goku shuffled and clapped him on the arm. Aragorn was pretty sure the saiyajin was aiming for his shoulder, but in the darkness had missed it. He smiled lightly to himself.

A flicker made them all squint and a moment later the tiniest of tiny bulbs of ki sat in Goku's palm. The light flickering off of it seemed to be that of the noon sun after so long in the darkness. Directly following the dancing light, the harsh wind blew viciously through the cavern. It was no great gust but a continuing hard blow that seemed to grow in intensity as though it realized it was having no effect on the luminescense that sat in the saiyajin's palm.

Sadly, Goku dimmed it and reabsorbed it entirely. The wind ceased its blow.

"I guess that's my answer, huh?" Goku remarked. He huddled in on himself a little and wished that the time in the cave would pass quickly. He didn't think he could take very much more of it.

--

Piccolo sat in the corner of the pub with eyes closed. Around him the hustle and bustle of military men and waitresses, the boistrous laughter after a great tale or joke, and the bubbling tone of an eating Hobbit as he talked delightedly to those around him made it nearly impossible for him to meditate. Nearly.

It was no deep meditation certainly, but to his addled mind it was never as blissful as that moment. The same eerie calm filled his mind, no thoughts or visions pushing through to be seen. In a way he was thankful, no vision meant no worry, or at least no directed worry. The fact that there was nothing at all was, in itself, something he should worry about. At this moment, however, he was far too relaxed to make himself care.

Gandalf and Faramir had finished their discussion of every event that had transpired. Faramir moved slow and sluggishly into the inn and plopped heavily onto a stool. He rested his head in an open palm and curled the other hand around a mug of ale that was set in front of him without request.

The king of Gondor returning... Faramir sneered into his drink. Sometimes he had to wonder at Gandalf's sanity. The aged wizard had been through quite an ordeal--which he had only gotten the highlights of--and that could make the sanist of men just the tiniest bit mad.

Just down the bar a few seats he could hear Pippin as the Hobbit drew the attention of several of his men. They were all listening to his tales of the Shire as though they were starved for a reprieve. He supposed they probably were having been fighting orc and urak-hai and losing badly. Not to mention the Nazgul that decided to drop in on them unexpectedly with Frodo's untimely visit.

Faramir took a large draught of his ale and watched as the foam on the top slowly dissolved down the sides. Boromir was dead and gone, a fact stated by Frodo no longer than a week ago, and now was reaffirmed by yet another halfling who had seen it all happen. He would have to talk to Pippin quietly and retrieve the whole story.

Feeling minimally better for the cool ale and introspective thinking, Faramir turned in his seat and gazed out across the people that sat in the pub with him.

Two of his best guards were nursing mugs of ale and talking quietly. He could see the wrappings and crusty edged bandages just hidden by their tunics. Wounds cleaned with murky water and stitched closed with what skeins of thread they could scrounge from the old tailor shop after it had been reduced to rubble. They had been wounded badly and he should send them to bed and rest, but they deserved to sip their ale. They were only sitting still, after all.

Most of the men of the platoon that remained had been injured in one form or another. From limbs rended from the body to scratches and bruises, and the occassional broken heart. Unfortuantely they do not let men free from their stations for heart ailments of that like, even if they could be more crippling that a blow to the head.

Finally his eyes came to rest on the stranger. He sat deep in the shadows in the corner of the bar with arms crossed over his chest and eyes closed. Faramir snorted and took another drink of his ale. He didn't particularly care for that one, the creature didn't look like one from the good side. With his dark skin, impressive size and deep gravely voice it seemed more plausible that he had crawled from the womb of Sauron himself.

But Gandalf had readily came to his credit, hadn't he? That meant the wizard had seen something he had--or could--not. So the creature hadn't enjoyed his brother's company? A great many men did not care for Boromir. Half of those that met him loved him, the other half could barely talk to him civily. A trait that had started when the two were just boys. Boromir was a great leader, strong willed, level headed and a good ambassedor for Gondor.

Oh, how Faramir hated him just as much as he loved him. It was this great confliction in himself, the man's own brother, that made him sympathize with both types of men who knew his brother.

With a grimace, Faramir realized that the creature in the corner just happened to be one of those who hated Boromir.

Draining what remained of his mug and waiting for the barmaid to refill it, Faramir watched the sleeping figure in the shadows before picking up his mug and quietly making his way to the table.

He sat down none to gently, still not liking the thing even though he was here to talk to him, but he did need to rouse him somehow. And what better way to set the mood than a rude awakening?

Surprisingly, the creature didn't even flinch, much less glare at him with sleepy eyes. Faramir sat still and simply stared at the creature up close for a moment. He had never seen a living thing with such odd coloring. Orc and Urak-hai were brown and black, covered with layers of filth and grime, and had very little hygine. This one was green, an odd shade it at that. Faramir scratched at his stubble and took another swig of ale. He couldn't think of a single thing he had ever seen the same shade. No color on middle earth came close to the jade of his skin.

A small curly haired lad moved at his elbow and Faramir smiled down at Pippin. The Hobbit smiled brightly back and looked at Piccolo then back to Faramir. "He's ignoring you, you know."

Faramir blinked, "He's asleep." He spoke as though talking to a child.

With a light laugh, Pippin shook his curly head. "No, he's just ignoring you." Pippin's soft lilt tittered.

As though to prove himself, Pippin leaned toward Piccolo and smiled wide. "Aren't you, Master Namek?"

Faramir shook his head and prepared to tell the boy that, 'no the creature was sleeping, he couldn't possibly be ignoring him' when one ebony eye cracked open and looked directly at the Hobbit.

"Your point?" Piccolo's deep bass rumbled.

Shocked and irritated, Faramir pointed at Piccolo and poked him in the chest only once. Piccolo had grasped hold of his wrist before he could even think of poking a second time, and Faramir grimaced as the namek squeezed.

Pippin's eyes widened. "Piccolo!" The Namek looked at him with a quirked eye ridge as though expecting something more. "Let him go!"

With a deep sigh, Piccolo let the man go and glowered at him. Faramir rubbed his wrist and scowled. "What's the matter with you?"

A snort answered him and Piccolo sneered. 'I'm not the one staring."

Faramir stood with a flourish, the chair he sat in tumbling over backwards. He drew his blade and had it at Piccolo's throat within a second. Piccolo could have stopped him, could have broken the man's arm and even blown him through the inn wall with a ball of ki. But he didn't...

Piccolo sat with his face blank, the knife point setting at the hollow of his throat. Faramir was seething and with each deep breath the man took the point dug a little deeper, though not yet deep enough to make Piccolo bleed.

Pippin was sheet white and trembling beside them. "Please, Faramir!" The boy's eyes were wide.

Without moving the rest of his body, Piccolo set his hand on the Hobbit's head and ruffled his curls. His eyes stayed bored into Faramir's. "Do you want to kill me?"

Faramir blinked and the haze of anger cleared from his eyes. Piccolo saw it and knew that the man's next step of action was to lower his blade. He had no intention of letting him.

As Faramir began to pull the sword back, Piccolo grasped ahold of the blade with his large hand and pulled the tip until it just pierced the topmost layer of his skin over his heart. Faramir huffed and pulled on the blade but it did less than wiggle in Piccolo's grip.

"Is this what you wanted?" Piccolo's eyes were hard pieces of flint. He pulled the edge further, metal sliding through his skin a painful inch. He didn't even flinch.

Faramir struggled, pulling hard on the sword but it still wouldn't move. Others around them were watching, eyes wide and awed at what was happening. Faramir still wasn't sure what was happening.

"No. That is not what I intended." He rasped.

Piccolo grunted, not accepting his answer. Piccolo sat slowly forward, the edge sliding deeper into his chest and he grimaced slightly as the blade tip exited his back. Faramir gasped and let go of the hilt entirely, the sword glinting lightly and growing slowly sticky as violet blood began to trickle down its length.

Standing slowly, Piccolo used his height to let the others in the room see. A great uproar started, many waited for the creature to topple dead to the stones. Piccolo turned his eyes back to Faramir and grasped the man's hand in his own. He curled Faramir's flacid fingers around the hilt and pulled the blade slowly from his girth.

When the blade was completely free from its emerald sheath, Faramir let it go and it dropped to the floor with a piercing ring. Piccolo covered the wound of his chest with his palm and brought it away covered in violet blood.

"You should not start what you don't intend to finish." Piccolo spoke softly with his 'teaching Gohan a lesson' voice. He pulled the cloth of his tunic to the side and let Faramir stare at the gaping wound for a second before he continued. "I have no quarrel with you Faramir, and I will not kill you because you are an ally. But that doesn't mean I have to like you."

To Faramir's great amazement he watched as the wound puckered and pulled closed. With a final wipe with the back of his hand, the smears of purple were gone and only flawless jade skin lay beneath.

"I did not...how?" Faramir sat heavily in a nearby chair, watching Piccolo warily.

"You're frustrated, I know." Piccolo sat, speaking still with his scolding/teaching tone.

Faramir nodded, running a shaking hand down his grey tinted face.

"Piccolo?" Pippin was still staring at him with large eyes and pale face. The Namek turned toward him and frowned as the Hobbit stood and visibly shook.

"Are you alright, Pippin?" He asked, face softened. He bent and touched the boy's forehead. Faramir watched the exchange with an odd expression. First the creature showed an irrational anger and urge of self destruction, and now he was sitting with worry in his eyes and being undeniably tender. The Gondorian was confused at the dual faces that were so contradictory.

The Hobbit sniffled quietly and touched the spot on Piccolo's chest where the blade had injured him. His eyes were large. "I thought you were dead just now." Pippin's voice was very quiet.

Piccolo sighed through his nose and picked the Hobbit up by the waist and set him on the table so that they were closer to eye level. He grinned at Pippin and touched the spot on his chest. "There are a few things you have missed by wandering around on your own."

Pippin laughed, mostly to break the rest of the tension that gripped him. "Apparently I have."

"Watch this." Piccolo opened his palm and slowly pushed his ki to the surface. The first flickers of light began to show on his skin and he saw Pippin's eyes widen in surprise and delight.

The Hobbit held out his own hand and tried to touch the light only to stop before he even got within half a foot. The heat that radiated from it saw to that. "What is it?" Pippin asked, a large grin plastered to his face. Beside them Faramir nodded.

"This is some sorcery." He spoke quietly.

Piccolo shook his head. "No magic." He pointed at a chunk of rubble that lay outside the door and across the street. "Do you see that rock?" Pippin nodded. Piccolo looked to Faramir. "Would you make sure no one is going to get in the way?"

Faramir gave the creature a queer look but did as he asked and stood outside the doorway of the inn and made a couple of soldiers pause. He leaned into the doorway. "It is clear."

Piccolo grinned and pointed his palm toward the rubble and the small bubble of light flew from his palm in a streak. Pippin watched as it pierced the side of the rock and made it glow. The rock spread with cracks and the whole piece suddenly exploded into pieces of gravel and dust.

Faramir stood gaping, not knowing what to make of what he had seen. Seeing is believing, but what he had seen was beyond anything else he had ever witnessed in his long life. He reentered the pub with glazed eyes and sat heavily in his seat beside the Namek.

Piccolo was watching him with a calculated gaze and ignoring the pealing giggles and astonished phrases that passed through Pippin's lips.

Time passed. Pippin had moved from the table and curled up beside Piccolo on a chair and fallen asleep. Piccolo had a hand resting on the Hobbit's back and was relaxed by the rythmic rise and fall of his chest. Faramir hadn't said a word to him since his show of force, not that Piccolo cared that much. He was getting slightly annoyed at the continual stare and contemplative look the man was giving him.

"Come." Faramir stood and motioned Pippin. "I will show you a room. We will leave by nightfall for Gondor. You should rest until then."

Piccolo nodded and carefully lifted Pippin onto his shoulder. The Hobbit stirred and snuggled into Piccolo's neck, mumbling incoherently about elevensies. He followed Faramir into the afternoon heat and into a building that was only slightly less dilapitated than the inn.

"Gandalf is on the top floor, the only room. Yours is here." Faramir pointed to an open doorway across the room.

An older fellow watched them lazily as they passed, too busy drifting off in a shadow by a window to care what they did. Piccolo went ahead of Farmir and lay Pippin on a rickety bed. The Hobbit stirred and snuggled into a strewn fur.

Piccolo grinned as he watched the boy start to snore softly and drool onto the blanket. "This will be fine."

Nodding, Faramir turned back to the entrance but stopped before he exited. "Piccolo...I want to appologize for my rash behavior."

Slightly taken aback by the quick turn-about, Piccolo only narrowed his eyes and waited. Faramir refused to shuffle his feet under the gaze and instead tucked down his pride and continued. "I should not have judged you because of your feelings for my brother." He swallowed thickly. "I loved him, but there were many times I had wished he had not been born, or perhaps myself."

"I understand." Piccolo said quietly. He didn't really, at least not all of it. All that mattered to him was that Faramir had overcome himself to take such a large step. "We can't start over, but we can at least continue from here on a better foot."

The scruffy man nodded, a small smile on his lips. Piccolo returned it with a smirk of his own and he watched as the man walked away, a little more bounce in his step than moments before.