The sun had not yet breached the horizon when they set out the next morning. Legolas strode at the front of their party, Gandalf ahead of him. Behind him Gimli, son of Gloin walked, Boromir of Gondor next. Aragorn had taken up the rear, the hobbits sheltered between himself and Boromir. Sam was leading their baggage-leaden pony, Bill. Aragorn fingered the pendant he wore at the base of his throat. His attempt to convince the Evenstar to keep it and her life had failed. And yet, with luck, perhaps she would go into the West and remain there, glad.
The Fellowship trudged on as the day waxed and waned. The sun reached its peak and came tumbling down again. As it began to settle down and the sky was streaked with red and orange, the nine companions started to think of halting for the night. The lands around them were riddled with low hills, dry, waxy bushes and small trees littered the ground.
Aragorn moved ahead, the long shadows of the trees offering him concealment. His cloak aided in concealing his form. Not far behind could he hear the rest of the Fellowship as they walked on, all searching for a suitable campground.
The place the Company chose was a dip between two low hills. They did not dare risk a fire, for fear the smoke may be seen. Pippin shifted uncomfortably and sighed for the twentieth time in his bedroll. Aragorn, who had drawn the first watch and had moved to the top of a nearby hill, watched him. Satisfied it was nothing more than a troubled sleep, he turned his gaze back to the lands around them.
The moon painted all a silvery grey that hosted great shadows. There was the sound of wind on the dried grass and the noise of bugs. Mice skittered to and fro, scrabbling for food. Aragorn saw no sign of Orcs, and so he made himself familiar with the night sounds, trusting that if one should change, he would be wary.
This was how Boromir, Man of Gondor, found the Ranger as he came to relieve him of his duties on watch; watching the calm night that lay around him.
"Any sign of pursuit?" Boromir's voice was quiet and his hand was on his sword. Aragorn gave a small shake of his head as he remained crouched in the grass, Boromir standing behind him.
"None but the wind." He rose and brushed the grass from his hands, moving to stand beside the other Man. "What woke you?"
"A dream." The pause stretched on. Aragorn looked sideways at him. Boromir returned the look with a scalding one before softening. "I saw the White City falling. The towers and people burned as I stood there, helpless. My brother Faramir perished in the flames." Aragorn was silent. Then he placed a hand on Boromir's shoulder.
"We will not let that happen, my friend." Boromir shrugged his hand off before it could linger.
"It was only a dream, Aragorn." He strode a few paces away, the message clear. Aragorn moved back down the hill to the camp. He unrolled his bedroll and wrapped himself up in it. The stars gleamed in the sky above, but he found little comfort in them. The feel of Boromir's jerkin lingered on his hand, and he cradled it to his chest, wishing the scent too had stayed.
The next night it was feared they heard Riders, and so it was decided they would not travel by day.
The Fellowship continued on in these dry, hilly lands for three weeks before they reached the base of the mountains. There was a pass, the Pass of Caradhras, that would see them through the mountains.
It was another four days before they halted, perhaps a third or a half of the way up to the pass. The sun was beginning its descent in the sky. Boromir was teaching the two younger hobbits how to wield their swords while Aragorn looked on. Samwise was cooking sausage and tomato in his make-shift campfire. Gimli was staring out over the valley below them as Legolas walked quietly around, no footfall disturbing the ground. Gandalf say on a large, smooth rock, smoking, as Frodo sat on a lower one closer to Aragorn, watching the sparring.
The Ranger watched too as he prepared his pipe for lighting. A new match had begun. Pippin blocked two of Boromir's strikes before the Man was tackled by Merry.
"For the Shire!" Boromir went down, laughing, as Pippin too cast away his weapon and joined in.
"The Shire strikes hard," the Man said in jest. Aragorn could not help a chuckle at the scene before him. Hearing his amusement, Boromir looked over. Their gazes met, grey eyes meeting grey. Boromir's expression darkened momentarily, then was split with a grin. Aragorn returned it.
It was Gimli who broke the cheer. He stood on a rock, leaning on his axe.
"That," he remarked, "is quite an odd cloud." The members of the Fellowship halted their activities and looked towards the Dwarf. Legolas bounded up to the edge of the mountain, shielding his eyes.
"That is no cloud," he said in worry. "Those are birds, and black are their wings." Gandalf's brow furrowed.
"Saruman." He cried. "Hide!"
Aragorn sprang up and guided Frodo under to where a rock offered an overhang. Sam smothered the campfire and made for a bush, along with Gimli. Boromir and the two younger hobbits hid as Gandalf clambered down from his perch into cover. Legolas, swiftest amongst them, watched the sky as he rolled into a hiding place.
The spies of Saruman flew by overhead, calling to each other with voices and noisy flapping. When at last there was quiet, the members of the Fellowship emerged. Gandalf turned towards the mountain, dread painting his heart.
"So we are being watched," he said after a heavy moment had passed. Gimli now spoke up.
"Let us take the road to the Mines of Moria," he declared. "My cousin Balin will give us a royal welcome! Strong malt, roaring fires, roast meat falling off the bones!" But Gandalf shook his head and settled back upon his rock, pipe in his mouth again.
"No," he decided. The Wizard shook his head and took the pipe from his mouth. He looked towards the mountains once more. "No, I would not risk the Mines of Moria unless I had no other option." Aragorn felt a cloud of dread settle over his own heart. His gaze flickered to Boromir, whose face told him nothing.
The next morning they broke camp and began the task of reaching the Pass of Caradhras. The ground was uneven at some places and smooth at others. Stone, dirt and dry shrubs seemed to make up the landscape. The occasional mouse scurried over booted feet. Aragorn, once again in the rear of the party, found himself watching the tawny-haired warrior who walked ahead. Boromir walked with purpose, yet arrogance as well. This arrogance might have driven the Ranger away, but instead he found a queer attraction to him.
Aragorn did not doubt the other Man could feel his eyes upon him, but he could not tear his gaze away for long. If nothing else, Boromir was like to be the biggest threat in the Fellowship. Already, he had shown an interest in claiming the Ring for himself and the land of Gondor.
The snow grew steadily deeper as they climbed higher. The Fellowship was struggling on as the sun climbed above them, seemingly chasing their steps. Aragorn walked a handful of paces behind the Ringbearer. Frodo staggered on, the snow tugging him down. At last, he stumbled and fell, rolling several meters before Aragorn caught him.
At once, before he was even back on his feet, Frodo felt his neck for the Ring. Aragorn saw his panic as he could not find it. The sound of the soft clinking of the chain reached their ears. Boromir, Man of Gondor, slowly lifted the Ring and its necklace from the snow. The Fellowship watched in a nervous silence, each waiting for another to act first.
"It is strange," Boromir said softly into the quiet. "That we should suffer so much for such a small thing."
"Boromir," Aragorn cut in. "Give the Ring to Frodo." His voice was quiet, but offered no argument. The Man did not reply, gazing into the depths of the Ring.
"Boromir!" Aragorn called again, louder this time. The Man looked up, startled.
"Yes, of course," he said quickly and in a strange voice. He strode forwards to Frodo, and held out the Ring to the hobbit. Frodo snatched it back in an almost animal-like way. Boromir have a tight smile and ruffled the hobbit's hair. As his hand dropped, his gaze met Aragorn's. The Ranger watched him, unyielding.
At last, Boromir turned away. Aragorn dared to loosen his grip on the hilt of his sword only as the other continued walking.
It could have been a day or an hour later, it mattered not to their weary legs and tired bodies, that the Fellowship reached the entrance to the Pass. Gandalf stopped, giving one last, deep sigh. He looked over the party, reassuring himself that no one was missing. Satisfied, he returned them to their pace.
Aragorn kept an eye on Boromir, his trust shaken and his heart pounding in an unwanted fashion.