Middle-Earth, a day's walk from Rivendell: T.A. 3018, December 26th

In retrospect if Calgacus had really thought his decision to join this Fellowship through, he would not have made it at all. In fact, even now a full day into their journey, he was still not sure why he had stood up in that council and proclaimed his intention to join them. But what was said could not be unsaid, and whether he regretted it or not, he was a part of this Fellowship now. A Fellowship, judging by the violence of their shivers, that were deeply regretting not leaving sooner.

They'd been walking in a stiff, rather bleak silence since they'd left Rivendell a day ago, and it was only now, that the sun had begun to descend behind the treetops did their leader – a kinsman of Pallando – raise his hand for them to stop.

The smallest members of their party collapsed to the ground in an ungainly pile, their legs unwilling to walk anymore. The wizard snorted but did not seem particularly annoyed by this occurrence.

'We will set camp for the night; this is as good a place as any we will find along this road.' As the others began to spread out their sleeping rolls around the vaguely defined campsite, Calgacus held back. He wasn't entirely sure what was wrong with him lately, it was as if he'd regressed to a youth just before his manhood ceremony; he was a full-grown married man for the cloud's sake. He should not be dawdling round the edges of the camp like some kind of scared child, too afraid to speak to anyone.

Feeling chastised and not a little ashamed of his own cowardice, Calgacus finally unrolled his bed-roll near to the middle of the camp. Around him the Little ones had set about building a fire and unloading their cooking equipment. The larger members of their fellowship seemed to have the same lacklustre approach to setting camp as he himself did, well, except the two other men, who had disappeared altogether. But the elf, the dwarf and the wizard all seemed to have flopped down on the ground in as ungainly a manner. The wizard fiddled with lighting his pipe, the elf gazed into the distance as if he was not entirely in the waking world and the dwarf…well he was keenly focused on sharpening his axe in the elf's direction.

Reflexively Calgacus' right hand curled round the handle of his own small throwing axe, wishing he'd had enough foresight to smuggle a whetstone into his bag as well. Still if ever there was a good opening for a conversation. Rising, Calgacus steeled himself and started over for the dwarf.

Just out of sight of the campsite

Boromir had trepidations about this whole expedition to begin with, one did not simply walk into Mordor after all, but if the council willed it then he would see it done. But he still believed that no one had exactly thought any of this through, especially when it came to choosing the members of the fellowship. Oh, he knew they had all stood up and volunteered themselves, himself included, but Lord Elrond and Gandalf still had to give them the okay. It wouldn't need a sack to send the hobbits back home to their Shire where they so clearly belonged.

Still as much as he disagreed with the decision to send such a soft and gentle people into the heart of the enemy's territory, it was nothing compared to the rage he felt over a certain other member of the fellowship. So as soon as the wizard had announced their stop for the night Boromir had snagged the elbow of the only other person who he thought would understand his concerns: Aragorn.

He might have had his own issues with the long-lost heir of Isildur, but this was more important than that, more important than the abandonment of his kingdom by its supposedly rightful rulers. Though he was in no mind to simply let that go, even under these circumstances

As soon as they were out of sight of the camp Aragorn had twisted his arm out of the captain of Gondor's grip and scowled at him; though it was such a slight scowl that he came off as more mildly annoyed than truly angry.

'Something has to be done about this!' Boromir burst out before the other man could scold him for such bizarre actions. Aragorn's brow creased, and he gave the son of Denethor a rather bemused look.

'Done about what? We've hardly started our journey, what could have possibly happened to distress you so?' Boromir knew that he was possibly opening himself up for ridicule from the older man, but as he had said before this was just too important to let such fears dictate his actions this day.

'The Dunlander Aragorn, the Dunlander!' Boromir hissed. 'I don't know how that savage managed to trick the wizard into letting him join but mark my words Ranger, he will be this quest's doom. His people have always been weak and fickle, easily swayed by the false rewards that the enemy can provide.'

Aragorn shook his head and gave what Boromir interpreted as a patronising pat on Boromir's shoulder.

'I have fought against the Dunlanders many times throughout my life, believe me when I say that I share your concerns about the boy.' For a second Boromir's mood lightened considerably and then Aragorn continued. 'But we must trust in Gandalf's wisdom, that too I have seen many times in my lifetime, and I have come to rely on it far more than the Dunlanders' treachery. Trust me Boromir, things will work out in the end, you just have to have faith.'

***
Back in the camp

Men were in Gimli's opinion a very strange race, they weren't as high, mighty and despicable as elves, yet nor were they the down-to-earth reasonable sort you found most common in the dwarf and hobbit races. They were instead something quite in-between, almost as if they couldn't quite decide what they wanted to be. Really the dwarf supposed it depended on which man you spoke to.

The people of Dale for instance were generally a reasonable folk in his experience, reasonable that is unless they believed themselves to have been cheated and poorly used. Gimli had grown up on the Tales of the Battle of Five Armies after all, and he was not likely to forget that little piece of history anytime soon. The Ranger – Aragorn, Gimli believed his name was – seemed an alright fellow generally, but he often spoke in the elvish tongue around those that could not, which even if you forgot whose wretched tongue it belonged to, was a damn rude thing to do. And that man of Gondor, well Gimli didn't like to judge people – unless they were an elf – but that man really was very trying. I mean don't get him wrong, Gimli understood being proud of your heritage – he was a descendent of Durin after all – but Boromir's pride bordered on obsession. And the thing was, being a descendant of Durin meant something, he was the first of the seven Dwarven fathers and he'd reincarnated six times already, but Numenor blood? All that did was let you live a little longer, and even then, only by the standards of men.

But so long as Gimli didn't engage the brash fool in conversation they got along okay. And really the man from Gondor was like most of his race, strange but not that complicated. That was in complete contrast to the chattering youth that sat before Gimli now.

A few minutes ago, the boy had wandered over to the dwarf and asked to use the whetstone Gimli had "borrowed" from the elves. Seeing how he'd finished sharpening his own axe Gimli saw no harm in it, but the boy hadn't taken the thing away then and left Gimli to his own thoughts. No, instead he had sat down and begun a conversation, much to the irritation of the son of Gloin. They'd began with discussing weapons and their own favourites, but then had quickly moved onto oddities and peculiarities in their traveling companions, and the differences between their own cultures and races, until they'd finally landed on the topic they were on now: the odd things their mothers did that were "for their own good".

'So, then she locked the smithy and wouldn't let me in until I'd apologised, of course what she hadn't realised then was that if I couldn't get into it neither could my father. He was locked out of it for a week before anyone realised.'
The two roared with laughter and Calgacus rolled to the ground, overcome by his own mirth.

'Why did'na he just asks yer mither for the key to the smithy, once he realised he was locked out?' The young Dunlander gasped between large gulping guffaws.

'Ach, he was scared that he'd done something to anger her and didn't want to make it worse by asking.' Another bout of giggling struck the two until they were rolling around on the ground in their laughter. This did not go unnoticed by the other members of the Fellowship; it caught the eye of young Peregrin Took who had been shooed away from the cooking area by a very annoyed Frodo.

He'd been inching his way towards the two gradually since then, until he was nearly upon them. He knew he should speak up at this point, but something held him back. He didn't know whether it was fear or some other force that held his tongue that day, but whatever it was a small part of the hobbit was grateful for it. For when Boromir of Gondor burst out of the trees and bore down on the two in righteous anger, Pippin was sort of glad he had not been a part of that conversation.

***
Despite what some folk may or may not say Gandalf the Grey had a tremendous wealth of patience within him. He'd simply had no great call to use it of late, events were moving at too fast a pace for something like patience to really be worth considering. Or at least worth considering in himself, it would have been a tremendous asset if some of his traveling companions would have possessed it, but sadly the Valar had not seen fit to make this so. Thus, Gandalf found himself in the position he was most often acquainted with these days, trapped within the arguments of mortals.

It was surprising how easy it was to set the fellowship ablaze with such bickering. All it had taken was one angry accusation of betrayal from one foolhardy man to another, and it was like the whole world had shuddered to a stop. Boromir yelled at the boy Calgacus, Calgacus yelled right back adding his own accusations just for the fun of it, it would seem. Even then perhaps in would have stayed between the two Second Born, if Gimli son of Gloin had not reached for his axe at that point.

By the time Gandalf had woken from his silent meditation almost the entirety of the fellowship had been drawn into this little spat. Only Samwise Gamgee seemed unaffected, his attention entirely zeroed in on the sausages he was preparing – which to the hobbit's credit, smelled delicious – ignoring the pandemonium around him with the ease of someone who'd had decades of practice at it.

'Silence!'

The voices of the rest of the fellowship petered out and died in their throats. They seemed then to find their feet a far more interesting sight, their eyes remaining locked on the ground as Gandalf passed by each of them.

'One day into our journey, that is how long it took for this to happen people, one day into our journey. I'd suggest we turn back now, but I would be too afraid it would spark off another battle between you all.'

The blue faced youth raised his eyes to meet Gandalf's then in anger.

'This would nae hive happened, if some people were politer, an didn't ging aroon foggi accusations they cwid nae back up if ah set their arses on fire.'1

'Indeed, that may be so my young Dunlander friend, but axes to the face are only justifiable when battling one's enemy.'

'Fit ye think I was deing?'

Boromir raised his voice then, ire growing with each passing word.

'Perhaps you would like to finish what your filthy people started.'

'Oh, fit did we start ye great blithering gype*?'

'I may not know what that word means, but I know it's an insult,' snarled the man of Gondor.

Calgacus pushed past an irate Gandalf to get right into Boromir's face, or as close to Boromir's face as his five ft. two height would allow.

'Did we ask yer people tae invade us? Did we say ach please cum on ower, take oor land mine it aa yee like, aire's plenty o it.'2

'So, in vengeance you sent the Sickness upon us, upon Gondor, upon all the Free People of Middle-Earth.' snarled Boromir.

'The Sickness? The Sickness? Ye think we started aat? It wis yer folk aat gid dellin in the lands o the deid ye, great bliddy fool. Fit did ye think ye'd get fae it, rocks? Metal? Naw, death, death is all aat awaits those aat ging dellin in the Passage o the deid. An it were nae even yer people aat paid the heichest price, it wis mine. Fit mony lay deid? Fit mony joined their army kis Gondor couldn t take "fuck aff" as an answer?' 3

Boromir laughed at that.

'You must have been crowing in your savage little graves then, when your sickness reached our doorstep. No, price you say? No price, our price was the greatest. How many people of our Numenorean blood fell from that sickness? Too many, if you think your people's sacrifice was anything compared to ours than it is you who is the fool. What are numbers of your dead compared to ours? What is a thousand of you savage barbarians that were left standing untouched by the sickness while my Mother lay dying in agony, all because of a plague that your people started.'

'Bit we did nae start it Boromir Gypeborn! An ah'll nae be held responsible fur something ma people did nae even do; especially bi the son o the min fa actually did it.'4

'Why you filthy…'

Just as the pandemonium was about to start again, a singular voice rose above the others, and silenced them all with one simple question.

'Are you talking about the Grand Sickness?'

Seemingly as a collective, the whole fellowship turned to stare at their only member who had not been bickering and squabbling like a child this past hour. Samwise stood over the slightly burnt sausages he'd previously been watching so diligently, a look of barely suppressed grief over his scared features.

'Aye,' growled Calgacus. 'Twas the Gondor's mining aat started it, an while they mye hiv suffered fae it as wee, it wis us aat felt it first.'5

The young warrior's eyes never once left Boromir's face as he answered the hobbit.

'It starts aff simply ye see, barely mair than a stomach ache. But then the shitting begins, then the spewin, an afore ye ken it, ye can't keep onything doon.' 6

Boromir's hands curled into fists at his side, but the boy kept talking.

'Maist folk starved tae death in a matter o weeks, some though lingered on, growen weaker an weaker, a spleet new symptom each day. Was nae like normal sicknesses though, kis ye see loon, those symptoms did nae fade awa, faet aa they stayed on. The spleet new symptoms did nae replace the aul anes, they joined em.' 7

Calgacus' eyes swung down to meet the hobbit's at last.

Boromir's hand curled around the hilt of his sword as he began to un-sheave it.

'A month,' said Samwise Gamgee, grief seeping into his voice.

Boromir's sword was free from its scabbard now, he didn't even hear the hobbit speaking.

'That's how long my sister May lived after she caught it. We had that sickness in the Shire too. So, it started in Dunland, because of mining Gondor was doing?'

'Aye, even aifter the mine it cam fae caved in, it still stelled aroon. It did leave eventually o course, aathing does in the end, bit it shows back up every couple o years. Though nivver as bad as aat first time, or sae ah m telt.' 8

Boromir's sword swung.

Doric Translation

*Gype – the Doric word for stupid or foolish person. Gypeborn has no real meaning, it's just a nasty name Calgacus made up on the spot.

1 - 'This would not have happened, if some people were politer, and didn't go around making accusations they could not back up if I'd set their arses on fire.'

2 - 'Did we ask your people to invade us? Did we say, oh please come on over, take our land, mine it all you like, there's plenty of it.'

3 - 'The Sickness? The Sickness? You think we started that? It was your folk that went digging in the lands of the Dead, you great bloody fool. What did you think ye'd get from it, rocks? Metal? No, death, death is that all that awaits those that go digging in the Passage of the Dead. And it was not even your people that payed the highest death price, it was mine. How many lay dead? How many joined their army because Gondor couldn't take "fuck off" as an answer?'

4 - 'But we did not start it Boromir Gypeborn! And I will not be held responsible for something my people did not even do; especially by the son of the man who actually did it.'

5 - 'Twas the Gondor's mining that started it, and while they may have suffered from it as well, it was us that felt it first.'

6 - 'It starts off simply you see, barely more than a stomach ache. But then the shitting begins, then the vomiting, and before you know it you can't keep anything doown.'

7 - 'Most folk starved to death in a matter of weeks, some though lingered on, growing weaker and weaker, a new symptom each day. Wasn't like normal sicknesses though, because you see boy, those symptoms didn't fade away, they stayed on. The new symptoms didn't replace the old ones, they joined 'em.'

8 - 'Yes, even after the mine it came from caved in, it still stuck around. It did leave eventually of course, everything does in the end, but it shows back up every couple of years. Though never as bad as that first time, or so I'm told.'