Wow, lots of great reviews for the last chapter—I guess you were all happy to see Faramir again! Thanks so much, especially to the new reviewers and those I couldn't answer by PM.

Sorry about being a little late in posting this, you'd think there would be MORE time for this stuff over the holidays, but it never seems to work that way.

This chapter is a bit long, but I think you'll understand why I ended it where I did. :-)

Chapter 13

Morloth had just finished bandaging a leg wound when a familiar voice hailed her. "My lady, do you have time to treat another injured soldier?" She turned to see a grinning Boromir, who was using one arm to support his limping brother, with Pippin trailing behind.

"For the gallant Captain Faramir, of course," she said, giving him an answering smile.

A quick assessment of Faramir's condition told her that the leg injury was unlikely to be serious; there was no obvious wound and he was able to put some weight on it, which would not have been the case if it were broken. He did, however, have an ugly wound on his forehead that had bled profusely and needed to be stitched.

She directed them to an examination table where Faramir could sit comfortably. When Boromir neared her, he said quietly, "We had Pippin look in the other rooms for you but did not go in ourselves; we did not want to seem like we were favoring you over the other healers."

Faramir rolled his eyes and said dryly, "We wouldn't want to do that, now would we?"

"Quiet, you," Boromir growled.

Morloth stifled a laugh and said, "Make yourself comfortable, Captain, I'll be right with you." She found an aide and directed him to help Faramir take off his breeches, then went to collect the supplies she'd need. However, since the storeroom was behind where Faramir was seated, he and Boromir did not see her return.

Faramir's breeches had been removed and he was covered with a cloth drape to preserve his modesty, though it was evidently not enough to maintain his dignity. "Boromir, I've never had a lady healer before," Faramir whispered, "I have every confidence in Morloth's skills but it's just damned awkward!"

Pippin snickered and Boromir said dismissively, "Don't be a baby, Faramir, she was my only healer for more than a week."

Faramir snorted, "You were almost dead, Boromir, so of course it didn't bother you! Though knowing you, you probably wouldn't have had the decency to be embarrassed in any case," he added glumly.

Morloth cleared her throat and all three turned, looking variously guilty and self-conscious, Faramir the most of all.

"Captain, it's not unusual for men to be uncomfortable with me as a healer, especially the first time." She quirked a smile, "I will try to make it as easy for you as possible."

Faramir reddened and stammered out an apology, "Morloth, you know that it is no reflection on your abilities…"

She held up a hand to stop him. "I do understand, Captain, and no offense was taken. I will find another healer to tend you if you wish. However," Morloth said, meeting his eyes, "I would appreciate it very much if you could set an example for your men. I would not want any to think they should refuse treatment from me, especially in an emergency."

Boromir uttered a triumphant "Ha!" and clapped his brother on the shoulder.

Faramir shook his head in chagrin, "You shame me, Morloth; of course I will happy for you to treat my injuries."

"I…I did not mean to do so," Morloth replied, reddening.

He smiled ruefully, "I know, and that makes it worse." Faramir sighed, "Let's get this done."

Morloth pulled up the drape far enough to find an ugly purple bruise the size of a spread hand on his thigh just above the knee.

As she began her examination, Pippin sidled closer to see, remarking, "Oh, that looks like it hurt."

Faramir snorted, "It did, and does. You should have seen the great ugly brute of an orc that got me with his spear butt."

"Still, better than the pointy end," Boromir remarked dryly.

"No doubt about that," Faramir agreed, "and the orc saw the pointy end of my sword right after, I'm happy to say."

"Well," Morloth began, "fortunately it's just a bruise, though a nasty one. Painful, but not dangerous."

"See?" Faramir exclaimed, "As I told you, Boromir. And I'm sure there's nothing you can do for it."

"Well, that's not quite true," Morloth responded, "I can wrap it with an herb dressing that will reduce the swelling and aid in healing. But you should try to rest that leg for the next day or two—if you can," she added doubtfully.

She quickly wrapped his leg and then turned her attention to the cut on his forehead, carefully cleaning it and dabbing it with a salve to reduce the pain when she stitched it. Boromir and Pippin lingered to chat with Faramir while she worked, but as soon as she produced a needle in preparation for closing the wound, they decided a tour of the ward was in order.

She glanced at the tall Man and tiny Hobbit and smiled, they were laughing with some soldiers, Pippin perched comfortably on one man's bed. "Those two," she said fondly, "when they're together you'd think they were both young boys with not a care in the world."

"Pippin lightens his heart," Faramir said simply, meeting her eyes, "and so do you."

Morloth blushed and nodded her thanks. She had finished stitching his cut so she began gathering her supplies. When she looked up at Faramir he was eying her speculatively.

"So Morloth," he began, "how are you?"

"Me?" she squeaked in surprise, "I…I'm well." Suddenly convinced that Faramir had somehow discerned what she and Boromir had been doing the night before she fumbled and dropped the jar of salve. "I'm fine. Very fine," she amended, not wanting Faramir to think she was unhappy with the current state of affairs.

"Ah," Faramir remarked, his eyes twinkling, "you know, when I asked Boromir that question he gave me the same answer, in almost exactly the same way. Very interesting."

Morloth felt herself redden again but before she could respond, Faramir leaned close and said, "Please know that I'm very happy for both of you."

"Thank you," she said quietly, her heart full.

At that moment, Mithrandir swept into the room and strode over to join them. When he spotted Pippin he said in an exasperated tone, "Pippin, you should not be here, fool of a Took! You are on duty very soon—get yourself gone!"

"Ai!" Pippin cried, "You're right, Gandalf, I'll have to run if I'm going to change into my uniform and make it to my station on time. Goodbye, Boromir, Faramir. Goodbye, Morloth," he said with a courteous—but rapid—bow in her direction. With that, he set out at a trot toward his quarters with Gandalf.

"So Faramir," Gandalf said after rolling his eyes at Pippin's retreating back, "since it appears that your hurts have been well tended, perhaps you could spare some time to speak to me about a certain chance meeting of yours some days ago. To say that I was concerned by what Boromir told me would be an understatement."

"Of course, Mithrandir," Faramir replied, and hopped down from the table with Morloth's assistance. She then absented herself so they could help him back into his breeches. When she returned she found Faramir and Mithrandir gone and Boromir sitting morosely on the table that Faramir had vacated.

"You didn't go with them?" she asked in surprise.

Boromir gave her a wan smile, "I wouldn't leave without saying goodbye to you. Besides, there was no point—I could add nothing to the conversation."

His earlier buoyant mood, his happiness at Faramir's return, his pleasure in her company—all had been washed away in the last few minutes. Whatever had been burdening his heart had returned.

"Boromir, what is it?" she asked gently, "Did something happen?'

"No," he said brusquely, "nothing of that sort. Just a reminder of something I'd rather not remember. A reminder of my failings," he added bitterly.

Morloth met his eyes, "I have known from the start that something was weighing on you; Aragorn even mentioned the possibility—that you might be troubled by something you had done." From his startled look it was clear that her revelation about Aragorn was unexpected. She laid a hand lightly on his arm for a moment, all she felt she could chance in public. "You…you could tell me about it if you wish," she said hesitantly, "it might help and you know I will not judge you harshly."

"You should," Boromir said shortly. When he met her eyes, his face was haunted, "Sometimes I think I will burst if I'd don't speak about it—this secret. Other times I wish no one knew so I could pretend it had never happened. I…I think I would like to tell you of it, Morloth. The others, Gandalf, Pippin, even Faramir are…too close. It hurts too much to speak of it with them.

"Can you leave?" he asked abruptly, "For a while, at least?"

"I believe so," she replied, "I have been here since daybreak. But I will need to tell the Warden I am leaving."

"Good, my lady," he clasped her hand briefly and smiled, a little more warmly this time. "Meet me outside."

-ooo-

As soon as they were alone in his room together, Boromir said, "Please sit, Morloth, it is a long tale and I need you near me, if you've no objection."

"Of course not, Boromir!" Morloth assured him. She sat on the couch they had used the night before and he sat next to her, taking her hand in his.

"First," he said without preamble, "you must know that this is not just my secret; there are reasons that Gandalf and Faramir could not speak of this in public other than a wish to conceal my dishonor. You will understand why soon enough." Boromir took a deep breath and continued, "When I said it was a long tale, I was not exaggerating. The beginning of it goes back to the end of the last age, when Sauron was defeated by the Last Alliance."

"It does?" Morloth asked in astonishment. She had some guesses concerning the nature of Boromir's secret, but she had expected nothing of this sort.

He went on, "Our legends tell us that Sauron was defeated when Isildur cut the enemy's great Ring of Power from his hand. I'm sure you've heard the tale."

"Of course," Morloth murmured. "Though I've also heard it said by some scholars that the Ring of Power never truly existed; that its presence in the tale merely served a representation of Sauron's power."

Boromir snorted derisively, "Those 'scholars' have never spoken to Lord Elrond of Rivendell then, he was there when it happened. No, the Ring existed. Exists," he corrected absently.

Morloth's eyes widened at this, but she did not interrupt.

"Not told in our legends is what happened afterward; that Isildur, instead of destroying the Ring, took it for his own. Gandalf believes that the Ring also played a role in Isildur's death, which I can readily believe," he added cryptically. "In any case after Isildur perished the Ring was lost for hundreds of years. You need not know all the details, but by a series of mischances it eventually came into the possession of a hobbit named Bilbo Baggins, the uncle of one of the company, Frodo Baggins."

She gave an involuntary gasp; when Boromir looked at her questioningly, she explained, "I…suspected that whatever was burdening you had something to do with Frodo. You were reluctant to speak of him and at times when you were fevered you would call his name, begging him to forgive you."

"You will see why," Boromir remarked grimly. "After many years Bilbo passed the Ring on to Frodo, not understanding what it was or its importance. However, Gandalf suspected that it was more than it seemed, and finally deduced that it could be none other than the One Ring, Sauron's mighty Ring of Power. But Gandalf also learned that Sauron was searching for his Ring, and had sent his Ringwraiths to seek it. Gandalf advised Frodo to flee his home and travel to Rivendell, which he did with the other three hobbits. They barely reached Rivendell alive; the Nine hunted them relentlessly and Frodo was wounded near to death by the Witch-King himself."

"Pippin too?" Morloth asked, scarcely able to believe what Boromir was telling her. At Boromir's nod, she shook her head, "Hunted by Ringwraiths and captured by orcs! He shows no sign of having endured such terrors."

"All the hobbits are like that—much tougher than their size and demeanor would lead you to believe."

"What happened next, Boromir?" Morloth asked anxiously.

Boromir sighed and was silent for a moment, "Here, I come into the story; I arrived in Rivendell shortly after the hobbits. I went in part because of a dream that came to me once and to Faramir several times; the dream spoke of doom and mentioned Imladris—another name for Rivendell—the sword that was broken, and most importantly…Isildur's Bane—the Ring."

The tale now came ever more slowly and reluctantly from Boromir, it was clear they were nearing the heart of what troubled him. "There was another reason as well; my father had somehow learned or guessed that the Ring was 'Isildur's Bane', and he insisted that I should go and bring the Ring…here," he said woodenly.

Morloth stared at him in horror, "Why would he ask such a thing? Why would he want such a thing? Surely this Ring is evil—how could it not be, given its maker?"

Boromir shook his head in surprise, "Your instincts do you credit, Morloth. Simply put, he wanted it because the Ring is powerful, and he felt that it would be a potent tool for Gondor—for him—either because we could keep it from Sauron or use it in Gondor's defense. My father was certain that a member of the noble House of Húrin would never succumb to the Ring's evil," he added bitterly. "I did not want to go, and Faramir volunteered to go in my stead—would that he had done so—but my father insisted that it must be me.

"In Rivendell, they convened a great council to decide what should be done with the Ring, which I attended. I argued as my father wished me to—that the Ring should come to Gondor so it could help in our struggle against the Enemy. But Gandalf and others were of different mind; adamant that it could not be hidden or used without corrupting whoever possessed it. They maintained that the only choice was to destroy it to keep it out of Sauron's grasp, and the only place it could be destroyed was where it was made, in Mount Doom."

Morloth gasped in dismay, "In Mordor? It can only be destroyed in Mordor?"

He nodded. "At the time I thought it was pure folly to attempt it, and it still seems like a desperate chance. But their view prevailed, and that was the task we were set, to help Frodo carry this thing all the long leagues to Mordor and cast it in the fires of Mount Doom. Despite my misgivings, I pledged myself to that cause.

"We set out, and at first the journey went well. I came to know and respect all my companions, though Merry and Pippin seemed to especially enjoy my company and sought me out for weapons practice and whatever other nonsense they would get up to. And Aragorn," Boromir shook his head ruefully, "I was not at all courteous to him when I learned he had a claim to the throne of Gondor, but he was never anything but friendly and respectful to me. Eventually I recognized his true worth.

"As I mentioned, I was unsure about the wisdom of our task from the first, but as we neared Minas Tirith—and Mordor—my doubts began to grow as did my worries about Gondor's fate. Images would flash through my mind; sometimes in dreams, sometimes in waking hours, of Minas Tirith in flames and its people enslaved. Or I would find myself pondering all the good I could do if I had the power of the Ring at my command. Some of that was natural, no doubt; after all, I reason for concern. At the time I did not suspect anything was amiss until it was too late, but now looking back I can see that at least some of those thoughts were placed there by the Ring itself—it was speaking to me."

Her eyes widened, "It spoke to you?" she asked in disbelief. "How can that be?"

"Gandalf explained that a portion of Sauron's will resides in it, and in some ways it behaves like a living thing. It can touch the minds and hearts of those around it…influence them so their actions serve its will—and its master's will.

"I am not trying to absolve myself of responsibility for what I did, Morloth! They were still my actions and my decisions, and I must bear the shame of that. But I can see now that although I was convinced at the time I was acting to serve Gondor and please my father, the Ring pushed me toward that path that would best serve its own ends."

Boromir stopped speaking and his shoulders heaved. Morloth silently took his hands in hers and squeezed them comfortingly.

"We had stopped near Amon Hen, and were planning to cross the river to the eastern bank in the morning. I had been growing more determined by the day that the Ring should go to Gondor and not Mordor, and now the decision point had come, whether to cross the Anduin for Mordor, or head south to Minas Tirith. I resolved to speak to Frodo to convince him of the wisdom of the southern route; since I knew what he chose would influence the others."

Boromir got up and began pacing restlessly, his face grim. He took a deep breath and scrubbed a hand over his face before continuing. "I was gathering firewood for the camp when I came upon Frodo alone seeking solitude in the woods…" He stopped abruptly, "No! I will not lie to myself or to you, Morloth. I saw him leave the camp alone and I followed, the firewood was a convenient excuse.

"I could see his heart was heavy—no wonder with the weight he bore—so I approached him and tried to persuade him to lighten his burden by taking the Ring to Gondor rather than Mordor. Or if he preferred, he could simply give me the Ring," Boromir added sardonically. "His reply was courteous but adamant; Mordor it must be."

Boromir's agitation growing, he sat down next to Morloth and took her hands in his. "I will spare you the rest of my arguments, they are unimportant. When I look back at that time it is like picturing something in my imagination; I feel no connection to it myself other than the knowledge that I indeed did those things." He was breathing heavily now, with tears standing in his eyes. Morloth, her own heart aching, reached up to gently touch his face. Boromir finally spoke again, stiffly, "When he refused to give me the Ring or bring it to Gondor, I became enraged and I…I tried to take it from him by force."

"Oh, Boromir," Morloth whispered, barely able to keep the tears back herself.

"Morloth, I am twice his size and had vowed to aid him; I burn with shame when I recall it! Fortunately for us all one of the Ring's powers is to render invisible anyone who wears it, so Frodo was able to elude me and get away. I shudder to think what would have happened had he not, if I had brought this evil thing here, to Gondor. I chased him and in my fury slipped; when I got up it was if a fog had been lifted from my mind and full import of what I had done came crashing down on me. That was one of the things that finally convinced me that the Ring had touched my mind, the rage left me so suddenly it felt like no natural thing.

"Shortly afterward the Uruk-hai attacked, and I was fully occupied with protecting Merry and Pippin from them—for all the good it did. Aragorn told me later than Frodo and Sam were able to slip away in the confusion and crossed the river to continue their journey to Mordor. It awes me to think how much courage it must have taken for two small hobbits to face such a task alone and unaided."

Boromir put his head in his hands before speaking again, "Morloth, what should I do? How can I atone for this thing I have done?"

"Boromir, it seems that your friends feel that you have already atoned," Morloth said, laying a hand briefly on his still-bandaged chest, "Aragorn made a special point of telling me that he did not think less of you because of it. That is certainly true of Pippin as well. As for your defense of the hobbits being pointless because they were captured anyway…" She made an indignant noise in her throat, "Well, that's nonsense, and you know it. You thought they were going to be killed; that they were not does not make your actions any less valiant." Morloth took his hand in hers, "Are you worried that Frodo will not forgive you?"

Boromir sighed and met her eyes, "No, Faramir told me that Frodo was pleased I had survived and understood that the Ring had affected me. He is much more forgiving than I had any right to expect."

"Well then, the problem seems to be determining when you believe you have sufficiently atoned for it. Only you can decide that, though I suspect that time is in part the answer. As for the rest, I have found that when a great grief or other life-altering event comes upon someone, the choices are surprisingly simple; you can give up, or go on.

"I loved my father dearly," Morloth paused, her voice breaking for a moment, "and it took some time for me to forgive him for succumbing to his grief when my mother died. If he had not, he might well have lived to see Cirlan grow to manhood. But when Bregor died, I finally understood; that at such times despair can be very…tempting. In the end, Cirlan and my work were enough reason for me to go on despite my grief. However, you, Boromir, seem to have already made your choice."

"What do you mean, Morloth?" Boromir asked, bewildered.

"You like to say that I saved your life, and although I appreciate your trust in me, it is not simply modesty that motivates me to disagree. Boromir, all my training and experience tells me that you should have died. I have never seen or heard tell of anyone surviving such terrible wounds to the chest."

Looking a little pale, Boromir murmured, "Perhaps Aragorn…"

Morloth shrugged, "Having a skilled healer on hand to treat you immediately undoubtedly helped, and my care afterward most likely did also, but in my judgment it should not—would not—have been enough to save you. Whether it was Eru's blessing or your own stubbornness, something enabled you to survive when no other man likely would have. And now, Boromir," she said with a note of challenge in her voice, "it is up to you to decide how to use this gift you have been given." She gave him a wry smile, "Since you have forfeited the option of giving up."

Boromir laughed shakily, "Morloth, when I said I like that you challenge me, I didn't expect it to be this challenging!" He sobered, and shook his head, "You're right, Morloth, giving up…no, I could not do that. But how do I go on…what do I do, when I feel so tainted by what I have done?"

"I think you can answer that yourself, Boromir. Why did you come back? What do you still have to do here that was worth fighting your way back from death?" Morloth asked her eyes intent on his face.

His answer was immediate, "Gondor needs me. Our people, my father, Faramir—they all need me. How could I abandon them at a time like this?"

Morloth nodded, "Then you have your answer. The taint you feel from that one dishonorable act should ease in time, as any grief does. In the meantime, do what you can, and the best you can."

Boromir snorted, "It's that simple?"

"It's simple because it's the only answer. What other could there be?"

He laughed and leaned back on the couch, pulling her back against him, "If Eru's blessing kept me alive, he must have also sent you to ease my heart, Morloth."

Morloth raised an eyebrow and smiled at Boromir, "Your brother says that both Pippin and I lighten your heart."

"So you do," Boromir agreed. He bent close, close enough that his beard tickled her face, "Though for very different reasons, dear lady."

They sat together for some little while, simply enjoying each other's company. Then with no warning they heard the chamber door open. Startled, Boromir and Morloth looked up in time to see Lord Denethor enter the room, flanked by two guards in Tower livery. Behind them were Duinor and Beregond, their faces set and white with dismay.

Denethor glared at the couple and said contemptuously, "So now I see why my Captain-General has not seen fit to apprise me of the state of our defenses. Evidently he has better things to do."