Here's the next chapter, I hope the wait wasn't too trying!

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Also note that I've made some minor changes to Chapters 21 and 23 to make a couple of things more consistent with the books and what I'll be writing in later chapters.

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Chapter 24

Boromir knew instantly that Pippin was right; it could be none other than his cousin Merry who had ridden with the Lady Eowyn and fought the Witch-King at her side. His heart clenched in fear; he marveled at the halfling's bravery, but knew only too well what evils could befall Merry on the battlefield, through happenstance as well as intent. If Merry was injured or unconscious and unable to defend himself…

He firmly suppressed a shudder of horror at the thought and turned to a visibly distraught Pippin. "We will find him," Boromir said with a confidence he knew was ill-advised given the circumstances. And as soon as he said the words he also knew that this was a task he would not, could not give to another. "I vow that we will," he continued. "We will leave immediately to search the battlefield."

Pippin blinked back tears and nodded gratefully, too emotional to speak.

Imrahil gazed at him questioningly, "Boromir, do you wish me to stay here and command the defenses after all?"

His nephew shook his head resolutely, "No, Uncle, you should assist Éomer as we discussed. I will have Maethor coordinate the defenses while we are gone." Boromir scanned the battlefield below them and shook his head, "Besides, I feel in my heart that our fortunes will not be decided on walls of the city, but on the plains of the Pelennor. We both must do what we can."

Boromir addressed the waiting Rohirrim once again, gesturing at the soldier who had inquired about Merry, "He is Aeldred, and you are…"

"Gúthren, my lord," the second solider answered.

"Where did Aeldred last see the halfling?"

After a brief conversation with his companion in their own tongue, Gúthren responded, "Directly east of the main gate, very near where Théoden King fell. Aeldred says to look for the body of the foul winged beast that bore the black one."

Boromir nodded, "That will do." He caught the man's eyes, "The halfling is a dear friend and news of his fate means much to me. Tell Aeldred that Boromir of Gondor is in his debt—and yours."

Gúthren started, obviously recognizing the name. "Yes, my lord," he murmured, his eyes wide.

Fortunately, Maethor was stationed not far away, so it took only a short time to arrange for their departure. After bidding farewell to his uncle, Boromir and Pippin mounted the horse that had borne them from the Rath Dinen.

They galloped through the streets to the main gate, merely pausing at the guard posts; they were quickly waved through as soon the Captain-General was recognized. Boromir glanced around as they rode, noting how much the mood had changed the arrival of the Rohirrim. There was no jubilation; the soldiers of Minas Tirith knew better than to count the battle won, but the previous air of desperation barely held in check had definitely lightened.

Pippin had been largely silent during their journey, but now he stirred and spoke. "Boromir, I…I always knew that Merry was brave, or least," he added with a rueful chuckle, "braver than me. But Merry…that Rider said that he attacked the Witch-King! Merry is as close as a brother to me, but I never suspected he could be so brave."

Boromir paused a moment thoughtfully before replying. "Pippin, one never truly knows what a man—or a woman—or hobbit—is capable of until they are tested. If you are asking whether I was surprised to hear of his valor, no, I was not." He gave a dry chuckle, "But then I have not forgotten that both you and Merry charged the uruks on Amon Hen after I fell, or that Morloth might have perished with Faramir at Father's hand had you not been present to assist her."

Pippin reddened, "Oh, that's not the same thing, Boromir!"

His friend snorted in amusement, "Perhaps not, but one lesson I have learned regarding hobbits is that their size does not determine the quality of the character or the depth of their courage."

They reached the main gate, and Boromir was pleased to see that a makeshift barricade had been put in place of the gates destroyed by Grond. He motioned for the guards to pull the barrier aside and cautiously guided his mount onto the field, not wanting to ride into a dangerous situation. However, most of the fighting had moved away from the gate, so he spurred his horse eastward in search of the place were Théoden and the Witch-King fell.

Boromir had seen enough battlefields to take its sights and sounds in stride. In contrast, Pippin's eyes went wide as he took in the chaos around them: the field littered with bodies, the unmistakable stench of blood and death, and the cries and clash of weapons from the battle that still raged not a league distant. "How…how will we ever find him?" the hobbit stammered in dismay.

Griping his friend's shoulder comfortingly, Boromir murmured, "We'll find him, Pippin. The Rider told us where to look, after all." But his own fears grew as he surveyed the area around them. It was obvious that the wounded from Gondor and its allies had been cleared from the field; only the dead remained and would be gathered for burial after the battle. If Merry was alive, why hadn't he been taken into the city? Surely the hobbit could not be mistaken for an orc, especially if he had been garbed as a soldier of Rohan!

The few remaining enemies in their path hurried out of the way as they approached, undoubtedly wary of cavalry after their experience with the Riders of Rohan. Pippin gestured toward one orc in the distance, bent over a group of dead warriors wearing the green of Rohan. "What's that orc doing, Boromir?" he asked, a puzzled frown on his face.

"Scavenger," Boromir growled. "They pick over the remains of the dead looking for anything of worth; friend or foe, it matters not. The filth! They despoil bodies and steal mementos that the fallen men's families would value. If time were less pressing, or if we had one of Faramir's bowmen I'd be happy to end his thieving ways," he added, shaking his head. "But Merry comes first."

Aeldred had chosen his landmark well; the fell beast's carcass was almost impossible to miss, both because of its massive size—only the mûmakíl dwarfed it—and because of its overpoweringly foul stench. Boromir reined his horse to a stop so they could scan the area nearby for any sign of Merry. Movement caught Boromir's attention; it was another scavenger orc, leaning over some bodies a few paces away. Evidently it had not noticed their arrival, so intent it was on its work. This one won't leave the field alive, Boromir thought with grim satisfaction.

But before he could put his thoughts into action Pippin slid from the back of the horse and unsheathed his sword. "Oy!" the hobbit cried. "Get away from him, you brute!"

Boromir just had time to say, "What? Pippin!" before the hobbit reached his quarry.

The startled orc turned in time to dodge Pippin's sword aimed at his back. Once he recovered from his surprise the orc exclaimed, "Whot? Another one?" Then he grinned evilly, showing broken teeth, "I can kill two as easily as one."

Thoroughly baffled by this point, Boromir swung down from the horse and hurried to join his friend. It was only then that he noticed a distinctive large, furry foot protruding from underneath the pile of bodies near where the orc had been standing when they arrived. He cursed in dismay and drew his sword.

The orc advanced on Pippin, swinging its sword confidently. It was not a particularly large orc, but still was a head taller than the hobbit, with long, bandy arms that gave it a significant advantage in reach. If that intimidated Pippin he gave no sign; his face was grim and determined as he aimed a quick swipe at the orc's neck that made it hiss and step back in alarm.

In the next moment the orc's alarm increased as it was jerked backward. It gave a grunt of puzzlement and shock as it stared at the sword now jutting from its chest; Boromir had used the simple expedient of pulling the orc onto his blade from behind.

"My apologies, Pippin," Boromir told him as he kicked the dead orc from his sword, "I have every confidence you could have taken him, but I thought speed was of the essence."

The hobbit didn't reply, and seemingly didn't even hear Boromir, so intent he was on reaching his cousin. He tugged at the body that partially obscured Merry from view, and gave a heartfelt cry of frustration when the body proved too heavy for him to move. The Gondorian hurried to assist him and together they soon uncovered Merry's small form.

"Boromir, do you think…" Pippin began, fear for his cousin clear on his face.

Before Boromir could respond, Merry stirred weakly and whispered, "Pip, is that you?"

Boromir felt a great weight life from his heart—Merry was alive!

Pippin's face was aglow with relief, tears streaming down his face, "Of course it's me, Merry! Boromir is here too—we've come to rescue you!"

Merry open his eyes blearily and attempted to focus on the faces above him. "Boromir? Oh, we were so happy when Strider told us that the orcs hadn't killed you after all!"

"As are we to find you still with us, Merry," Boromir replied, shaking his head in wonder. "You gave us a quite a fright." He was checking Merry for wounds as he spoke; no serious injuries were immediately apparent. "Merry, are you injured?" he asked worriedly. "Does anything hurt?"

Merry clutched his right arm with left, "My…my arm. It doesn't hurt, but it hasn't worked right since I struck…him," he said with a shudder. He met Pippin's anxious eyes, a haunted look on his face. "After I stabbed him, my sword burned up like a stick of wood. And now I'm so c…cold."

Pippin gently touched his cousin's arm and whispered, "Boromir, his arm is ice cold!"

Wordlessly, Boromir found a cloak on a nearby Rider that wasn't too torn or bloody and wrapped it tightly around the shivering hobbit.

Trying to keep the fear out of his voice, Pippin said cheerfully, "Don't worry, Merry, we're going to take good care of you. We'll take you to Morloth at the Houses of Healing. She's the healer that saved Boromir—so you remember Strider telling us how they found her?"

Merry was struggling to stay conscious. "You're not going to bury me?" he asked, his face drawn and anxious.

Boromir and Pippin exchanged an alarmed look over Merry's prone form. "Of course not, Merry!" Pippin said heartily, "You'll be your old self in no time."

Boromir brought their horse closer and addressed his friend, "You mount first, Pippin, and I'll set Merry in front of you." He shook his head in frustration, "My shield arm is still weak; I dare not trust it to hold Merry securely and I need to keep my sword arm free in case we run into trouble. You'll have to hold him and keep yourself mounted no matter what happens."

Pippin gave a determined nod, "I won't let him fall, Boromir."

His friend smiled warmly and replied, "I know you won't, Pippin." In the meantime Merry had slipped back into unconsciousness, so once Pippin was seated securely on the horse Boromir picked up the injured hobbit and gently placed him in front of Pippin. After mounting behind the two hobbits, he spurred their horse on the most direct route toward the main gate of the city, careful to avoid any stray enemies or places that some might be hiding.

They had almost reached the gate when Gandalf galloped up on Shadowfax in a blaze of white light. "There you are," he cried, 'I've been looking for you since Imrahil told me what had occurred." His keen gaze fell on the bundled form held by Pippin, "And you found Merry, thank Eru! Well done, both of you. Boromir, I can take the hobbits from here; Shadowfax is faster and has a smoother gait."

Boromir nodded in ready agreement, "Of course, Gandalf." They quickly transferred Pippin and the still unconscious Merry onto Shadowfax's back.

Before setting off, Gandalf fixed his eyes on Boromir. "Are you returning to the city as well, Boromir?"

"Not quite yet, I think," Boromir told him after a moment. "This is the first chance I've had to tour the battlefield. I'd like to have a clearer notion of how we fare before I return."

Gandalf nodded, "Very well. But be cautious!" he added sharply. "You have been Lord Steward less than a day and it would not do to lose you."

Boromir rolled his eyes, "Understood, Gandalf. No undue heroics."

As the wizard directed Shadowfax toward the gate, Boromir heard him tell Pippin, "Merry deserves to be escorted into the city with great honor and ceremony after what he has done. You both have honored the Shire with your deeds this day."

"Oh Gandalf, we hobbits are too sensible to worry about things of that sort! I just want Merry to get well!"

Gandalf's reply was lost on Boromir as Shadowfax galloped out of earshot. So he turned his attention to the southeast where the battle still raged. He rode as close as he dared to the fighting without actually getting embroiled in it himself, and found a small rise that gave him a better view of the field.

After a few minutes assessing the situation, he nodded in satisfaction, cautiously optimistic that they might yet prevail. The outcome of the battle was not certain by any means for they were still vastly outnumbered, but the enemy had few mounted troops. The mûmakil had been used to devastating effect against the Rohirrim, but with most of the great beasts dead or their handlers slain, the remaining cavalry gave the Gondorians and their allies a significant advantage. Boromir could see Imrahil and his Swan Knights in the midst of the fiercest fighting, with Éomer and his éored not far away. They had not yet been able to join forces, but the arrival of the Prince and his men had prevented the new King of Rohan from being surrounded and overwhelmed.

Boromir had spurred his mount away to find another vantage point when cries from the city caught his ears. The tiny figures of men on the walls were pointing toward the south, where the Anduin first curved west, then south past the spur of Mount Mindolluin. The cries redoubled; he could not hear their words, but as he gazed south he found he did not need to, he could see for himself all too clearly the reason for their alarm.

Ships. A fleet of ships with black sails wafting silently up the Anduin toward the docks of Harlond. Boromir felt hope die in his heart; the arrival of the Corsairs could only mean that Belfalas had fallen, and Lebennin as well. What chance for victory did Gondor now have?

Boromir furiously reviewed his options; should he call for all the remaining forces to retreat into the city? No more allies would come to assist them; Sauron's forces could simply starve them out. He could empty the city of fighters in hopes of beating back this new onslaught, but his mind quailed in horror at the thought of leaving the city and its people so defenseless.

The lead ship turned toward Harlond, and as it did so, a great banner unfurled from its mast, revealed as the wind took it. Boromir's breath caught in his throat as he gazed at the device on it in wonder. It was black, but instead of the Enemy's fiery eye or some vile symbol of Harad, the White Tree flowered there. Displayed above the Tree of Gondor were seven glittering stars and a crown, symbols of the house of Elendil; symbols of the kingship that no man had dared claim in nearly a thousand years.

Boromir lifted his voice in joyous cry and spurred his horse south, heedless of the danger. Only one man could rightfully bear such a standard; a man who now fulfilled the promise he had made to a wounded and despairing companion on Amon Hen. His throat closed with emotion; Gondor would survive this day, for Aragorn had come.