Thanks so much for all the lovely reviews of the last chapter! I know you all are impatient to find out what's going on with Morloth, but there's some fun stuff with Halbarad in this chapter first.

Hope you all enjoy it, more notes at the end!

Chapter 31

Halbarad watched as Boromir approached, trailed by two guardsmen resplendent in White Tower livery. Although it was quite apparent from his frowning visage that the Gondorian was not in the most congenial of moods, he brightened when Halbarad came into view, and managed a wan smile.

"Well met, Halbarad!" he exclaimed, clasping the ranger's arm. He shook his head, "It is good to see you again. I have been looking forward to this all day."

Warmed by his enthusiasm, Halbarad smiled in reply, "As have I, my lord. Where are we going this evening?"

Boromir looked at him askance, "First of all, there is no 'my lord' here, tonight, at least not for you. I am Boromir, and I trust you to remember that! As for where are going, among those who know their ale, most agree that the two finest taverns in the city are the King's Jewel on the fifth level and Swan and Staff on the fourth. I prefer the latter, and not just because of the name!" he chuckled. "Gondor's nobility frequent the King's Jewel, so the chance I will meet someone I have no desire to speak to is much greater there. The Swan and Staff is a soldier's tavern patronized mostly by the city garrison and Citadel guardsmen, and," he smiled and lifted an eyebrow, "I think their brew is better."

Halbarad clapped Boromir on the shoulder, "The Swan and Staff it is then. Lead on!"

He followed Boromir toward the fourth level with the Gondorian pointing out landmarks of note along the way. They soon reached a brightly painted door; the sign hanging over it showing a silver swan with a jeweled staff under its wing. Boromir opened the door, and they were buffeted by warm air and the murmur of voices, seemingly loud after the silence of the street but by no means raucous.

They paused in the doorway for mere moments before proprietor hurried up to meet them. He was clearly an old soldier himself, with a craggy, scared face and a patch covering one eye.

He grinned broadly at Boromir, "My lord, welcome! It has been many months since you have graced us with your presence. How may I serve you this evening?"

Boromir smiled in reply, "Thank you, Torthon, it is good indeed to be back. My friend here is from the North and has a taste for the finest ale in Gondor, as do I."

Torthon beamed in response to the compliment, "You are too kind, my lord. I have a private room available if that is your preference."

While his companion conversed with the tavern keeper, Halbarad glanced around the dim common room. As Boromir had suggested, most of the patrons were clad in one of the uniforms of Gondor or otherwise had the bearing of soldiers. There were even a few tables of Rohirrim scattered about. Halbarad smiled to himself; you could always trust a soldier to find a hospitable place to drink in a new city.

But as he watched the buzz of conversation fell, and eyes turned toward their small party. Halbarad heard the words 'Captain' and 'Captain-General' repeated as the news of Boromir's presence circled the room like lightning. A chair scraped, and a uniformed soldier at nearby table stood facing Boromir and inclined his head respectfully, to be followed by his companions. Soon, every man in the room was on his feet; even, the Ranger noted with some surprise, the Rohirrim.

Boromir caught Halbarad's eye and shrugged eloquently, a rueful smile briefly crossing his lips. He stepped further into room and raised his hands as he addressed the crowd. "You honor me, gentlemen, and I thank you for it. But I know all too well that it was the blood, honor, and courage of you and those who fought alongside you that bought us this victory. I also know," he continued, his voice lightening, "that your drinking time is far too precious to be wasted on speechifying, so be at ease my friends, and enjoy the fruits of your labors."

Someone called, "Here, my lord!" and a brimming mug was pressed into his hand. He stared at it for a moment as if astonished that such a thing had occurred, while the crowd roared in laughter.

Boromir raised the mug with a grin and cried, "I salute you all! To victory!" He downed the ale in one long pull, while the men around him whooped and pounded the tables in appreciation. When he set the empty mug on a nearby table with a resounding thump, the cheers redoubled, and he bowed slightly to the assembled throng.

He smiled a little sheepishly at Halbarad as the tavern keeper led them through the crowd to cries of "Lord Boromir!" and "Huzzah for the Captain-General!" It was only when they passed out of the common room to a corridor of small parlors that it was finally quiet enough to converse in normal tones. Torthon opened the door to a cozy room with a table and few cushioned chairs, warmed by a small fireplace.

"Will this suit you, my lord?" Torthon asked politely.

"Yes, very well, thank you," Boromir told him as he and Halbarad took their seats by the fire. After a brief discussion of the brews available they placed their order, but before the proprietor could leave Boromir touched his arm and added, "A round for the house as well, Torthon."

"Aye, my lord!" Torthon grinned, obviously pleased at this turn of events; the old soldier in him showing through once again.

Boromir glanced at the ranger and shook his head, "My apologies, Halbarad. I am accustomed to moving about the city with little fuss or formality, and I forget how conspicuous I am with those two in my wake," he said, nodding at the two guards taking their places at the door.

Halbarad waved away his apology. "No matter! I am sure it is heartening to the men to see you here among them." He arched an eyebrow, "Though I note they know you still as their Captain-General rather than the Lord Steward."

The Gondorian snorted, "The proclamation announcing my father's resignation was read today, but I wager most here either don't know or don't care that I am now Lord Steward." He chuckled wryly, "That's as it should be as far as I'm concerned; the Captain-General has much more direct impact on their lives than the Steward. The merchants and nobles are another matter.

"Which reminds me, Halbarad," he went on, "I was stopped by one of my father's supporters on the Steward's Council when making my way here." Boromir grimaced, "He was asking some not-so-subtle questions about Aragorn and his claim to the throne. I was able to put him off for now, but I would appreciate it if you could tell Aragorn that it might be best not to draw too much attention to himself—at least not before we leave for Mordor."

Halbarad chuckled, "More scruffy ranger and less Heir of Isildur? I'm certain he'll be happy to oblige."

At that moment the tavern keep bustled in, followed by one of the serving maids. They deposited a pitcher of ale, two mugs and a platter heaped with bread, cheese and meat on the table between the two men.

"There you are, Captain, our best bitter—the reserve stock," Torthon added with a smile. "Is there aught else I can get for at the moment, my lord?"

"No, that will be all for now. Thank you," Boromir replied.

The two left, closing the door softly behind them as Halbarad poured ale for himself and Boromir. The ranger took a sip from his mug and raised an eyebrow appreciatively. "This is quite good!" he exclaimed.

"A little less surprise would be more flattering," Boromir chuckled, taking a drink of his own. "How does it compare to the brews of the 'Prancing Pony' that I've heard so much about?"

"Very well," Halbarad responded with a smile. "Of course, when I was last there before we started south their ale was particularly excellent, but otherwise, it is comparable." He caught Boromir's eyes over his mug, "I think you will have to come to Bree to judge for yourself, someday."

"As unlikely as it seems now that I may ever get the chance, I would like to very much. As you may know, my previous excursion to the North did not permit sight-seeing, so I would welcome a chance to return in times of peace. If we are ever blessed with any such times again," he added softly. "I think…I would like to see The Shire after hearing so much about it from Merry and Pippin."

"I'm certain your friends would be delighted to show it to you. It's a lovely place," Halbarad told him with a fond smile.

"You've been there?"

"Oh, yes, many times," the ranger said with a nod. "We Rangers have guarded its borders for years at Gandalf's behest." He gave an amused snort, "At least now we finally know why he felt it should be watched."

A puzzled frown briefly crossed Boromir's face, quickly replaced by a nod of comprehension, "Ah, Frodo and his uncle."

"Indeed," Halbarad responded wryly.

Boromir refilled their mugs, asking, "So where do you call home, my friend?"

Halbarad took another drink before replying, "The Northern Dúnedain have small settlements scattered across Eriador, though most of our people live in The Angle south of Rivendell. You likely would have passed through there on your journey north. My home is in one of those settlements, though the name of the town would mean nothing to you. My family is there, doubtless worrying and waiting for news from our Company."

A look that seemed closely akin to pain crossed Boromir's face briefly, then was gone, "A wife, and children?"

Halbarad smiled in happy recollection, "Aye, my wife, Celebeth, two daughters and a son. My son Halfalas is the youngest, just sixteen summers, and bitterly disappointed to be left behind when we rode south."

Boromir snorted sympathetically, "Well I remember that; the ache to prove oneself."

"I as well," Halbarad nodded. "But I could not in good conscience do that to his mother; it was bad enough that Tondir—my eldest daughter's husband—did make the journey. He is well so far, surviving the battle with only minor injuries."

They fell silent, their minds turning inescapably to the thought that none might survive what was to come. The ranger pulled out a pipe from his tunic pocket and arched an eyebrow at Boromir, "Do you mind?"

The Gondorian waved assent, "Please! Despite never developing a taste for it myself, I became all too accustomed to the smell of pipeweed when I was traveling with the Fellowship. Legolas and I were the only ones in the company who did not indulge." A wry smile twisted his lips, "It is probably the only thing the elf and I have in common."

Halbarad grinned, "'Tis true that elves are not fond of pipeweed."

"Come to think of it," Boromir said with a puzzled frown, "it is strange that Aragorn has acquired the habit, raised as he was by elves."

Halbarad chuckled, "I'm afraid the corrupting influence of his kinsmen must be blamed in his case." His attention was diverted briefly from his companion while he concentrated on filling his pipe and lighting it, and when he glanced up again he found Boromir gazing into the fire, seemingly lost in thought.

The ranger narrowed his eyes; as the new Lord Steward in the midst of a life-or-death struggle with the Dark Lord, there was certainly much to occupy his mind. But still, there was...something; something in his visage, perhaps—an air of melancholy that suggested heartache of a different sort.

"So, my friend," Halbarad murmured softly, "what is her name?"

Boromir sighed, still staring into the fire, "Mor…" he began, then he straightened and turned, his eyes wide in surprise, "—loth. How did… Did someone…?" he sputtered.

"Hmph, there's a certain look a man gets when his heart is burdened in that way, which is unlike any other," Halbarad answered with a gentle smile. "Eru knows I saw it often enough on Aragorn's face in the years he was pining for his lady." After a moment, he added, "Morloth, did you say? I seem to recall Aragorn mentioning that name when we met on the battlefield."

"Aye," Boromir replied, flushing and averting his eyes, "she is the healer that Aragorn met after I was wounded at Parth Galen. She cared for me while he and the others followed the orcs that captured Merry and Pippin. She…she saved my life, but that is not why I love her!" he added defensively.

Halbarad pursed his lips on a smile, "I wouldn't dream of suggesting such a thing." Sensing that Boromir truly wished—nay, needed—to unburden his heart, he waited quietly for his companion to continue.

Presently, the Gondorian sighed, "You should see her, Halbarad…hair like a river of night and eyes of gray crystal." He shook his head, "Beautiful, quick-witted and fearless; everything I wanted before I knew I wanted it."

"Does she know how you feel?" Halbarad asked softly.

He nodded tersely. "Aye. My father learned of it as well, and he was furious. He's been after me to choose a bride for twenty years, but when I finally found someone I could love…" His face closed, the memory too bitter. "He refused to even consider that we might marry."

Halbarad blinked in confusion, "But surely that is no impediment now that he is no longer the Steward!"

"No," Boromir replied, drawing a ragged breath, his face etched in pain. "I was certain she loved me as well, but today when I told her of my hopes we might wed, she…she refused me." He chuckled, but there was no merriment in it, "Ran out of the room crying, in fact." He took a long drink from his tankard, unwilling to meet Halbarad's eyes.

"Crying, eh?" Halbarad responded neutrally. "Well, it could be worse."

Boromir whipped around, glaring at the ranger, "Could be worse?" he repeated in an outraged tone. "What could be worse than the lady I love fleeing from me in tears?"

Halbarad's mouth twisted, "The first time I asked my Celebeth to marry me, she laughed."

Boromir stared at him in astonishment for a moment, then shuddered, "Aye, that would be worse."

"The second time she threw washing water on me," he laughed, "in the dead of winter! Now keep in mind she had good reason to doubt my sincerity—Eru knows I was an exceptionally blockheaded lad—but the third time I asked, she said yes." He met Boromir's eyes, his face sympathetic, "If this Morloth is the one you truly want, don't give up."

"I don't plan to," Boromir sighed. "But she's been damned clever about avoiding me, and avoiding those like my brother that she suspects would plead my case. I know she can't evade me forever, but I'm departing for Mordor in little more than a day, and I cannot—will not—leave with matters as they are between us."

"Hmm," Halbarad pulled thoughtfully on his pipe. "A healer, you say? She may be able to avoid your known partisans, but she does not know my face, so perhaps I can be of assistance.

-ooo-

Duilin woke Boromir before dawn the next morning, much to the new Steward's chagrin. He and Halbarad had spoken well into the night, and emptied a third pitcher of ale between the two of them.

"My lord, I am sorry to disturb you," Duilin told Boromir, offering him a mug of tea, blessedly strong and hot. "Prince Imrahil wishes to speak to you, and he says the matter is urgent.

"Right," Boromir answered, bowing to the inevitable and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He took a long gulp of the tea, and waited for his eyes to focus properly. Once his head felt a little clearer, he let Duilin help him into a dressing gown and slippers.

He let himself into the outer chamber and addressed the waiting Prince, "What can I do for you, Uncle?"

"Ah, Boromir, sorry to wake you so early. I would not have done so without need."

Boromir waved off his apology with a smile, "I know that."

Imrahil sighed, "I am afraid that something is afoot with the Steward's Council. Some members are insisting that the Council should meet now that the siege is over. You should expect a formal request sometime this morning." He shook his head, "While I'm not certain exactly what they hope to achieve, I thought it best that you be prepared."

His nephew swore, "I should have guessed this would happen, Lord Raendil stopped me last night with the same suggestion. Who is it, Father's partisans? I'm certain they are not pleased about his resignation."

His uncle nodded, "Yes, in the main, though there are others. Now as you know you are not required to consult them in wartime, so they cannot force this upon you. However, we are both leaving in a day, so you must decide whether it would be best to deal with this problem now, yourself, or leave it for Faramir to face."

Boromir's mind raced; reviewing the composition of the Council and which members were likely to support him—and by extension, Faramir. His strongest support was among Lords who, like Prince Imrahil, had provided troops to aid in the defense of the city, most of whom would accompany them to Mordor. In contrast, there were few military men among Lord Denethor's most loyal adherents, and consequently they would remain in the city to potentially cause headaches for his brother.

"Damn it, I won't leave this mess for Faramir to clean up! I have little doubt that Father is stirring things up behind the scenes, but there must be no question that the rule of Gondor has passed to me, and that Faramir as my heir will command in my absence." He blew out a long breath, "We will call a meeting of the Council for today. I mean to settle this, now."

The look of relief on his uncle's face told Boromir clearly that Imrahil felt his decision was the correct one. He nodded, "I think that is wise. If I may also suggest…as you know, it is traditional for the Captain-General to have a seat on, and a vote in the Steward's Council. However, at the moment you hold that position as well as being Lord Steward since no other Captain-General has been named. While not a problem in itself, it means that if there in any issue that comes to a vote…"

Boromir pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance, trying to keep at bay the headache that had threatened since he had arisen. "…I can only cast one vote where I could potentially have two! What a fool I am, I had completely forgotten that would be the case!"

"Well, you did have a few other pressing matters on your mind," Imrahil chuckled.

His nephew scrubbed a hand across his face. "Uncle, please call a Council meeting for three hours past noon. That should give me enough time."

Imrahil's eyebrows climbed toward his hairline, "Of course, Boromir. But time for what?"

Boromir smiled tightly, "I have a few…arrangements to make."

AN: Just wanted to mention that I had originally planned to show the Council meeting before Boromir's conversation with Morloth, but I kept envisioning villagers with pitchforks if I put it off any more. But I have a little challenge in mind for my loyal readers, called "Guess Why Morloth Said 'No'!" Let's see how many of you can guess, either in a review or a PM, why Morloth wouldn't marry Boromir. I will say that there is sufficient information in the story to figure it out, but that's the only hint I'm giving. Thanks so much for reading!