There was silence. A shocked, disbelieving silence. Then an arrow pierced its way into Gandalf's hat, and the moment was broken. "Run!" the wizard cried, and he gently but forcefully pushed the Fellowship towards a tunnel.

Startled, Boromir turned to run, but his legs would only move sluggishly, as if bound by thick chains.

"Out!" Gandalf shouted again. "While there is yet sunlight outside! Go!"

Boromir blinked, shaking off his stupor. He had to do his duty. He must protect the halflings.

Frodo was still stunned, staring at the abyss into which Harald had fallen. Boromir grasped his shoulder and halfling gave a choked gasp, turning to face him. Wordlessly, he shook his head, and Frodo nodded, taking a deep breath to compose himself. They could not linger in this dark place. Gandalf led them into the tunnel, and the Fellowship ran. Boromir brought up the rear, a position usually occupied by Harald, and viciously cut down a goblin who'd thought it could catch an easy prey.

Behind them, the accursed drums had resumed, inciting shrill screeches with every beat.

Doom doom.

Before them, a great arch of blazing light stood. Relief swept through Boromir, and they sped up, buoyed by the sight. There was a triumphant cackle as they neared, abruptly cut short as Gandalf slammed his staff down on the floor. The guard of orcs awaiting by the gates were blown back by an invisible force, and the Fellowship staggered out of Moria.

Sweet, blessed sunlight. Boromir took a few shaky, ragged breaths, and looked back. Orcs were standing in the shadows of the East Gate, jeering and mocking. An arrow flew towards them, but the Fellowship stood too far away and it clattered onto the stone ground. Rage filled his veins at the thought of the orcs desecrating Harald's body and his hand moved towards his sword.

There was a cry of fury behind him, and he turned to see Gimli raving in a garbled mixture of Westron and Dwarvish, stalking back towards the fell mines. Boromir caught him before he could take more than two steps, and held on as the other struggled, cursing madly. "Calm down," he hissed, grunting with the effort of restraining the dwarf. "You'll only get yourself killed."

"Let them try!" Gimli snarled, trying to shake him off.

"Enough!"

Gandalf stood up, face stern and expression terrible. Gimli stopped, surprised, and Boromir released him.

"We must leave." Gandalf said, "We must reach Lórien before nightfall."

Boromir turned around, and his eyes fell on the forms of the halflings, grieving on the cold hard ground. "Give them a moment, for pity's sake," he beseeched, looking at the wizard.

Gandalf shook his head. "We cannot linger on these hills. By nightfall, it will be swarming with orcs, and we do not have much of the day left."

Then, eyes softening, the wizard bent down and hauled Pippin to his feet. "Come, Peregrin, on to your feet. It will take more than that to kill Reviauron, so I dare say we will be seeing him yet."

Boromir's mind went blank. "We will?"

Surely Gandalf would not jest about such matters, but this was too ludicrous to be believed. Harald had fell with the Balrog. How could he survive that? Anger flared, hot and burning, but it quelled quickly when Gandalf looked up at him. At that very moment, Boromir realised how very old Gandalf looked, weary and burdened, but there was a resolute fire in the wizard's eyes that enkindled hope in him when he saw it.

"We will," Gandalf said firmly. "Come, Frodo, Aragorn, Gimli! Let us not tarry any longer."

With that, Gandalf turned away, looking away at the woods at the base of the hill. He should have looked absurd with the orc arrow still sticking from his hat, but Boromir failed to find any humour in the image presented. A soft chink of metal against stone brought his attention back to Gimli, and he held out a hand to help him to his feet.

Gimli took the offered hand and picked himself off the ground, dusting off some dirt from his attire. "Deep is the abyss that is spanned by Durin's Bridge," Boromir heard him mumble, "but if Gandalf has faith in Harald to return to us, then I will too."

The dwarf gave a bark-like laugh and followed Aragorn, who had already started the descent down the hill. Boromir cast one last look at the dark entrance to the fell place that is Moria, and followed the rest of the Fellowship.

He was falling, falling, falling. A burning claw swung out at him from the shadows, and was stopped by glimmering blue. A hand shot out. "Accio Caladui!"

Led by Gandalf, they trudged through Dimrill Dale without pausing. The road was long and turning, and they travelled a long way in silence, each deep in his own thoughts. Boromir strode on at the back of the company, staring down at the ground beneath his feet. Somewhere along the way, a river had joined their path, its waters clear and glistening.

"The Silverlode," he heard Aragorn say, and looked up. The Ranger was talking to the halflings, gesturing at the gurgling river. "It rises from the spring you saw just now, and becomes a swift river, gathering water from many mountain-streams, until it flows into the Great River far out."

Despite himself, Boromir looked where Aragorn pointed, and saw the Silverlode meander swiftly across the valley, running on and away into the lower lands until it disappeared into a golden haze.

"There lie the woods of Lothlórien," Legolas said beside him, his voice filled with wonder. Boromir shot him a sideway glance and shaded his eyes as he squinted, trying to peer through the haze.

"That is the fairest of the dwellings of my people," Legolas told him, "and the trees there are unlike anything else, for in autumn their leaves fall not, but turn to gold instead. Gold are the roofs and the floor of the woods, yet the pillars are of silver, for the bark of the tree is smooth and grey. So says our songs in Mirkwood."

What they sang in Mirkwood and what was rumoured in Minas Tirith were very different. Boromir lowered his hand and looked away from the woods, suddenly cautious. The Land of Peril—the Wood of the Witch-queen, whispered the travellers from Rohan, good folk have ventured there, and were never again seen in the fair fields of their birth. Alas, that they must head from one danger to another. He looked around at the others, and was bewildered at their unworried expressions—was he the only one who knew of the tales? Few have entered the woods, and even fewer returned, and of those few, none were unscathed. They were different, wrought strange by whatever sorcery within the Wood.

Still, he trusted Gandalf not to lead them astray. If only they had not entered the fell mines! Boromir quelled his resentment—the Ring-bearer had only chosen what he thought right, half-frozen in the blizzard at the Redhorn Pass. They had all been tempted then, by Gimli's words. If only Harald had not paid the price for their foolishness!

"We must hasten," Gandalf said suddenly, and Boromir turned around to see the wizard looking away from the sky and adjusting his grey hat. "Lórien lies many miles from us still, and the sun is falling fast. We must reach there ere nightfall."

The water was colder than ice, and slicker than grease. The Balrog's flames were extinguished, but Caladui blazed like a sun, bringing light to a world forsaken by all things good.

He saw more than he ever wished to.

The closer they got to the Golden Wood, the more uneasy Boromir felt. He had never put much stock into the rumours of Rohirric herders, but surely, there must be a kernel of truth to feed the wild tales?

It was only a few hours until they were standing before silver-barked trees. Gandalf stepped into the woods without hesitation, and Aragorn followed suit, closely followed by the halflings. Boromir halted at the border, but then Legolas turned around, a questioning look on his face, and Boromir swallowed his uncertainty and passed into the borders of the Golden Wood. He had given his word to the Ring-bearer. He would protect them until they part ways.

It seemed that his apprehension was shared only by Gimli, who gripped his axe tightly and treated every step with caution.

"Stay close, young hobbits," the Dwarf said, glancing suspiciously around. "They say an Elf-witch—"

"Peace, Gimli," Gandalf said calmly without turning back. "Only evil, or those who bring evil along with them, need fear these woods. The Lady, you will find, is very different from that of traveller's tales."

It was reassuring, and Boromir opened his mouth, about to comment. From the corner of his eye, he was suddenly aware of movements—a swift falling of shadows too fast to be the movement of leaves. There was a sharp intake of breath from Merry or Pippin, he could not tell which, and when next he looked, five Elves stood in a circle around their group, bows lowered but drawn.

Before them was a golden-haired Elf with his hood down, and Boromir could tell at once that he was the leader of the group.

"Mithrandir," said the Elf cordially, dipping his head.

"Haldir," Gandalf said, just as warmly, and a conversation was quickly struck up in an elven-tongue.

Boromir tried to follow the discussion, but it was not Sindarin that the elves used to speak, and he could only guess at the meaning of the words. Aragorn, he saw, did not have this problem, inserting his own thoughts into the conversation with ease.

After a minute, the Elf turned to face the rest of the Fellowship, and inclined his head in greetings. "Welcome," he said slowly in Westron, a strange accent to his words. "Haldir is my name. The Lady has known of your coming, and bade me to welcome your Fellowship. However…"

Here, the Elf paused and a frown marred his fair features. "I have been told to expect ten. One for our northern kindred from Mirkwood, and four hobbits, who we have not heard of for many a long year. Aragorn the Dúnadan and Boromir of Gondor, we have heard of by name, and Mithrandir, who we know to expect. The ninth is a Dwarf."

Here, Haldir paused, and Boromir saw something like distaste flash quickly over his face. Gimli bristled, but Haldir continued before he could say anything. "Of the tenth, the Lady has given no details, save that he is to go ahead to Caras Galadhon, for she desires to speak with him."

There was a questioning lilt to the end of his sentence, and Boromir turned his face away. Distantly, he heard Legolas say softly, "The tenth member of our company did not leave Moria."

There was a sombre silence.

"Long has the reach of the Enemy grown," Haldir murmured, and bowed his head.

Yellow gleamed and red flashed, and the Balrog's whip lay ruined. Flashes of light upon dark and still waters. Something crunched in the shadows. Durin's Bane fled.

Evening had come upon them as they followed Haldir deeper into the woods, yet they seemed no closer to the elven-city. Far behind, wolves howled on the wood's borders. Boromir heard their chilling cries, laid a hand on the comforting hilt of his sword.

At the base of large tree, Haldir halted, and held up a hand to stop the Fellowship. Head tilted as if listening for something, the Elf looked up the tree and gave a birdlike call. Silver ropes dropped from the tall branches in answer, and Boromir had to take a closer look to realise that they were ladders woven of slender grey ropes that glimmered in the dark.

"You cannot remain on the ground," Haldir said, turning to face them. "Shadows have crept northwards all about us. Not a week ago, a great troop of orcs was seen going north toward Moria, and I do not doubt that peril has followed you from those mines. All of you shall climb to this talan for the night, and go on tomorrow morn."

Legolas was the first to scale the ladder, and he ran lightly up. Then the halflings followed, Frodo in the lead and Merry at the end, much more unsteadily. Gimli, with much cajoling, went up after them, and Boromir could hear his grumbles as he slowly ascended. Aragorn went next, swift and steady, as if he had done this many times before.

Certainly, there was something to be said about elven ropes—thin and frail they may look, yet strong enough to bear many men, even when weighed down with weaponry and baggage.

Gandalf gave Boromir a knowing look. "Do not be fooled by what you have heard, Boromir. Until you have seen and experienced, I bid you to reserve your judgement."

Then before he could speak, the wizard had turned and scaled the ladder with surprising agility, leaving Boromir alone on the forest floor. Haldir had vanished, but Boromir suspected that the Elf was already up among his kind in the trees.

Uncertainly, he gripped the rung of the ladder, and found that it was soft and smooth. As he climbed, the pack on his back caused him to lean backwards, but he kept a tight grip on the rope and stuck as close to the trunk as he could. The barely-visible flet seemed so far above him, and yet Boromir did not feel as if he had ascended a great distance when he reached the platform. As he pulled himself onto the flat floor, he saw that Legolas was before him, adjusting a light plaited screen to block the southerly wind. Provisions had been set aside for them, and the halflings were eating their fill to his left.

When all was done, the Fellowship wrapped themselves warmly with both their own blankets and the Elves' fur-cloaks and lay down to rest. Boromir had taken the position that was closer to the edge, and, as he looked around, he admitted to himself that it was, perhaps, not the wisest of decisions. The flet was a circular platform without walls nor rails, and it was a very steep drop down the side.

Gandalf, unlike them, had seated himself a few feet from Boromir, right at the edge of the platform. He had seemed so pensive that none of the Fellowship was willing to disturb him, and the wizard was left to stare out into the darkness, smoke curling around his form.

Boromir closed his eyes and relaxed, falling asleep as he listened to Sam's faint snores and the rustle of leaves above, but his dreams were dark and filled with flames.

He pursued Durin's Bane through the winding tunnels, where at last he emerged in the deepest places of Khazad-dûm. Never had he been so glad to smell stale air. Still the Balrog fled, and so he gave chase.

The sky was a pale blue, and the sun was only just visible between fallow gold leaves when the Fellowship prepared to set out again. Alone on the flet, they had a quick meal, and neatly folded the fur-coats they had borrowed from the elves. They were interrupted in the midst of reorganising their packs when a grey-cloaked figure landed lightly onto the flet. Casting his hood back, Haldir bowed to them.

"Good morning," said he, bending down for the rope ladder that had been rolled up sometime in the night. "You must all hasten for the city. A strong company of orcs has marched by not an hour ago. They seemed to have caught some scent, for they long searched the grounds you have passed before the woods of Lórien. My companions and I have led them through the woods with feigned voices, and none of them will return from the land of Lórien, but I do not doubt that more would follow. You must head south as swiftly as you can."

With those warnings, the Fellowship resumed their journey. Still Haldir led them, but Boromir thought he could see changes in the light as it fell through the leaves, too patterned to be the results of the swaying of branches above. Elven guards, he guessed, but no man had yet seen an Elf when he did not wish to be seen, so his guesses went unconfirmed.

Pippin, he noted, seemed a little less dispirited than the day before, though none of the Fellowship had recovered their usual selves. Some of Gandalf's dolefulness seemed to have dissipated over the night, and the wizard had taken to answering the halflings' questions, though if his responses were a little sharper and less detailed than usual, no one mentioned it.

The leaves crunched beneath their feet, and every now and then, a breeze would blow past, bringing with it the faint fragrance of flowers unknown to Man. Then the canopy high above them would sway with a sound like waves breaking gently on the shore, and the leaves would gleam as if gilded.

Boromir felt more removed from the world with every step he took, and it seemed to him as if he had crossed a bridge of time and was now walking in a world that had long ago gone to dust. There was a timelessness to the woods, much like that of Rivendell, and memories of bygone days still lingered in the air. But where in Rivendell, evil was only a worry, a concept that had seemed so far away from the untouchable city, here in Lórien, evil had been seen and heard, and sorrow had been known and felt.

All day, the Fellowship marched on, until the Elves' silver lamps were uncovered in the gloaming, and shadows had gathered beneath the trees as they walked. Before them, was a deep trench, and on the other side was a green hill whereupon tall malthorn trees grew, like living towers in the fading light. Amidst their rustling golden leaves were countless lights of green and gold and silver, gleaming and swaying upon the branches.

Haldir turned towards them, a smile on his face. "Welcome to Caras Galadhon."

So. Boromir-centric. Sorry it took so long–I had to rewrite the entire thing multiple times because I tried doing Harry's POV, but that didn't work out really well, and then I shifted to the Fellowship's perspective and went through quite a number of people until I settled on Boromir. Then I could have posted this two days ago, but I wanted to do a second part to this chapter that showed a little of what Harry was doing and it didn't really work out, so here you have only the Fellowship bit.

Malthorn: yes, it's technically mallorn trees but apparently Gondor Sindarin and normal Sindarin has differences, and this was one of them. I figured that Boromir would know it in Gondor S., since he ought to have learnt some things about Lothlórien.

Tried making Boromir racist-but-not-exactly. No idea how it turned out XD. Also tried making everyone sad-but-not-overdone-sad-because-Harry-is-technically-still-alive-but-also-dead (and also to prevent it from becoming overly grief-y because I worry that everyone don't seem close enough to be very anguished even though I really intend it to be that way–which brings up: are their reactions alright? underdone overdone welldone?)

Thanks for reading! (and extra thanks for everyone who reviewed, because even though I haven't mentioned it in past chapters I really do appreciate feedback and comments.) (and woah, I need to stop writing really long ANs o_o)