The Fellowship - Confrontations
Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with J.R.R. Tolkien or anyone who hold rights to Lord of the Rings. It isn't mine, I'm just playing with it.
Note #1: This story is basically Alternate Universe, though, perhaps I should say Alternate Timeline since it is still based in the same world, events just happen differently.
Note #2: I really must apologize for the lateness of this update. Some rather unpleasant real life events reared their ugly heads recently and kept me rather busy. On the other hand, thanks to the vast amounts of time that I could not get to my computer a few more scenes cropped up. Thus, this chapter is another one that was totally unplanned.
Note #3: Movie canon? Book canon? Hell, I don't know anymore.
There was nothing really special about the door. It was a rather simple door, constructed
of sturdy oak wood and treated with a dark stain that gave it an almost blue-ish sheen
under the soft illumination of elven glow. Though, perhaps 'simple' was a misnomer, for no
door carved in such detail could be considered simple. Flowering vines wended their across
the door, curving delicately above and then into the very surface of the door, such
intricate carvings were a craftsman's delight. And, of course, it would be flowers. Had it
not been flowers then it would have been trees, the elves were terribly predictable in
that regard. Truly, it was a magnificent door, and the most threatening door that Gandalf,
the Grey Wizard, had ever had the, alas, distinct pleasure -or should that be dis
pleasure- of having to find himself facing yet again. For this was no ordinary door, nay,
not in the least. This particular door had the dubious honor of the being the door to
Elrond's study. Elrond Peredhil -Half Elven-, Lord of Imladris -otherwise known far and
wide as Rivendell-, bearer of one of the three elven rings of power, Vilya -and if any
other soul chanced upon that knowledge then the elves would certainly know which pipe-
smoking wizard to blame-, and most frightening of all, Elrond, the very disgruntled
Gandalf, Mithrandir, the Grey Pilgrim, one of the Maiar and also a member of the Istari, a
wizard, did not want to knock on that door. No, he did not. If he knocked upon that
door then he would have to enter Elrond's study, the proverbial lion's den, or perhaps
dragon's lair was a more astute description. Nay, he did not want to do that. He knew what
was waiting for him in there. He knew that Elrond was not in the least bit pleased with
him thanks to the 'Fellowship', and a very specific member of it in particular. If he
dared to step within the confines of Elrond's study he knew well what his fate would be.
Really, if he had wanted to experience the joy of being flayed up one side and down the
other he would have imposed himself upon Saruman's generous hospitality a bit longer.
Unfortunately, he was going to have to enter that study at some point. There was no way
he'd be able to escape Imladris without bringing Elrond's wrath further down upon his
head. And he couldn't just abandon poor Frodo no matter how fearsome the Elven Lord could
be at times. He must be brave, his little hobbit friend needed his support. He could do
this. He could. He just hoped that he could survive the storm he was about to invoke.
Grimacing at the unpleasantness that lay before him, Gandalf gingerly lifted his hand and
prepared to knock upon the unassuming, yet very threatening, door. Buck up, you old fool,
you're a wizard, you can deal with one single irate Elven Lord. You've done it before. You
can do it again. Gandalf admonished himself even as he hesitated.
"Don't bother." The wizard started violently at the words wafting menacingly from within.
"I know you're out there." Oh dear, that didn't sound very promising, not in the least.
"You can come in now." Ah yes, even at the height of his worst bouts of temper, Elrond
did have a bit of a smug streak.
Steeling himself, Gandalf sighed inaudibly, reached for the latch and pushed the evil
door open. Between now and the departure of the Fellowship, he ought to come up with some
blessing -or curse- or other to put on said door. If he did that then maybe, just maybe,
Elrond would be in a better mood whenever they had to discuss such matters in the
future. Anything would be an improvement.
The Elf Lord did not pay the wizard any heed as he entered the austere room, in fact, it
didn't appear as if Elrond was paying one whit of attention to him. Gandalf knew better,
of course, but it was still a little disconcerting. He had been expecting to be speared
with the evil eye -accompanied by the evil eyebrow- the instant he poked his head through
the door. No, the elf's somber attention was instead focused upon something laying across
the desk, something... made of metal... polished metal. A sword.
But no, it could no longer be called Narsil. The reforging of a blade with such grave
historical relevance practically demanded that a new name, a new title, be given to it.
Gandalf wondered briefly what name Elrond had decided upon, or perhaps 'would decide' was
the better term to use. In all likely hood, the Elf Lord may yet still be pondering upon a
new name for the sword. Its history had become something of his own, after all; and the
task couldn't be easy for him either, much less pleasant. Memories could be such a painful
burden upon the soul in such times as these.
Ah well. What's done is done. Giving himself a little shake, Gandalf plastered the most
jovial grin he could muster upon his face and flopped down in one of the chairs facing the
desk. "Well, that's one less thing I have to worry about," he said cheerfully as he
gestured towards the sword.
"Indeed," Elrond replied flatly as he finally deigned to look up at the wizard in what
could easily be described as one of the blandest expression he had borne to date. Oh no,
he was not pleased with the Istar, not in the least.
Uh oh. Gandalf gulped, his grin taking on a sickly tinge, as he scrambled for something,
anything, to say to diffuse the oncoming explosion. "From even the barest of glances one
can easily see that it is truly a job well done, and in such a timely manner as well. You
didn't procure the aid of the dwarves, did you?"
"Of course not," Elrond retorted, looking highly insulted at the perceived insinuation.
"Just because it was originally forged by a dwarf was no reason that elves could not see
to its restoration."
"Really?" Gandalf muttered suspiciously as he reached up and scratched at his beard, "Then
how exactly did you go about performing such a daunting task and achieve success in such
a short amount of time? Even I would have had trouble doing so."
"The explanation is simple enough," Elrond waved his hand airily as he leaned back in his
chair, "I asked Elladan to see to the sword's reforging."
"Truly?" His eyes widening slightly in surprise at that little announcement, Gandalf
continued to scratch idlely at his beard. "I did not think that you had ever approved of
that little past time of theirs."
"Don't be ridiculous," Elrond scoffed, "I approve of all of their hobbies, constructive or
not." His lips twisted slightly and his gaze slid heavenward as he pondered upon that for
a moment, then offered a small addendum to his statement, "As long as they break no laws
nor harm any who do not deserve it."
Gandalf laughed outright at that. "Are you sure about that? It leaves them quite a lot of
room to cover and a bevy of ways to get into all sorts of trouble, especially where
mischief is concerned."
"Hmmph," Elrond scowled, his expression turning decidedly sour as he crossed his arms over
his chest, "I would have asked Elrohir to aid his brother in this endeavor, however,
you've been keeping him rather busy of late."
"Er, yes," Gandalf grimaced. Here it comes, "About that-"
"Perhaps it is my age finally getting to me," Elrond mused, cutting the wizard off before
Gandalf could even start on some logical sounding excuse or other in a bid to save his
hide, "I am quite old, after all. But I could have sworn that it was not long ago where
we were both present in this very room and that you, yourself, swore that you would find
a way to help my sons. Are my ancient faculties failing? Am I mistaken in the results
of our previous conversation?"
"No," the wizard grumped. The damnable Elf Lord was doing a fair impression of Erestor at
his snootiest and Gandalf didn't care for it one bit. "You are not mistaken. I did say
that I would help."
"I see," Elrond smiled sickeningly sweet as he glanced down at his chest and scratched
lightly at the back of one of his hands, "Then do please explain to me how dragging my son
to Mordor is helping anything at all."
"Yes, well, you see, that's the thing," Gandalf said quickly, tripping over his own words
in his haste to outtalk the very threatening Elf Lord, "I'm not really planning to drag
Elrohir to Mordor."
"How can you not?" Elrond asked skeptically, his eyes glancing up at the wizard for a
moment before returning to his hands, "That is the ultimate destination for your
Fellowship, is it not?"
"It is," Gandalf agreed readily enough, "However I have no intention of taking him the
"What are you planning to do with my son?" Elrond demanded, alarm quite visible upon his
face as he looked up.
"I don't believe that the Fellowship will be able to avoid trekking through the lands of
the Horse-lords, not completely," Gandalf explained, "With that in mind, I have every
intention of leaving Elrohir in Rohan until the quest has been seen through to its
completion, one way or another."
"Why would you leave my son alone in a land full of men who are well known to be
suspicious of elves?" Elrond asked in confusion.
"I have it on good authority that a particular elf, known wide as the 'Orc Bane', has made
the acquaintance of one Theodred, son of Theoden, King of Rohan, and his cousins as well,"
Gandalf clarified, "That horse of his certainly adds a great deal of credence to that."
"Good authority?" Elrond muttered, the skepticism plain in his voice, "I do hope the
good in that comes from somewhere other than Saruman."
"Of course," Gandalf scoffed this time, "Saruman is not the only authority in Rohan. My
sources are far and wide and many, I do not rely on fellow wizards for information."
"As you say," Elrond murmured in relief, "But how exactly are you going to make him stay
there? I don't see him agreeing to this, not at all."
"Oh, there's nothing to worry about," Gandalf grinned impishly, "I hear that those
children are quite clever. I'm sure that they can come up with something or other to keep
him there. At the very least, the girl, Eowyn, can sit on him. I have heard that she is
"Be that as it may, what of Saruman?" Elrond queried worriedly, "He is right there. I do
not fancy the idea of my son being that close to him for any given length of time."
"I don't know about Saruman," Gandalf said darkly, their betrayal by the White Wizard left
far too many matters in question, "If I think that he poses a substantial threat, I'll
knock that troublesome son of yours out, summon Gwaihir and have him taken to Caras
Galadhon with orders to chain him up for the duration."
Elrond snorted at that, "That, my friend, will earn you a life long enemy. And where we
are concerned, that could be a very, very long time to spend watching your back."
"Yes, well," Gandalf shrugged helplessly, "There's no pleasing everyone."
Aragorn swore viciously under his breath as he stalked down one of the many garden paths
in Rivendell. Scowling darkly, he glanced around suspiciously to make sure there were no
elves lingering about to hear him. He may be over eighty years of age now, but to the
elves he was still just a child and it was a certainty that he'd get lectured for his
language if any of them caught him swearing in Dwarvish. He really didn't think he could
handle that at the moment, not after yet another morning absolutely wasted in a
fruitless search for Elladan.
It had been almost a week now, almost an entire week where he had not seen hide nor hair
of his brother. He was starting to feel a bit insulted and, well, snubbed. Did Elladan
truly believe that he would take matters so badly that the only recourse left to the elf
was to avoid him? Surely not, and yet... his brother was still very much absent.
The sound of metal on metal registered in Aragorn's mind, bringing that morose train of
thought to a halt as well as his disgruntled stalk. It sounded as if someone were sparring
with swords in the practice field. Hmm, it was a bit late for morning practice, that meant
it must be Glorfindel and someone else. The seneschal didn't really approve of others
taking up arms against each other without his supervision. Even though such occasions were
supposed to be for the sake of practice, really, anything could happen and the elder elf
wanted to be present in case it did.
Perhaps Aragorn could impose upon Glorfindel and whoever it was that the elf was sparring with,
he definitely needed some sort of outlet to get rid of all the frustrated energy coiling
around his insides. His father would certainly notice that something was wrong if he
showed up at lunch still wrapped in snarly knots, just as Elrond had been able to discern
for the past few days, and Aragorn didn't want yet another repeat of that. He really
didn't want to worry his father more than necessary. Again.
Yes, a bit of sparring would most likely help. Deciding upon that course of action,
Aragorn cut through the trees and strode purposefully towards the practice field. He froze
dead in his track when he finally reached the field and its occupants came into view. One
of them was Glorfindel, but the person that he was sparring against was a bit of an
unpleasant surprise. Elrohir. Aragorn really didn't fancy the thought of taking up a
sword against his other brother, even for the sake of getting rid of some excess energy.
Somehow, that didn't strike him as being such a good idea. At all. It just didn't seem
The two combatant circled each other, eyeing their companion warily, searching for any
weaknesses in their defenses, trying to gauge the proper time to strike. When a strike
came, it was swift, almost too fast for the eye to follow, and only the sharp clang of
metal upon metal heralded that it had been unsuccessful. Both elves were breathing hard
from their exertions, a smudge of dirt here and there a visible testament to previous
successes and failures. It looked as if they had been at this for quite awhile.
Aragorn momentarily debated leaving, but decided against it. He already knew that they
were aware of his presence. It was next to impossible to sneak up on an elf and even more
so when they were in the frame of mind for battle. No, they definitely knew he was there,
so he might as well stick around long enough to say hello. There was no way he was going
to spar with Elrohir; and he couldn't really do so with Glorfindel either, not while his
brother was present. That might seem rude. Nor was there any way of telling how much
longer they'd be at it, so attempting to wait them out would be pointless. A simple
greeting would have to suffice.
Mentally shaking his head, Aragorn skirted around the field, keeping a fair, safe distance
from the combatants. It probably wouldn't matter whether he kept his distance or not, they
were quite good, but it was always better to be safe than sorry. And besides, he didn't
feel like getting yelled at by Glorfindel for something as ridiculous as walking out onto
the practice field while actual weapons were in use.
He frowned when he got a real good look at Elrohir. Strange. Aragorn had not actually seen
his brother without those really unsettling Mirkwood braids. At the moment, the elf very
much looked like he was a longtime member of one of the Rivendell patrol, and for once he
didn't really look all that odd or stand out quite so much. This was different. In fact,
he almost looked like Elladan.
Wait a minute.
He didn't just look like Elladan, he was Elladan. Aragorn boggled at his brother. He had
never seen Elladan even look askew at a sword before, much less pick one up. In fact, he
had never really even considered the possibility that his brother might be a warrior of
any sort. It stood to reason, of course, their father was a master of the sword, he knew
this, even though he had never seen Elrond take one up. So yes, it stood to reason that
Elladan would be familiar with some form of arms or another as well. Unconsciously knowing
this, however, and having said knowledge unequivocally intrude upon his reality were
entirely two different things.
And by all appearances, Elladan was quite skilled. The way he deflected a strike from
Glorfindel with an inherent grace of movement spoke clearly of ages spent doing just that
very thing. Unfortunately, any further amazed musings upon his brother's newly shown
talents were brought to an abrupt halt by a sharp gesture from Elladan that signaled a
conclusion to their sparring match. Glorfindel gave Elladan a companionable bow and
Aragorn a silent wave of greeting before heading off towards the Last Homely House.
Elladan sheathed his sword as Aragorn thoughtfully watched the elder elf depart. It
appeared as if he was not the only one who desired that the two of them have something of
a talk. That was a point in his favor, somewhat, now if only his brother would just play
along. "Elladan," Aragorn started simply.
"Estel," Elladan returned with an easy smile, "I have not seen you for several days."
"Yes, I know," Aragorn frowned, crossing his arms in a defensive manner, "Though, not for
any lack of trying on my part. I have been all over this valley, multiple times, I might
add, looking for you."
"Ah, I see," Elladan winced and shook his head sadly before approaching his brother,
"Forgive me, Estel, I needed time alone to think about... something, and then father
requested a rather difficult task of me. I'm afraid it kept me quite busy for several
"Really?" Aragorn asked, his curiosity piqued slightly, "And what task would that have
Elladan laughed, "Oh no, I cannot tell you that. It is father's right, not mine." His
mirth cooled instantly at Aragorn's confused look. "Do not worry, you will find out what
it was before the departure of the Fellowship, rest assured of that."
"If you say so," Aragorn murmured in uncertainty, realizing he wouldn't be able to get
anything more out of his brother on that particular subject. Grimacing slightly at the
next bone of contention, Aragorn asked, "And what was it that you had to think about off
on your own?"
Elladan scowled darkly, his gaze dropping to the ground, "Elrohir has asked something of
me, I needed time alone to come to a decision about it."
"And did you?" Aragorn cautiously inquired.
"Of a sorts," Elladan hedged while eyeing his brother suspiciously.
Aragorn sighed wearily. It was becoming very apparent that Elladan was going to keep
skirting around the issue unless he approached it directly. Just wonderful. "I wish you
had come to me about it."
"I did not wish to bother you with something... like that," Elladan offered in apology.
"Yeah, well, finding out about it from others was a bit of an unpleasant shock," Aragorn
Elladan blinked, that didn't sound quite right, "And just what did you hear about it from
"The Havens, Elladan, the Grey Havens," Aragorn growled, shooting his brother a scathing
"Oh. Oh!" Elladan shook his head, wincing at the misinterpretation of his choice caused
by his absence. Though, to be truthful, it was only a misinterpretation where his human
brother was concerned, he did not really want any of the others to know the course of
action he had decided upon, not yet. "Forgive me, Estel, I have done you a great
disservice by not speaking to you directly. I did not mean to hurt you. All I can say is
that it is not what it seems."
"What do you mean?" Aragorn asked in confusion. How could it not be what it appeared to
be? Either you were going to the Grey Havens or you were not.
"Well, I do plan to accompany Arwen on her journey to the Havens," Elladan supplied
Aragorn's eyes widened in surprised understanding at the implication of what Elladan
wasn't saying, "You don't intend to sail with her."
"No, I don't. Please do not mention this to any of the others, if they find out they will
try to convince me otherwise and I really do not wish to get into it with them," Elladan
pleaded, "The only reason that I am telling you now is because I know that you will
"But I don't understand," Aragorn interjected, "Arwen told me the reasons for all that has
happened, at least, the ones she was comfortable speaking about. Knowing all of that, I
can't say that I understand why you won't go."
"It is not difficult, Estel," Elladan sighed, tilting his head back and staring forlornly
up at the sky, "Think about it, really think about it. Taking into account all of the
knowledge that you now possess, would you leave if our positions were reversed?"
Aragorn's shoulders drooped at that. He really didn't need to think about it to know his
answer to that particular question. "No, I wouldn't."
"And thus, you see, you truly do understand. You may not want to, but you do
nonetheless," Elladan said quietly as he tilted his head back down and gazed over at his
brother. It was a pity that it took such a painful event to show how similar their streaks
of determination were at times. And yet, he was thankful for it. He took great comfort in
knowing that at least one brother still understood his reasoning. He did not think that
Elrohir was truly capable of that anymore.
"I do understand," Aragorn murmured dejectedly, "I just wish... I just wish there was
something I could do. I don't want you to die. I don't want any of you to die."
"I do not wish to die either, Estel," Elladan offered sardonically, "I have no wish to
leave these shores just yet, in any manner. But if it does happen, then it will happen
and there is little any of us can do about it."
"I do not like this," Aragorn grumbled, dipping his chin down to look at the ground, "I do
not relish being so helpless."
"To be perfectly honest, I don't think that any of us do. I certainly don't." Elladan
frowned, his brows scrunching up slightly in thought, "But I do not think that you are
helpless in this. In fact, you are probably less so than the rest of us."
"What do you mean?" Aragorn asked, lifting his gaze up curiously.
"It is simple, really, Estel," Elladan explained, "You are a member of the Fellowship that
is sworn to aid Frodo in his task. As such, you are in the perfect position to do more
than any of the rest of us can at this point."
"And that would be?" Aragorn cocked an eyebrow in waning curiosity. The way the
conversation was heading made it quite easy to guess where his brother was going with
this, but he thought it needed to be voiced anyway, for Elladan's peace of mind if nothing
"I think you already know," Elladan stated as he reached up and firmly gripped Aragorn's
shoulder, "Soon you will leave Imladris on what I do not doubt will be an extremely
difficult quest, and Elrohir is going with you. Please, all that I ask of you is that you
try to keep him from getting himself killed."
"You know that I will, Elladan," Aragorn said morosely, "And I would do so even were he
not our brother."
"I know, but I had to ask," Elladan smiled weakly, "And while you're at it, try not to get
yourself killed either. Father would not take kindly to that."
The elves were not what he had expected, Boromir finally decided, nor were they anything
like what his father would have led him to believe. Admittedly, there were a few who were
rather haughty -mostly the advisors, councilors and others of their ilk-, but on a whole,
the elves of Rivendell were of the agreeable sort. The guardsmen, the servants and the
general inhabitants of the valley were pleasant to converse with and their Lord was easily
approachable, if slightly touchy, though he truly doubted that he was the cause for
that. Interestingly enough, he had witnessed quite a few instances of Gandalf doing his
level best to avoid any and all contact with Lord Elrond in the past few days. Nay, he was
not the cause of the elf's vague touches of temper. The wizard, on the other hand...
Boromir couldn't help but smile at the thought. It was a pity that his brother hadn't been
allowed to come, Faramir would have found the entire escapade amusing. But no, as
entertaining as it was, Faramir was far too serious to have enjoyed it. He would have
still been fretting over the results of the Council, not that Boromir, himself, wasn't
worried about it, but there wasn't much that he could do at this point. He could only hope
that the others realized the folly of this quest before they entered Mordor. Surely
there was enough time between here and there for him to convince them otherwise.
Boromir sighed silently as he made his way to the stables. The next few months were going
to be anything but pleasant, and if that wasn't enough, according to Gandalf they were
going to be making the entire journey on foot. They were going to be tromping along the
Misty Mountains on foot. The Valar must hate him.
Boromir shuddered at that particular train of thought as he finally reached the stables
and entered the ornate wooden building. The elves really were remarkable architects, if a
bit fancy. Though, really, considering how long they were rumored to live, what else were
they going to do with their spare time? Grow flowers?
Nodding companionably to the stable hands, Boromir wended his way through the stalls,
heading for the one that housed his mount. Going on foot meant going on foot, and thus,
all of the horses would be remaining behind. Alas, he'd have to send his own horse back to
Gondor with his men and without him. That should go over spectacularly well with his
father. He shuddered again and thanked effusively whatever Valar out there that might
still like him that he wasn't going to be present for that.
All unpleasant thoughts of his father's reaction to his actions immediately fled his mind
as Boromir turned a corner and suddenly realized that he wasn't alone. The Mearas that he
had been ever so curious about upon recognizing just what it was was being tended to at
the moment. And not just by anyone, but by Elrohir. The elf known as the Orc Bane.
Not all elves were unknown to him, it was true, and while he had never met this
specific elf before, you couldn't live in Gondor or Rohan -or anywhere else east of the
Misty Mountain for that matter- without hearing the tales, though most did not know of his
name. His father had met the Orc Bane once in his youth, long before he had ever put
thought to his eventual role as Steward. And while Denethor might disparage anyone or
anything that he felt like, he did always seem rather reticent upon voicing his opinion on
this particular subject.
That was not the whole of it either, for even he had heard some of the rumors that had
filtered out of Rohan in the past few years. Interesting rumors that for all intent and
purpose now appeared to bear some grains of truth to them. That horse certainly lent a
bit of accuracy to them, if nothing else.
Schooling his feature into what he hoped was a decent look of friendly curiosity, Boromir
cautiously approached the stall and gently cleared his voice, "Good morn."
"And to you," Elrohir murmured as he eyed the man warily. In his travels he had not heard
anything particularly bad about the Steward's first son, but Boromir was still Denethor's
son and he knew enough about that man to keep his guard up. "Though, perhaps good
afternoon would be more appropriate."
"I suppose you are right, the day is getting on," Boromir chuckled self consciously.
Diplomacy was not his forte, and Elrohir was obviously more than a little suspicious of
him. Well, maybe a more direct approach was in order. "I must confess, I was a bit
surprised when I saw yon horse here for the first time, but now, I do believe that matters
are starting to make a bit more sense."
"Really?" Elrohir cocked an eyebrow curiously as he brushed a hand down the neck of his
steed, earning a playful nip at his hair for his trouble, "And why is that?"
"We've been hearing rumors in the White City for the past few years," Boromir explained as
he leaned against the stall door, "Fascinating rumors that make their way out of Rohan and
speak of a Horse Lord who is not of the Rohirrim. Though, none so far have guessed that
said Horse Lord and the legendary Orc Bane are one in the same."
Elrohir frowned, he had never really cared for the odd titles that men kept piling upon
his shoulders. The 'Orc Bane' title, while generally amusing in and of itself, was bad
enough without others added on. "It is no secret that I dwelt within Rohan for a time."
"Perhaps not to you," Boromir said slowly and hoped that he wasn't about to nudge the
proverbial hornet's nest, "But you must admit it is a bit of a surprise to someone like
me, all things considered. No offense intended, but Rohan is well known for being
suspicious of the elves."
"Really now?" Elrohir asked silkily, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly, "And where did
you hear of such a thing?"
Boromir shrugged, "My father knows his politics and doesn't hesitate to share whatever
information he comes across with me."
"Is that so? And do you believe everything that your father says?" Elrohir queried, his
lips curling mildly in a humorless smile.
"Of course," Boromir scowled, answering almost immediately. The elf's tone did not sit
well with him. Was Elrohir going to try and insult his father? He would not stand for
that, even from someone of such high, if odd, regard.
"That's interesting," Elrohir murmured as he leaned against his steed, his smile growing
more pronounced, "And do you believe what he says about your brother?"
Boromir's eyes widened in shocked surprise. That was completely unexpected. Where did
he... how could he... Where did that come from? It was true that their father had always
been rather... hard on Faramir, but he had never imagined that his family's strained
relationships had become the possible object of gossip.
"Did I surprise you?" Elrohir chuckled hollowly, tilting his head slightly and laying his
forehead against his horse's neck as he watched the man out of the corner of his eye. "I
have heard about a great many things in my travels, Boromir of Gondor, and of all that is
spoken of about you, your steadfast loyalty is the most prevalent subject of discourse.
But I have to wonder, is it loyalty to your father or loyalty to your people."
"To both, they are one and the same," Boromir retorted hotly. That anyone would dare to
question his loyalty, and an elf no less... The very idea was absurd.
"Is that what you believe?" Elrohir snorted in derision and turned his back on the
Gondorian. "You cannot have it both ways, we both know your father too well for that. One
day you will have to decide." Crossing his arms, the elf hummed quietly for a moment
before turning back to face the man, pinning Boromir with a sharp look. "I'll leave it for
now, but if your allegiance becomes a problem, do not think that I will hesitate in
removing you from the Fellowship, with or without Mithrandir's approval."
Boromir scowled darkly. So that's how it was going to be. Well, this little quest was
looking better and better everyday. "Likewise," he muttered sourly.
Elrohir smiled dangerously at that. "It's good that we understand each other."