The Fellowship - Confrontations
by Meimi


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 father.

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 entire way."

"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 quite feisty."

"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 right.

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 days."

"Really?" Aragorn asked, his curiosity piqued slightly, "And what task would that have been?"

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 groused acidly.

Elladan blinked, that didn't sound quite right, "And just what did you hear about it from the others?"

"The Havens, Elladan, the Grey Havens," Aragorn growled, shooting his brother a scathing glare.

"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 hesitantly, "But..."

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 understand."

"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 else.

"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."