AUTHORS NOTE! PLEASE READ!

First off, I’m back! :)

Sorry for the long wait; I’ve just had total writers block, but hopefully that’s over now. I was having a really hard time doing what I thought I needed to, but I finally decided that it was just better to skip over the rest of Lorien, and make another time warp. I’m sure you won’t be sorry to be one step closer to the goodness! :D

Anyways, enjoy, and please, please, please review! :)

And a HUGE thanks to all my previous reviewers; Azalia Fallen, Fundin, windofawhisper, hailsxx, Demonic-Dragon-Eyed-Chick, Kate, browncow01, Roranon, Summer, hornofgondor2, dangrgurl7283, SSJKarigan, Valinor's Twilight, Liliesshadow, dimari and Gaslight!

I love you all so much! Thank you so so so much! :)

As always, a huge thanks to my beta, Gaslight!

Anyways, Enjoy!!!!!!! :)

The swift motion of the water was nostalgic in its beauty, the cool clear liquid rushing through her outstretched hand, its soothing power washing away months of sorrows past. It flowed loudly, crashing against the heel of the small boat, its burden heavy in the water though it ploughed along, unchanging in its destination. Miles upon miles of barren riverbanks fell before them, eerie in their silence and dead of all life, breathing or of the earth. And though the scenery changed little as it swept past, it was mesmerizing nonetheless.

Vivienne wearily ignored the grating ache in her back and knees from hours hunched and cramped within the small craft, crammed uncomfortably between mountains of luggage. She was silent, as were the banks, her eyes hazy and her heart heavy. While the knowledge of the danger that lurked just beyond her sight had not been lost to her, it had been numbed, too far gone in her own wretchedness was she to feel fear any longer. And though the weather was warm and the cloak about her shoulders heavy, she shivered as she remembered the company’s near final meeting with the one whose dark presence would not fade from her mind.

“You cannot stay here,” Galadriel spoke, her tone cold and grave. “The enemy is growing in power, our borders becoming further unprotected and under-guarded as he tightens his grasp. I will not risk my people for something that cannot be stopped,” she continued, harsh and ominous. “You must leave this place, and never return. The winter of Lothlorien has fallen for the final time; it will not be seen again on this earth, and neither shall its spring if you remain any longer. You must leave before the month’s dimming moon.”

Her words of cold malice remained heavy in Vivienne’s heart and ears, echoing fruitlessly, nothing but a painful reminder of the fact that nowhere did she belong, and nowhere was she safe. Yet she could not find the will to feel fear or hatred; not when the river was so peaceful, and her mind so numb. She was now resigned, and long past caring.

“Cheer up, little girl,” Boromir quipped, not unkindly, breaking the long drawn out silence of the boat. “Things are not always as bad as they may seem.”

She turned her head back towards him, her body remaining motionless, piled atop the uncomfortable heap that covered the majority of the boat. She was unsure of what to reply, torn between gloom, trepidation and gratitude.

“If nothing else,” he continued, “every moment is one farther from the witch.”

Though he was right in his reasoning, Vivienne was apprehensive nonetheless. True, she was leaving Lothlorien far behind, a blessing and no doubt an even greater curse, but she was now more fearful than ever of where she was heading.

The only glimmer of light she held within her eternal darkness was Boromir’s act of selfless kindness that, for the first time since she had known him, had brought her both comfort and hope.

“This is unacceptable!” he raged at the Elf, taking no heed to the warning looks and pleading words for silence he received, as she announced Vivienne’s fate. “You force her here, against our better judgement, simply to toss her out into the wilderness like a vagabond! This is absurd! You would rather hand her over to the enemy than risk protecting her and the token which she carries? Now I see the truth – the wisdom of the Elves has not fallen into folly! Long ago was it already taken and replaced by this madness!”

“And Gondor wishes to instead take upon her heavy burden as its own?”

“If need be,” he raged, “then yes! Strong men will not so easily be broken!”

And thus her fate had once more been sealed, without her knowledge or consideration, and once more she was apprehensive and fearful of the resolution.

And she was far from happily compliant.

Instead, she was apprehensive, and for good reason. She was no fool; she knew Boromir held no great love for her, nor her for him, though something of a mutual understanding had been met between the two. They were far too many worlds apart to ever meet on middle ground, but perhaps a bridge could yet still be formed; one strong enough to link them together without animosity, if even for a little while. The hope was little, but it was there. And for now Boromir had been able to rise above his own feelings of her obvious inferiority and offer her a haven. She only prayed there she would be more welcome in Gondor than in Lothlorien, though it seemed unlikely.

Boromir had barely and only recently found the will to tolerate her, and she feared what the others of his people would think. There was no doubt that Boromir – no matter how deep hidden – contained if not kindness, then at least some deal of amiability when his nerves were not so badly frayed; yet the prospect of spending time with so many of his carbon copies – or even worse, the very intimidating original, made her far from eager to go there.

And though words could not express her gratitude towards him for his actions, a feeling of dread was growing in the pit of her stomach as every moment passed. She had not missed the queer look in his eyes as they had travelled, not hours yet from Galadriel’s haunted woods, nor had she forgotten the manufactured smile that even then had appeared as a façade.

Glancing at the Ring, hidden far from sight and many yards ahead even still, she could feel its steady and daunting pull, becoming demanding in its perseverance. She would be damned to think she was the only one who felt its persistence, the eyes of all around it darkening with lust and greed. It was far from difficult to read the thoughts of those who wished to consume it. Even if Galadriel had forced her out, she brooded, the enemy may not yet all be gone.

“Mark my words, girl,” Boromir ploughed along in his speech, pulling Vivienne away from her thoughts, insistent in his need for distraction, though she did not know why. “You will find great solace during your stay in Minas Tirith. The men of Gondor are much more giving in their gifts of hospitality than their Elven counterparts. No doubt when the hearty fires and strong wines have consumed you, you will forget all about your past troubles – their pull has not failed me yet.”

She watched him skeptically, though after many moments of long silence, deduced his motives to be true.

“I’m sure I’ll love it,” she responded softly, relaxing her tense muscles and gazing back into the deep pools of water that surrounded them. Her arm remained submerged in its depths, its waves frolicking and splashing across the now fading burns. She paused for several long moments, a lump of trepidation caught in her throat before speaking.

“Thank you.”

“For what?” he replied light heartedly.

“You know what,” she answered quietly. “Taking me with you – taking me in.”

“Bah,” he replied offhandedly, giving a wide gesture with his hand that seemed even more wildly out of character than his apparent merriness. “‘Twas nothing.”

“No, it wasn’t nothing,” she spoke again, watching his odd behaviour with less disbelief than his false words. “It was everything. If you hadn’t of looked out for me, Galadriel would have shipped me off back to God-knows where. You saved my life,” she confessed earnestly. “Again.”

“As I said, it was nothing. The innocent should not suffer for that Enchantress’ folly, and the men of Gondor do not so easily abandon the weak and needy. Even if the Elves have given up their honour, the men of my people will not so easily be beaten down. We do not abandon women and children to the eternal fate and darkness. The enemy is already at our door-steps; there is little more that he can do to us now.”

She mulled his words over silently, aware of both the sacrifice Boromir was making - certainly a forfeit she had not earned - and the fact that even in Gondor she was not safe. How could she be, when even Galadriel had deemed her too great a risk to remain?

“Is it always this quiet?” she asked, aimlessly changing the subject, watching the swiftly flowing coast and the two boats surrounding them. She was envious of them - both filled to the brim with chatting, merry souls.

“Come again?”

“The river,” she clarified. “Is it always this quiet?”

“Yes and no,” he replied slowly. “As for where we stand now, I cannot tell you - few of my people have been inclined to wander this far upstream, but as for my knowledge of what flows down through Gondor, yes. Tranquility is not something this river has ever lacked, though we have had to guard her more closely over the years.”

“What for?”

“Anything unlooked for that may try to encroach upon us by way of the sea.”

“And the soldiers watch it?”

“No,” he replied. “That duty belongs to the Rangers – my brother leads them.”

“What, the dragon slayer?” she questioned irreverently, seeking lighter conversation and hoping to gain it though gentle prodding. It worked with the hobbits; with Boromir, she was not so sure.

Much to her surprise – and honest delight – he gave a small laugh of amusement. Not much more than a chuckle, but it was enough to relax and ease her mind once more. There were already enemies at enough gates; she didn’t need one in her boat as well.

“Yes, the dragon slayer,” he replied amusedly, before falling into comfortable silence once more.

“So why did we get stuck in the boat with all the luggage, anyways? ” she asked lightly, breaking the silence as she motioned to the other far more crowded, yet still supremely more comfortable boats. “Do you think we’re being punished for something?”

“Unfortunately, no,” he answered blandly. “It is simply a matter of weight distribution. I am the strongest and most experienced boatman, and the packs are heavy and make it difficult to manoeuvre.”

“And what about me?” she questioned. “Why did I get stuck here?”

He looked at her hard for a moment, before repenting on his words.

“Perhaps you were right – I think this boat was indeed my punishment, after all.”

She smiled despite herself, her spirits gaining enough levity to allow her to laugh at her own expense – especially when it meant her only company might retain their jovial mood.

“I feel bad for causing all the re-arrangement, though.”

“Bah,” he mimicked again, brushing off her self-deprecating comments. “It makes no difference to anyone where they ride – it is just as uncomfortable either way.”

“I guess...” she replied unsurely. “But still, I hate getting in the way even more than I usually do.”

“From someone who has travelled far with you, take my word when I say it takes far more than boat re-packing to exceed your typical ability to hinder,” he replied, obviously barely resisting the urge to snigger at her.

“Well, that’s what my mom always said,” she dead-panned, glowering ever so slightly at his obvious humour at the remark.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” she continued, wisely changing the subject. “What did Galadriel give you? Other than the cloak, I mean.”

“A golden belt,” he replied blandly, clearly not impressed. “I have finer.”

“Well, La-dee-dah,” she mocked good naturedly. “Aren’t we special.”

He chose not to comment.

“And you?” he asked, dipping his oar lazily into the water, a half-hearted attempt to propel the boat forward.

“A dagger,” she bemoaned glumly, even less enthusiastic with her gift than Boromir, though her disappointment had nothing to do with his.

“Mmm,” he grunted, obviously far from impressed.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he lied.

“No, what?” she pushed.

“Well, I hardly deem it an appropriate gift for a woman,” he snipped, his lips pressed together tightly.

“I was thinking more along the lines of hardly an appropriate gift for me, but whatever. At least we’re on the same lines.”

“I would not carry it, if I were you,” he responded, obviously at least somewhat relieved at receiving no argument. “It is bad luck, and highly unnecessary, if you were to ask me.”

“Well, I do kind of see her point,” she replied, attempting diplomacy for once in her short life. “It is dangerous out here.”

“And no less will it be for you, armed or not. There is little you can do with simply a dagger, trained in its uses or not,” he answered truthfully. “For now, you had best leave your protection to those who are capable of it, and save yourself the risk of impalement,” he continued, motioning to her burned arm pointedly. “And with your string of luck, it is not a far possibility.”

She glanced at her arm silently, studying the thin, pink, fleshy skin, still healing and incredibly sore. She would willingly admit, when it came to grace, she was clearly lacking.

“I guess you’re right,” she conceded with a sigh, kicking her pack with her foot, intending to deal with the wretched thing later. “Weapons management is clearly not my strong suit.”

“Never fear!” Boromir replied jovially, nodding approvingly and obvious pleased to her concession. “You are surrounded by mighty warriors,” he continued confidently. “Should anything arise, we will not fail to protect you!”

“I hope so,” she replied absent-mindedly. “Because I’ll hold you to it.”

“I am sure you will, little girl,” he chuckled merrily. “I am sure you will.”

That's all!

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