Author: Sam

Story: Leather-bound: 9 of ?

Series: n/a

Setting: Council of Elrond as shown by The Red Book of Westmarch.

Song Note: Lord, Is It Mine? by Supertramp. Another of my Roommate's suggestions. (Can you tell I don't listen to Supertramp regularly?) Thank you, Roommate, even if you originally suggested for Cedric Digory of Harry Potter fame- JK Rowling.

Feedback: Yes, please? Especially constructive. samwise_baggins@yahoo.co.uk

Webpage: http://www.oocities.org/samwise_baggins/index.html

Running water.

It was the first thing Boromir, son of the Steward of Gondor, truly noticed about the Elf land of Rivendell.

Running water. Soothing... quiet... peaceful...

The cool-shaded trees surrounding tall white structures, ivory colored and airy, seemed to call out to the weary travelers. After war and destruction, thirst and hard journeying, those beautiful old structures seemed to reach out and cradle the Man. All of the paths and buildings blended in, as if having been formed by nature rather than crafted by design. And nature surrounded the body, pervaded the senses, captivated the soul.

Running water. Musical... lulling... refreshing...

The quest drove him, pushed him, harassed him until the Man could no longer see beyond it. He was entrusted with finding a solution to their plight, and find one he would. Even if he died in the attempt, the young warrior would not rest until he'd aided his people... his fair city... his kingdom.

Running a dirt-stained hand through tangled once-blond locks, Boromir his horse in the care of the anonymous Elf. He strode purposefully towards the designated meeting area, intent only on delivering his message and seeking help translating the dreams. Boromir, son of Denethor, had not expected to meet the subject of the dreams in the flesh.

Dreams were just that... images in a sleeping mind. They were mindless visions flashing through ones subconscious without rhyme or reason. Dreams needed interpreting; they didn't pop up during a council and call for attention.

Actually, the Halfling hadn't really popped up and called for attention, but he might as well have.

Heart racing, mouth dry, Boromir watched as the little Halfling produced a ring... oh, so much like the dreams... and placed it on the stone pedestal. He stepped back to his seat by the old man in gray robes, but Boromir barely registered the fact. His eyes were unerringly drawn and held by the small band of glowing gold. With s step... then another... the warrior felt himself pulled towards the metal object.

The One Ring. The Ring of Power. Isildur's Bane.

Names mattered not. What mattered was that he had just been offered an opportunity to aid his people. If he could but borrow the Ring... merely until Gondor was again on its feet... if he could save his dying people...

Slowly, as if locked in that dream, Boromir spoke, asking... nay... begging for the use of the ring. They had a weapon of the enemy. Could they not use it against that self-same enemy? Could they but utilize this captive prize to turn the tide of war against the tyrant who slaughtered their people?

He put the reasonable suggestion to the group before him and was stunned that it was shot down immediately. If it had been the Elven Lord, or even the little Halfling, Boromir might have been ore accepting, but another Man? A nomadic ranger, at that? Who was he to be ordering around son of Gondor's Steward? What could he know of diplomatic and political situations? Why had he even been permitted at this council?

Boromir's green eyes met the vivid blue of the ranger, revealed as no mere ranger. Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir of Isildur? Could it truly be? Could this man dressed in black leathers truly be the King of Gondor, survived and nurtured somehow in secret?

And if he was whom the Wood Elf said he was, where did that leave Boromir?

Anger, fear, guilt, jealousy...

All surged through the weary man. He still felt the pull of that ring, felt the wonder at the revelation of the dreams, felt the overwhelming need to save his people from the festering evil that was gnawing at their fair lands.

In his over-whelmed state, Boromir spoke words he would later come to regret... words he would later revoke with all his heart... words spoken more in defense of his beliefs than in truth.

"Gondor has no king. Gondor needs no king."

Boromir, son of the Steward of Gondor, sat down to listen in near defeat as the council discussed destroying the Ring of Power without using it to save his beloved, destroyed Gondor.