Still not out of Rivendell, probably won’t be through Rivendell for another 1k words or more, because they’re there a month, there’s more with bitty!Aragorn to do, there’s an ancient and snarky ass of a sword to transfer ownership of, and there’s research on dragons for Boromir to do.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | more to come

@deadcatwithaflamethrower @norcumi

“You will need supplies to get that far, and I do not know that I will be able to supply you enough, though I shall do as I can.” Elrond has a small frown of his own, a crease between his brows that makes Boromir silently wonder what troubles him. “Have you a map for your journey?”

Thorin hesitates, but nods. “We have a map of Erebor, at least, one which has been passed to me from my father.”

“A map which we could use your assistance with, just a little thing. Maps of this sort are known sometimes to have hidden writing, and I had hoped to gain your aid in finding any that might be present upon this map.” Gandalf smiles a moment, though whether he’s trying to appeal to Elrond or placate Thorin, Boromir cannot tell. Though he thinks it likely the former, for all the tension that is rising between Thorin and Gandalf.

“If you would have me look at the map, I will gladly offer my assistance.” Elrond directs his own words to both Thorin and Gandalf. “It will take some time to prepare what supplies I can provide you, enough to be certain if the map has any hidden text, and determine if it can be read.”

“If it can be read?” Thorin raises his eyebrows, and Boromir leans forward a little, curious himself why Elrond would not simply read the text if he might find it.

“There are some means of creating hidden writing that can only be read under certain conditions, and while they can be found to exist, and perhaps too what those conditions are, we may not be able to recreate them sufficiently precisely to render the writing readable. Or there may be a need to wait for a precise time.” Elrond picks up his goblet, taking a sip of wine. “I do not know how swiftly you wish to reach Erebor, and thus how much time you have to wait if it is needful, so I cannot know if I will be able to render any hidden text readable before you depart.”

“What aid you may render in this will be sufficient, even if all you may tell us is when and how it may be read.” Thorin nods in thanks, speaking before Gandalf can interject his own words into the conversation once more. “And you have my thanks for it.”

Before anything more can be said, there is a commotion at one of the tables where the rest of the company was sat, and a thump that makes Boromir turn to catch the beginning of Bofur singing, and see the first flung bit of food. He grins, taking another bite of his own food while he sits back to watch, mindful of not participating. Just another rowdy group, and while they might not be his soldiers, he can recall similar scenes with his men. Perhaps with less flung food – his men had always been too aware of the noble birth of their captain to dare do that in his company even when he’d convinced them he was as willing to sing the dirtiest songs as they were – but it reminds him of days and companions he doubts he will see again.

“Elven-made clothes to go with the elven cloak?” Fíli joins Boromir on the balcony he’s sitting on, watching a courtyard where a boy is practicing with a bow.

“They are well-made, and all of mine were lost save those on my back after the encounter with the trolls.” Boromir glances at the prince – not spoken of as such, not in this company, and he has followed their lead in that – studying his face a moment. “Will you turn such down if they offer?”

“If they offer, no, but I do not expect them to offer.” Fíli shrugs, leaning against the railing. “Who’s the child?”

“A boy under the protection of Lord Elrond.” Boromir doesn’t know what name Aragorn has now, and doesn’t dare use the name he knows the man as for the boy he is now. He hasn’t asked after him, either, not wishing to betray knowledge he should not have.

“Do you know him?” Fíli watches Boromir, raising an eyebrow at his swift shake of his head. “Then why do you watch him?”

“He reminds me a little of someone I knew.” Boromir shrugs, looking down at Aragorn to see Aragorn looking up at them in return. “I doubt I will see him again. It is a long journey and I do not know what the future will bring.”

Fíli gives him a sympathetic smile before leaning over the railing on the balcony, looking at something. Giving a satisfied grunt, he climbs over, and down, as Boromir comes over, jumping the last short distance into the courtyard.

Aragorn is staring at Fíli, eyes wide, a grin creeping across his face that is more cheerful than anything Boromir had seen toward the end of their journey. He hopes he can find a way to see that smile remain more common than it had become – if the Ring is destroyed sooner, perhaps there will be no need for Aragorn to forget how to be as happy as he is now.