Author's Note: Uh…yeah I have no excuse for why this took so long other than…life. I lost inspiration to write for a while, and then when I did have it, I didn't have the time. Now, for once, I have both, so I'm going to make the most of it. I can't promise to update often, but I CAN promise that this story is NOT abandoned. It might take years, who knows, but I am GOING to finish this story. So I ask that you please bear with me, and enjoy.

Chapter 6

When Boromir awoke the next morning, he was not surprised to find that Bilbo was still asleep. He was surprised, however, when he discovered that he had awoken before dawn, and it appeared he was the first to do so. Not wanting to disturb the others, he quietly slipped out of the front door. Once outside, he discovered he was not the only one awake, after all.

Thorin was sitting on the bench in Bag End's front garden, his arms folded across his chest. He appeared deep in thought and seemed not to notice that he was no longer alone. At first, Boromir stood silently by the door, staring out at the peaceful countryside. After only a day here in the Shire, he felt he finally understood why such seemingly defenseless creatures could be moved to take part in a quest such as Frodo had undertaken: to protect what could very well be the last truly peaceful place in Middle Earth.

Boromir felt a surge of guilt as he thought of Frodo. He had sworn his life to protect Frodo, and yet, thanks to that…that Thing, Boromir had tried to kill him. He passed a hand across his face, sighing heavily. Despite Eru's words of assurance, Boromir still felt unworthy of the second chance that had been offered to him. What would his father think of him, if he knew what he had done? What would Faramir think?

"Something on your mind?" The deep voice made Boromir start in surprise before he realized where it had originated from. Thorin had turned his piercing gaze toward him, his eyes gleaming in the faint pre-dawn light.

Boromir held the Dwarf's gaze for a moment before his eyes turned once again to the Shire. "A few somethings," he replied, "none of which are easy to contemplate." He hesitated, before stating truthfully, "Just now, I was thinking of my family. My father, and my brother."

Thorin considered this for a moment. "They await you, in Gondor?" At Boromir's nod, Thorin said, "Perhaps you should not accompany us. You should continue on your journey homeward. Surely they will worry."

Boromir shook his head. "As a good friend of mine once said, 'Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens.' I gave my word that I would aid you in your quest. It would besmirch my honor to turn aside before we have even begun." Boromir hesitated before asking, "And what of your family?"

Thorin glanced behind him, toward Bag End. "I never married, and I have no children of my own. Fili and Kili are the sons I never had, and in many ways, I have been a father to them." He sighed. "My mother never made it out of the Mountain when the dragon attacked. My grandfather and my brother were both slain in battle, and my father went missing that same day. My sister and her sons are all I have left."

Thorin stood, turning to the door. "The others should be waking, and if they are not, I will wake them. We must be off soon…with or without Master Baggins."

They both entered the hole and discovered most of the Company was already up and about. Only two still remained asleep: Kili and Bombur. Bofur was busy trying to rouse his corpulent brother, so Thorin set his sights on his younger nephew.

With a devious glint in his eyes, Thorin strode forward and grabbed hold of Kili's bedroll. He gave a sharp tug, and Kili was unceremoniously dumped onto the floor with a high-pitched yelp. Boromir chuckled quietly at the sight; so Thorin had a bit of play in him, after all.

"Right, then," Thorin said teasingly, "Good to have you up, Kili." The young Dwarf grumbled as he picked himself up off the floor. "Bofur, pour some water on him, if you have to. I want to be on the road before mid-morning."

After that, the hole was a flurry of activity. Boromir kept to himself, still feeling out of place among this company of Dwarves. The Fellowship had been an odd bunch, to be sure, but at least with them, he had had Aragorn. Being the only two Men in the group, they often found themselves drawn to each other despite their differences.

Thinking of Aragorn, Boromir paused, feeling a lump in his throat. He was ashamed, now, to think of his harsh words at the Council. Whether or not his anger was justified, to all but deny Aragorn his birthright immediately after learning his identity was beyond uncalled-for. He regretted his words almost immediately, but there was no way to take them back.

Then, of course, he had gotten to know the other Man. And Boromir found, to his shame, that Aragorn not only lived up to the stories of the old kings, but he also—at least in some ways—exceeded them. Over time, though he and Aragorn disagreed about the course the Fellowship should take, he had developed a deep respect, and later friendship, with the Ranger.

It wasn't until Amon Hen that he realized Aragorn thought of him as a friend, as well.

"Master Boromir." A deep voice startled him from his reverie. He looked up to see Dwalin standing in the hall. "Nearly ready?"

Boromir nodded, shouldering his pack—which safely concealed his Elven cloak. No need to give Gandalf more reason to ask questions.

"Seems we'll have to make do without a Burglar," Dwalin groused as they headed outside. "Not that I mind; I didn't want to have to look out for the little fellow."

Boromir smiled, remembering the stories an elderly Bilbo Baggins had told during his stay in Rivendell. "Oh, I have a feeling we haven't seen the last of Master Baggins."

Dwalin turned a glimmering eye on him. "Care to put your money where your mouth is?"

Boromir returned the look with an impish grin. "Five silver pieces says Bilbo will turn up, contract signed, and ready to go." It wasn't strictly fair, of course; he knew very well that Bilbo would turn up, "without even a hat or handkerchief" according to the old Hobbit. But Boromir couldn't resist the chance to prove the Dwarves wrong.

Once the others were assembled outside, Boromir realized they had a problem. The Dwarves had ponies, and Gandalf had a brown horse, but Boromir had no mount. In the Shire, of course, this wouldn't be much of a problem. The roads were well-traveled, so it would be easy going on foot.

The problem would arise once they left the Shire. Boromir would have to find somewhere to acquire a horse, or he would have trouble once they moved farther east.

Gandalf seemed to sense his concern. "A day or so east of the Shire, there is a village called Bree. I think you'll be able to find a horse with little difficulty."

Boromir smiled and nodded in thanks. "That will certainly make things easier. Thank you, Gandalf." He grinned at Dwalin. "A fine use for the money I plan to take off you when I win our little wager."

"What sort of wager?" Fili asked curiously.

Dwalin snorted. "The Man thinks Master Baggins is going to join us. I bet five silver pieces that he wouldn't."

Nori, who was standing nearby, smirked. "I'll take some of that. Five pieces for me, as well."

Boromir laughed. "It appears I'll be able to afford a very good horse when we reach Bree." Before long, the entire Company—apart from Thorin, who simply rolled his eyes—had placed their bets. Even Gandalf had joined in, much to Boromir's surprise.

Barely two hours later, distant cries of "Wait! Wait!" came drifting up the lane behind them. They all turned to stare at the little Hobbit who was pelting after them, his hair askew, and a long length of parchment waving wildly in his hand.

"I signed it!" Proudly, and looking more than a little smug, Bilbo passed the contract up to Balin. The old Dwarf put on his spectacles as he inspected the contract, smiling into his snowy beard. It was, of course, all in order, and after Bilbo had been (quite reluctantly) set on a pony, Boromir began collecting his winnings.

It was a strange feeling, after spending so long in the wild, to have silver jingling in his pocket again. He thought wistfully of the evenings he'd spent with his Men in The Splintered Shield on the second level: music and laughter in the air, swapping war stories, comparing battle scars…and of course, plenty of ale to go around.

He pushed such thoughts away. Despite his earlier joking, he knew he'd need every coin, and a fair amount of haggling, if he wanted to purchase a horse sturdy enough to handle the long trek through the Wilderness.