Author's Note: This chapter is going to be very different from the previous few chapters, since these are events that are not depicted in either the book or the film. However, it's highly unlikely that Thorin and Company passed through the town of Bree without making at least a brief stop, so even with the addition of Boromir, this shouldn't be terribly out of place.

Chapter 7

Over the next couple of days, Boromir tried to get to know his companions a bit better. He took it in turns to speak to each of them, trying to divide his attention more or less equally. Of course, not all of them were particularly talkative, so the knowledge he gathered about the Dwarves was not evenly matched across the board.

Fíli and Kíli were five years apart, just as Boromir and Faramir were. Their mother, Dís, was Thorin's younger sister. Their father had been slain in the same battle as Thror and Frerin, Thorin's younger brother. As they had both been very young—with Kíli being little more than a baby at the time—Thorin was the only father either of them had ever really known. They both had a desire to be great warriors and make their uncle proud. It reminded him of himself and his brother.

Balin was the oldest member of the company, even older than Óin. Boromir was surprised to learn that not only were Óin and Glóin his cousins, but also that he and his brother, Dwalin, were Thorin's third cousins. This of course would make Fíli and Kíli his third cousins once removed (Boromir would have to remember to thank Merry and Pippin for their extensive lessons on Hobbit genealogy and the instruction of the proper terms for various relations). Balin was a friendly sort, but he was keen-eyed, quick-witted, and discerning. Boromir found himself having to dodge several questions that came rather too close to the mark for his liking.

Dwalin could not be less like his elder brother if he tried. Where Balin was scholarly and intellectual, he—though obviously just as sharp-eyed and quick-minded—was chiefly concerned with more practical and immediate matters. They made a good pair in that respect. Dwalin left the big picture planning to his brother; he kept his mind on day-to-day affairs, such as watching their surrounds and ensuring the safety of Thorin and his nephews. He was also less conversational and more suspicious than his brother, but Boromir found, with great humility and honor, that by showing Thorin his respect, he had managed to earn some of Dwalin's. It was a tremendous gift to receive so early in the quest, and Boromir would not take it lightly.

Glóin reminded Boromir of Gimli in both appearance and personality—hardly surprising, since he was the latter's father. Boromir also noted that the axes he carried were identical to the ones he had seen Gimli wielding, and he wondered if Glóin had passed them on to his son in later years. Glóin spoke fondly of his wife, who was apparently a famous beauty in the Blue Mountains, as well as his young son. Boromir could not suppress a smile as he listened to the stories. Óin, his elder brother, was an apothecary and healer by trade. He had begun to lose his hearing, but his skill was undiminished. Though he often had difficulty making himself heard, Boromir enjoyed talking with the elderly Dwarf, and he found that Glóin was just as easy to get along with as Gimli.

Dori, Nori, and Ori were a set of three brothers, with Dori as the eldest and Ori as the youngest. Boromir was surprised to learn that Dori seemed to have more of an interest in the finer things in life than his fellows, including finely-made clothes and a rather un-Dwarf-like preference for wine above beer and ale. He also spent much of his time mothering (or smothering) Ori, much to the younger Dwarf's dismay. Ori was a gentle soul who was often seen writing in a leather-bound book he kept in his pack. Ori explained that he wanted to be a chronicler, and thus he was keeping a record of their journey. Nori was much more standoffish than his brothers. He didn't seem to get along with Dori very well, but he too was protective of his younger brother—albeit in his own fashion. Nori didn't seem to have any animosity toward Boromir, but neither did he care to speak much with him. Ori was very curious about Gondor, and Boromir was happy to answer the young Dwarf's questions. Dori was amiable, but Boromir found that apart from being fiercely protective of their respective younger siblings, they had little in common.

At first, Boromir had despaired of getting to know Bifur in any capacity. The axe lodged in his skull prevented him from speaking in any language other than Khuzdul, of which Boromir understood none. Thankfully, Bofur offered his services as interpreter for his cousin. Bifur, along with his cousins Bofur and Bombur, were miners. However, he and Bofur had also tried their hand at toy-making, and found they much preferred it to laboring in the mines. Bifur's head injury caused him to become agitated easily, but as that usually resulted from him failing to be understood, he remained calm for most of their conversations thanks to Bofur's assistance. Bofur particularly enjoyed toy-making due to his love of children; he confessed that while jewels and precious metals moved his heart as they did any Dwarf, they paled in comparison with the smile and laughter of a happy child. Bombur was a quiet fellow, but unlike Nori, he was friendly and willing to socialize with the others. He simply didn't have much to say.

Thorin answered Boromir's inquiries politely enough, but Boromir quickly discovered that Thorin was often deep in thought, and he preferred to keep his thoughts to himself.

The one member of the company Boromir spent more time with than the others was Bilbo. The Hobbit seemed even more out of place than he was, and he was clearly questioning his decision to take part in this adventure. Boromir kept Bilbo occupied by asking him numerous questions about the Shire. Merry and Pippin had shared much with him, but he was curious to hear another's perspective, nonetheless. He discovered, to his surprise, that Bilbo seemed to spend a great deal of his time alone. Bilbo had very few friends, and he spent the majority of his days either puttering around Bag End, reading his books, or going out for walks. It was a quiet, simple life, and despite the loneliness of it, Boromir found himself envying him.

It took him a few days to gather all this and more from his companions. By that time, they had left the Shire and finally arrived in Bree. It was the first time in months that Boromir had been in the company of Men, and while they were not his people, Boromir still found it comforting.

This opinion was plainly not shared by the rest of the Company. Bilbo looked around in fascination, but plainly he had no desire to learn more about the village as of yet. As for the Dwarves, they wore expressions ranging from mild annoyance to outright disdain. Boromir was tempted to ask what they found so distasteful about Bree, but he decided against it; he was determined to form his own opinion of the people here before hearing anything about them from others.

"Replenish your supplies," Thorin instructed the others. "Acquire only what you think you may need; unnecessary items will weigh far too heavily on us and the ponies as we travel."

Boromir thought of the dwindling stores in his own pack and sighed. His need for a horse was paramount; without it, he would only slow the others down. That would certainly do little to ingratiate himself to Thorin.

His decision made, Boromir began making inquiries about suitable horses for sale. He had made do on less supplies than this before, and he could do so again.

The initial replies to his queries were not encouraging. Very few horses of the sort he needed were to be found in Bree, and of those few, even less had owners willing to part with them. Boromir could not help but think longingly of the horse he had been loaned by the Rohirrim…which he had lost after a difficult river crossing. It had escaped unharmed, and that was a small comfort—very small considering it had ended up on the wrong side of the water. Still, for the comparatively short time he had had with the creature, Boromir had marveled at its strength and beauty, and he had grown fond of it.

It was drawing on noon, and Boromir still had had no luck in acquiring a horse. Now he was beginning to get worried: the others planned to move on after taking lunch at The Prancing Pony, and if he did not wish to be left behind, he would have to remedy his situation soon.

Luck, however, did not seem to be with him. It was a rather dejected Boromir who trudged through the door of the Pony an hour later. The others, he observed, were already here and partway through their meal. With a heavy sigh, Boromir found an empty seat at the table before ordering his food—he had no qualms about it, seeing as he plainly would not be needing his small store of coin for anything else.

"No luck, laddie?" A kindly voice to his left made him look up. Balin was eyeing him sympathetically, and Boromir shook his head.

"None," he replied. "Anyone who has a horse sturdy enough to make the trip either will not part with it or wants more than I can afford." He took a long draught of his ale (a small part of his mind noting that it was an excellent brew and wishing he was in a better state of mind to enjoy it). "I had not anticipated it would be this hard."

Bilbo put in hopefully, "Maybe Thorin can be persuaded to delay a little? Give you more time to find a horse."

Dwalin, who had been listening, shook his head. "I wouldn't try it. Thorin will want to be gone as soon as possible. Either our Man finds himself a horse, or he gets left behind."

Boromir let out another sigh. "The first option looks highly unlikely at this point," he muttered. Internally, he was seething. It was just his luck that he would fail in this task he had been appointed to before he even had a chance to actually try.

"Pardon me, masters." Boromir looked up to see the innkeeper, Barnabas Butterbur, standing beside their table, wiping his hands on his apron. "I believe I overheard you saying you were looking for a horse fit for a long journey?" At Boromir's nod, he continued. "Well, sir, I'm no great judge of horseflesh beyond if they're fit to pull a cart or no, but I have a few animals in my stables you could take a look at."

Boromir could not believe his ears. Immediately, he stood and asked Butterbur to lead him outside.

Once in the stables, Barnabas directed him to the three horses he said he'd consider selling. At first, Boromir felt his heart sink. They were decent enough, he thought, but their delicate legs and small chests told him they would only serve for light riding.

Just as he was about to regretfully inform the innkeeper that these would not do, either, the third horse caught his eye. It was a young stallion, perhaps only five years old. At first glance, he appeared entirely unremarkable: a simple bay coat, lean body, and slightly drooping ears signaling that he was drifting off to sleep. However, a closer inspection revealed stronger, more powerful-looking legs and a deep, broad chest. His back was short, but his hindquarters were well-muscled, and there was the faintest hint of a proud arch in his neck.

Boromir put out a hand to the stallion. The horse pricked its ears and sniffed his hand before nickering softly and allowing Boromir to pat him.

Dreading the answer, Boromir asked, "How much for this one?"

Barnabas was a forgetful, slightly scatter-brained man, but he was no fool. He claimed not to be much of a judge of horses, yet even he could see that this young stallion was a fine creature—finer than was normally seen in Bree. The stallion had wandered into his stable yard but a few months back, and since no one had come to claim him, he was Butterbur's to do with as he pleased. He had hoped to get a very good price for the horse. But though Butterbur was not a stupid man, neither was he a cruel one. It was plain that this Man needed a horse, and needed one badly, if he wished to continue journeying with his companions. And from the sound of things, he'd be traveling a long way, so he needed a horse capable of making the journey.

"Fifteen silver pennies and he's yours."

Boromir turned about in astonishment. "Mr. Butterbur, this animal is worth at least twice that," he protested. "I cannot possibly—"

"I think you can," Butterbur interrupted. "You've a long way to go, or so it seems, and you're not likely to find another offer. I got him by chance, so it's no loss to me to sell him to you at whatever price I see fit, and fifteen seems perfectly fit to me."

Well, Boromir wasn't exactly in a position to argue. He asked to at least be allowed to purchase the horse's tack separately, but Butterbur refused. "Keep your coin to buy some good travelin' food," the innkeeper instructed. "Sounds like you'll need it."

Butterbur headed back inside, leaving Boromir to take up the young stallion. The horse was looking at him with an intelligent eye, and Boromir patted his neck lightly. "Well, I'll not ride a horse who doesn't have a proper name. We'll be spending a lot of time on the Road, you and I…so your name will be Menion." Menion made a whickering sound that might have been approval.

Later, Boromir met the others in the stable yard. Several of them congratulated him and patted him on the back (as high as they could reach, at least). They seemed pleased they would not have to leave him behind. Even Thorin offered him a small, barely noticeable smile.

With the Sun's fiery eyes watching their backs, all sixteen Dwarves, Wizard, Man, and Hobbit rode out of Bree together, feeling as though their journey was well and truly beginning at last.