And he desperately needed to believe in something. When he'd held the broken hilt of Narsil in his roughened hands at Rivendell, he'd felt the power of Man, the hope, the great destiny. And he also felt the failure. Boromir shivered and drew his Elven cloak around him for warmth. Though they were only a few days away from the safe haven of Lothlorien, the Company had dared not risk a fire. So, he stood guard over the halflings in the chill of the woods along the bank of the Anduin and reflected on things better left unthought. He could not be like Isildur. He could not betray his people, his family, his Company for the sake of false hope and insidious whispers that haunted his every waking moment. He knew the Ring's siren call would lead him to damnation, but it was so hard to hang onto the conviction they were doing the right thing. Using the Ring to fight the Dark Lord still seemed like a viable alternative to this suicidal mission. But then, a suicidal mission would bring him that much closer to the Halls of Mandos. That much closer to Darea. She'd been dead for three unendurable years and yet he still missed her with every breath. People who said time heals had obviously never lost someone of value. The immortal time of the Elves would not heal the hollowness of his heart. Still, he had to find something to hold onto here. There was beauty yet to be found in this realm. He gazed up at the full moon under a cloudless, starry sky. The moon shot silver rainbows over the trees and ground, illuminating, casting back shadow. And while his warrior nature cursed the lack of darkness that would protect Frodo and the rest of the Company, his human heart ached at the splendor. For it was on a night such as this that he'd first opened his heart to Darea. That he'd first claimed lips sweeter than any mead or ale; that he'd felt unfettered, complete happiness for the first (and most likely last) time in his life. She had been his miracle, his reason to keep Gondor thriving. She had been his reason to live up to every one of his father's increasingly paranoid demands. But everyone knew miracles didn't exist. And Gondor had no future. Not unless he did something about it. He looked at Frodo, caught in a fretful sleep under the eave of a copse of trees and took a half step toward the Hobbit before stopping himself with a shake. No. He would not do this. Boromir had a sudden, almost violent urge to hear his brother's voice. Faramir's sheer presence would be enough to stave off these dark cravings. He wondered if his brother could sense his troubled spirit, his conflict. Long had he fought the demons that dwelt both in Mordor and in his soul and he feared, for the first time ever, that he was losing the battle. The thought scared him more than an army of the Dark Lord's Orcs. His soul may be tattered and torn, but it and honor were all he had left. And pride. He heard a slight movement from the trees behind him. He whirled around, sword in hand, ready to defend the Ringbearer and the others to the death, if need be. But, as soon as he'd turned, he loosened his grip on his weapon. It was only Aragorn, back from roving patrol. "Legolas and Gimli will be back soon," the Ranger stated softly, as he walked to the clearing and stood next to Boromir. "You should try to get some rest now. It will be light soon and you will need to save your strength for Anduin." "I have strength enough to do what needs to be done." At least, he did physically. "You have been almost Elven in your endurance," Aragorn admitted, absently rubbing the necklace Arwen had given to him in Rivendell. "Why are you in such a hurry to reach Tol Brandir? Is Gondor's need so dire? Or is there perhaps another, more personal, reason you desire to seek the walls of the White City?" Boromir shook his head and sunk to the ground, leaning against the rough bark. "No, there is nothing for me there now." And admitting it broke his heart again. How was it possible to still feel this much pain? He looked up at Aragorn, who stood silent and watchful. "Only a father in need of his eldest son, a brother in need of his sibling and a city in need of leadership. I would be there to give it to them." Pride drove him to say words he wasn't even sure he believed anymore. Aragorn dropped to his haunches and touched a dirty hand to his forehead in salute. "Remember that you will not face the darkness of Mordor alone." Yes, Aragorn had pledged his weapon. As had Legolas and Gimli. And Boromir would take them gladly, for these folk, however disparate, were his comrades, his kin, as close to him as his own blood brother. But still he feared their help would come too late and Gondor would pay too heavy a price. Who was to even say their mission to destroy the Ring would succeed? If Gandalf the almighty Istari could fall, what chance did the rest of them have? He must stop these thoughts. They would drive him mad. He had the Company, he had Isildur's heir and he had the Ringbearer and the Ring of Power. Their quest had been ordained by Elrond himself. It would not fail. He would not fail. "Tell me what plagues you, brother." Aragorn took a last look around the parameter of the camp, looking for any signs of danger. He didn't know if it was the strain of too many nights without sleep, but he could feel something dark in the air. Perhaps it was the unease he felt from Boromir. Aragorn felt the other man's strain as vividly as if it was he himself who felt it. And perhaps he did. He'd had misgivings about this quest from almost the beginning. As Boromir had so eloquently stated, it was folly. What had made him think he was ready to claim his throne, to reforge Narsil, to prove that Numenorean blood still ran true in his veins? All he had was the faith of a woman he could not have, the belief of a wizard fallen and the grudging respect of a man he was almost desperate not to let down. With a dozen men of Boromir's strength and purpose, Aragorn could march through the Paths of the Dead to the Black Gates themselves and feel nothing except victory within his grasp. But alas, he only had the one Boromir. And that one man was troubled by shadows that would not let him be. His friend was too valuable to lose to darkness...too valuable to both the mission and Aragorn's own quest to reclaim Gondor. He needed Boromir's support to win the hearts of a people long used to toil and despair. His people. He could not let them down. "I think it is your own thoughts that plague you." Boromir's voice stilled the one inside Aragorn's head, allowed him a moment to step back. "It is only my concern for the Ringbearer," he lied, saying the first thought that came into his head. Boromir gazed at the halflings with an inscrutable expression. "He suffers, Aragorn. I fear the burden is too much for him." Aragorn privately agreed. This mission had been a poor test of his leadership skills. He felt lost without Gandalf. If only...no, he would not dwell on such matters. That path would drive him mad. They sat in silence for such a long time that Aragorn thought perhaps the other man had finally succumbed to slumber. When Boromir finally spoke, Aragorn had to strain to hear him, even though they were sitting right next to each other. "I don't know how much longer I can resist, Aragorn." The words were halting, hesitant. His head was lowered, hair falling in shadows across his face. "I try, but it calls me day and night. I'm not like you. I don't have a reason to withstand – no higher calling, no unfulfilled destiny, no great love story that will be sung through the ages." Boromir sighed deeply, wounded by injuries that no medicine could ever heal. And confessed his deepest secret in the still of the cloudless night to perhaps the only man who could possibly understand what it was like to long for something that could never be. "I have nothing except memories of a woman long since dead." "Ah. I had wondered at the grief you carried with you." It explained much. Aragorn's heart went out to the other man. "She was pure and perfect. And, for a very brief period, mine." Sheer emotion choked him for a moment. He cleared his throat, tried again. "She died in an Orc raid three years ago. I was too late to save her." Images of Arwen lying bleeding flashed into Aragorn's brain. What must it be like to lose someone you loved so completely? He himself would never know the pain of a world without his love. But he felt deeply for the man who did. "You say you have no calling, no great love. What about your love for Gondor? Cannot that sustain you?" "I do love Gondor." No one could mistake Boromir's conviction. "With everything I am and all I will be. It is my duty to see it protected, see it safe. And that used to be a noble calling." He paused, unwilling to say more, but this was a night for truths, however painful. He looked at the man beside him – ragged, dirty, clothing stained with blood – and only saw the leader of men. "But no longer. Not since you revealed yourself as Isildur's heir. Since you revealed yourself to be king in both word and deed." Boromir's entire world was falling apart and Aragorn was the one who had struck the first blow. "I am sorry..." "Don't be." Boromir clasped the other man's shoulder. "You are a great man. You'll be a great king. I feel this. I may not have the sight of my father or brother, but some things are obvious even to the blind." Aragorn nodded in understanding, even though he disagreed. He didn't feel very kingly at the moment. "You still have a purpose, Boromir. You still have a quest." The other man smiled, but it was pensive. "Yes, I know. The Fellowship. And every day, I fight for you. For Gimli and Legolas. For the memory of Gandalf, our fallen leader. For them." He gestured toward the Hobbits with a flick of his wrist. "I fight for Gondor, for the glory of it that once was and the glory it will be again. I would dearly love to be there to present you with the Crown of Kings and pledge my fealty to you and yours." He paused, as if seeing the moment in his mind's eye, then turned to Aragorn with a tired expression. "But, I am just a soldier. A leader of men, yes, but not in peace. I don't know peace. And my family's place in history is nearing its end." "There will always be need for men of your strength and courage, brother." Aragorn could feel his friend, his comrade, slipping away and was helpless to prevent it. He bitterly wished again that Gandalf were here. But he wasn't. And the right words would not come. Boromir continued. "My only hope is to die in battle, protecting what we have, what could be." He gestured once again to the halflings. "I would die to protect them, Aragorn. Silly and troublesome as they are. I would die to keep that innocence, that laughter, that hope. They make me feel like there's a future worth saving." "Then keep that image when your thoughts grow bleak. If they can save you, then it will have been worth all the burden and danger of having them along." Boromir nodded. "I will try. For you. Go get your sleep. I will stay until Legolas and Gimli return." Aragorn got up, stretching weary muscles. There must be something more he could do or say, but he couldn't think of it. He turned to leave and was stayed by the other man's hand on his wrist. He looked down into his colleague's tortured face and deep down, he wept. This was one battle he could not win with his sword. He could only offer friendship and hope it would be enough. "Protect them if anything should happen to me." Boromir turned his face up to Aragorn. His voice was low, but firm. "I do not fear so much for Frodo. Or Sam. They have a higher purpose connected to the Ring and there are great forces that will protect them should the need arise. But Merry and Pippin are young. And not learned in the ways of the world. Promise me you'll look after them." The words sent a chill into Aragorn's already distressed heart. "You will look after them, Boromir," he reminded the other man. "You are their sworn protector." "Promise me." Aragorn gazed deep into pleading green eyes and could not deny them. Perhaps it would give them both some peace. He inclined his head and Boromir let out a shaky breath. "Thank you," he said, his voice choked. "I know you would never break an oath." "Neither would you," Aragorn stated, finally blessed with the words that might help, might heal. "You have more honor and conviction than any man I've ever known. And you also swore an oath to see this mission done. I know you will be with us to the end." "It's a nice thought." "Then think it." "Aragorn, I..." Boromir stopped. "Thank you," he said simply. The Ranger knew the other man didn't just express gratitude for the promise to look after the younger hobbits. "We're all in the Company together. There is a reason we were all chosen." Aragorn spoke his words with care, knowing that it was critical he say exactly the right thing. "I believe this. Just as I believe in your noble destiny, Son of Gondor. I believe your time for greatness will come. And you will rise to meet it. You will stay true to the Fellowship and the quest." He put his hand on Boromir's and squeezed, then let go and went to his pallet. *** Aragorn's final words were enough to give Boromir untroubled sleep for the first time since Lothlorien. Perhaps things could be different. Perhaps he had the strength to overcome his weakness. Perhaps he could have that honorable death so he could face Darea with pride when he strode through the doors of the Halls of Mandos. It would be so lovely to see her beloved face again. To hear her sweet voice and feel those soft arms welcoming him home. It was a morbid thought, to be sure, but it was also one with hope. And he would hold onto it. It was all he had left.
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