Long days had passed since that night. Of the tale of the Ring, much has been spoken. It has been told how at the great council of Elrond, the one ring was revealed and its doom was sealed. The young lord of Gondor had seen it with his own eyes, and volunteered himself as part of the band that should carry it thence. Thus the fellowship began their slow and treacherous journey.
Many nights had gone, and still Boromir spent his hours perturbed. It seemed that no rest would come to him, though the heavens grew blacker, and the company about him breathed slow and silent. As they slept, he would lie on his back staring up at the sky, eyes open wide, and thoughts lodged deep in his skull.
The first thought that irked him was that there was no fool like an old fool. The rulings of the wise elders, so sure of their own merit and so closed to any other path, had piqued him much. By all that is holy, he thought, let me keep my judgements to myself when my hair is silvered. Let me not hold back the young and the strong when it is their time to move the workings of this world.
The second thought fell upon the ring itself. Only once had he seen it, and that once would return in his mind again and again. So simple it had sat upon the table of stone, like a gold circlet to sit upon the head of a king, and yet he seemed to have seen the world reflected in its band as if it could watch them all like an eye. Yes – exactly that – like an eye it had seemed, watching and waiting and never ceasing its steady gaze, not even when the dwarf's axe had shattered over its head and left it unscratched. It had sat squat and heavy like a dead creature, but still it watched them all, and in Boromir's mind it seemed to be burning like a brand.
He tried to shake the thoughts of the ring from his head, but whenever he succeeded, it seemed that he remembered how it hung upon the neck of the hobbit that lay not three feet from him. Almost to him the world seemed dulled and blurred at night, and only the ring would glow strong and sharp in their midst.
Almost, but not quite. For something else also troubled Boromir's thoughts, and this something at first he did not quite understand.
He was uneasy in the fellowship, that much he knew. From the first he had felt it, and to one who had been so comfortable among all the peoples he had commanded, it was a disconcerting state of affairs. In the beginning he believed he knew the cause. The ranger, Aragorn, had revealed himself at the council as the king that all had thought lost. It had been Aragorn, he was sure, that troubled him. Next to him, with his wise eyes and his gentle speech, he felt like a child in front of his master. His natural spirit and zeal seemed to dampen down in Aragorn's presence, and whatever he would propose, Boromir acquiesced.
And yet Boromir in truth had admiration for Aragorn's noble and candid leadership. The frank and the unadorned always agreed with his character. Perhaps, he thought, it was instead the wizard Gandalf that caused him this unease. He had some mistrust of his keen eyes and tremendous knowledge. More than once, he had answered him back and earnt a sharp rebuke, and now he amused the hobbits and Gimli by wry remarks about old men and their eccentric ways.
As for the good old dwarf and the four Halflings themselves, they had taken to Boromir well from the first. Like him, they felt somewhat out of place amongst the grand and the great, and like him, they enjoyed the simple pleasures of life. He would often entertain the hobbits, especially Merry and Pippin, teaching them swordfights and tricks, or telling them stories of the great cities he had known. He was fond of children, and the hobbits were like children in his eyes, lively and full of laughter even when the road was rough. He loved them well, for they were what they were without apology, and there was no affectation or pretence in their nature.
And last of all, there was the elf. He was an altogether different story. Cool in composure, and speaking rarely, he would stand upon the high rocks as tall and still as a statue carved from marble. Boromir could never read the expression in his large clear eyes, nor tell what passed through his mind. He stood his distance apart from the rest of the company, talking only to Gandalf and Aragorn, and he seemed to regard the others as not below his graces, but separate to them. His place was not among the humans of Gondor or the hobbits of the Shire. Indeed, the face that Boromir had thought so fair now seemed to anger him. Then, indeed, did Boromir realise the source of his disquiet – the elven warrior who was so proud and beautiful looked down on him with something like scorn.
He turned over on his sleeping mat, and rubbed his eyes. Perhaps it was too early to make such judgements about the company. He had not yet had a chance to talk to Legolas and learn of his character, for the elf had so far remained aloof. Tomorrow, he thought to himself, I will approach him. As he was pondering, again the thought of the ring as a bright gold loop entered his mind. It hung like the sun, suspended in the air. Restless and twitching, Boromir turned over again, and resigned himself to another sleepless night.
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