In the days that followed, a change came over Boromir that they all noticed. Instead of his usual sullen and derisive manner, he became attentive and helpful, always willing to lend a hand to the others and never uttering one word of protest. The horror of the attack had sobered him, and the guilt that wracked him over leaving Legolas alone in the forest meant that the elf became his own special charge. Each night, they would lie down close to each other, and Boromir would put his arms around him in a gesture of brotherly comfort.
Indeed, Boromir treated him as if he were as helpless and as fragile as a babe, always making sure he was supported and protected from harm. His rough affection amused Legolas somewhat, for it made him smile to think how it looked to see the sturdy and serious soldier crouching in front of a warrior prince and feeding him soup. One evening, Boromir was helping him to dress when the elf began to laugh. The young lord looked at him in astonishment.
"What is so funny?"
"It is nothing," he said, but he continued to chuckle.
"What do you mean, nothing? If it were nothing, you would not laugh."
His obvious irritation only served to increase Legolas's mirth.
"It is only that I have caught sight of us both in the river."
"What of that?"
"But what a sight it is! A grown man helping an elf with his jacket and his belt, as if he were new born!"
"But you need to be helped."
"Yes – and now I will have to helped again, because I see that you have braided my hair wrongly!" He laughed again. "How strange it looks! Did you not see?"
Boromir looked at him, a little offended.
"I am sorry. I do not know much about putting up hair. I have never done it before."
Legolas smiled at him.
"You should not worry. I will leave it loose for now. I should be thanking you, for I have not laughed in many weeks."
Boromir shrugged and then smiled. "Well, if it amuses you so much, I will tie up your hair a different way every day."
"It is a handsome offer, but if you did so, I could never bear to be seen by another elf ever again!"
Boromir went along with Legolas, making light of the incident, but he could not help but be secretly embarrassed. In truth, as he had been helping him with his clothes, his eyes had been roving over his slim yet powerful body. The creamy white skin was warm wherever Boromir's large hands had rested on it, on his chest and on his shoulders, and he longed to be caressed by those soft lips. But whatever he felt, he said and did nothing, for the white scar on the elf's throat reminded him of how much Legolas had been through. There was a time and a place for love affairs, and this was certainly not it. Yet in a small way, he was pleased. The gentle and noble Legolas often hid his emotions from those around him, but Boromir had made him laugh out loud. That was something, after all.
The journey of the fellowship now took them to the depths of Moria, lair of the dwarves, for the path through the mountains had been closed to them. It was unwillingly that Boromir contemplated the long days ahead in such a dank and gloomy place, but there was no choice in the matter. As they began, he would stay behind Legolas at all times, so as to catch him if he should fall or stumble in the dim light across the broken stones. The elf's senses had been weakened since his assault, and his eyes were not so keen, his poise not so steady. Yet he never breathed a word of complaint or bitterness, and kept up with the others as well as he could.
One time, when they were about to stop and rest, he had fallen heavily on his knees, and let out a gasp of pain. Boromir had quickly stooped to help him to his feet.
"Are you hurt?" he cried out, concerned.
"No, no, I only missed the step. Thankyou. I should have been more careful."
The man brushed the dust off the elf as Legolas still clutched him for support, and waited until he got his breath back.
"Take it slowly. Your injuries are still healing. It is no wonder you are stiff and sore. I will change your dressings for you after you have eaten."
The affection and anxiety in his voice seemed to touch the elf, for Legolas suddenly turned to him and took his hand in a simple and lovely gesture that made Boromir catch his breath.
"Please, son of Gondor, forgive me if I was ever ill-mannered with you before. You have been very kind to me, and helped me greatly."
"Of course," said Boromir huskily, so overcome by the startling green eyes glowing radiantly at him that he could not say much more. Then he cleared his throat and said: "I must ask your forgiveness also, for I mocked you before. I am not used to the customs of the elven folk."
"And I had never been among men until this time, and so I was wary. In truth, I was told by my father that you were all alike: greedy and selfish, and seduced by power and lust."
Boromir was not as appalled as he might have been at this damning assessment. In fact, looking at the wild and regal beauty of the young elf before him, he understood perfectly why Thranduil would choose to warn his son about the lust of men.
"But now that I have known you, I see that it is not true. I would like to hear more about the race of men, and how they spend their days."
"Then let us be friends, and let any disputes between us be forgotten." So they clasped hands and sat down to eat together.
At Gandalf's request, the fellowship set off once more, but this time, Boromir and Legolas walked side by side. They spoke for many hours of their lives past, and of the lands from whence they came. In this way, Legolas learnt of the glory of the city of Minas Tirith, its seven gated tiers topped by a magnificent tower of white and pearl. He heard with delight the tales of Boromir's childhood at the feet of the mountains, in the wide open plains of Gondor. In turn, Boromir listened with wonder to the ways of the elves of Mirkwood, and their love of every tree that grew and every bird that sang in that strange and forbidden place. Legolas talked most warmly of the family that had nurtured him.
"My life was very happy. I always had my father and my brother to care for me, and I was sheltered from everything untoward." They were following the soft light that wavered from Gandalf's staff.
"You were fortunate, then."
"Yes, although I only see it now."
"But your mother?"
"My mother died a few weeks after my birth. I have no memory of her. I believe that spared me much pain – for my brother talks of her often. And the King tells me that I remind him of her each day."
"I lost my mother also."
Legolas looked at him with wide and gentle eyes.
"I am sorry. Do you miss her?"
"Always. I was a boy when she sickened, and I remember her wasting away over the months. I do not think my father ever fully recovered."
"But perhaps he takes comfort, like my own father, in the children he had by her."
Boromir lifted his eyebrows.
"I do not think so. I love him, to be sure; but he grows more and more withdrawn with each day, and sees me as a means to flatter his great name."
Legolas nodded.
"It is difficult to be the eldest in a family of repute. My brother has the weight of succession upon his shoulders. I have seen what a burden it can be, and how much he berates himself for his supposed failures. You, too, must feel the same strain."
"I do." He smiled suddenly. "Although, in all honesty, I have never admitted so before."
Legolas laughed.
"To always seem assured – that is half the task already done."
"I hope so. It is the half which I can do most easily, in any case."
They walked on for a while, until Legolas spoke again: "It is sorrowful to think how those who love each other are broken apart by sickness and death. I sometimes think that men must live with great fear and grief, for they know that one day all those that they care for will pass away."
"And so we envy your people, who may have lives everlasting. And yet, one day, all things must pass away. That is the way of the world. Perhaps my mother did not live long, but she was a good and kind woman who lived her life well."
"You are right – that is what matters most. As for me, I would break my immortality gladly if there was need." Boromir glanced at him in surprise, but the elf was not looking at him. He seemed thoughtful and reflective.
"For the Eldar called it the Gift of Men before they renamed it the Doom. And I believe they were right in the first, for I see what passion and courage there is amongst men, who treasure each of their days and who know how precious their short life is."
"So say our wise elders, that we should live to the full, for one day we shall die. But it can be a painful philosophy. So much suffering and cruelty in the world, and nothing for some of our people to look forward to. Is it not harsh for them to know that this little life is all they shall ever have, and that if they cannot make the best of it, they will fail? And it is more painful still, when they see the wealthy and well-born, filling their days with pleasures and indulgences."
"More reason, then," spoke Legolas, "for those of privilege to come to their aid."
"True. But there are miseries and humiliations that neither wealth nor luxury can ease." Legolas was silent, and Boromir suddenly turned to him.
"I am sorry! I did not mean to refer to – to what happened. Forgive me if I reminded you."
"It is no matter. Indeed, my friend, I could never forget, however many years pass. But I will learn to live my life again. It is all I can do."
Boromir reached out and put his hand gently on his shoulder.
"We are all here for you, Legolas. You have many friends that care for you, and you are precious to your brother and your father. We are so thankful that you have been strong enough to bear this."
"It is no question of strength. Whenever misfortune befalls any one of us, we can only do as best we can. But I thank you for your kindness. Without all of your help, I could not have borne it. Especially your help, Boromir."
Boromir flushed, but in the dim light it could not be seen. After a while, he said quietly: "How is it that you lived on after the Nazgul came? I was told that many a time an elf would die after such an attack."
Legolas seemed to look far off into the distance, as if he struggled to take his mind back to that time.
"I cannot say. I remember that when I lay, I felt as if I was floating away, like a ghost or spirit, but that I held onto my bodily form because I wished to live. I do not know why. Perhaps it would have been more honourable to choose to die."
"No! No, that is not right. It is more valiant to face such insults and overcome them, than to give up and die. You showed your strength and your defiance of those monsters when you chose to live your life – and you will live it well, and show everyone that you are still pure and noble, whatever has been done to you against your will."
Legolas sighed and shook his head.
"I can no longer think what is wrong, or what is right. It is too much for me. Please - let us not speak of it."
He had been resolutely silent about his ordeal, and this was the most he had said ever since the night of the attack. Boromir did not push him to say anymore. He was hurt that he could do so little to ease the elf's pain, but he respected his choice to keep his darkest moments to himself.
Some time later, they stopped again in a stone hall from which three passages ran. The weary travellers unrolled their bedding and settled down to sleep, for Gandalf could no longer remember which way they were to take. Boromir grumbled at the delay but in truth he was glad to rest, for none of them knew how long they had been walking. In Moria there was no day and no night, only darkness perpetual.
Legolas lay down close beside the tall man once more. Boromir watched him carefully as he stretched out on the floor, and in his mind there was a great debate. Even as the others closed their eyes and, one by one, fell asleep, still he turned restlessly. Could he tell Legolas of what he felt for him, or not? The prince was so proud that he feared his suit would be rejected, and such were the ways of the elves that he would never surrender to one night of sensual delight and no more.
He sighed into his mattress as he looked at the beauty of the sleeping figure, so pleasing in every way, a vision of ivory and gold. If only he could wrap his legs around that slender body, and moan his pleasure into those ears, he could rid himself of this yearning. The elf was so alluring, and so kindling to his desire – just like the ring itself, he thought. And surely that golden heirloom was his birthright, if it was anybody's. To put it in the hands of a common little hobbit was the worst kind of madness. No, he should be the one to keep it, and use it for the good of his long-suffering people. That was the only course which made any sense. And if he should have the ring, and take it when he pleased, why should he not take Legolas? He had courted many men before, and all had succumbed to his will.
Then he started at his own thoughts. Legolas was not like any other man. He felt ashamed of seeing the prince as no more than another conquest. Yet Boromir's heart had never truly loved before, and in truth, he did not know how to go about it. So he did what he did best whenever he had a problem that could not be resolved by any physical means: he ignored it and went to sleep, and hoped it would take care of itself.
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