Title:  The Moral of the Story (Part 2/3)
Author:  mcguffan (anne_robbins@yahoo.com)
Rating:  NC 17 
Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir
Summary:  Aragorn tells a story about Thorongil and Boromir gets to be jealous of 
Faramir for a change.
Archive:  Please do not archive this without permission.
Notes:  A little feedback would really help my very fragile ego. Please review.
Special Thanks to Sûlien for help with Sindarin.  I really appreciate it.  You’re a ‘vir’:+}


*
The fellowship rose with the dawn.  The mood continued cheerful.  The flat terrain was 
such a relief after the steep slopes of the mountain.  The wind no longer blew freezing 
cold and miracle of miracles there was no more of the dreadful smothering snow.  Merry 
and Pippin who could often set the emotional tone for the others were exuberant, fairly 
bouncing with renewed energy.  Even Gandalf seemed to be slowly coming to grips with 
the necessity of traveling to Moria.  Thus, he was able to pull himself from his depression 
enough to be the benign curmudgeon the hobbits knew and loved.

Boromir had slept poorly.  He had been restive all night.  The few occasions when he had 
managed to fall into a fitful sleep his dreams had been a surreal jumble of lurid images 
that had disturbed him greatly, though, upon waking he could not remember what he had 
seen.  Despite this the warrior did his best to appear light-hearted, grousing good-
naturedly with the dwarf and teasing the hobbit cousins.  There were times, however 
when Boromir would lapse into silence, staring off into the middle distance, his eyes 
filled with indecipherable emotions.

The charade was in part for the ranger’s benefit.  Boromir noticed Aragorn’s eyes upon 
him and he knew that the other man had worried that his story last night had upset the 
blond warrior.  It had, in fact, had a tremendous impact upon Boromir but the warrior 
understood instinctively that if the ranger knew this he would become even less 
forthcoming and Boromir desired nothing so much as Aragorn’s confidence.  Thus, 
whenever Aragorn approached Boromir in attempt to assess his mood the man would 
quickly find something else that needed his attention.  Though Boromir had a thousand 
things he wanted to ask but he could not bring himself to speak to Aragorn.  He had a 
great deal to sort out before he trusted himself to question the ranger.

By the afternoon Boromir was having increasing difficulty keeping his mind on what was 
going on around him.  The blond warrior found himself wishing for something urgent to 
take up all his attention, a warg attack, some small natural disaster, anything.  To his 
chagrin, however, the day was clear, no enemy perused and the walking was pleasant and 
easy.  With his mind free to wander Boromir kept seeing his brother being held in his 
mother’s arms while Aragorn looked on with affectionate approval.  Then the vision 
would change.  Finduilas disappeared.  Faramir had grown into a man but Aragorn did 
not change.  The ranger still looked upon Faramir with love and tenderness.  This vision 
drove Boromir to distraction.  He hated it but he could not seem to get it out of his mind.  
He didn’t understand why it bothered him so much but Boromir was becoming 
increasingly anxious to get rid of it.

Finally in desperation Boromir turned to the one walking at his side- who turned out to be 
Legolas.  The elf was singing quietly to himself as he often did while walking.  The soft 
words tripped easily off the elf’s tongue creating a light and airy sound that seemed to 
harmonize with the sounds of nature about them.  The man seized upon this as an excuse 
to make conversation.

“What is it about?”  His question had started out more harshly than Boromir intended and 
he had to consciously moderate his tone.

“What is what about?”  The elf inquired.

“Your song.”  Damn, Boromir hoped that whatever it was would be interesting.

“Oh,”  The elf laughed.  “it is about the path we tread and that small spray of wild 
flowers we just passed.  And it is about the birds nesting in the trees over to our right and 
the play of light and shadow. . .”  ‘Oh gods,  An extemporaneous commentary on the 
scenery, not the least bit interesting,’  Boromir thought dismally as he stopped listening.  
Soon he was again lost in reverie.  

“Boromir. . . Boromir!”  The man shook his head and looked around.  The elf was 
looking at him inquisitively.  Boromir flushed.  He had no idea how long Legolas had 
been trying to get his attention.

“Sorry, you were saying?”  Boromir hoped that he would be able to bluff his way passed 
whatever the elf had asked.  He had a feeling that he missed out on several minutes of 
conversation and he didn’t want Legolas to realize that.

“I asked if you ever sang, Boromir.  I do not often have the opportunity to hear men but I 
have always liked the deep sonorous sound.  I love the way Estel sings.  He has such a 
deep rumbling base.”  To demonstrate Legolas dropped his voice several ocvtives and 
tried a few notes.  His voice, however, quickly deteriorated and he lost the pitch which 
caused Boromir to smile a little.  Of course Aragorn had a wonderful voice Boromir 
thought fondly but it was much more suited to delivering stern commands than pretty 
songs.  “You have a pleasant speaking voice, Boromir, I do not doubt that you could turn 
that voice to song if you wished.”

“I only sing when I’m drinking.”  Boromir replied.  “Faramir sings well though.”  
Boromir remarked thoughtfully.  Faramir could even sing in Sindarin.  His brother 
seemed to have an aptitude for all the arts.  Boromir had always been proud of Faramir’s 
talent, though, he had been inclined to think it a rather frivolous gift.

“You should sing more often, then, Boromir.  Even if it is done poorly, there is joy in 
turning one’s thoughts into music.”  Legolas said encouragingly.

“I don’t think so.”  The warrior replied.  Shrugging at the perversity of men the elf 
resumed his song.
*
That night Boromir dreamed.

He was in his mother’s garden in Minas Tirith.  A young man was sitting on a bench 
picking out notes on a dulcimer.  Boromir knew the man was Faramir, even though this 
Faramir could have been no more than fifteen or sixteen- a boy really.  As the scene came 
into greater focus Boromir realized that Faramir was singing, the same melody- in fact- 
that Legolas had been singing that afternoon.

As the music drew to a close a stranger appeared and walked up to Faramir.  Boromir 
could not quite discern the man’s features.  Even when he looked directly at him the man 
seemed out of focus, obscured somehow as though something was blocking Boromir’s 
vision.  As soon as Faramir became aware of the man’s presence he jumped to his feet 
and bowed very low.

“You play beautifully.”  The stranger said moving closer to the young man and it was 
true, of course.  Faramir did play beautifully.

“Thank you, my lord.”  Faramir replied, his voice soft and reverent.

“You remember me?”  The man asked sounding a little surprised but quite pleased.  
Faramir raised his eyes to the stranger’s face and looked at him with complete sincerity.  
For just a moment Boromir thought he saw in the young Faramir’s expression and clear 
gaze the image of Frodo.  The similarity was gone in an instant but Boromir was deeply 
troubled by it.

“I can never forget you, my lord.  I hope every day for your return.  It is and has always 
been the greatest desire of my heart.  You are-”  The man raised a hand and Faramir 
instantly fell silent.

“You are faithful Faramir but the time has not yet come.  There are still many trials ahead 
and the future is ever uncertain.  You must wait a little longer.”  The man said sadly.  
Faramir lowered his eyes accepting the other’s words with humble resignation.

“But I have not forgotten you either, my faithful one.”  The man continued with a small 
smile.  “I have a gift for you.”  So saying the stranger extended his hand.  A chain 
dangled from his fingers and upon the chain was a small gold loop- a ring.  “When I 
reclaim what is mine this will be for you so that all may know you are the one who 
believed in me, the one who kept faith with me and the one who I love and prize above 
all others.”

“I strive always to be worthy of your service, my lord.”  Faramir replied his eyes filling 
with tears.  The young man barely glanced at the ring.  All his attention was on the man 
before him.  In the next instant the stranger was gone and the tears fell unheeded down 
Faramir’s cheeks.

It was still night when Boromir awoke- pale and awash with sweat.  The feeling of the 
dream still lingered and the blond warrior knew two things with absolute certainty:  The 
stranger in his dream had been Aragorn and the bearer of the One Ring would have the 
love of the king.
*
As the fellowship broke camp the dream repeated itself over and over in Boromir’s mind.  
Though, with the sun some of Boromir’s reason returned.  The One Ring would be 
destroyed.  It was ludicrous to think it was the key to Aragorn’s affection.  The ranger did 
dote obsessively on Frodo but that was just because the little hobbit was so frail and 
helpless.  It was kingly in Aragorn to protect the little one but Boromir knew Aragorn 
needed someone to protect and take care of him instead of constantly catering to pathetic, 
weak-willed hobbits.  Anyway, why would Aragorn give the ring to Faramir of all 
people?  The two did not even know each other.  What difference did it make that 
Faramir possessed many qualities that the ranger prized.  That was just chance.  Aragorn 
had only seen him once decades ago.  There was no connection between them.  How 
could there be?

But Back in Minas Tirith, Boromir’s tortured mind insisted, there had been that first 
dream.  Boromir and Faramir had shared the first prophetic vision and then argued over 
who would claim the quest to interpret it.  The dream had come to Boromir, too.  He had 
been just as worthy of it.  There had been something compelling about the dream, a 
summons he could not ignore.  It was his destiny to go to Rivendell, to unravel the 
mystery, to find Aragorn and bring him back to his kingdom.  Faramir, however, had 
demanded the mission.  Even at the time Boromir had found this odd.  Never before had 
his younger brother so much as raised his eyes to something Boromir had wanted for his 
own.  In return Boromir had always been generous with Faramir, sharing everything he 
had and protecting the younger man.  That was how it had always worked, and nothing 
had ever been able to disturb the strong bond between the Steward’s sons.  This time, 
however, the brothers had quarreled.  In the end, Boromir had turned to Denethor and the 
steward- as was expected- had taken the side of his eldest child.  Why had Faramir 
wanted this quest so badly?  He couldn’t possibly have known the road to Rivendell 
would lead to Aragorn.  It was impossible.

And if he did know?  Faramir was so different from Boromir.  He had always wanted the 
return of the king.  In all truth Faramir could probably be described as loyal to Aragorn 
even though he did not know there was an Aragorn.  There were differences of character 
also.  The younger brother always thought before he spoke and was slow to anger.  If it 
had been Faramir at Elrond’s Council there would have been no doubt or hesitation about 
accepting Aragorn.  Boromir felt queasy at the thought that Faramir would have known 
right away that Aragorn was his king by both blood and worth.  Why had Boromir 
himself missed it and then having realized his error why had he not confessed it?  Faramir 
always admitted it when he was wrong- not that he often was.  He was even a little over 
quick to accept fault.  This had always irritated his older brother because it meant that all 
but the truly discerning tended to undervalue Faramir.  Of course Aragorn was capable of 
great discernment.  

Then, too, Boromir had his own share of faults though he was not ashamed to own them.   
He was proud.  He had a quick temper and he could be argumentative.  Boromir didn’t 
suffer fools gladly and he would rather duel with swords than words.  If these were 
failings then at least they were failings only the strong could possess.  And so what if 
Aragorn and Faramir would get along well together.  So what if Faramir’s nature was 
such that his behavior was unlikely ever to cause his king even a moment’s anxiety.  
Boromir was glad, glad that his brother and his king would be friends.  That wasn’t 
important, what was important was that Boromir would come before Faramir in 
Aragorn’s affections.  He would be Aragorn’s support and his comfort- the one he could 
always turn to, always rely on.  The king was allowed to love Faramir but he had to love 
Boromir better.  Boromir was destined for Aragorn.  Destined to be his Captain-General, 
his counselor, his beloved.  It could be no other way.

“Are you all right, Boromir?”  A high-pitched voice broke in on the warrior’s thoughts.

“Fine, Pip.”  Boromir replied, trying to smother his irritation.

“Are you sure?  You haven’t said anything all day, you have let your dinner get cold and 
you’ve been grinding your teeth again.”  The hobbit said with concern.  Looking at the 
rapidly chilling stew before him with distaste Boromir nonetheless took a hearty bite in 
an attempt to allay the hobbit’s fear.  He didn’t want to be pestered now.  He had too 
much to think about.

“I’m just fine.  Why don’t you. . .”  Boromir tried to think of some activity that would 
occupy his young friend but nothing sprang immediately to mind.  Looking about him for 
inspiration Boromir suddenly realized that it was only mid-afternoon.  There were still 
hours of daylight left.  “. . .Why have we stopped?  It’s too early, isn’t it?”  As soon as 
the words were out Boromir regretted the question.  Pippin’s brow furrowed with anxiety 
and the hobbit looked about him checking Gandalf and Aragorn’s location in case he 
needed to call either of them over.

“Bill was starting to limp and Gandalf said it was all right if we stopped early today.  
Don’t you remember?”  Pippin sounded scared and Merry who had just bounced up to his 
cousin looked at Boromir with concern, taking his cue from Pippin’s tone.

“Yes, of course.  I was just daydreaming a bit.  It’s easy to let your mind wander on the 
march.  All soldiers do it.”  Boromir hurriedly explained.  Now that he thought about it 
the blond warrior did recollect Sam making a fuss about something to do with the pony.  
Pippin considered this for a moment and finally deciding to accept the explanation.

“Since we have time would you like to help us with our sword fighting?”  Merry asked 
still looking fretful.

Boromir did not want to help the hobbits with their training.  What he wanted to do was 
sit where he was and try to make sense of things.  Perhaps he should even speak to 
Aragorn and ask the man flat out if he had ever had any other dealings with Faramir.  
Somehow that was very important.  Aragorn was precious to Boromir he would not lose 
him- not even to his cherished brother.  A quick look at Merry’s face, however, revealed 
that if Boromir declined to play with the hobbits the cousins would run off and 
communicate their concern about Boromir to someone- most likely Aragorn himself.  
Thinking that he was damned if he needed looking after Boromir nodded and followed 
the hobbits to an open space close to camp.
*
As the younger hobbits sparred with Boromir Aragorn surveyed the camp.  Sam was, as 
always, tending the fire.  Gandalf was tracing runes in the dirt for Frodo to read.  The 
hobbit’s Sindarin was coming along well.  The act of learning distracted the embattled 
ringbearer and seemed to help him cope.  Legolas and Gimli were throwing elaborately 
phrased insults back and forth as they sharpened their weapons.  In all it was a peaceful 
camp.  Aragorn should have been happy but instead he was worried.  Worry was all he 
seemed to be good for these days, the ranger thought ruefully as he watched his charges.

His eyes sought out the figures of the wizard and the frail looking hobbit first.  The little 
one was doing as well as could be expected- better than any had a right to expect but the 
Ring was clearly torturing Frodo.  The hobbit was losing interest in the routine activities 
of daily living and Aragorn could not remember the last time Frodo had joined the light-
hearted banter of his friends.  The little one’s pain tormented the ringbearer’s protector 
more than the ranger’s own pain would have done.  Frodo, though for all his critical 
importance, was not the ranger’s sole concern.  Aragorn was also anxious for Gandalf.  
The wizard had devoted countless years to the fight against Sauron and they all relied 
upon his wisdom but not even Gandalf could know everything.  Earlier that day the 
wizard had confided to the ranger that he felt that the mood of the Ring had become 
gleeful and Gandalf could not guess its designs.  It was unusual, too, for Gandalf to agree 
to let them stop.  Bill was hardly lame as Sam had feared.  He only had a bit of stiffness 
in his foreleg.  The ranger hoped the dread of Moria was not interfering with the old 
wizard’s judgment.  

The ranger's glance drifted toward the elf and dwarf.  He was so pleased at the 
burgeoning friendship between the two.  He wanted to praise them but feared that the 
proud creatures would take it amiss and so he simply watched with delight as the two 
bandied sarcasm.  Gimli's enthusiasm for the mines, however, left Aragorn to wonder 
how the dwarf would react if- as Gandalf feared- all was not as it should be in the 
dwarven kingdom.  Even if everything was as Gimli described that still left Legolas in 
difficult straits.  Despite the elf's bravado the deeps pits of Moria would hold a particular 
horror for the creature of light and air. 

Of all the fellowship the three remaining hobbits caused Aragorn the least trepidation.  
Sam would be all right so long as he had Frodo to take care of.  Merry and Pippin 
struggled occasionally with homesickness and the hardships of the journey but Boromir 
was always there to comfort them.  Aragorn was grateful to the other man for his 
willingness to care for the other hobbits.  It was so noble and good-hearted of the warrior.  
Aragorn automatically turned his eyes to the hobbit cousins and their trainer.  If only 
Aragorn were able to fathom Boromir's needs the way the Boromir did for the hobbits.  
That the blond warrior was in great need Aragorn did not doubt but he felt strangely 
diffident about approaching him.

Proud, fierce Boromir, the man exasperated the ranger terribly.  His stubbornness was 
maddening, yet with the hobbits he was kind and gentle.  His earnestness and dedication 
were undeniable.  He was an honorable man but this quest was giving him challenges he 
had never before faced and Aragorn longed to help him.  The warrior provoked 
something in Aragorn that he could not explain and Aragorn feared becoming lost in his 
feelings.  He knew he cared for Boromir but to do more was dangerous.  Ah, but the man 
was so. . .

“What’s that ‘orrible noise.”  Sam demanded as the peace of the camp was shattered by 
frantic howling.

“It sounds like a wolf.”  Aragorn responded his previous line of though temporarily 
abandoned.

“A wolf in a trap.”  Legolas elaborated, his blue eyes sorrowful.  The elf hated the idea of 
traps.  He understood their necessity for Aragorn had once explained to him how wolves 
would prey upon the livestock of farmers and even attack human children given the 
opportunity but it was still a hard thing for Legolas to accept.  Wolves never interfered 
with elves.

“Are there men in these parts?”  Boromir, who had broken off demonstrating a basic 
parry to attend to the conversation, asked excitedly.  The blond warrior missed the press 
of humanity, having traveled so far on his own and then with eight others only one of 
whom was of his own kind.

“There have been no settlements here for quite some time.  The trap was most likely left 
over form long ago or it is the property of a single hunter.”  Gandalf volunteered as the 
desperate howling continued.

“Shall we go, Legolas, and release him or if the creature is too far gone give him a quick 
end.”  Aragorn suggested, taking up his quiver.  The ranger would not have the hobbits 
listening to the creature’s anguished cries all night.  Legolas nodded and rose to follow 
the human.

“Be careful!”  Frodo called after them as they left the camp.
*
Merry and Pippin leaned on their swords breathing heavily.  It had not taken long for 
Boromir to throw off his mood and get into the spirit of the training and he had given the 
cousins quite a work-out.  “That was very well done.”  He praised his pupils with a 
genuine smile.  “Just remember: Don’t abandon your form as you get tired.  It’s all right 
to slow down if you have to but your muscles remember what you do.  Don’t let them get 
used to sloppy moves.”

The hobbits nodded dutifully before collapsing next to Sam.  The cousins enjoyed the 
training.  They liked the attention for though they understood Frodo’s great need they 
occasionally felt they were ignored.  Thus, they craved time with Boromir.  The man was 
obviously fond of them and sometimes when they sparred even Aragorn and Gimli would 
watch and comment.  Merry and Pippin could also tell their skill with the blade was 
increasing and this was also a tremendous boon to their confidence.  They were not 
warriors but neither were they entirely useless.

Boromir had enjoyed the exercise but it had left him sweaty and dirty.  He wanted to 
wash or if he could find no water he at least wanted to air out his clothes.  The blond man 
conveyed his intention to the wizard before setting off.  Gandalf was not happy but the 
wizard could see that nothing he could say would dissuade the warrior.  He was too 
accustomed to getting his own way and Aragorn was not there to rein him in.  Gandalf, 
himself, no longer understood Boromir.  It was evident that the man’s fears for his people 
had been greatly diminished.   Whenever the subject of Gondor came up Boromir would 
no longer turn to Frodo but to Aragorn.  Gandalf assumed this meant the Ring had failed 
and that Boromir was free but now something else haunted the steward’s son.  The 
wizard did not know what it was that Boromir now wanted but he felt certain that the 
Ring knew very well.

When Boromir had put some distance between himself and the camp he realized that 
what he had wanted more than a bath was solitude- a chance to be alone with his 
thoughts.  He liked his companions well enough but having to be together night and day 
was wearing.  He was lonely too; lonely in a way that was only made worse by the 
presence of others.  Aragorn could ease his loneliness, Boromir thought a little wistfully.  
Aragorn could make everything wonderful and Boromir could be such a help to his 
friend.  He would reassure him, ease his worries and protect him from petty distractions.  
The ranger might even be willing to let him do so if he didn’t have Frodo constantly 
clamoring for his attention.  As Boromir continued to think on Aragorn the warrior 
realized the wolf had stopped howling a long time.  For just a moment Boromir wondered 
what Aragorn and Legolas could possibly be doing to delay their return to camp.  He did 
not allow himself to pursue the idea, however.  It was too painful.

Coming to the top of a small hill Boromir surveyed his surroundings.  At last he caught 
sight of something that might possibly be a small pond.  Encouraged the blond man 
headed towards it, his thoughts quickly returning to their previous track.  Aragorn 
thought Frodo was so courageous and so virtuous and it rankled Boromir.  It was only 
that the frail hobbit had the Ring that kept the ranger from seeing what a mewling little 
nuisance Frodo really was.  Merry and Pippin were a joy, always cheerful and willing to 
make an effort but Frodo just moped and demanded sympathy.  If Boromir carried the 
Ring then he would bear it stoically.  No one would have to listen to him cry about how 
heavy it was or how much it hurt.  And when Aragorn came to comfort him he would 
smile and tell the ranger that he was strong and could endure whatever the other man 
asked of him.

As Boromir finally came to the pond and stripped down to his trousers and undertunic he 
was smiling to himself.  He washed quickly then made a half-hearted attempt at cleaning 
his outer layers of clothing.  Aragorn would be so impressed with the way Boromir 
handled the Ring.  He would lose all interest in Frodo and wonder how he ever thought 
such a frail hobbit could be worthy of his affection.  The thought of the ranger’s grey 
eyes looking upon him with pride and admiration suffused the blond warrior with 
warmth.  Laying out his clothes to dry he sat beneath a tree on the bank of the pond and 
gave himself up to his imagination.
*
Sauron had been defeated.  The long brutal war was finally over.  The peoples of Middle-
Earth rejoiced and the lords of Gondor returned to the White City together.

“It is breathtaking, Boromir.”  Aragorn commented as the two walked side by side across 
the Pelennor field to the gates of Minas Tirith.  Boromir could not speak passed the lump 
in his throat but he nodded and reached to take Aragorn’s hand in his own.  The ranger, 
now king, smiled at him with kindness.

As they reached the gate they were greeted by a joyful shout.  “You are here!  Finally, 
finally, you’ve returned.”  Boromir felt his heart swell at the sound.  He was home and he 
would be reunited with his beloved brother.  He had missed Faramir terribly but now 
everything was coming together so wonderfully.  Boromir tried to move closer to 
Aragorn to share his excitement and joy but at the sound of the voice Aragorn dropped 
Boromir’s hand and began looking around expectantly.  In the next moment Aragorn and 
Boromir caught sight of a figure running towards them.  It was indeed Faramir.  He 
looked just as he had when Boromir left for Rivendell except for the expression of 
rapture on his face.  As Boromir watched helplessly Aragorn flung his arms wide and 
caught the young man as he ran to meet them.  

“I missed you so much, so much.  Ah, my lord, you are here.  I can scarce believe it.”  
Faramir cried first clutching at Aragorn’s arms then placing his hands on the older man’s 
chest as though he needed to touch him to convince himself that his king had indeed 
returned.  Aragorn was smiling with more warmth than Boromir had ever seen from the 
other man as he kissed Faramir upon the brow then folded him into a tight embrace.  As 
Faramir’s arms came up to twine around Aragorn’s neck Boromir saw a bright golden 
band around his brother’s finger.

“Ah, my faithful one, the time has at last come.”  Aragorn said gently.  “You have been 
mine for years and now I announce my claim to the world.”  Then lifting Faramir’s chin 
Aragorn kissed him tenderly upon the lips.

Boromir tried to speak, tried to do something to gain attention.  He had to put a stop to 
this awful scene somehow.  It was all so wrong.  Faramir could not do this to him.  
Aragorn was not meant for the younger brother but for the elder.  Boromir would make it 
up to Faramir some how, some way.  He loved his brother and asking him to surrender 
whatever claim he had upon Aragorn to Boromir was demanding a lot but Faramir had to 
understand this was all wrong.

“Aragorn.”  Boromir finally managed to whisper piteously but Aragorn did not hear him.  
He was too busy placing gentle kisses along Faramir’s jaw.  The younger man raised his 
head in ecstasy, giving his lord access to the vulnerable flesh of his throat.  As he did so, 
however, he seemed to catch sight of his brother.  A faint smile of recognition played 
across the young man’s features as though he was politely acknowledging an 
acquaintance.  Then Aragorn’s tongue flicked out to stroke the hollow of his throat and 
Faramir forgot all about his brother.

Seething with rage and hurt Boromir struggled to do something, to give voice to his sense 
of pain and betrayal but he was caught in a nightmarish torpor.  He was helpless to do 
anything, even to close his eyes as Faramir sank down into the fragrant green grass his 
arms still around Aragorn.  ‘No!  No!’  Boromir howled as the two most important people 
in the world to him lay side by side exchanging gentle kisses and tender touches.  
Boromir had not believed it could be worse but he was proved wrong when a smiling 
Faramir turned onto his back and Aragorn moved to cover him with his body.

The sweetness and gentleness was quickly giving way to urgency and passion as Aragorn 
crushed his mouth down upon Faramir’s willing lips.  The younger man moaned 
blissfully at the deeper contact, yielding to his king’s every advance.  Thus encouraged 
Aragorn continued to press Faramir into the earth in an attempt to force their bodies 
closer.  The younger man’s fingers tangled in Aragorn’s hair and his legs parted so that 
the man atop him could rest in the cradle of Faramir’s hips.

‘No.’  Boromir repeated uselessly.  He could not endure it.  He hated what he was seeing 
but deep down Boromir understood that even had he been able to turn away he would 
have watched anyway.  Gods, but Aragorn was beautiful and Faramir was so sweetly 
compliant.  Disgust and horror warred with need and arousal.  The conflict was going to 
tear him apart but something was intruding upon the vision something. . . outside.  
Desperately Boromir fought to escape the terrifying images reaching desperately for the 
disruption.  There were voices, yes voices.  He focused on the sound letting it draw him 
away from Aragorn and Faramir locked in a lover’s embrace.

Boromir’s eyes opened.  He was lying on the bank of a small pond amidst the rushes and 
tall reeds.  Taking in his surroundings Boromir’s eyes squeezed shut in relief.  Only a 
dream, thank all the Valar it had only been a dream.  Even as he rejoiced Boromir heard 
again the sounds that had awakened him.  The wind carried two voices across the water 
to the blond warrior’s eager ear.  Aragorn and Legolas were talking.
*
Following the pained yowls Aragorn and Legolas quickly found there way to the 
suffering wolf.  The creature had his leg caught in the metal teeth of a trap just as Legolas 
had guessed.  From a safe distance the two discussed strategy for the wolf still had 
strength left and would not take kindly to his rescuers if he was approached rashly.  
Finally it was decided that Legolas would approach first and do his best to calm the wolf 
and make friends.  Then when the animal came to trust the elf, Legolas would distract 
him so that Aragorn could attempt to free the creature’s leg.

Emerging from hiding the elf walked slowly towards the wolf.  The animal left off 
howling to watch warily as Legolas came nearer.  At a distance of about ten paces the elf 
stopped and sat upon the ground and waited a few minutes.  Then the elf began speaking 
quietly and reassuringly.  He explained that he was a friend and that his intention was to 
help free the wolf.  The creature listened warily but he did not growl or challenge 
Legolas.  With deliberate caution the elf reached into the pouch at his waist and removed 
a crust of bread while the wolf watched his every move.  After taking a small bite of the 
bread Legolas moved to his hands and knees and crawled closer, continuing to speak in 
low, soothing tones.

When he had halved the distance between them Legolas stopped and tossed the bit of 
bread across the rest of the space between them.  The wolf tensed as the bread rolled to a 
stop right before him but then he sniffed at the food.  After only a moment’s hesitation 
the animal extended his tongue and tasted the offering.  Pleased the wolf took his eyes off 
the elf and lowered his head to eat.  Legolas took the opportunity to move yet closer until 
he could have reached out to touch the wolf.

Aragorn, who had been approaching the wolf from behind, could not help but marvel at 
how quickly the fierce creature accepted his friend.  It would have taken Aragorn at least 
twice as long to come so close to a wild animal in pain.  Using all his stealth the ranger 
drew nearer studying the trap as he did so.  He would need something to lever the metal 
jaws open.  Even if he had the strength in his fingers to pry the jagged teeth apart if his 
grip slipped he would do severe damage to his hands.  Pausing Aragorn bent to retrieve a 
stick from the ground before continuing.

Having finished the bread the wolf looked up and for the first time gave a little whimper 
telling Legolas that he was in pain.  Murmuring in sympathy the elf took out another 
piece of bread and extended his hand.  The wolf consented to eat the bread from Legolas’ 
fingers sniffing at his new friend curiously.  Satisfied Legolas started to sing, moving 
closer to stroke the wolf’s head and ears.  Aragorn who had materialized a few feet from 
the wolf joined the song very softly.  The creature started at finding a human so close but 
Legolas stroked him reassuringly and Aragorn remained still letting the animal hear the 
harmonized voices of his new friend and the stranger.  The wolf quieted accepting 
Aragorn for Legolas’ sake.

Still using the utmost caution Aragorn inserted the stick into the jaws of the trap.  The 
wolf whimpered and Legolas crooned moving closer.  It took several minutes but the 
ranger finally managed to open the trap.  Sensing that freedom was near the wolf tried to 
pull his paw away but one of the metal teeth had bitten deeply into his leg and he cried as 
the spike tore at his flesh.  Reacting instantly Aragorn took a firm hold of the animals 
paw and lifted it up and off the metal.  The wolf’s cry was half howl half snarl as it felt 
hands on his paw followed by sudden pain and then finally freedom.  Leaping away the 
wolf fell, rolled and then came up again.  After regaining his feet he loped away favoring 
his injury and not looking back.  With the wolf free Aragorn removed the stick propping 
the trap open and the jaws slammed shut with a vicious snap.

“Well, there is a good deed done.”  The ranger commented rising and examining his 
hands which were red with blood from where he had seized the wolf’s injured leg.

“Yes, the creature will heal quickly, I think.”  Legolas agreed as he prodded the trap with 
the toe of his boot.  “This is a wicked thing, Aragorn.  May we bury it so it will do no 
more harm.”

“As you wish.”  The ranger replied his own feelings towards the trap were none too 
friendly at the moment.  Drawing his dagger he knelt to help the elf dig but he could not 
conceal a small wince as he did so.

“What is the matter?”  Legolas instantly inquired.

“I think I may have received a parting salutation from our new friend.”  Aragorn replied 
wryly once more studying his hand.  It was not easy, however, to determine if he had 
indeed been cut beneath the layer of animal blood.

“Let’s find some water and get that cleaned up, Estel.”  Legolas insisted abandoning the 
small hole he had been working on and picking up the trap with an expression of disgust.  
“I’ll throw this in the middle of a lake.”  Smiling at the elf’s concern Aragorn dutifully 
followed his friend.

“I wish you would take better care of yourself.”  Legolas began carefully as they headed 
in the direction of water.

“This can hardly be attributed to a lack of care on my part.”  Aragorn replied rather 
indignantly.  “You would do better to chide the wolf.”

“Nay, I meant more generally, Aragorn.”  Legolas explained.  “You are worried, I know.  
Let me share your concerns.  It may do you some good to speak of what troubles you.  
Certainly it can do no harm.”

“I fear my concerns are somewhat self-indulgent.”  Aragorn said.  The ranger had 
intended to take the opportunity of being alone with the elf to ask how Legolas was 
coping with the prospect of entering Moria.  He did not mean for the elf to have any 
worries for his sake.

They had come upon a small pond and the man had increased his pace before Legolas 
could comment on the ranger’s answer.  Kneeling at the water’s edge he washed the 
blood from his hands.  Much to his annoyance he found that the wolf had indeed 
scratched him, though fortunately the cuts were shallow.  Coming up beside his friend 
Legolas examined the small injury.  Then sighing he tossed the trap out into the pond.  
Lying on the opposite bank concealed by the reeds and tall grass Boromir heard the 
splash.

“I haven’t the least idea why you say such things.”  Legolas remonstrated.  The elf did 
not understand why the man had to be so terribly hard on himself and it grieved him.  “I 
ask not only because you are so important to the success and safety of the fellowship and 
indeed important to the very future of Middle-Earth but also because you are my friend 
and I love you.  I will not stand by and watch you suffer, Estel.”  Aragorn looked 
gratefully at his friend.  Perhaps it would be better to confide something of his thoughts.  
Legolas might even worry more if he kept silent.  What was more the ranger thought he 
could use the elf’s objectivity.

Aragorn, however, was not the only one to hear Legolas’ words.  Boromir who had been 
still shaking off the remnants of his nightmare felt an explosion of agony behind his left 
eye at Legolas’ avowal of friendship.  The pain pulsed in harmony with the elf’s beautiful 
voice and the man wanted to rouse himself and. . . and do something violent.  At the same 
time, however, the blond warrior wanted to listen to Aragorn’s reply.  Legolas’ 
wantonness did not surprise Boromir but the man needed to know how Aragorn would 
respond to the elf.  In the end curiosity won out over the immediate need for retribution.

“You will think it silly but I am worried that I should not have told the fellowship my 
story of Thorongil.”  Aragorn confessed scrutinizing the elf to catch his reaction.

“But, why?”  Legolas asked genuinely surprised as he took a seat by the pond and made 
himself comfortable.  “It was a beautiful tale.  In truth, I was sorry not to have heard it 
earlier.”

Aragorn, too, took a seat as he dismissed the elf’s last statement with a wave of his hand.  
“It was wrong of me to impose so upon Boromir.  The story touched him nearly and I 
should have taken more thought for his feelings.”

“I don’t think there was anything in the story to offend him.  And don’t think I didn’t 
notice how far out of your way you went to conceal just how jealous and petty Denethor 
really was with Thorongil.  Nay, do not object.  You are not my only source of 
information, after all.  Mithrandir has been much more forthcoming about how 
Ecthelion’s son treated Thorongil and it is shameful.  I don’t know why you tolerated it.  
You showed admirable consideration for Boromir’s feelings.”  The elf was about to 
continue in that vein but a thought suddenly struck him.  “Aragorn, what did Finduilas 
give you?”

“What?”  Aragorn inquired a little nervously.  Legolas knew his suspicions were 
confirmed when the man did not quite meet his eyes.

“She offered to reward you for your heroism.  You declined but she insisted, didn’t she?  
What did she give you?”  Legolas’ eyes were alight with curiosity and the faintest hint of 
mischief.  It was not often that the elf was able discover something the man wished to 
conceal and he was most pleased with himself.  Aragorn sighed, he could not help but be 
amused by Legolas’ excitement and it could do no harm to tell his friend.  It was small 
detail, after all.

“She did offer a third time and I knew she would not be put off.”  Aragorn admitted.  “I 
thought of asking for some token, some bit of jewelry but the lady had been wakened 
hurriedly from her bed by the disturbance and as a consequence had none with her.  In 
desperation I said something about how I would be well rewarded if she would love her 
son and see him grown to manhood when- I knew- he would be a credit to his country 
and bring glory to his City.  She replied strangely and I recall her exact words.  She said:  
‘Aye, and I will raise him to be the true and faithful servant of is lord as well.’”

“Do you think she-”

“No.”  Aragorn cut Legolas’ question short.  “How could she?  Not even Ecthelion knew.  
Though, toward the end, I believe he suspected.  It was simply a bizarre choice of words.  
She obviously meant Faramir would serve Denethor and then Boromir for that is the task 
of second sons, but I confess when I heard her speak I was taken aback.”

“I concede that such choice of phrase was unusual.”  Legolas said contemplatively.  “But 
I still don’t see why you did not speak of it.  Boromir talks frequently and fondly of his 
brother.  Why would he be offended by what either of you said?  He is not the man he 
was at Elrond’s council.”  Aragorn had no satisfactory answer for his friend but he felt 
confident in his initial instinct:  It was better to have left out the final bit of conversation 
between Lady Finduilas and Captain Thorongil.

Tears leaked from Boromir’s eyes.  The pain in his head had become unbearable.  He had 
known- if only upon the level of his dreams.  Damn it, he had known that Faramir had 
been dedicated to Aragorn from the very beginning.  This was catastrophic for the 
warrior.  Something had to be done.  Fate had somehow consecrated the wrong brother to 
the king’s love.  Boromir’s own mother had been complicit in it.  Boromir had no other 
choice now.  He was just going to have to fix Fate’s mistake.

“I am not sure why I left it out.”  Aragorn conceded.  “Perhaps I am overreacting but I 
cannot help but worry for Boromir.  I fear I have alienated him and that was the very 
reverse of my intention.  He has so many concerns I would never wish to add to his 
anxiety.  Yesterday and today, he has been so distant, almost preoccupied.”

“Ah, is that all?”  Legolas asked smiling.  “Then let me assure you, my friend, the man is 
as utterly besotted with you as ever he was. I spoke with him yesterday and mentioned 
you casually.  As usual his eyes lit up.  I perceived no alteration in his infatuation.  If 
anything his feelings grow stronger.”

“I haven’t any idea what you can be talking about.”  The ranger replied in confusion.

“Don’t be coy, my friend.”  The elf admonished grinning.  As he noticed the genuinely 
befuddled expression on the ranger’s face, however, Legolas continued:  “You are not 
being coy?  Oh Aragorn, honestly!  Even Pippin has seen it- and the little imp uses it to 
his advantage.”  The elf had always known that his human friend could sometimes be 
blind to the effect he had upon others, but really Boromir’s attraction had been painfully 
obvious.  Besides Aragorn only Frodo, whose attention was perforce directed inward and 
Gandalf were oblivious.  The wizard had little understanding of romantic passion and 
thus had difficulty perceiving its presence and effects in others.

“Make yourself comprehensible.”  Aragorn commanded.  He could not help but feel that 
if Legolas were teasing him then it was ill done.

“Have you not noticed that whenever Pippin wants something Boromir is not inclined to 
give him that the hobbit immediately threatens to bother you with the request.  Then 
Boromir gives in.  He has been doing it since before we ascended the mountain and it 
always works.”  Legolas explained helpfully.

“Do not, vexatious elf, explain about Pippin.  Explain about Boromir.”  Aragorn asked 
softly and Legolas instantly perceived the wisdom in a quick and forthright reply.

“Boromir is in love with you and has been for some time.”  Legolas stated succinctly. 

Boromir wanted to scream with rage and no little mortification.  It wasn’t true!  Well, so 
it was true, but it was a truth the warrior had been wrestling with for months.  The elf 
made it sound so simple and obvious, not acknowledging all the pain of Boromir’s 
struggles and the depth and intensity of his passion.  It was degrading.  Not even the 
revelation of Pippin’s subtle manipulations, a story that at any other time could not have 
failed to amuse him, could divert the warrior from fantasies of the elf’s immediate and 
painful death.

“You are pleased!  I can see it in your face, Estel.  You are pleased.”  Legolas chortled 
and in his heart he was glad.  He hoped the two men would be good for one another.  
Aragorn was far too guarded with his feelings.  If Boromir’s unrestrained passion could 
get through to the other man then Legolas knew it would be a great comfort to his friend.

“I am neither pleased nor displeased for I believe you are mistaken.”  Aragorn replied 
summoning all his natural imperturbability.

“Boromir is too moody and proud for my taste.”  Legolas continued ignoring Aragorn’s 
last statement as mere posturing.  “But I doubt you’ll have trouble taming him.  Then, 
I’m sure, he will make an excellent. . . .”  Here Legolas said something in his own 
language that Boromir did not understand.  

The blond man was enraged.  How dare the elf speak of him that way?  He was not 
moody!  What was more he didn’t give a damn if the elf thought him so.  It was better to 
be moody than simpering, anyway.  And Aragorn, Aragorn had not believed that the 
warrior loved him.  Boromir yearned to get up and run to the ranger, protesting his heart-
felt devotion but something warned him against it.  Something counseled him not to 
reveal his feeling when the elf was in a perfect position to mock him and make him 
ridiculous in Aragorn’s eyes.  

Boromir would have dearly loved to know what the elf had called him.  If he had bloody 
known how damn important it was going to be to know the vile language then he would 
have put more effort into his lessons.  It did not even occur to Boromir to be grateful that 
Aragorn and Legolas had chosen to conduct their conversation in Westron rather than 
Sindarin.  Meanwhile back at the camp Frodo had, for the last half hour, grown 
increasing dizzy and Sam had finally forced him to lie down.

“I have said before, Legolas, I do not want a. . . .”  There was that word again.  Boromir 
was struck by the sudden grim idea that it meant ‘whore’.  “It would add a great deal of 
complication to a situation already complicated.”

“I think it would rather simplify matters.”  Legolas responded.  “Do you think Arwen 
would be happy to see you deny yourself love and comfort?”  Aragorn made no answer.  
Loving him tended to cost much more than Aragorn ever wanted to demand from anyone 
and Arwen was not the least example of this.  He did not say this, however, for fear of a 
lecture.

The silence continued for several moments more before Aragorn was able to recollect 
himself and look at Legolas attentively.  “Come, my friend, enough of my worries.  I am 
not the only one of us afflicted with care, nor do I think my worries are the greatest.  
Gandalf is not the only one to dread the darkness of Moria.  Am I right?”

Legolas shivered a little and cursed whatever it was that had given him away.  “I do not 
look forward to it but what must be must be.”  The elf answered contriving to sound 
stoic.  “Shall we not go back to the camp now, Aragorn.  We have long been away.”

“Nay, I shall not be so easily rebuffed.  The journey under the mountain will be an 
especial hardship to you.  If it would be of any relief to you I beg you to confide in me.”  
Aragorn had meant to speak to Legolas about Moria earlier but somehow he had allowed 
himself to be distracted by the elf’s questions.

Legolas for his part was very anxious about what might be expected in the Dwarven 
kingdom but he had kept silent fearing his anxiety, nay fear, might upset the others.  At 
Aragorn’s offer, however, the elf could not bring himself to reject the proffered comfort.  
“Yes, all right.”  The elf acceded trying hard not to betray his eagerness to give voice to 
his fears and thus perhaps gain better control of them.  “But let us not stay here.  I cannot 
bear to be still and to think of it.”

A few minutes later Boromir could hear nothing more of the ranger and elf.  He was glad 
they had gone when they did.  He wasn’t up to listening to Legolas cry on Aragorn’s 
shoulder about his and his entire race’s fear of the dark.  Besides as the conversation had 
gone on Boromir found himself increasingly desperate to be active, to do something even 
if he did not know what.  Two or three times he had nearly jumped up and confronted the 
two.  Something within him had urged patience, promising that if he waited a bit longer 
he would have the opportunity to claim all he desired.  It did not suit his nature to 
eavesdrop or avoid confrontation but his body felt sluggish as though still in the grip of 
the nightmare paralysis.  In the end he had heeded the caution and waited to see how 
matters stood.  Now he wanted to get back to camp and. . .and see how Frodo was getting 
along.

Such had been Boromir’s single-minded resolve that he was half-way back to camp 
before he realized he had left his long-coat and tunic by the pond.  Annoyed, not to say 
embarrassed, by this somewhat ridiculous fact Boromir returned to the pond and fetched 
his still damp clothing.  When the man finally did return to camp he had lost much of his 
energy and his initial purpose- not that he was entirely certain he had had a specific 
purpose- had been abandoned.  It hardly mattered in any case since, because of the 
warrior’s detour, Aragorn and Legolas had already arrived.  As Boromir walked 
dejectedly to his bedroll he heard Gandalf and Aragorn in an animated conversation 
concerning some sort of fainting spell Frodo had had that afternoon.  It was just too 
bloody perfect.
*
Gimli had first watch and though Boromir would have the second the man could not find 
sleep.  The more he thought about it the more he realized he truly hated Frodo.  The damn 
hobbit couldn’t go ten minutes without stumbling or fainting or having a nightmare.  
Why had such a weakling been given care of the Ring?  It was unendurable that Aragorn 
should waste so much of his time and attention on such a one.  Without the Ring Frodo 
could be of no possible interest to anybody- least of all Aragorn.  Maybe if Frodo weren’t 
such a damn nuisance Aragorn might have discovered Boromir’s love and realized that 
he loved Boromir as well.

Frodo, however, was not the only culprit.  Legolas was just as bad, flinging his hair back 
and laughing in that infuriatingly obvious way.  He was always teasing Aragorn, 
reminding him of their shared history and in all other ways behaving in an unseemly and 
provocative manner.  The elf thought Boromir’s devotion a proper subject for jokes?  
Well, Boromir would show him just how funny it was when Aragorn lost interest in 
Legolas’ inanity and came to understand the sincerity of the warrior’s passion.  Then the 
elf could try his charms on the dwarf for Aragorn would be too caught up with Boromir 
to mind the pretty prince of Mirkwood.  Faramir, too, acted like the Ring made him so 
damn special. . .  But no.  Faramir wasn’t even here.  Besides that Boromir didn’t hate 
Faramir.  That had just been a dream, hadn’t it?  They were brothers.  Of course he didn’t 
hate him.

Ah, but why didn’t Aragorn come and save him from this torment.  Boromir ached for 
Aragorn.  He felt it in his belly, his very bowels.  The sheer physicality of his need was 
intense and immediate.  Everything inside him twisted with yearning and unshakable 
desire.  Together Boromir and Aragorn could accomplish anything, achieve anything.  
Just the thought of Aragorn’s strong arms wrapped tightly around him made the man feel 
he could take on Sauron single-handed.  Aragorn would be so proud of him.  His king 
would come to him after the battle.  Aragorn would look upon his wounds and battle 
scars.  Then tears would start in his eyes but Boromir would not let them fall.  The 
warrior would explain how he had done it all for his king, that his love had given him the 
strength and the will.  Overcome by emotion Aragorn would embrace Boromir.  Clasping 
him tightly, Aragorn would vow never to be parted from his valiant, courageous, beloved 
champion- and they never would be parted, never.

Boromir shut his eyes tightly against the image trying to regain some measure of control 
but when he opened them again his gaze was fixed on Frodo.  The man continued to 
stare, unblinking, at the hobbit until Gimli came up to him muttering, “Your watch.”  
Rising slowly Boromir took the dwarf’s place listening as Gimli lumbered to his blankets 
and lay down.  When the snores began Boromir walked silently over to Frodo and 
crouched over him.  The pale face seemed to shine in the night.  Sam’s arm was curled 
protectively about his master but despite the tangle of arms the Ring was clearly visible 
lying atop the hobbit’s chest.  Boromir paused for only a moment before reaching out and 
closing his fingers around the golden loop that would- must lead him to Aragorn.
*
The change was instantaneous.  As soon as his fingers came into contact with the gold he 
felt as though his consciousness had exploded outward.  All his senses became super 
acute.  He could see himself as though from the perspective of an eagle soaring high 
above the earth.  His mind raced over cliffs, along rivers, over the sea and then beneath 
the waves to the inner life of the ocean.  He could see all the world before him and at the 
same time he could focus in upon the smallest detail.  He was one with the world.

Shuddering Boromir staggered back a pace.  The surreal, mystical experience faded.  
Looking down Boromir realized that the mithrihil chain around Frodo's neck had 
dissolved and the Ring was no longer connected to the hobbit as the man clutched the 
One tightly in his fist.  Frodo's pale skin no longer glowed with the unhealthy luminance 
of passed times and his face relaxed.  Frodo seemed to sigh at the absence of his burden 
and he turned on his side to wrap his arms around Sam.

‘Kill him.’  Boromir started suddenly.  He knew that the Ring was capable of 
communicating with him.  It had sent him images, hints, suggestions.  The man, however, 
had never expected the Ring to speak.  More alarming yet the Ring spoke in the warrior's 
own voice.

‘Kill him.’  The Ring repeated patiently.  Boromir stared down at Frodo and remembered 
what an obstacle the hobbit had been, how much the former ringbearer had gotten 
between him and Aragorn.  Rage surged through the man but even as he considered the 
Ring's suggestion Sam moved closer to Frodo letting his master's head rest on his 
shoulder.  Why should Boromir kill the little one?  There was no reason now.  Besides 
Merry and Pippin would be grieved if he killed their friend- even if he did deserve it.

‘No, he is nothing without you and you are mine.’  Boromir replied to his own voice in 
his head.  ‘You promised me Aragorn.  I want him now.’  The Ring laughed softly 
sensing the warrior’s stubbornness.  It was a pity not to consummate the bond between 
Boromir and the One Ring by shedding blood together but the Ring wanted Aragorn, too.  
The warrior was a vast improvement over the hobbit but to bond with the king of men 
was an opportunity not to be missed.

‘You are so impetuous, my precious.  You should learn patience for I always keep my 
promises.  You will have your king.’  The Ring told Boromir with amusement.

‘How?  When?’  Boromir knew that in taking the Ring he had committed an act of 
betrayal and this pained him.  Having Aragorn, though, would pay for all.

‘Your ranger loves you already, precious.  He has even admitted this to himself, though, 
he is still unaware of how deeply he must need you.  He is overwhelmed.  He carries the 
weight of the world on his shoulders and he keeps his feeling far from him so that he can 
bear it all.’  The Ring explained gently.

‘I know he suffers.  How can I help him?’  Boromir demanded.

‘Ah, you will help him in so many ways.  Win his wars for him.  Defeat his enemies.  
Protect him and keep him safe.  I will help you but he will not accept your help until he 
understands how much he loves you.’  Boromir nodded.  He knew this already.  ‘It is 
more than responsibility that weighs down your Aragorn.’  The Ring whispered to the 
eager man.  ‘He is so angry but he will not let himself feel it.  If you are worthy, precious, 
you can show him his anger, feel it with him and be avenged together.  That is the first 
step.’

‘Aragorn has never so much as raised his voice in my hearing.  I have never seen him 
angry.  Even when I defied him at Elrond's Council he kept his temper.’  Boromir said.  
The warrior felt certain the Ring spoke the truth but he was confused.  Again the Ring 
laughed.

‘He kept his temper but do you think he was unmoved that one such as you should openly 
insult him.  Remember, I was there.  Do you think it pleased your noble king that one 
who should have been his most devoted subject showed him only insolence in a gathering 
of those whose respect he greatly desired?  Yet he spoke mildly and endured your scorn, 
just as he has endured the scorn of countless villagers and townsfolk who did not know 
the blood he has shed on their behalf.  Your own father hated him and belittled him to 
those who would otherwise have followed him.  He has taken abuse from those beneath 
him in order to gain compromises that would benefit all.  Should he manage to save the 
world half of it will revile him for it.  Even Elrond, who bound himself in honor to love 
and care for his nephew, does not bother to conceal his belief that his foster son is not 
good enough for his spoiled little-  My precious, beware the elf!’

Legolas had wakened with a great sense of foreboding.  Something was quite wrong.  
Without rising from his blankets he surveyed the camp.  By the light of the small fire 
Legolas could see Boromir standing near Frodo.  At first, the elf just assumed that the 
man had grown restless during his watch and was wandering around a bit.  Boromir 
though kept unnaturally still.  Cautiously Legolas maneuvered himself around a little 
trying to copy the natural movements of sleep.  What he saw chilled his blood.  Boromir's 
eyes were unfocused his lips moved occasionally as though speaking silently.  Worst of 
all though was that the warrior right fist was lifted slightly the fingers clenched tight.  Not 
wanting to believe what his mind told him was the obvious conclusion Legolas stole a 
glance at Frodo and saw the mithrihil chain was gone.  Terrified by what must have 
happened Legolas still managed to collect himself.  Perhaps tragedy could yet be averted 
if he moved quickly.  Gathering his strength the elf prepared to leap.

Boromir turned at the Ring's warning.  He saw Legolas in a tight crouch.  Then the elf 
jumped and time slowed down.  Boromir watched in astonishment as Legolas seemed 
frozen in mid-air.  ‘Kill him.’  The Ring begged.  ‘He wanted to take you from me, my
Precious.’  Boromir continued to stare in amazement.  ‘He wants Aragorn for himself.’  
The Ring insisted and this time Boromir reacted.  His lip curled and his eyes narrowed.

The damn elf did want Aragorn for himself.  He was even willing to attack another 
member of the fellowship to get him.  The elf was contemptible.  Why not strike him 
down?  Unlike Frodo, Legolas had charms independent of the power of the Ring- that is, 
he did if one liked pretty males.  Boromir found, however, that despite the Ring’s urging 
he was not quite ready to murder the elf.  Legolas would have this one warning but if he 
ever looked at Aragorn again then Boromir would not hesitate.

‘Can’t you put him to sleep or something?’  Boromir queried.

‘I could but killing him would save time.’  The Ring replied.  It missed killing.

‘Put him to sleep, then.’  Boromir commanded.  With something that could almost be 
identified as a sigh of frustration the Ring complied and the elf dropped to earth with a 
small thud.  Boromir could not help but be pleased at seeing the elf’s inert form.  The 
warrior was sorely tempted to give pretty little Legolas a kick to remind him there was a 
penalty for coveting what did not belong to him.

“Boromir, what are you doing?”  The voice was soft but cold and Boromir went suddenly 
rigid.  For a moment the proud warrior of Gondor resembled nothing so much as a child 
caught with his hand in the cookie jar.  The next moment, however, Boromir had 
collected himself.  Slowly Boromir turned away from Legolas and moved to face the man 
for whom he would do anything, risk anything- Aragorn.

“I am doing what has to be done, Aragorn.  This is the only way you will see, the only 
way you’ll understand.”  Boromir said calmly.  As he spoke, however, the Ring informed 
him that Pippin was waking.  The news discombobulated the warrior sending a small stab 
of guilt through him.  He quickly pleaded with the Ring to put everyone to sleep save 
only himself and Aragorn.  This could all be explained to the fellowship later- if they 
decided to explain.

“What will I understand?”  Aragorn asked trying to sound reasonable.  The ranger, 
though, was not without fear.  If the Ring mastered Boromir then the warrior would be 
reduced to a miserable, broken creature.  Like Gollum, all nobility would be driven out of 
him leaving only a skulking and contemptible shell.  Aragorn could not allow such a 
thing and yet the ranger knew not how to prevent it.  If Boromir mastered the Ring, 
however, then all Middle-Earth, Gondor, the fellowship and Aragorn himself would be at 
the man’s mercy.  Aragorn had twice before been in the power of his enemies- though 
they had not known his true identity- and the ranger had lived.  Boromir in command of 
the One was capable of breaking Aragorn, however, and this truth left the would-be king 
more afraid than he had ever been. 

“That I love you.”

“You’re mad.”  Aragorn spoke without thinking.  Was this to be the start of the torture, 
then?  What could the Ring have to do with love?

“No, Aragorn, I am not mad.  I love you.”  Boromir replied smiling as the Ring assured 
him of the great convulsions in the ranger’s heart.  “You need me.  I know it’s hard for 
you to admit that but the Ring will make it easier.  Trust me.  Love me.  I will never 
allow anyone to harm you.  I can take care of everything.  Everyone who has ever 
wronged you will be made to pay- even Denethor.  I’ll. . . I’ll let Faramir spend time with 
you, if you are intent on having him.  You see I will deny you nothing, even if it pains 
me.  You can remake the world in your own image.  I will give you anything you want.”  
Boromir pleaded giving voice to the best gift he could think to offer.  With the Ring it 
was easy to speak his feelings.  It was almost as though the words had been prepared for 
him.

“Listen to what you are saying, Boromir.”  Aragorn said confused by the references to 
Boromir’s family.  Without realizing it he had moved a step closer to the warrior in an 
attempt to better communicate.  “This is not you.  This is Sauron’s creation speaking 
through you to corrupt us both.”  The ranger’s mouth was dry and his breath came in 
shallow gasps.  He had heard the Ring’s seductive song before but in Boromir’s voice the 
temptation was nearly irresistible.  He could so easily see himself putting an end to all the 
needless, useless suffering that he had witnessed in a long life spent combating evil 
piecemeal.  He could give to humanity what the elves had and there would be no more 
hunger or sickness; death would have no power to touch those he loved.  He trembled 
with desire for the power to bring all this about.  Boromir’s promise that he would 
willingly stand at his side delighted the ranger.  It was not something Aragorn had 
expected and the ranger doubted he could withstand so much.

“No, beloved.”  Boromir said, gently shaking his head.  “The Ring does not work that 
way.  It cannot make something out of nothing.  I love you.  The Ring has told me that 
you love me, too.  Tell me, my king, does Sauron’s creation lie?”

Aragorn’s eyes squeezed shut.  He had never prepared himself for such an attack, but 
then, Boromir had always managed to surprise him.  How could he argue his feelings in 
such a manner?  Love should be beyond the reach of the enemy.  Wasn’t it enough to 
stand firm against his own darker nature?  His need for Boromir’s acceptance should not 
be susceptible to exploitation but the warrior offered his complete devotion- a balm for 
all the wounds Aragorn’s heart and pride had ever sustained.  Was nothing sacred?  What 
would be the cost of such an indispensable healing?  Aragorn’s emotions were being 
ruthlessly manipulated and in a final attempt to defend himself Aragorn took refuge in 
anger.

“If you would call me ‘king’ then do as I bid you.  Or do you say that only in mockery 
like the way you say ‘beloved’.”  Aragorn spat at the warrior moving yet another step 
closer.  

“What would you have me do?”  Boromir quailed at the sudden viciousness of Aragorn’s 
demeanor.  Why didn’t Aragorn believe him?  Boromir would prove his good faith in any 
way his lord wished.  He had only to make his desires known.

“Give me the Ring.”  Aragorn commanded through gritted teeth.  At that moment he 
craved only Boromir’s submission and he had no thought for the possession of the One.

Boromir looked down at his closed fist.  It had always been his intention to give Aragorn 
the Ring if he asked for it.  Provided, of course, that the warrior was assured a place in his 
lord’s heart.  Despite the high stress of the moment Boromir was aware that Aragorn had 
not said whether he loved him or not.  Torn, Boromir appealed to the Ring for advice.  
All would be in vain if Aragorn just returned the One to Frodo.  Ah, but if he claimed the 
Ring even as he claimed Boromir to be his own-  The warrior had not the words to 
describe such absolute perfection.

‘Not yet, precious.  Let us learn more of his intentions first.  Put me on and we shall read 
him better.’  The Ring coaxed.  ‘He is afraid of the power I have over his mind and the 
power you have over his heart.’  Boromir did not want Aragorn to be afraid of him or the 
Ring.  His king should never have to be afraid of anything- ever.  The warrior, however, 
could not deny the Ring’s request.  It had only been now that he had taken the One that 
he had seen so much of Aragorn’s inner feelings and Boromir needed to ease his own 
fears before he could properly protect Aragorn.  The warrior was about to slip the Ring 
onto his finger but he was not given the chance.

“You would heed cold metal over my word!”  Aragorn demanded enraged by Boromir’s 
hesitation.  Taking a final step to close the distance between himself and the warrior the 
ranger reached for Boromir’s shirt front and pulled the other man to him forcing their 
mouths together.  Boromir had finally defied him once too often.  Teeth crashed against 
teeth and Aragorn moved one hand to tangle in Boromir’s hair forcing his head up.  After 
the initial shock Boromir relaxed into the brutality of the kiss, opening his mouth and 
letting Aragorn bite his lower lip as hard as he wanted.  In his head Boromir thought he 
heard the Ring give a contented sigh even as the warrior brought his free arm up and 
around Aragorn’s neck.

As Boromir abandoned his resistance and seemed only to melt into Aragorn, the ranger 
found his anger and fear diminish replaced with tenderness.  His fingers loosened in 
Boromir’s hair and he let go of his grip on the man’s collar to wind his arm around the 
warrior’s waist instead.  The kiss softened, too, until Aragorn let go of Boromir’s lip and 
let his tongue caress the bite, lapping away the little bit of blood.  The ranger felt a gentle 
pressure from Boromir’s mouth pressed against his own.  The warrior was seeking to 
deepen the kiss and explore the ranger’s mouth.  Aragorn permitted Boromir’s tongue to 
push past his teeth and in return he let his fingers drift down the warrior’s face to learn 
the familiar features by touch.

Aragorn was overcome with the need to be good to Boromir and to be cared for in return.  
The ranger had traveled so long and so far and now he just needed to find a little peace 
with the only one who could truly understand it all.  This was so much better than the 
endless, thankless demands of intangible duty.  This was so much more real than any 
abstract idea of ‘should’.  The simplicity of body against body and heart against heart was 
the only truth that really mattered.  Why had he ever denied himself this?  Oh yes, he 
loved Boromir, loved the warm, living reality of the man.  Yet, even drowning in 
sensation as he was Aragorn could not quite forget that Boromir was only holding him 
with his left arm.  The right still hung at his side fist tightly clutching the Ring.  His anger 
reasserted itself and with a choked gasp Aragorn shoved Boromir away.

Boromir stumbled backward unable to maintain his hold on Aragorn.  Having no thought 
but to return to his king’s embrace the warrior regained his balance and moved forward 
arm outstretched.  “No!”  Aragorn snarled evading the warrior’s advance.  The ranger had 
been shocked at his own action and even more shocked by how complete and right it had 
been.  He wanted Boromir and he could no longer try to diminish the force of his feelings 
but he didn’t want the soulless puppet the Ring would leave.  Boromir had claimed to 
love him, had called him king.  This was what Aragorn had so desperately needed to hear 
and believe, but he could not trust the warrior before it was clear whether the warrior 
truly spoke for himself or if it was only the Ring that commanded him.

“Aragorn, please!  What. . . what must I do?”  Boromir questioned desperately.  He had 
to have Aragorn in his embrace again.  He couldn’t be pushed away a second time.  The 
ranger only stood looking at him with undisguised passion, fists clenching and 
unclenching as though he were only just restraining himself from reaching for the other 
man.  Having broken Aragorn’s stern resolve once the Ring sent an image into Boromir’s 
mind that the One felt certain would deliver the king of men to it.  The Ring craved 
Aragorn as Boromir did for it had not sensed another with such potential since it had been 
so tragically separated from its creator and first master.

“Must you have my oath before you will trust me?  Will that convince you of my 
sincerity?”  Boromir asked perceiving a light kindle in Aragorn’s eyes.  The warrior 
smiled to himself and sent the Ring a happy ‘thank you’.  Aragorn wanted this, wanted 
him.  Aragorn desired his allegiance and all that would come of a partnership between the 
two men.  Boromir would gladly swear faith and love to Aragorn whenever he wished.  
In the warrior’s heart it had already been done.  Dropping to his knees Boromir again 
reached out, this time to take Aragorn’s hand.

When Boromir knelt Aragorn nearly grabbed the man’s hair again and yanked his head 
back for another harsh kiss.  The ranger had never seen anything as powerfully erotic as 
the picture Boromir made.  With just the slightest use of force Aragorn could propel the 
proud warrior onto all fours or all the way down to the ground and then he could be as 
gentle or as cruel as he liked.  The thought of that strong beautiful body trembling with 
need beneath him drew all the strength from Aragorn’s legs and he nearly stumbled.  
Boromir would do nothing to resist him but such a thing was not beyond the power of the 
One to grant.  Aragorn knew that after he had cooled his lust he would need more.  If he 
discovered then that Boromir had simply been the tool of the Ring, if the real Boromir the 
one he loved had been only the unwilling instrument of the Ring’s plans then it would be 
enough to destroy Aragorn’s own spirit.

Despite his resolve to make sure that Boromir loved him of his own free will Aragorn 
could not resist when Boromir took his hand.  Frozen the ranger could only watch as 
Boromir drew his hand to his cheek and cradled it against his face.  Aragorn could feel 
the short bristles of Boromir’s beard scrape against his fingers as the warrior moved his 
head.  Boromir drew small circles in Aragorn’s palm with his thumb as he tried to find 
words to convince his king once and for all of what was in his heart.  Poetic phrases 
suitable for a bardic tale were suggested by the Ring but Boromir rejected them.  He was 
no poet.  He also rejected the standard oaths of Gondor.  He had already spoken one such 
to Denethor when he came of age and what he had to say now was for Aragorn alone.

The search for words, however, became less urgent to Boromir as he continued to rub his 
face against Aragorn’s hand.  Moving his head a little the warrior pressed his lips to 
Aragorn’s knuckles while he let his fingers move to stroke the ranger’s wrist.  Aragorn 
swayed on his feet.  Almost- but not quite- against his will the ranger let his fingers 
caress Boromir’s face.  “You are so lovely.  I want you so much.”  Aragorn murmured 
softly.  He felt dazed.  It would be so easy to forget everything but Boromir on his knees 
before him wanting, needing, loving.

At Aragorn’s words Boromir’s hands tightened reflexively on the Ring and on Aragorn’s 
hand.  ‘Don’t stop now, my precious.  He is almost ours.’  The One encouraged.  The 
barriers Aragorn had built to protect himself against emotions he had learned to suppress 
were breaking.  The Ring hoped that once released the tide of feeling would wash away 
the ranger’s judgment long enough for the Ring to accomplish its seduction.  The warrior, 
however, did not need to be urged.  He was a man of action rather than words anyway, 
Boromir thought as he moved forward on his knees until he was only a few inches from 
his lord.

Aragorn’s breath hitched as Boromir came closer.  With a final soft kiss pressed into 
Aragorn’s palm Boromir released his hand and reached for his hip.  When Aragorn made 
no move except to take hold of Boromir’s shoulders to help steady himself as the warrior 
smiled and let his hand roam down to the bulge at Aragorn’s groin.  It felt so hot to 
Boromir even through the layer of Aragorn’s trousers and when he stroked it, it grew as 
hard as steel in his hand.  For a moment Boromir felt a flash of irritation that he did not 
have the use of both hands for something so important but he dared not loosen his grip on 
the Ring.

Boromir’s distraction was only momentary as the heat of Aragorn’s arousal reclaimed all 
his attention.  Bending forward Boromir pressed his face into the rough cloth of 
Aragorn’s trousers and breathed in deeply through his nose.  The musky scent of his 
lord’s arousal sent shivers down his spine.  The warrior could not get enough of it as he 
attempted to push his head harder into Aragorn's groin.  Boromir felt Aragorn’s hands 
tighten on his shoulders and the man moaned as he started pressing frantic kisses onto the 
ranger’s cloth covered erection.

“Oh gods, Boromir!  I need you so much.  I- I love you so much.”  Aragorn cried 
earnestly as his beautiful Boromir sought him with his hand, lips and tongue.

Slowly Boromir lifted his head and looked into Aragorn’s face.  The expression in the 
warrior’s eyes was completely open, trusting, vulnerable. . . innocent.  Aragorn stroked 
Boromir’s hair as he returned the gaze.  But as he looked something in Boromir’s eager 
joyous face froze Aragorn’s blood.  Suddenly, the ranger found he could no longer meet 
Boromir’s eyes.  Joy shone from Boromir’s features and he smiled the contented, blissful 
smile of true happiness.  Sanity returned with the shock of a slap.  He couldn’t do this to 
Boromir not when the warrior was under the Ring’s influence.  It had to stop now.

“Boromir, dearest, give me the Ring.”  Aragorn’s voice came out slow and halting.  He 
still could not look Boromir in the face and his gaze darted about trying to find something 
he could look upon without shame.  Boromir did not entirely understand the change in 
Aragorn.  All he knew was that his king had finally said he loved him and that was 
enough.

Without realizing it Boromir’s right arm had gone stiff from holding it so rigidly at his 
side for so long.  Thus, it was with some difficulty that he extended his hand to Aragorn 
and let his fingers uncurl from around the Ring.  As the warrior moved the Ring shouted 
warnings, told him to beware of tricks, to hold out for more than words but Boromir was 
no longer listening.  He had finally heard Aragorn speak his love and the Ring was no 
longer important.

The One glowed on the warrior’s palm.  Aragorn was transfixed.  It was beautiful and 
perfect, cold and deadly, the master of all desires, the key to unlock all the riches of the 
world.  The power of the gods themselves lay within the slim gold band and it was being 
offered to him for no better reason than that he had asked for it, that the man who held it 
wanted to make him happy.  Closing his eyes against the pain of it Aragorn reached out 
and struck Boromir’s wrist as hard as he could.

The Ring sailed from Boromir’s hand and Aragorn moved quickly to stand between the 
warrior and the place where the One had fallen.  Boromir, however, did not go after the 
Ring as the ranger had half-feared.  Instead he seemed simply to crumple, falling to the 
ground, curled on his side in a semi-fetal position.  The joy in his face had been erased as 
he lay still eyes blinking rapidly.  Aragorn wanted to go to him and put his arms around 
him but he dared not.  He could not allow his affection, his love for Boromir to interfere 
with what he had to do.  Neither one of them could be trusted.

Turning from the defeated form of Boromir Aragorn began nudging the One with his 
boot, pushing it slowly toward the camp fire.  He could not touch it and though he knew 
the fire would not hurt it Aragorn hoped that if either he or Boromir lost control for a 
moment then the pain of the flames would help bring them back to themselves.  When the 
Ring had been kicked into the fire Aragorn stumbled a few yards before coming against a 
tree and clutching the bark to stay on his feet.

Aragorn desperately wanted to be sick, to vomit up all the evil that was inside him.  He 
could not believe what he had done, what he had wanted to do and- worst of all- what he 
still wanted to do.  Had any of those words and actions been Boromir or was it all the 
Ring?  What part of his own behavior could he blame on the One?  The Ring’s taint 
seemed to have seeped into his very skin and the foulness of it was indescribable.  The 
ranger gagged reflexively, choking on his own horror of himself.  Tears burned down his 
face as he coughed and retched.  Nothing he could do, though, could lessen the sorrow 
inside him.

After a few minutes Aragorn struggled to regain control of himself.  Slowly he started 
pushing all his violent emotions down.  He couldn’t let himself think.  He had to press on 
with what needed to be done.  Pushing his hair back from his burning forehead Aragorn 
found a canteen and took a few sips to try to calm himself.  He had to focus.  First, he had 
to see to Frodo.  He felt a little dread as he made his way to the hobbit.  He hoped 
desperately that Frodo was well.  When he saw the hobbit, all his fears on that front were 
put to rest.  Aragorn had rarely seen such a look of contentment on the little one’s face.  
Finally free of the burden of the Ring, he was making soft sleeping noises and his head 
was tucked into Sam’s shoulder.  Aragorn allowed himself a weak smile before going 
over to where Legolas still lay motionless.  The ranger tried to rouse the elf.  He called 
his name, shook his shoulder, splashed a little water in his face but Legolas’ eyes 
remained unfocused, drifting in reverie.  Refusing to make any assumptions Aragorn 
arranged his friend into a more comfortable position and went to try and wake Gandalf.

Aragorn had more luck with the wizard.  Soon after the ranger had started shaking 
Gandalf with increasing desperation the wizard jolted upright his eyes going very wide.  
“What has happened?”  The old mage demanded before Aragorn even had a chance to 
feel relief.  “Where is the Ring?  Who has taken it?”  Gandalf had pulled himself from a 
deep sleeping spell and there could be only one explanation.

“Boromir took it.”  Aragorn said tonelessly but the man added quickly sounding almost 
defensive.  “But he gave it back.  I’ve put it in the camp fire.  Frodo seems to be sleeping 
soundly.  I didn’t want to disturb him.  I can’t wake Legolas.  No one else has wakened 
though there has been noise enough.”  The spark of emotion quickly died as Aragorn 
gave the wizard a brief summary of events.

“Where is Boromir?”  Gandalf asked trying to calm his racing thoughts.  Aragorn 
gestured but did not speak or even look in the direction he indicated.  Peering around the 
ranger Gandalf saw Boromir curled on his side.  He sensed life from the warrior and he 
was glad.  The only magic the wizard was able to sense was the sleeping spell.  Perhaps 
no irreparable harm had been done. 

“Why can’t I wake Legolas?”  Aragorn asked when he saw that Gandalf had seemed to 
put his thoughts in order.

“It is the Ring’s magic.  He- and everyone else- will wake after awhile.  No harm has 
been done them.”  Gandalf replied adding the last to reassure the ranger for the man 
looked profoundly miserable.  What had happened?  Boromir had taken the Ring, 
commanded it and then given it back?  Such a thing should have been impossible.  What 
could have transpired between the two men?

“Can you give me a day, Gandalf, a day to figure out what I must do?  Can we afford to 
stay here until tomorrow dawn?  I- I must deal with Boromir.”  Aragorn sounded utterly 
wretched.  Gandalf could only pity him.  The wizard understood that it was Aragorn’s 
responsibility to decide what must be done with the warrior.  It was the burden of 
kingship and no one else was qualified to handle the matter.  Still Aragorn seemed so 
very sad.  He wanted to counsel mercy but he knew the ranger was never rash and was 
always scrupulously fair.  It was not the wizard’s place to interfere.

“Yes.  We can wait a day, my friend.”  Gandalf put a hand on Aragorn’s shoulder trying 
to convey support but the ranger was beyond consolation.

“Thank you.  I will be back by tomorrow dawn at the latest.”  Aragorn said rising.  
Gandalf only nodded.

Having made provision for the fellowship Aragorn turned his thoughts to Boromir.  He 
needed to get them both away from the Ring.  Whatever would happen would depend as 
much upon Boromir as upon Aragorn.  Quietly the ranger collected Boromir’s belongings 
putting them in the warrior’s pack.  When he was done he approached the man 
summoning all his determination.

“Get up.”  Boromir had not moved since the Ring had fallen from his hand but at 
Aragorn’s quiet command the warrior rose slowly.  

“Come with me.”  Aragorn said gesturing for Boromir to pick up his pack and start 
walking out in front of the ranger.  The warrior complied without uttering a word.
*