Chapter Seven

As Boromir searched in his mind and heart for ways he could comfort Frodo, he knew that he was unable to take the Ring-bearer into his lap, as he had Faramir when they were still lads and saddened by the death of their mother. His brother had always been the gentler, more sensitive one who had felt the loss worse. There had been nights when he had snuck into Boromir’s bed for comfort from that or from one of the thunder-battles that raged around the Citadel at times. The older lad had held him and dried his tears and had told him stories until the young lad had fallen asleep again, peacefully and securely in his brother’s arms. Mostly the tales were those Faramir himself had told him. Boromir had never been one for lore, though he listened patiently and as attentively as he could as his brother eagerly regaled him with the tales he had read that day. Their father had instilled in them both the great pride of their house, but it took root differently in the two boys as they grew into men. For Faramir, his scholar’s heart had taken it as history to be cherished, honored, and studied. For Boromir, it was a warrior’s role to continue to live out and maintain, though the younger son was just as able a soldier as his brother. The need to protect Faramir’s gentle heart had not left Boromir as they grew older and their father more distant and harsh. But beyond seeing that his brother never saw anything but love, support, admiration, and respect in his eyes and the hugs they had never grown out of that always ended their late night talks, there was little that could be done. It struck him now that his brother and the halfling before him were kindred spirits in a way. They would have made great friends if they had ever met. He longed once more for Faramir’s presence. But he had even survived the war? Or was it still raging? What did Frodo mean that he had failed?

“How goes the war?” Boromir asked.

The voice that answered him was dull and devoid of life, but for the pride of those he spoke of, and shaded with grief as well. “It is won and long over. Sam and Smeagol gained the victory for us, and Merry and Eowyn, and Aragorn. Smeagol died. That should have been me. The flames should have taken me, not him. It was my task to destroy the Ring, not his.”

Boromir licked his lips again. Frodo gently raised the warrior’s head so he could slowly sip more water.

“I cannot ever thank you properly enough for saving the lives of my cousins,” the Ring-bearer said after setting Boromir’s head down again.

“They still live then? It is well. I could not save them... from capture. I am glad... they did not suffer harm... from my failure.”

“They have nothing but praise for you and rightly so. I’m sorry that you suffered so on their behalf. Pippin pledged himself to your father in payment for that.” Here the pride in Frodo's voice increased and a ghost of a smile danced on his lips for an instant.

“How goes it with my father?”

Frodo’s hand tightened around Boromir. “Aragorn is king now.”

Boromir was silent as he considered the import of those words. He caught his breath as one being pressed hard by a great weight. New grief filled him. “Is he then passed...”“Yes. I’m sorry, Boromir. I’m so sorry.”

“My brother...”

“He is well and one of the finest men Gondor could boast of. I am very proud to call him friend. He is wed now to Eowyn, sister to King Eomer and very happy.”

There was so much to take in. His father dead, but Faramir alive and happy. His heart rejoiced in the latter, even as it grieved for the former. And Eomer was king now?

“I would come to Gondor and offer my sword to the King, just as it served its Steward.”

Frodo was silent. Boromir wondered about that, but he was too tired to inquire why.

The Ring-bearer leaned down and softly kissed the man's brow. “Rest now, Boromir,” he said in the same hollow voice he had used throughout, though it tinged more strongly now with grief. “I had many questions when I woke in Rivendell after my grave wound, but Gandalf told me that Elrond had ordered that I rest. You must do the same. I will be right here if you need me.”

Boromir closed his eyes and was glad to do so. He felt shame for being so weak, but he still marveled that there was life in him at all. There would be time enough to marshal his strength and then he would return home.

___
A/N:  As some of you may know, I've been writing on book on LOTR and it's finally, finally out! Moments of Grace and Spiritual Warfare in The Lord of the Rings (WestBow Press). Gift yourself and/or your favorite Hobbit, Man, Elf, or Dwarf. Buy now and beat the holiday rush! :) http://ow.ly/ez2dT. Also feel free to friend me on Facebook. (You will have to follow the book link to find my real name.) I'm doing posts on 'Today in Middle-earth' so it's cut above the usual status updates. :) Le hannon!! *hobbity hugs*