"I have no memory of this place!" muttered Gandalf, standing uncertain before three arched doorways, deep in the heart of Moria. He held up his staff, seeking some mark or inscription to aid his choice, but there was nothing.

"I am too weary to decide," he said at last. "As we all are, no doubt! Let us halt here for a time, while I consider."

They made themselves as comfortable as they could in that dreary place; those who had them got out their pipes. Boromir and Aragorn sat together on a top step, their backs to the rest of the Company. Boromir gazed silently out into the darkness and thought of home.

I wish I could get word to them, he thought. I wonder if they are well?

His thoughts turned as always to Faramir.  A memory stirred of Gandalf seated on a low wall in a garden of Minas Tirith -- even as he sat now, hunched over his pipe, blowing out wreaths of smoke into the air. Boromir had come upon him and Faramir as they spoke together during one of Gandalf's infrequent visits to the City. The wizard had been telling Faramir some fact of ancient history, while Faramir listened with great attention, face alight with interest. Boromir smiled fondly, remembering his brother's keenness; his melancholy mood lightened at the thought of Faramir's bright, eager eyes. They had urged him to join them, but Boromir had declined; he had been busy on some errand or other, and could not tarry. Now he regretted the missed opportunity to spend time with Faramir in a setting other than battle; he wished he had stayed to listen.

When I see Faramir again, vowed Boromir silently, we will sit on the wall together and I will take time to listen!