My guests’ improved health pleases me greatly, not only for their sakes, but because it speaks of the continued healing power of Lorien. Their leader and Frodo’s tutelary friend, our Dunadain – I had rarely seen him so drawn and defeated- looks youthful again as he roams our dells and forests, boots mended, hood thrown back, his brow smooth.
But Frodo’s recovery impresses me most, especially now that I know of his hurts. I have not tended him, not daring such intimate proximity to the Ring, rather entrusting him to the willing hands of the ladies of my house, who frankly express their delight in the hobbit’s fine manners and acquaintance with the Elvish speech. Young Tyriel, seems especially fond of him and shyly informs me of his reclaimed health, as well as of his many kindnesses and gratitude for her nursing.
Indeed he looked fit last afternoon. As I stood upon the North Watch, searching from that vantage for any sign of scouts returning from the border lands, I faced to the east and saw Frodo running - not from anything, but with abandon, agile and light-footed. He came swiftly out of a vale of larch and mallorn. Then, upon entering the clearing below my lookout, his flight ended in a small hop and he knelt down to part a mound of bracken.
His peace was short-lived, however. Suddenly, wariness returned and he became very still, listening. His right hand slid up to push the Ring back under his tunic from where it must have sprung free when he ran. For a moment, I thought he sensed my presence there on the hill, but then I felt the approach of another.
Frodo scanned the clearing, then, seeing nothing amiss and the Ring safely stowed, resumed his investigation in the grass. The short dark fletch of an arrow appeared between his hands as he pried at the earth around the shaft. But it held fast when he tried to loosen it.
Suddenly, from out of the trees behind Frodo, strode the man, Boromir. In an act of extraordinary clumsiness for a proud Gondorian captain, he tripped as he approached the crouched figure in the grass. Lurching to one knee, he toppled forward, tried to steady himself on out-flung arms, and ended up straddling Frodo, such that I lost sight of the smaller brown-clad form.
Though surely as startled as I by Boromir’s dramatic entry, Frodo must have realized he was bested and after a brief panicked effort lay still. A moment passed when neither of them moved. Then Boromir straightened, and the hobbit’s head and shoulders appeared in the crook of his arm. Boromir held him like a hunter might a wild beast when no weapon is at hand. He started to rise, his arms still around Frodo, as if to lift him. But instead Frodo spoke, his voice muffled.
‘Ah! Boromir! You seem to have stumbled over me as I just did over this arrow.’
Boromir let out a gasp, then rested his cheek for a moment atop Frodo’s head before loosening his hold.
‘My apologies, Frodo. I was on the trail of one of those sable-furred voles on which we dined last night and whose hide I wish to bring as a souvenir to Gondor. I have not hurt you?’ the man asked, frowning. He was softhearted, I recognized that much.
‘No!’ answered Frodo, ‘I was just -’
‘What a pleasant spot!’ Boromir interrupted, surveying the woods. ‘And the scent! It makes me hungry!’
‘Nodding Allium, yes! Meal time in the Shire. You have this herb in Gondor?’ The voice was deceivingly calm.
‘Yes,’ Boromir replied, ‘For surely it grows in all the lands of my travels - throughout Middle-earth.’
‘I have not journeyed so much,’ said Frodo, with a smile of admiration. He shifted to withdraw then, but his large companion had not completely backed off and did not budge now.
The man’s haunches still hugged Frodo’s and his hand hung heavily over the hobbit’s left shoulder, even when Frodo shrugged to lose it. Meanwhile, the man pointed out the possible dwellings of ‘voles’ as he called them.
At first, Frodo seemed drawn by Boromir’s talk, gazing with interest at the mossy coverts and distant mounds where many creatures burrow. But as Boromir spoke, his hand flicked over the hobbit’s chest, fingering the lacings on his tunic. Frodo shrank from the touch in the small space allowed him. I saw Frodo’s glance, sharp and alert, but, whether out of disbelief or to quell undue alarm, he remained composed. I doubt that even Boromir was aware of what was unfolding - for I believe he was relatively innocent as yet, more indeed than I.
But when the man’s finger prodded the chain at Frodo’s neck, the hobbit recoiled instantly. The groping hand sprang back, yet when Frodo leaned forward to rise, he could not for his friend’s hold upon him. A finger dragged across his collarbone to the hollow of his throat and a broad hand darted to Frodo’s lap, slipping around his waist, then stroking low the shadowed hollow of his belly. The man seemed unaware that Frodo - his eyes wide - had frozen to breathlessness as the probing fingers strayed.
The hand in Frodo’s tunic fell upon the Ring – flattening wide across the hobbit’s breast. Drawing him close, the man surveyed his prize. My stomach wrenched and I was about to cry out - but whether the thunder in my voice sounded command or mere challenge, I would not discover.
‘Boromir,’ said Frodo. Then, in one fluid motion, he slid from under the man’s weight and dislodged the sprawling arm from his shoulder, freeing himself and the Ring. He stood several paces away, one hand on his breast, panting. His smoldering eyes clung to Boromir who leaned back on his arms and stared back, astounded. Presently, Frodo’s face relaxed, revealing a surprising sympathy. I understood then, that the man was not hostile, as yet.
‘Look Boromir!’ said Frodo, pointing. ‘Legolas’ lost arrow – the one he missed soon after we arrived here.’
The man turned vaguely, his eyes casting around. Finally, he heaved a deep breath and focused on the object in the grass.
‘Well found Frodo!’ he said at last and abruptly yanked at the arrow.
‘Easy, Boromir!’ Frodo cautioned, squatting next to the man. ‘Remember, elven arrows are fast and deadly, but slender and easily broken in handling - as I was scolded once,’ he added with a grin.
Here, Boromir’s attention wavered again. He stared aghast at the nape of Frodo’s neck as the hobbit bent to his task. An inflamed sore tracked along the skin beneath the Ring’s chain. I was close enough now to see this where the brown curls fell to either side.
Boromir laid his thumb in gentle solace to the roseate skin. Frodo winced only slightly but Boromir reacted abruptly, grabbing the hobbit’s shoulders and giving him a rough shake.
‘Frodo! Come to sense, my friend! This is what that thing is doing to you!’
‘Please, Boromir, leave me be,’ said Frodo. Catching the man’s eye, he looked away again as if uncomfortable with what he saw there.
‘Won’t you let me ease you, little one?’ said Boromir, his voice mellifluous as he ran a thick finger along Frodo’s jaw. Frodo twisted away.
Then Boromir mumbled something inaudible.
‘No.’ Frodo’s response was firm, his gaze still avoiding the man’s. Boromir, eyes glittering, reached over and cupped Frodo’s head in his large hand, so the hobbit faced him. Frodo drew away, then gasped as Boromir set an arm tightly around his chest, and I remembered the bloodied bandages beneath the Mithril, the broken ribs I’d been told of.
Muttered words from the man, then, ‘It would please me, surely, Frodo. Would it not please you?’ Boromir drew Frodo’s face closer to his, and his desire to possess what he held in his hand shuddered through his frame like a winter gust through a stout oak. I feared for Frodo then, as much as the Ring, and yet truly, for a moment I felt one with the Gondorian.
‘It would not, though I mean you no discourtesy,’ said Frodo.
‘As you wish, Master Baggins. For your sake and for others’, I hope your desires are as direct and honest as mine that you disdain.’ He turned on his heel then, and in so doing, planted the thick sole of his boot on the hobbit’s bare foot.
At a stifled hiss from Frodo, Boromir glanced over his shoulder, then hurried back. ‘I didn’t realize - please forgive my awkwardness - have I hurt you much?’ All hostility vanished.
‘No, ‘tis all right. I was merely startled. You needn’t - ’
The man knelt to examine the damage, mostly concealed in the thick curly hair that covered the hobbit’s feet. ‘So small,’ he mused and strapped each ankle easily in his hands. ‘You are nimble and quick of foot as of mind, Frodo. I cannot believe you come from people who, not only still live in the ground but who have not learned that, considering their inferior size, it would benefit them to wear boots or shoes instead of running barefoot as beasts. Surely, such accidents plague you often? Perhaps you’ve grown accustomed to them?’
Frodo, coloring, said nothing for a while, then replied, ‘We - choose to live as we do, some of us in the ground, as you say, like I do, and others in frame houses, like my cousins. As to the other matter,’ he broke off with a chuckle, ‘we rarely walk among the shod.’ Boromir gazed at him with a lust so strong that I felt it grating against a like energy of mine - and held tightly to an ancient birch nearby. ‘No, this has not happened to me before,’ Frodo finished.
‘Of course,’ Boromir replied hastily. ‘Again I am sorry. My awkward soldier’s speech must seem rude to you. I wish to make amends, for certainly you know my respect for you and I would not have you hurt or insulted at my hand. I should like to accompany you back to camp and see to your injury.’
‘Boromir, my feet, as you can imagine, hold up well,’ said Frodo with a rye smile. I thank you for your offered companionship, but I wish to remain here a while, alone.’ Then, his face softened. ‘Do not wait and do not fear. In due time I shall follow and perhaps we shall dine together.’
Once again Boromir reached out towards Frodo’s breast. The man’s mouth hung open as if in surprise at his own action. Frodo stepped back but not quickly enough and Boromir’s hand came to his throat, pressing the Ring into the soft flesh. Then several events happened at once. Frodo sank to the ground from the force of Boromir’s hand on him, but sharply nudged Boromir’s elbow outward, enough to unbalance the man but not to free himself. At the same time, Boromir spotted me among the trees to his right and immediately loosened his hold on Frodo, his finger curling under the hobbit’s chin.
‘Boromir!' said Frodo sharply.
The powerful man stared at him, panting, his long hair damp and in disarray. ‘I know not what’s come over me, Frodo!’ He clapped a hand to his forehead. ‘I shall leave you to your solitary journey home, as you ask. For I do not wish to force unwanted company. Mind yourself though. This haunted wood will darken soon and ‘tis best that you hurry back to camp.’ Then he bent and kissed Frodo on the temple, threw him a wild-eyed look, turned, and disappeared into the forest.
Frodo remained seated on the ground, head in his hands. I waited before going to him.