When Gandalf hears Boromir talking to himself and referring to the Ring as 'precious', he takes the man aside and strives to persuade him to ignore the Ring's whispers.
Gandalf and Boromir friendship, One Ring and Boromir conflict/friendship.
Boromir's free thoughts are 'like this'. The Ring speaking to Boromir is in italics.
Thanks to Catching Fireflies for Beta-ing!
'It burns- oh, how it burns! Like the touch of a flaming brand to the skin, only thrice thousand times worse!' Boromir thought, unhappy.
Odd, how his head burned, considering he was in a place that could never be described even as 'mildly warm'. The great mountain of Caradhras had no pity for Elves, Dwarves, Wizards, Hobbits, or Men. 'Especially not Men,' Boromir thought bitterly. The mountain seemed to delight in pouring snow on those who walked it.
He folded his muscled arms over his knees and brought them to his chest, making himself as small as was possible for his broad, strong frame. Snow was in his dark hair, matting and dampening it. The cruel wind tore at him as if it wished to peel the skin from his bones. Boromir was wracked with shivers that would suit a small Halfling better than he. His toes were numb with cold, and he greatly worried he had frostbite. But even worse was the aching and burning in his brain.
A groan slipped from Boromir's lips as he gazed into the blowing mass of snow that was the sky. He felt slightly embarrassed that he had cried out, in front of all his Company. Perhaps the wind was so strong they could not hear. Perhaps they had all already fallen asleep.
Or perhaps they had not. "Boromir!" said the concerned voice of Legolas. "Are you ill? You look quite pale." The Elf trotted in front of Boromir, his feet lightly resting on the unbroken snow.
'Curse the excellent hearing of the Elves!' Boromir thought angrily.
"It is naught," he said to Legolas. "Merely a headache. I am sorry for waking you. A fine sentry I make, waking my companions." The Gondorian forced a smile, but he winced.
The Elf crouched in front of him, and placed a hand on the Man's forehead. Boromir scowled and moved to swat Legolas's hand away, but he was so chilly he just kept his arms about himself.
"You do not have a fever," Legolas told him, puzzled. "I shall wake Aragorn, as a healer he may know what this strange sickness is." He got to his feet and walked off a bit to wake the sleeping Ranger.
Boromir sighed, and his breath clouded the patch of air in front of him in a burst of white. "It is naught," he repeated quietly. "Naught anyone can heal," he murmured almost inaudibly. Mere seconds after he said that, he was puzzled. 'Naught anyone can heal? How do I know this?' he wondered.
Quiet footsteps and the sound of someone taking long strides through snow alerted Boromir of Legolas and Aragorn's coming. "...is it not most peculiar?" Legolas asked Aragorn as they approached Boromir.
"I am not-" Boromir said, "-not in the slightest bit ill." He glared at his two companions. Legolas looked rather perplexed, and Aragorn had an eyebrow raised.
"There is no need to shout, Boromir," Aragorn said gently. "And it is for me to decide whether or not you are ill."
"I did not shout," Boromir said stubbornly. 'Did I really shout?' he wondered, confused. The Ranger peered closely in his eyes and motioned for Legolas to leave the two Men alone. The Elf nodded in respect to Aragorn, and walked back to the camp.
Aragorn sat beside the son of Denethor and he, too, felt Boromir's forehead. It was as cold as the snow they sat upon. Aragorn's brow furrowed in apparent confusion, and he asked, "How do you feel?"
"I do not feel ill," Boromir said firmly. 'I shall not admit my weakness to him!' he thought angrily, and curled in on himself even more tightly.
"You told Legolas your head ached," said Aragorn. Boromir sighed, and the air was fogged up again with his breath. "I have remedy for such aches."
"I do not need help, nor will any such offerings do me good in the least," said Boromir.
"Still, perhaps..." Aragorn started, but suddenly his voice was blocked off by a screaming pain in Boromir's head. He felt his hands go to his temples and press against them, and a moan came from his mouth. The pain was unlike anything he had ever experienced. It was as if his brain was spitted over a fire, being charred!
When he heard a voice, he almost thought it was Aragorn speaking. But it was not- the voice was whispering and screaming at the same time, violent and soothing in a way Boromir did not understand. Boromir of Gondor, you are worthy...
'Indeed I am worthy, but of what?' thought Boromir through the pain.
More than worthy to carry me upon your finger...
'Who are you that you shall speak that way? Your voice is familiar...' he thought. He could not think of who might be speaking to him. His finger? Carry them? The voice sounded calming to him, though it hurt his head so.
Take me! Take me for your own!
"No!" Boromir shouted aloud in dread, realizing then the source of the voice. "Never!" The voice and the blinding pain ceased, and he found himself staring into a pair of gray eyes that were so alike his own he was startled.
"Boromir?" asked Aragorn in a slightly fearful tone. "What is the matter?" Boromir saw Aragorn's hand resting firmly on his shoulder, and looked at it with doubt.
"Perhaps I shall rest," Boromir said. "I am sorry; I know it is very early in my watch, but I believe this pain is causing me to hallucinate." He did not believe his own words. He knew what he had heard. He knew the cause for his pain: the Ring.
"I shall take your watch," said Aragorn, letting go of his comrade's shoulder. He looked concerned. "Do not worry."
"I thank you," said Boromir. He got to his feet in a bit of a stagger that seemed almost drunken and walked back to the camp. With every step closer to the Ringbearer, he realized, the pain lessened, until it was not there at all. Boromir's face betrayed his thankful weariness, and he laid down under a rock shelf to sleep. But, he realized, the Ring's whispers grew more insistent and louder.
He fell asleep listening to the Ring telling him, I love you.
When he woke up, he believed it.
The Fellowship trudged on in the snow, Boromir's limbs helping form the path. He stood directly beside Frodo, and could barely keep himself from answering the Ring's whispers aloud.
I am yours, it told him. He smiled. 'It is funny,' he thought. 'I only smile now when I am around the Ring...'
"Boromir!" cried a Hobbit's voice. The Man spun around and realized he was far ahead from the group. "I told you: we are stopping for supper!" He saw who was speaking: Meriadoc Brandybuck. Boromir attempted a smile, but it was only brought on by the Ring's words, still in his mind.
"My head was elsewhere, Merry," he said. "I apologize." He noticed Frodo was staring at him and raised his eyebrows.
The Halfling suspects something of you and I! the Ring warned Boromir. I do not care for him. Only you. Boromir smiled again and walked over to the Company.
"How fare you, Frodo?" he asked in a friendly tone. One of his eyes was on Frodo's face. The other was on the Ring. So small! So lovely, like a circlet of sunlight. Boromir longed to slip it onto his finger- strike down anyone that did not wish him to!
"Fine," Frodo said. His voice was suspicious and a bit nervous. "Thank you for asking." The Hobbit looked down from the Man's gaze.
Boromir sat down on a slab of rock and pulled smoked meat from his pack. He raised it to his mouth and started to tear at it with his teeth. He felt undignified, but when one is on a quest, one doesn't necessarily need to dine with silverware or a platter.
The rest of the Fellowship was talking among themselves, laughing and discussing lighthearted things that made Boromir want to pitch everyone off Caradhras. He felt so separate from them all of a sudden- so lost, so different.
"I wonder," Boromir said under his breath, "if perhaps I have lived so long under the Shadow of Mordor that I have become a part of it." The thought unsettled him, and he had to force himself to swallow his food. Boromir felt a bit ill at his own thoughts.
Suddenly, the Ring came out from under the folds of Frodo's cloak. Boromir's eyes widened and his mouth started to curve into a smile. It was so beautiful, so stunning...
You worry for naught, Boromir, said the Ring soothingly. The words felt like a caress to his brow, and he shivered as if gentle, cold fingers were touching him. If you do not have your Fellowship, you shall have me.
"Yes," Boromir said, now not as discomforted. The Ring's words were a lullaby to him, but instead of him being tired, he was more alert than ever.
You and I shall be together forever, should you take me from the halfling...
"That I shall!" said Boromir excitedly. He felt oddly numb. It was a strange feeling, but he ignored it so he could better focus on the Ring's words. "They care not of me, only of my strength so I might defend the Halflings. But you care of me." His voice sounded confident and content.
Indeed, said the Ring. There was almost a smile in its beautiful voice. Come, Boromir. I am so near. You have to only lay a finger on me, and the Hobbit shall surrender to your strength. When you wield me, your Fellowship shall bow at your feet.
Boromir thought about that. He thought about proud Gimli and that infernal Wizard kneeling to him and felt glee in the pit of his stomach. "I shall."
Why not now? Why-
It was the first time the Ring's voice had broken off in speech, and Boromir felt concerned, as if the Ring was a human that might need tending to.
"What is the matter?" Boromir whispered. "My..." He could not think of a term that would suit the Ring, so he kept silent.
Hush. The Grey Wizard listens. I must cease this conversation, Boromir.
The Gondorian felt like wailing in protest. Without the Ring's words, he would be lonely and so desolately lost again! "Do not leave!" he said.
I will merely be quieter. Remember... if you but come close and snatch me...
"I will," vowed Boromir earnestly. "My..." he started again. A word popped into his head. A perfect word: "My... precious."
Before the Ring could say anything more, or Boromir could think another second of his precious Ring, someone hauled him to his feet and started unceremoniously dragging him from the camp.
"Release me!" Boromir yelled. All he could see was gray robes, and he growled in frustration. 'Gandalf! Always poking his nose into other people's businesses!' Boromir thought bitterly.
"Mithrandir?" asked Legolas's voice from the direction of the camp. "What are you doing?"
"Boromir and I have matters to discuss," Gandalf said. "Aragorn, defend the camp if necessary." Boromir fought against Gandalf's grasp. He felt snow creeping down his boots and tunic. The Wizard marched through the snow swiftly.
As if someone had struck him, Boromir felt a sudden surge of pain in his head. He stiffened, and a wordless, undignified yell came from his mouth: "Aauughh!" He frantically tried to free his hands from Gandalf's grip. "Gandalf! Why do you drag me about!" he asked the Grey Wizard angrily.
Gandalf glared down at him sternly. "If you swear not to run off as soon as I let you go-"
"I swear!" Boromir groaned. Gandalf let go of Boromir's wrists, and the man pressed his hands to his eyes as if trying to push them through his skull. "Let me get back to the Company, Gandalf, I beg you! I know not of what I have done, but my head hurts as if it is being crushed!" His face was in his hands as if he feared the sunlight.
"Then allow me to inform you of what you have done, Boromir son of Denethor," Gandalf said. Boromir felt a shiver go through him at the tone of his voice. "You were sitting alone and muttering to yourself! You spoke of the Shadow over Gondor. Then of something that cares of you. You spoke that some people, 'they', as you said, 'only cared of your strength so you might defend the Halflings'. Now, I have not lived long for nothing. You were referring to the Fellowship- and not as ones who care of you."
Boromir felt as if he might choke up his meager supper. "Gandalf, I beg of you-"
"You are in no position to beg, Boromir," Gandalf said sharply, and Boromir felt the pain jolt through him again. He gritted his teeth. "But I shall listen."
"I beg of you not to speak of this," Boromir said, not looking up at the Wizard. "I feel plainly ill at the thought of saying any of those things."
"There is only a small bit left," said Gandalf, not heeding the Man's plea. "Have you ever heard the saying 'One learns best from trial and error, not lessons'?" Boromir nodded. "So you see why you must hear." Another nod. It only hurt the Man's head more, and he groaned softly. "Then, Boromir, you called something your 'precious'."
A wave of horror swept of Boromir, and he felt like a cold hand was squeezing his guts. "No," he said numbly. "I did not."
"I assure you, you did," the Wizard told him.
"But that- I heard the tale of that creature that Bilbo Baggins encountered and took the-" Boromir clasped his head in his hands so tightly it pained him. The pain was welcomed. It was but a mild breeze compared to the windstorm of a headache he was having. "-the Ring from. It referred to the One Ring as its 'precious'... No, Gandalf!"
Boromir's voice was pained, and Gandalf regarded him with a touch of sympathy. "I am as bad as that hateful creature! Corrupted like it!" Boromir cried. He was trembling, and not because of the cold.
"Son of Gondor," said Gandalf. "Do not fear." Boromir freed his face from his own hands and glared up at Gandalf. With a bit of a shock, Gandalf realized that the Man had been crying. Tear trails were on his face, and he looked deathly pale and scared, an expression that did not suit his strong body. So vulnerable he looked, almost, very vulnerable and sad.
"Do not fear!" Boromir said, repeating Gandalf's words, enraged. "I am losing my free will and thoughts. I am a part of the Shadow!" he said, upset with himself. "Fix this, Gandalf! There must be some way to keep the Ring from influencing me- and if me, why not the others of the Company? We shall be driven to ruin!"
"There is no way to fix this, Boromir," said Gandalf, "save destroying the Ring."
"I cannot wait until that time," the Gondorian said sadly. "I shall have gone mad with desire by then. I can hear it! Even now, Gandalf, I can hear it! It speaks that it loves me, and we shall together save Gondor-" He cut himself off with an anguished cry and a shudder.
Gandalf's brows creeped up his forehead as he saw the man's struggle. "You must fight it," he said firmly. "You are betraying yourself as well as all of us in the Company."
"I have betrayed you..." Boromir whispered, burying his face in his hands again. He felt terrible. "I am sick- sick in mind. I cannot fight! The Ring- it offers goodness and peace, the likes of which I have never seen! And love." Boromir's mouth was smiling as he raised his head to look at Gandalf. "I shall not fight."
Instantly, the wizard grabbed Boromir's hands again and clasped his wrists together. Boromir seemed to come back to his senses, and he struggled about wildly, kicking up snow and burrowing himself into it.
"Free my hands!" he cried. "The pain... it is beyond what I can bear..." Gandalf kept his wrists pinned together still, but a look of commiseration was on his face. "Why must this happen to me?" Boromir asked. He loathed the pitiful sound of his own voice. "Why not any of the others?"
Gandalf sighed and let go of the Man's wrists. Gratefully, Boromir twined his fingers through his shoulder-length hair and grasped his skull as if to numb the pain away. He jolted like he had just been skewered with a spear as Gandalf's wrinkled hand laid itself on his shoulder.
"They do hear the whispers of the One Ring," the old Wizard said. "They merely choose not to listen. If you stop listening-"
"I cannot," Boromir said. "I see it all now- I am the weak link in this Fellowship, am I not? The only one that shall fall to darkness, the one that shall bring doom to the Company." His broad shoulders shook from the cold and held-back tears. "And you tell me not to fear. I am losing myself, Gandalf- one of the things I fear most of all."
Gandalf said nothing. The wind whistled around Caradhras, but it was not loud enough to block out the Ring's words. The old fool is wrong, it said. I care of you.
Boromir's eyes narrowed under his hands. "You do not care of me! I would rather no one caring about me than you!" he snarled. The Wizard gripped his shoulder a bit tighter, no doubt thinking Boromir was falling under the Ring's influence. "I despise anything the Dark Lord has made or touched, including you!" he continued. The pain in his head roared until he could barely think, and he saw white-and-red splotches behind his closed eyelids.
"Good, Boromir," said Gandalf's voice out of the blurred darkness. "What have I said? You can fight." There was encouragement in his resolute voice, and Boromir tried to block the Ring's words from his mind. "Do not focus on the darkness. Focus on the light that is left."
There was a final burst of pain, and Boromir cried out. "I shall never fail the Fellowship!" he said firmly. 'Fight! Fight it, Valar damn you, Boromir!' he told himself.
And then, with that, the Ring's words were inaudible. Boromir looked up at Gandalf, and his face broke into a smile. He felt a rush of self-pride. The Grey Pilgrim smiled a grim but glad smile back at him, and Boromir felt as if he had just defeated Sauron himself. In a way, he had.
"See!" the Wizard said. "You are perfectly capable of fighting it. I have faith in you, Boromir. Keep up the fight."
"I shall," Boromir said. "I swear it on my ancestors, on the empty Throne of the King, on the White Tree, on Gondor herself-"
Gandalf was smiling as he held up a hand to stop Boromir's vow of never-ending valiance. "Now, Boromir, I must interrupt you, though I accept your promise. It is very important to fight the Ring, but it is equally important to stay true to the Company. Trust us. The Ring found your distrust of us in your soul and used it against you. This must never happen again."
"It shall never happen. I swear it on-" the Gondorian started solemnly. He could not think of anything fit to swear on. A thought came to his mind in the whisper-voice of the Ring: You swear it on me. "No!" he said aloud. "I swear, I shall never betray the Fellowship. I swear it on all I hold dear."
Gandalf looked satisfied at Boromir's promise. "Very good, son of Denethor. Do you deem yourself fit to return to the camp?" He saw a flicker of fear in Boromir's gray eyes at the thought of facing the others.
"Did I... put up a fight?" he asked tentatively. "When you took me from camp?"
"You certainly did," Gandalf told him. "I shall merely say you were suffering the effects of mild hypothermia, if they ask why." Boromir felt a sigh of relief whoosh from his lungs. He did not want the others to know of his weakness. Especially Frodo. He had heard the tale of Gollum and his Precious many times from his uncle, and if he heard that Boromir had whispered, 'My precious', the Man was not sure he could live it down.
"Am I cured?" asked Boromir, partly referring to the fictional bout of hypothermia, partly asking of his mental state and the Ring.
Gandalf's wise eyes surveyed him. The son of Gondor sat burrowed in the snow, his elbows on his knees, arms casually placed, weary look on his face. There was a strange look about him, as if a cloud had gone over the sunlight that shone upon him. It was the Shadow of Mordor- even on the slopes of Caradhras, it could reach the bravest of Men.
The Wizard said, "I believe you are, for the time being. Although, if you do not get up out of the snow, you shall have a very real case of hypothermia." Boromir chuckled weakly and hauled himself to his feet.
Right before they reached the camp, Boromir flinched. "I can hear it now," he said quietly.
"Banish it from your thoughts," Gandalf told him. For a minute, Boromir stood as still as a corpse, eyes closed. He muttered to himself quietly. Gandalf watched him with an eagle's eye, trying to sense any signs of approaching danger. Finally, Boromir opened his eyes and nodded to the Wizard, signaling he had won his inner battle with the Ring.
"Gandalf," he said as they started to walk again, "I thank you. You have taught me to fight."
The old Wizard shook his head as if amused at the Man's words. "No, Boromir of Gondor. You taught yourself," he said. "I simply guided you."
Boromir smiled broadly, and he strode back into the camp with a confident pride about him.
And for days upon days, Boromir fought the Ring. No swords were drawn, only words exchanged, but Boromir was battle-weary all the same. He fought all the way down Caradhras. He fought through Moria with both tangible foes and the foe that attacked his soul. Every time he had won a silent battle with the Ring, the boyish pride in him would bubble up, and he would grin. Gandalf would catch his eye and smile back.
As he saw Gandalf pitch over the side of the Bridge of Khazad-dum, it was if something was torn out of him. He was once again lost and alone.
Gandalf's words, "I simply guided you", rang in his head like the tolling of a funeral-bell.
'I could certainly use you as a guide now, Gandalf,' Boromir thought to himself miserably.
Every time the Ring whispered to him, Boromir tried to fight. And he did, for a while, refusing to give in. But the grief washed over his already tired mind like an ocean's wave drowning him, and suddenly, he lost control.
As he entered fair Lothlorien, the Ring whispered, You are so bitter... so alone and grief-stricken, Boromir... I can take the grief away, if you cease fighting me...
'Please,' he begged the Ring, tears stinging in his eyes. 'Please. I have stopped. I love you. I love you beyond measure... my precious.' He had given up.
As he lay dying in Parth Galen, he thought of how disappointed Gandalf would be in him, and wept through his smiling eyes.