Author's Note: Well, this is an odd one, and I don't know how well it will be received.

The Stations of the Cross are part of Roman Catholicism, told during the Season of Lent, which is the 40-day period before Easter. I've taken parts from each station and used them as inspiration for this crossover fic. It's not like The Passion, featuring Frodo Baggins as Jesus Christ (though I suppose it is for this chapter). Different characters deal with the different themes in each part. Bah, you'll see. Just go with the flow, babe!

I don't mean to offend anyone, but after almost two years with this concept on my mind, I couldn't let it go.

Warnings: Angst, character death, slash

The Stations of the Cross:

Opening Prayer


Jesus came with his disciples to a country place called Gethsemane, and he said to them, "Sit down here, while I go over yonder and pray." Then he took with him Peter and the two sons of Zebedee, and he began to be saddened and exceedingly troubled. He said to them, "My soul is sad, even unto death. Wait here and watch with me." He went forward a little, and falling prostrate he prayed, saying, "Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass away from me; yet not as I will but as you will." (Mt 26:36-39)

~*~*~

Gandolf's yells were reverberating in Frodo's mind. He thought he may be able to expel the sounds through his tears, or his own anguished cries, but he sealed those away in some dark little crevice within his heart. As long as he detached himself from it in this way, he could choke back the tears and force his feet forward.

But it was so tiring keeping them contained! Never before had he been so weary -- and not just physically. His soul seemed to be taking the toll for his efforts against the pain, against the dreadful power of the Ring, against any signs of just how weakened he was and that he was afraid he would fail in the end and -- and --

Aragorn noticed the look in Frodo's eyes, the grief hidden only by his drive to get to Mordor. They were barely in the shelter of the woods of Lothlórien. The mounts of Moria were still visible through the tree tops, but there would be no point in attempting to continue through the night.

The place where they arrived seemed an oasis. There was no fear, no sadness, not trace of Mordor or Sauron or any matter of strife in this place of peaceful greenery -- the Garden of Gethsemane, it was called. The trees shared the sighs of the warriors and the shuffle of the leaves were the only movements around the site.

Aragorn said aloud to the Fellowship, "Come, let us rest here." And to Boromir, Legolas, and Gimli, he said quietly, "Be vigilant. We can't allow ourselves a moment of negligence."

Despite the warning he so solemnly uttered, one by one, each of the Fellowship succumbed to sleep, until sitting against his tree, where he would be able to see the cluster of Hobbits, the Elf, and the Goblin who had already bedded down, even Aragorn's eyes fell shut. They could no longer find that reserve of strength in the midst of their sadness, but even in sleep they could find little relief, distressing images haunting their dreams.

But Frodo would not, could not sleep. And he couldn't stay near them and see them toss and make those pitiful noises when he knew they could have been his own.

He stood with the intention to leave the Garden for the solitude of the surrounding trees, but Aragorn's face twitched at the sound of the twigs beneath Frodo's feet breaking. He frowned took a careful step backwards, then another, and Aragorn didn't show any signs of awareness this time, so emboldened, Frodo took a larger ste--

A large tree root halted his progress and almost tossed him backwards, and if not for the strong, hands on his shoulders keeping him steady, he would have awoken all of the Fellowship with his fall.

He almost woke them with a startled cry before he heard the familiar deep chuckle. He turned his head and sighed with relief, allowing the Man to help him upright again.

"The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak," Boromir said with a wry smile, nodding towards those on the ground. "Come, Master Hobbit, you most of all should not walk alone at this time of night." With a small push, he led Frodo away from the rest of the Fellowship and into the darkness of the woods.

~*~*~

They had walked silently, weaving through the trees with Boromir's assurance that they wouldn't get so lost even he couldn't find a path back to the Garden. Creatures hummed in the night, and the pale moon shone through joined branches overhead, and Frodo became frustrated that as much as he walked, he couldn't reach that same state of peace as the surrounding nature.

He finally settled into a clearing and lay on his back on the soft ground, offering a small smile to the Man who sat beside him.

Frodo had spent many nights in the Shire watching the sky, during such clear, calm nights as this, but even the familiar activity couldn't smooth over his inner storm.

Take this burden from me, he thought desperately, shutting his eyes as the night transformed into a smothering thing, coming down on him like the ceiling of the mines. He grasped at the grass beneath his hand to remind him where he was, but it was Boromir's hand on his shoulder that tore him from his feverish imagination.

"Frodo," he called to him, leaning over him, shielding him from the sight of the nightmarish sky. "You've no reason to fear, Frodo. I'm here."

He helped the Hobbit to sit up, waited as he turned his head this was an that, gathering the necessary components to recreate his reality… and then those large eyes turned to him, ever-mournful.

"Thank you, Boromir," he whispered sincerely.

He shifted to rest his head on the Man's chest. Perhaps it was this gesture which made Boromir decide to kiss him.

He lifted up Frodo's head with one crooked finger under the round chin, delicately, hesitantly. And Frodo did not deny him, only watching him questioningly -- trustingly.

The first touch was gentle, like the natural meeting of two leaves gently brushing against each other in the wind. When he saw the rough lips coming towards him, Frodo's breath left him to be replaced with Boromir's. The heat spread from where their lips met throughout his body and the pain in him was utterly forgotten as tiny critters all over his body made him tremble.

And when Boromir pulled away, Frodo felt at peace again. He even allowed himself a foolish little grin.

That is, until he saw the very obvious guilt on the Man's face.

"Forgive me, Frodo," he whispered. "Forgive me."

Just as the Hobbit formed assurances on his tongue, Boromir grasped his hair in one hand and pressed their lips together once more, painfully, frantically this time, and suddenly he felt Boromir clutching at his neckline with his other hand, clutching for --

~*~*~

The Ring.

Boromir knew that with ever passing day, they were getting closer to Mordor, and his chance to take hold of the Ring, salvation for Gondor… that chance was fading.

So when he snuck away after the rest of the Fellowship had settled in the Garden, it must have been an act of Fate that led him to find the three ignorant Orcs in the outlying woods.

They sought a Hobbit.

They knew nothing of the Ring in his possession.

How could Boromir have come across such a perfect opportunity if not by some divine intervention?

Aragorn could keep his self-righteousness. Boromir had to keep his people safe.

~*~*~

No!

Frodo's screams were swallowed, his sobs ignored, and when his pleas to be released were answered, it was only by the arrow embedded in Boromir's shoulder. The hand groping for the Ring moved to the wound and Frodo tucked the Ring away, scrambling backwards from the traitor…

… and right into the hands of an Orc.

"Gotcha, little Hobbit." it breathed rank breath in Frodo's face before tying a rag around his head over his eyes.

He heard the twangs of the bows and heard the Man's grunts of pain, a single anguished cry -- and silence. Then there was a muted thump, and a sneer from one of the Orcs before a second pair of hands were on the Hobbit.

Frodo didn't need to see Boromir to know the Man had died.

He cried out for Aragorn, for Legolas, anyone who could possibly hear from whatever distance he was from the camp until one of the Orcs gagged him.

He didn't need the blackness enveloping his conscience to know that all hope was lost.

~*~*~

AN: I would love a Lord of the Rings fan who is more particular than I with the details to point out my mistaktes. I know theire are some timeline inconsistencies. (Saruman ordered the search for the Hobbit while they were in Galadriel's care or after they left Lothlorien, not before then. I ignrored that.)

Also, anyone up for being my beta, even if just for a chapter? I'd really love that.

I. M. Sinclair

1:46 a.m.

April 3, 2010