Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, or places. I am only borrowing them, and I promise to return them alive and unspoiled when I am finished with them.

"Well, Frodo," said Aragorn at last. "I fear that the burden is laid upon you. You are the bearer appointed by the Council. Your own way you alone can choose. In this matter I cannot advise you. I am not Gandalf, and though I have tried to bear his part, I do not know what design or hope he had for this hour, if indeed he had any. Most likely it seems that if he were now the choice would still wait on you. Such is your fate."

Frodo did not answer at once. Then he spoke slowly. "I know that haste is needed, yet I cannot choose. The burden is heavy. Give me an hour longer, and I will speak. Let me be alone!"

Aragorn looked at him with kindly pity. "Very well, Frodo son of Drogo," he said. "You shall have an hour, and you shall be alone. We will stay here for a while. But do not stray far or out of call."

Frodo sat for a moment with his head bowed. Sam, who had been watching his master with great concern, shook his head and muttered: "Plain as a pikestaff it is, but it's no good Sam Gamgee putting in his spoke just now."

Presently Frodo got up and walked away; and Sam saw that while the others restrained themselves and did not stare at him, the eyes of Boromir followed Frodo intently, until he passed out of sight in the trees at the foot of Amon Hen.

--The Fellowship of the Ring; page 412

The Burden is Heavy

1. At What Price Faith?

Aragorn was speaking.

That much Boromir knew, before the great sudden weight of darkness that so clearly was a constant ache for Frodo slipped a tendril around his waist and pulled tight. He set down his sword, and leaned over his stomach drawing tight breaths. Resting his weight on a fist clenched tightly, he stared at his knees trying ever so hard not to look at the Ringbearer's face. He had fought this battle before. He had felt this, oh yes, he had felt it. But never before had the pull been so great.

He remembered what it felt like at the Council of Elrond, staring at the glorious Ring in utter fascination, instantly enamored. How he had then felt a tiny sliver of darkness within his heart, but he had not cared. Why had he not fought it then? Had it shone in his eyes then, the reckless unforgiving love he was struck with? How he felt he was bidden to protect it, and so keep it safe and whole? Surely Master Elrond had seen that, and yet he had sent the Man on this fruitless quest to destroy that which was both Good and Evil, beautiful and hateful, and many other things besides. Had the wise Elf foreseen the temptation of Boromir?

Does it really matter? a cold voice inside him whispered. Look: there is the Ring, and there are the fools who would destroy it. Fools they are, who will not see the gift the Enemy himself has lain before our eyes. You need only to be rid of them and then the way will be open!

Boromir squeezed his eyes shut and pressed a hand to his forehead. Increasingly more often these days, he had thoughts of those ilk, thoughts that sent his knowing, rational mind flying into oblivion. He was a son of the House of Stewards: a house that was never to be known for its ill faith!

He could hear Frodo speaking harsh words that the gentle hobbit would hardly be inclined to say, in his natural state of mind. "…let me be alone!"

Ill faith? Ill faith toward whom? If your father knew of the trinket this foolish halfling carries, to his doom and the doom of us all, he would have you flayed for not seizing it earlier! Boromir's eyes opened wide, and his hand flew from his forehead. He could feel his heart pounding in his head, and the eyes of Legolas, watching him with unease. Man flashed Elf a concerned look, jerking his head in the direction of Frodo. Legolas nodded, though his serene eyes watched Boromir out of a corner warily still.

No, he decided firmly, my father is proud and bitter at times, but he has not turned so foolish as that.

Boromir decide it was time to employ an old calming trick he had once taught his younger brother. "When your own mind will not be silent," he had said to Faramir, "you must empty it of all thoughts, then filter the appropriate ones back in like water through a strainer." He shifted to a cross-legged position and shut his eyes. With a deep breath he imagined gathering all his thoughts in a tight net, then letting his breath out pictured scattering them to the mercy of the wind. Twelve times he did this, and then he drew himself back to his senses, his head for once blissfully clear.

Just as he returned to the real world, Frodo stood and brushed himself off. Then he strode off into the woods.

And Boromir knew that he could not escape it, no matter how hard he tried. But he could at least try to persuade Frodo to bring the Ring to Minas Tirith. It might work. Perhaps the Halfling would finally understand the folly he was leading the world to.

As Frodo disappeared from view, Boromir watched him. Then his gaze moved over the rest of the Fellowship, who were all trying as hard as they possibly could not to look at the Ringbearer, except for Sam whose worried stare trailed behind Frodo. Only until he could not see his master any longer did the gardener's eyes rest – just for a moment – on the Man. But Legolas looked up, and watched him keenly. Under the powerful gaze of the wood-Elf, Boromir felt the sudden need to do something, anything with his hands. He picked up his sword and whetstone once again, and returned to sharpening. If anything, that only honed the edge of his restlessness.

Eventually the others turned to debate, and setting his activity aside, Boromir got up as quietly as he knew how, and followed the path Frodo had made into the trees. And he wondered why indeed he was forced to speak kind words to one whom he did love, and then betray him in a backhanded way. Duty calls, the presence at the back of his head told him. You cannot let it slide past you forever.

Then he moved past a tree and saw Frodo on the ground with his head in his hand, his back bent as if weighted by some burden to heavy to think of. Boromir's heart was wrenched, and he stood there motionless for several moments, until the hobbit turned suddenly and looked the Man in the eye.

That decided him. The halfling did not deserve the burden of carrying. Let it move to somebody stronger, and let Frodo have a much-deserved respite from the pain.

If at the back of his mind, a certain force withdrew while practically gloating, Boromir did not pay any heed.

Author's Notes:

The citation and page number at the top is from the hardbound Alan Lee fiftieth century edition – my very own precious birthday present.