For the anniversary of Boromir's death.
Boromir wanders. Aragorn wonders.
Aragorn had seen many things in his eighty-seven years: greedy men, frightened men, angry men, grieving men, joking men, drunken men, and kind men. But never had he seen a man that seemed so uncomfortable surrounded by people as Boromir of Gondor.
It is plainly odd! Aragorn thought. He fidgets, drums his fingers on the Horn of Gondor, bites his nails, and becomes ill-tempered. It is as if he does not appreciate the company of living things. In Rivendell, he did not act this way!
The two Men of the Fellowship were sitting on a stone bench, noiselessly watching the birds in the trees, the wind making the leaves dance. With the corners of his eyes, the Ranger watched the Gondorian. Boromir's long hair covered his face, and his fingertips were in his mouth. Aragorn had learned that nail-biting was one of Boromir's bad habits, and assumed he was doing so. Quiet murmurings came from behind the curtain of dark hair. Aragorn waited, knowing it would only be a matter of time before Boromir asked to go walk by himself.
Sure enough, Boromir pulled on his gauntlets and cleared his throat. "I ask the leader of the Fellowship if I may take my leave," he said in his usual formal, stiff Gondorian manner. Aragorn looked closely at him, and was startled to see a panicked look in the younger man's eyes.
"As the leader of the Fellowship," Aragorn said carefully, "I ask you why you are taking your leave."
"To..." Boromir said. He paused. Aragorn raised an eyebrow, then let it drop. Boromir's brow furrowed a bit in anger.
"To...?" asked Aragorn. He knew he was pushing the man to the end of his rope, but he also knew there was no other way to get Boromir to admit the reason why he so often left the company.
"To..." Boromir started again. His calloused, gauntlet-encased hands fiddled with the Horn of Gondor on his belt. "To..."
Aragorn raised an eyebrow again, silently asking, "To what, Boromir?"
Boromir seemed to snap then. He hoisted himself off the stone bench with a noise that was practically a growl, and shouted loudly, "To get away from the Ring, Valar damn you and it both equally!"
For a moment, Aragorn did not speak. Nor did Boromir. Boromir stood there, breathing heavily. He looked like a cornered animal, yet there was so much space to run. The Steward-son's ears had gone a bit red.
Aragorn stood up. "I believe you and I are in need of a talk," he said quietly. "Come with me, Boromir." When Boromir did not move, Aragorn said, "I believe I worded that wrong. I meant to say: You must come with me, Boromir." His voice was sharp.
Boromir reluctantly followed Aragorn through the trees. He did not have to walk quickly to keep up with Aragorn, the Ranger knew from the miles of walking with the Steward's first son, but Boromir lagged behind. Aragorn did not scold him for dragging his feet: he had seen Boromir's red ears and knew he felt embarrassed and probably guilty for his words.
The Ranger realized he did not exactly know where he was going, so he stopped. Behind him, the absence of steady thumping footfalls signaled Boromir's halt. Aragorn turned to face him.
"I am sorry," Boromir blurted out. Aragorn was a bit shocked. He had not expected Boromir to speak up. To his even greater surprise, Boromir knelt down on one knee and added, "I beg you, please forget my words. I simply lost my temper." He looked up at Aragorn pleadingly. Once again, Aragorn saw his panicked grey gaze.
"You spoke of Frodo's burden," said Aragorn, choosing not to respond to Boromir's words. "Stand up, Boromir." He did so. "Has it been whispering to you?" he asked, trying to keep his voice even and gentle. "Filling your mind with its evil lies, promising glory to your name and peace to Gondor?"
Boromir froze. "How do you..." he started, and then looked down at his feet. "Yes," he said in a low voice. "Yes, it has done so. I feel like I am being trapped in a small room, and the walls are closing in on me. They are so close I can touch them. I am pulling them away from my body, trying not to let them crush me. But I cannot let them crush me. I dream about that every night. I am trapped in my chambers back in Minas Tirith, trying to keep the walls from crushing me."
Aragorn felt the hair on his neck rise. Boromir's voice was haunted, and a bit fearful. "This is no dream, Boromir," Aragorn found himself saying.
"There is a way out of my dream," Boromir continued as if he had not heard Aragorn. "Two, actually. I can let the walls crush me, or I can run out the door." He looked straight into Aragorn's eyes in an almost unnerving manner. "My brother, Faramir, would know better than I, but I believe the dream represents something. I can let myself be crushed- not fight the Ring's words in my mind. Or I can walk out of the room- I can go away from the Ring. I choose the second."
Aragorn then realized the reason for Boromir's solitary tendencies. "I apologize once again, Aragorn, I simply could not stand to be near it one more second. You kept speaking to me and I could not leave. My temper boiled over. I am sorry, Aragorn, I know not what came over me. Please, forgive me." His eyes were pleading.
"Why do you beg me for forgiveness, Boromir?" Aragorn asked quietly.
"I... I cannot stand the idea of a future King's future Steward damning him with the One Ring," Boromir admitted. His ears turned a bit red again. "That and it sickens me to think I said that to one who has only ever been civil to me."
Aragorn realized then just how loyal Boromir was. He could not bear the thought that he had been rude to one who had never been such to him. He merely was seeking solitude, and had gotten upset at the one who stood in the way of that solitude. That happened to be Aragorn. Aragorn knew Boromir would have shouted at even one of the hobbits if they had been that one who stood in his way. He realized he had been thinking that the man bore a grudge against him personally.
"I forgive you wholeheartedly, Boromir," he said sincerely. "Do not hold it against yourself." A bit of a relived smile came over Boromir's face.
"Thank you, Aragorn," Boromir said in a grateful tone.
The heir of Isildur turned to leave. Before he did so, he turned back, suddenly needing to say something else. "If you ever seek to be alone, I shall not stand in your way," he said.
Footsteps crunched the leaves on the ground behind Aragorn, and he spun around, sword at ready. He found only Boromir, looking very startled at the sword at his throat. Aragorn sheathed Anduril. "I apologize, Boromir, you crept up on me. What do you want with me?" He noticed that Boromir's eyes still looked uneasy.
"I did not mean to run into you," said Boromir. "I apologize." He shifted his weight uncomfortably.
"No, it is no matter," said Aragorn, not wanted the other man to feel guilty. "I was merely trying to clear my head. I am afraid I am a touch water-sick." He had not been boating for a long while, and was rather unaccustomed to the currents of the Anduin around him. "What of you?"
"You could say the same," said Boromir, "though you refer to water-sickness. I seek to clear my head, also. The words have gotten harder to resist, Aragorn. I doubt I shall last much longer." To Aragorn's immense astonishment, Boromir's constantly adamant voice wavered at his last sentence. He realized that he, once again, stood in Boromir's way of solitude.
"I shall leave you, Boromir," Aragorn said. "Do not wander long." He started to stride off, but he heard Boromir's voice behind him.
"No, no," said Boromir. "I mind not your company." So Aragorn, not wishing to offend Boromir, turned and walked back to him. He found Boromir sitting at the base of a tree with his head tilted up to the murky, desolate sky. Aragorn, feeling rather like he was looming over his companion, sat beside him.
Aragorn felt commiseration for this warrior of Gondor, this Steward's son, and his troubled yet strong heart. So when he saw Boromir wandering off when the Fellowship stopped to debate their course of journey, he did naught to stop him.
That was his fatal mistake.