"For awhile, he was as still as if his own curse had struck him down; then suddenly, he wept."
"What have I done? Frodo, Frodo!"
And Frodo, invisible, shrinking against a tree-bole, hears repentance, and finds… he cannot run.
The Ring gives power according to its bearer, and insight grown sharper sees: Gondor burning, and the heart of the man crying out in agony, its love the author of its divisions.
The Ring's call had cut that tie, hair-fine and finer, that had bound treacherous despair.
There's a knot now, where that cord lies.
Boromir shivers, feeling an unseen the hand upon his head, lifts his eyes.
"Rise," Frodo tells him, slipping the Ring from his finger. "Help me!"
Notes:
"For awhile, he was as still as if his own curse had struck him down; then suddenly, he wept. …
"What have I done? Frodo, Frodo!"… - Boromir, "The Breaking of the Fellowship," FOTR.
Written for the Tolkien Weekly "Cut" challenge: prompt: to cut hair.