The name was a puzzlement to Boromir, for he had never before seen such fear in any man's face, least of all Gandalf's at the mention of a single word. Sauron's name, that title of the land of shadow and the mountain of fire, and the words used to describe fell beasts did not invoke nearly as much terror as the name Moria had on Gandalf's elderly features. Boromir didn't see what there was to be feared in Moria, for the place had long since housed Dwarves of familiar and friendly company, despite the fact that they had not been heard from for a small count of years. He doubted whether passing through the Mines would be nearly as dangerous as passing the Black Gates into Mordor, but the look on Gandalf's face was unsettling and he couldn't help but feel terrified himself at an unknown evil.
Gandalf had chosen a new path for them to follow which was south and east from Rivendell on a map. The country was open and unsheltered, which was why they often did not stop for many hours into the night until they came to a defendable shelter spot where they would often pass off dinner for a chance to sleep. Neither Elrond nor Haldir showed any signs of weariness from the harsh conditions, but even they spoke little in the long days of uneventful travel. Though no one complained, each of them could see who the journey was weighing on, and Boromir heard Gandalf conversing with Elrond and Aragorn late one night about Eowyn and the problems her presence posed on the Company.
Boromir's wound was healing well and, from what his companions told him, it was fading out nicely, though he had no way of confirming this since his sword was not flawless enough to offer itself up as a mirror for him to look at. It pained him little physically, but the mere thought of it weighed on his heart at the memory of the terrifying scream of the Nazgul and their darker than death images standing out against the night. He recalled the clammy, cold feeling of the air around him and the Ring tugging at his neck to free itself and join its master's disciples. With each passing day he felt the smallest amount of weight add to it and felt its power grow marginally. He did not mention these concerns aloud, especially to Faramir who grew quieter as the days waned on. There was little laughter to be heard in the Company at all, nor any smiles to be seen, but the lack of communication with his brother worried Boromir, though perhaps not as much as Grima did.
The man of Rohan (or so he claimed) said nothing unless directly spoken to by Gandalf, Boromir, or Haldir, and even then he sometimes did not respond promptly. He kept to himself at night, sleeping a little ways out of the protective circle they formed and he was always the first to rise of the men, though the dark and bruised-looking circles under his eyes suggested that he was not sleeping at all. More than once Boromir had caught him staring adamantly at the spot on Boromir's chest where they both knew the Ring to be. Boromir could not tell if these looks were intentional or if Grima was being possessed by Saruman in some way. He feared that at times Saruman was using Grima to check on the Ring's progress, but Gandalf informed him that they all would know if Saruman was coming for the Ring. The White Wizard did not yet know that they were on a quest to destroy the Ring, nor did he know who now bore it, for when last he had heard word, the Ring had been in the hands of a Halfling.
For now, the Ring was safe as the Fellowship was, though this was not very comforting to any of them.
Winter came in swiftly once the first snow began and its cruel kiss set the travelers back several days as they battled through snow banks, brutal winds, and harsh conditions. The road to Moria was not a welcome one, by any means, and Boromir cursed Saruman, the positioning of Isengard, and Sauron constantly under his breath for creating such a difficult path for them. There was little joy to be had for him these days so much that when he attempted to break a small smile, he found that the muscles required for the action in the corner of his mouth would not work at first. This pit of depression the Company remained in weighed on all of them to the point where speaking was a very difficult thing to do and something they engaged in less and less as the days wore on. Gandalf led them along the base of the Misty Mountains where the wind slammed them mercilessly against the mountainside. Not a night went by where Boromir did not attempt to wrap both of his hands around the Ring, not because he felt the need to hold it and sense its power, but because it radiated heat on the frigid nights as if it were encouraging him to rely on it for survival.
Sleep came less and less easier to him as they neared their checkpoint and though he tried to ignore the conversations between the Fellowship's two leaders, he could not help but listen to them as they spoke late into the night when they assumed he was sleeping. One such night, he had actually managed to drift off for perhaps half an hour when he heard a lone wolf cry out in the far distance and he opened his eyes ever so slightly, watching the small fire cast Gandalf and Elrond's shadows onto the wall of rock in front of him as he lay facing away from them.
"You would not have allowed him to bear the Ring if you did not foresee his strength and courage against its evil. If you do not trust him to do what is best, why, then, did you give your consent for him to begin this perilous journey?" asked Gandalf in a harsh whisper.
"Have you not seen him as the days linger on? He is already becoming a prisoner within his own body. He devotes all of his strength to carrying the Ring, not to repel it. In a few short weeks his face has begun to sink in. He looks as frail as Grima Wormtongue at times, as sleep deprived and solemn."
"The Ring's effect on him is not by his choice; the very same thing happened to Frodo before he willingly gave it up. But I trust that Boromir will succeed, if only he is given the proper guidance, for he is headstrong like his father, which is not beneficial to our Fellowship. It is not by our will that he must learn to follow, but by his own. He seeks to lead at times, to lead his brother, but it is Faramir's direction that he must eventually turn to. There may come a time when I am no longer in a position to help either of them, and if such a time comes, I ask that you would aid Faramir in gaining his brother's respect, but you must first put aside all doubts you hold over their heads first."
Boromir turned his head ever so slightly and saw that Haldir was rising to take over for his watch, staring at him in a manner that suggested that he knew Boromir had heard every word that passed between the two. There was no challenge in the look the Elf gave him, but Boromir read something unusual in it that he could not quite place.
Morning was a grim affair, for it had begun to snow once again halfway through the night so that they were all blanketed in white upon wakening. Now thoroughly soaked through, they started out the day's march quickly to bring warmth back into their bodies. It was not Eowyn, however, who began to lag behind, but Faramir. Grima was the first to take notice on how Faramir's posture began to stoop in his saddle and his breathing became pained. Boromir suspected that the weather was hurting him far more than anyone could have anticipated, for winter had never been this harsh in any realm of Gondor. He knew that his brother's pride would not allow them to slow their already dropping pace since the horses were having quite a time trying to navigate the snow burrows. Gandalf brought them to a halt in a small valley that was somewhat sheltered from the wind, if not the snow. He informed them cheerlessly that by noon the next day they would be upon the Walls of Moria. As they began to unsaddle the horses and build up another small fire, Faramir let out a terrible hacking cough and clapped his glove over his mouth to muffle the sound in the echoing valley. When he pulled his hand away Boromir spotted flecks of blood on his glove.
"Faramir, what is it?" he asked concernedly.
"I'll be alright," said Faramir a bit coldly, shrugging Boromir's hand off of his shoulder, but his brother was not to be put out. Boromir turned Faramir to face him and examined him closely for the first time in days. He was incredibly pale, though when Boromir put his hand against his brother's cheek the temperature was nearly scalding. Calling Gandalf and Elrond to his side, Boromir helped Faramir to sit down on the cleared ground so that they could examine him. Gandalf shooed Boromir away and so to occupy himself Boromir pulled his cloak tighter around him and set off to scout the surrounding area.
There was not much to see or not see, for the world stretching out in all directions was covered in nothing but white which made it nearly impossible to discern figures from mounds of snow. He worried that a foe could appear on the horizon as nothing but a disfigured shape and then suddenly be close enough to him that he would have no time to react. He had no desire of a repeat experience with the Nazgul and so he cautiously drew his sword, listening for the sound he did not want to hear, but the one that he knew would precede the enemy, should they come. He had a very strong feeling that something was drawing near to him in the dying light, though what he could not say. Almost as if it too sensed a presence, the Ring tightened against his skin, a most uncomfortable sensation. He wondered how the Halfling could have dealt with such unpleasantness as this when he thought that at any given moment he might go mad from having such a cursed thing dangling around his neck.
He sheathed his sword and dug at his leather armor and tunic until he pulled the chain free and the Ring appeared at the end. It was the same color as when Boromir had last seen it, but somehow its color had become more brilliant, stronger and more terrible than before. Placing it in his palm, he ran the tip of his finger around its circumference. What would it be like, he wondered to slip it on just once? What would he see? Would it help him find the strengths he needed? Gandalf had warned him of the dangers of wearing it, but what did the wizard know, really, about what the Ring yielded when worn? Had Gandalf ever put it on? Boromir centered his middle finger above the opening when…
"Boromir!"
He spun quickly to face Haldir who had crept up on him without any sound to betray his approach while he stood with his guard lowered to fanaticize about wearing a piece of jewelry. He felt absolutely ashamed.
"The temptation is strong, is it not?" questioned Haldir knowledgeably. "I know you long to see the world through the eyes of the Ring, but do not forget that you would also be seeing the world through Sauron who, in turn, would see you and know who now carries his weapon. It would be foolish to think about wearing that trinket, my friend."
"It is easy for you to say when you do not feel its tug on your very heart," said Boromir heatedly. "In my every waking moment I feel its power growing and my dreams have now turned to nightmares as it haunts me there as well. Do not presume to know how strong this enticement is."
"I can see its power through the look in your eyes. Do not give in when we have only just begun our journey, Boromir."
"If you believe that you would be better suited to hold off the urge to wear it, you may have it." Boromir unstrung the chain from around his neck and held it out to Haldir who took a wary step back.
"You should not so readily be willing to part with your burden. I will not take it. I chose to accompany you, not bear what is not mine. If you were to fall in battle, even then I would hope that a worthier candidate than me should choose to reclaim it before I offered myself. Let us not stand here challenging each other about who has a stronger will. Would I have given my service if I believe you incapable? No, I believe that you will succeed, but you cannot hope to if you part with the Ring so easily."
Boromir slipped the chain back around his neck and tucked the Ring away. "Forgive me; my mind is otherwise occupied at the moment."
"Indeed, you worry about your brother. I was sent to tell you that his fever has broken and that if we manage to keep him warm into the next morning, he will survive. Lord Elrond has identified and tended to his sickness."
"Then let us go back and build up as big of a fire as we dare in these barren winter wastelands." Boromir glanced over his shoulder, narrowing his eyes as he believed that he saw something move, but a moment later joined Haldir and the two of them worked their way back down into the valley.