Rapid Peril
By Carolyn Golledge
With Eleanor Tremayne
Chapter One Surprise Attack
"Not good," Gimli said, scowling down at the raging river from the rocky embankment.
"No," Aragorn agreed, hearing the comment even above the deafening roar of white water rapids. Sarn Gebir, the ugliest and most dangerous stretch of the mighty Anduin lay ahead of them. He rubbed his jaw, then turned and looked back and down the way they had come.
It was a very rough track, strewn with boulders overgrown with scrub and small trees. They had walked at least a mile and still the Sarn Gebir rapids showed no sign of abating. He had known they might have to porter the boats around this section of the Anduin, but he had hoped it would be a shorter stretch.
He looked up as Boromir returned from his forward scouting, Merry and Pippin as ever clambering along at his side like ducklings with their mother. Aragorn smiled as Boromir growled warning and threw out a hand to grab Pippin's coat, hauling him away from the treacherous footing of some loose shale.
Pippin grinned up at the Man and bounced on around him to report cheerfully, "If you think it's bad here you should see it down there!"
Gimli grunted and shook his head. Aragorn lifted a questioning eyebrow at Boromir who climbed over a jumble of boulders to stand at his side.
"That's about the sum of it," Boromir said, a smile tugging at his lips despite the bad news as Pippin dodged the big hand that would otherwise have mussed his already wind-blown hair.
"And there's more boulders to climb around down there, too," Merry added.
"And thorn bushes," Pippin said. "Lots of thorns."
"So why do the three of you look so cheerful?" Gimli asked.
"We don't like boats," Pippin said.
Merry nodded agreement, "It's good to stretch our legs a bit."
"We'll lose ground and time to the enemy," Aragorn said, sighing as he met Boromir's eyes. They both knew only too well how dangerously exposed they would be as they carried the boats.
Boromir nodded. "The track is rough, but if Gimli puts his axe to use, we could have all three boats on the other side by nightfall. There's a small cave there that would hide us for the night."
"Some good news at last," Gimli said.
"And you get to use your axe!" Pippin added, trying for some more morale boosting.
"I'd rather dull my blade on Orc heads than tree trunks."
"Let's hope you don't get your wish," Boromir said, and began moving up river to where they had left Legolas with Sam and Frodo.
Aragorn walked as close to the other Man's side as the overgrown track would allow, though he need not have worried that the others would overhear above the roar of white water. "If we have to retreat onto the river, how bad will it be?"
"Bad," Boromir said succinctly. "About half a mile further on, it narrows again and in the middle of the current there are shallows where debris has piled up on sharp rocks. Immediately behind that is a monstrous whirlpool."
He met Aragorn's eyes with equal worry, lowering his voice to add, "If attack comes, I hope it's after we have the boats beyond that point at least. Despite our good Elf friend's reassurances about the boats, no wood can survive being pinned by a flood tide against such stone teeth. Or dragged under by the powerful suction of a whirlpool."
Aragorn noted his friend had left unspoken their greatest fear – none of the Hobbits could swim. "You think it's still raining up river, then?"
Boromir nodded, distracted as he picked his way through thorny scrub that hid an outcropping of rocks. "The river has risen higher already."
Aragorn sighed and said nothing but stepped around Boromir who had turned back to check on what Aragorn now also thought of as the other Man's 'little ones'. This looked set to be a long difficult day. He should have expected such after the relatively easier going of the past two days with the river obediently and effortlessly carrying them ever southward. South toward Gondor and the Falls of Rauros that would soon enough force decisions on them all.
Boromir cursed as his foot slipped on some loose shale and the weight of the boat immediately threatened to push him over the side of the embankment. His shield shifted and thumped against his back, annoying him. He was leading, hands at his back as he gripped the prow tightly in his gloved fists. Aragorn followed, carrying the heavier stern. They were portering the second boat after very hard going with the first one. Their reward had been in both securing one boat safely to wait ahead, and too, they'd spotted what appeared a much better, if higher route this time. The footing was not as bad here as it had been on the lower track which was considerably more muddy and covered with vines hiding rocks. Boromir was amazed they'd managed the first trip without anyone breaking an ankle.
This leg wasn't all that much easier, the sharper slope making it harder to hold to the boat. 'We should change positions for the last boat,' Boromir decided. 'Aragorn would do better finding the footing because I, as Faramir is so fond of reminding me, make a wonderful beast of burden but am no Ranger.'
The memory made him smile as he steadied himself and took another careful step forward, the going tricky as the bank dipped into a small, overgrown scrubby gully. It was as well Legolas had the watch, leaving the Men free to concentrate on their difficult and tiring work. Ahead of them he could see the grey-green mass of thorn bushes where Gimli was hacking away enthusiastically, no doubt imagining orc heads flying. Merry and Pippin gingerly pulled at the cut branches with their gloved hands, having made it their job to clear the path of both scrub and rocks where needed. Behind came Frodo, with Sam, loyal as ever, occasionally lending a bracing shoulder.
Though Frodo had regained some strength after the respite found in Lothlorien, he was again already showing signs of an unnatural fatigue.
'The Ring be cursed!' Boromir scowled, then sighed as the thing seemed somehow to hear his thought. It leered at him, filling his mind with ludicrous images of all it could give him. It was only toying with him now, not responding to his hostility with the usual scenes of Minas Tirith under siege and his men dying, but rather promising him riches, feasts, a life of luxury and ease. The thing should know by now that such a life held no true appeal for a born soldier.
'I'd be bored witless in a day!' He grinned then chuckled as Pippin caught the grin and gave him a proud thumbs up followed by a bowing wave to direct him to the cleared path. Disgruntled by his cheerfulness, the sour shadow of The Ring fled his thoughts and he returned his full attention to the weight of the boat and the sloping slippery path.
"Orcs! Wargs!" Legolas shouted in sudden breathless warning from above and behind.
Boromir swore. He couldn't drop the boat here, it would slide straight into the river, possibly colliding with the Hobbits. Gimli went charging up slope past him, scrambling with more agility than Boromir would have credited to reinforce the rearguard. Merry and Pippin were already urging Frodo and Sam into the cover of the piled thorn branches behind the rocky outcropping.
"There!" Boromir pointed with his chin and tugged the prow of the boat upslope toward a jutting hunk of black rock.
"I see it!" Aragorn shouted back, bracing to take more weight.
Boromir heaved, grunted and lifted the prow onto his shoulder, taking the burden so Aragorn could angle the stern about and wedge it behind the rock. Boromir dumped his end in time to see Legolas and Gimli flying downslope toward them, dodging a hail of black-fletched arrows.
"Wargs!" Aragorn snarled, taking cover behind the boat to unsling his bow. The stench of the creatures was thick on the otherwise fresh river breeze. One of the creatures thundered into view, its shoulders bristling with Legolas' arrows, its orc rider already felled. Blundering, stumbling, the thing set to leap the boat.
"Gondor!" Boromir bellowed, lunging to his feet and slicing his sword-blade quick and hard into the belly. Spraying blood and gore blinded him a moment as he followed through with his shoulder, shoving the falling beast so that it would not slide into the Hobbits on the slope below. The Warg triggered a rockslide with it as it tumbled over the embankment, impacting with a mighty fountaining of river water from far below that still reached high enough to douse Merry and Pippin who had come to their feet, blades drawn.
"Down!" Boromir yelled, swinging his shield from his shoulder onto his left forearm and bringing it up to guard his heart. Arrows whistled about him and he needed to take his own advice. He ducked then came smoothly to his feet, using the boat as part cover to gain Aragorn's side. Legolas and Gimli felled many, but still more poured over the lip of the slope, meeting death on the Men's sword blades. Somehow, over the noise of both the river and the battle, Boromir heard or sensed a cry of alarm from Pippin. He turned just enough to see while felling another enemy and yelled warning to Aragorn, "They have our flank!"
Breathlessly, Aragorn nodded, Legolas fell back to him, and Gimli joined Boromir who charged downslope to aid the Hobbits. Merry and Pippin, he noted with pride, had bought them just enough time, slicing upward from cover to maim the leading Orcs. Then Boromir was there, his blade singing, slicing enemy heads from shoulders. Gimli came to a sliding halt close by, leaving enough leeway to swing his axe, and the orc charge slowed a little. This was the main band, Boromir realized, the other had been a feint. They were intent on reaching the Hobbits. The first party of archers had achieved its aim, and were keeping Aragorn and Legolas pinned under a barrage of arrows.
A familiar stench fouled the air and another Warg charged clear of the wooded ridge. Boromir stepped forward, threw his dirk and felled its rider. At the same time, he caught sight of a much larger Orc archer partially hidden by the trees. It was much taller and more solidly built and wore some kind of white paint, like a hand, slashed across its face.
The Warg charged downslope and Boromir took a wild swing at its legs, hoping to divert it from smashing through the Hobbit's partial shelter. The sword blade thudded hard into flesh and, caught in a tangle of legs, it dragged Boromir to his knees. He tried to hold onto the sword hilt, but it was wrenched from his grip. The crippled creature bellowed rage and attempted to turn back at its attacker, losing balance and toppling headlong down the slippery slope.
Cursing, Boromir lunged after it, then saw with relief his sword snag and fall free. The Warg disappeared over the high embankment, smashing brush and small trees on the edge before plunging into the wild river.
Boromir dropped to his haunches and slid a little way downslope toward his fallen sword, his left hand holding the shield and his right snatching at saplings and rocks to slow his pace. He snared the sword and lurched to his feet, swaying unsteadily a moment on the precarious incline. Frodo and Sam watched him wild-eyed from amid the thorn bushes to his left. He spared them what he hoped was a reassuring smile and waved at them to come toward him. He would shepherd the Hobbits to a more sheltered position among the rocks to his right.
Sam reached him safely, one arm outstretched for Frodo's hand.
"Come on!" he urged.
Another volley of arrows suddenly flew about them, whistling and sighing the deadly song Boromir knew so well. His shield shuddered with their impact as he shoved Sam back into the rocks and leapt forward to cover Frodo who was having difficulty climbing, seemed to be heavily weighed by something. Knowing he could not reach Frodo before the archers let loose again, Boromir threw himself full length to the ground, sliding downslope, his left arm outflung, the shield held at the best angle to defend Frodo.
It left Boromir dangerously exposed and he paid the price, gasping as sharp pain flared in his upper right arm. It was no ordinary arrow, but thick enough to punch through his mail sleeves. The shock numbed his right hand and again the sword fell free. Boromir was moving too fast downslope to grab it with his already burdened left. He slewed around in time to prevent himself slamming full force into Frodo, and wrapped his injured right arm about the Hobbit's waist, pulling him close. A huge shadow suddenly blotted the sunlight, and Boromir rolled onto his back, feeling something sharp dig into him. Expecting a trampling Warg, he kept Frodo beneath himself. Rather, it was the monstrous white painted archer who stood over them. Sneering, it lunged at Boromir, intending to gut him.
Grunting with the effort, Boromir slammed the sharp metal shield boss against the creature's sword arm, and following his own momentum, shoved upright, pushing his lightly armoured shoulder into his enemy's chest.
The thing was heavier and stronger than he expected and it merely stumbled back a pace, remaining on its feet and quickly reclaiming a firm grip on its blade. Snarling, it made a wild slash at Boromir's face, missed as he wove backward, and instead sliced through the strap holding the horn to his chest. It fell into the mud and Boromir had no time to consider its loss. He instinctively tried to pull his weaponless right arm up to meet the next blow. Sluggish, numbed, it did not respond quickly. In the moment, he thought he was dead.
But the creature grimaced in pain and staggered backward again, and Boromir realized Frodo had wriggled free just enough to stab the enemy in the unguarded back of the knee. It was all the opening Boromir needed. He rammed the point of the shield boss into the enemy's face then landed a savage kick to the archer's abdomen. At the same moment, one of Legolas' arrows sprouted from the Orc's shoulder. Howling pain and rage, the creature retreated, making a stumbling run for the cover of the woods.
"Well done!" Boromir gasped thanks to Frodo.
Frodo's lips twitched in pleased response that altered to panic.
"Sam! Get down!" he screamed, his blue eyes wide with fear. Boromir whirled about, found Sam standing exposed, having no doubt attempted to come to their aid. He could not see the orc taking aim with its blade raised at his back. Somehow, Sam slid and ducked safely away, yelling his own warning, "Behind you!"
Grabbing with his left hand, Boromir closed his fist on the chopped tree branch that had lain beneath him, and hurled it point first at more Orcs closing on them from below the lip of the embankment. It struck the leader and its fall tripped several others.
"Come on!" Boromir urged and Frodo got his feet under him. The Hobbit took one step, then fell, stumbling on some unseen object and crying out in despair as he slid toward the enemy.
Cursing, Boromir lunged and managed to grab hold of Frodo's trailing cloak and pulled. His shield slid forward along his arm, snaring his hand, its sudden added weight sending him sliding to the left and downslope, his fist holding tight to Frodo. He hoped to use his failing right arm to gain some purchase to stop them both toppling over the lip of the embankment. But there was nothing, and his wounded arm was too awkward.
Frodo screamed as suddenly they found themselves falling through empty air toward the rushing white water. The impact with it knocked the breath from Boromir's lungs. Ice cold water closed over his head and he fought the urge to gasp for air as he plunged further under the river surface, his left fist still desperately holding to Frodo's cloak. Time seemed to slow and details came clearly to his mind as often happened in battle. He wondered if the cloak clasp would hold, and if it did would it only succeed in strangling Frodo?
Boromir kicked out and pushed in what he hoped was an upward direction. The current whirled and spun crazily, tearing about him, and threatening to upend him head over feet. His lungs burned and he caught a glimpse of Frodo's white, wide–eyed face staring at him through the silt-murky water.
Then, they broke through the raging surface together, strained mouths drawing both air and water as waves slapped and leaped in a frenzied battle with the restraints of the steep, narrow gorge. Somehow, Boromir succeeded in pulling Frodo close until he was able to get a more secure hold about the terrified Hobbit's upper arm. If he lost that hold, Frodo was dead, had no chance, even if he had been able to swim. The terror must be all the greater for him, for Boromir knew Frodo had lost both his parents to drowning. Boromir himself was normally a strong swimmer, and had on more than once occasion been forced to dare the Anduin at night to escape enemy forces. But now he had only one arm at full strength, and that to hold onto Frodo. His right was responding a little now, but with no true usefulness. Boromir wondered how he was managing to keep both himself and Frodo afloat, then felt it – a buoyancy at his back. The shield! The fall from the bank had dragged it around onto his back once more and there its concave boss had trapped air beneath it. The Valar be praised!
With all the grimly amused detachment his brother found unsettling in him in similar dire situations, Boromir weighed their chances.
'All we need do is avoid being smashed to a pulp on the rocks, sucked under by the whirlpool, frozen solid, or washed all the way over the mighty Falls of Rauros.'
No, that last was not a threat; the whirlpool would draw them in first. But, if somehow they could make it beyond that point, calmer waters awaited. Frodo did not have that much time. Despite Boromir's help, he was swallowing water, the surface so choppy and wild that Boromir too, was beginning to choke. Keeping your mouth shut was a good plan, but still meant inhaling water through your nose, and then you began coughing, and swallowing more water. Frodo obviously had no experience at all in surviving a river in spate. He would drown even if his body never sank beneath the surface. Locked together, Hobbit and Man were hurtled at break neck speed downstream.
Then Boromir saw it, a clump of shadow protruding from the white water. Could it be the jagged rock outcropping and tangled logs and debris he had spotted mid-river while scouting? It was their only chance of avoiding death in the whirlpool where the flimsy floatation of the shield could not hope to save them. The rocky teeth appeared to be racing toward them, though the reverse was true. They would pass a little too wide of it, the buoyant shield carrying them helplessly on the tide. It was now or never, he must dump air from the shield at precisely the right moment to angle them inward to the rock. He waited a few tense moments, then rolled slightly, shrugging his left shoulder, and felt the air surge free. He sank deeper into the water, but only for a moment, forcing his right arm to aid his lunging swim. Something unseen beneath the rapids suddenly rammed into his hip, swirling him about and his back slammed into the rocky island. Frodo's weight hit him next, making him gasp as desperately he sought for purchase before the terrible power of the water could drag them back into its deadly snare.
With tearing, groaning effort, he swung his right arm up and over a moss covered log as it lurched into view. He hooked his elbow about it, felt the river try to break his grip, struggled, and finally was secure enough to pull Frodo closer.
"Grab hold!" he urged the dazed Hobbit, uncertain as to whether he was heard, or if Frodo had sufficient strength remaining. But Frodo swung in with the current and wrapped first one arm, then both, tightly about the log. At last Boromir's over-burdened muscles were eased and the weight was taken from him. Frodo clung tenaciously to the log that was jammed against the rock looming sharply above them. Together, stone and wood broke just enough of the force of the water to make resistance possible. Then, as the current pushed him into a small hollow in the rock face, Boromir's feet touched bottom. Elated, he flashed a grin and announced. "I can stand! The rock shelf must be wider beneath than above!"
Still it was an unstable platform, the surging flood water constantly tugging at differing angles, and the rock surface treacherously uneven and slippery and covered by a jumble of branches. The current surged high about Boromir's waist, the struggle against it already sapping him of strength. He anchored himself as best he could, his back to the tangle of wood and rock, and his booted feet spread, the right wedged tightly beneath the largest log.
"I can't hold on! " Frodo gasped.
Boromir nodded understanding, grateful for his now freed left hand. Frodo could not possibly hold to the protruding, moss-slick log for more than a few moments, and the water was too deep for him, even had he the strength to stand against the eddying current. The shield had already acted as a life preserver and must not be lost for it might have to do so again.
"Not long." Boromir promised, fighting the urge to hurry, knowing it would only cause him to fumble with already stiff fingers garbed in sodden leather as he worked blind to secure the shield strap to the log. But, he'd had plenty of prior experience with that, too. In all his long years battling to hold the Anduin as a supply route from the south, he'd more than once found himself in the water, in the dark….
With the shield secured, he took a firm grip on Frodo's upper arm.
"Right," he shouted directly into Frodo's ear to make himself heard above the current. "Now, climb up."
"Up? Where?" Frodo coughed then squinted up at the sheer, slick rock face that showed not the least crevice, having long since been worn mirror smooth by the river.
"Up here," Boromir said, tapping his chest then shoulders with his clumsy right hand. He tried what he hoped was an encouraging smile, though his teeth were already chattering with the intense cold.
"Oh." Frodo considered a moment and quickly reached the same conclusion. There was no other option, no other anchor anywhere in reach that could possibly support him, and Boromir couldn't hang onto him forever. "But you're wounded. I can see the arrow still in your arm."
"Not the first time. It's nothing," Boromir said. It was not a serious wound, and as long as the barb remained embedded, he would not lose a great deal of blood, especially not in this cold. And there lay the lie – even a minor wound would be deadly when cold-sickness set in.
"It must hurt. A lot." Frodo said.
"No," Boromir said truthfully. "It's numb." 'Mostly numb', he amended silently as the cursed thing stabbed pain now his attention had been drawn to it. "No time for talk. Climb."
After some tense moments of scrabbling and slipping, with Boromir catching him more than once, Frodo finally managed to seat himself atop Boromir's broad shoulders. Only Frodo's hairy feet were now beneath water. The air would be much warmer than the water, giving Frodo a much better chance at survival. Provided his living island refuge could remain upright. Boromir knew even he would succumb soon enough if left in such intensely cold water for any great length of time. 'Hurry, Aragorn!'
"Thank you!" Frodo leaned forward slightly to shout close to Boromir's ear. The noise of the rapids was another factor that would wear them down in time, adding to their exhaustion.
Boromir nodded then tilted his head up to grin at the drenched, pale Hobbit. "Gondorian Adventure T-Travel!" he joked. "Thrills g-guaranteed."
He was heartened when that drew a spluttering laugh from his small friend. He tucked Frodo's legs more securely beneath his arms, wanting to be certain that when Frodo tired and slumped or slipped forward, he would not fall from his human mountain.
"But what about you?" Frodo asked. "You're so cold."
"No more than you," Boromir said with all the command that had kept green troops going against repeated overwhelming odds. "There's plenty of daylight left. The others will find us. I don't think we came very far downstream."
Frodo nodded and blessedly, did not say what they both were thinking – were the rest of the Fellowship indeed still alive? There seemed to be a great many well-armed enemy, constantly reinforcing the first attackers. But then again, both Boromir and Frodo had witnessed the Fellowship win victory in extremely tough battles before.
"Pull your cloak hood up over your head, Frodo," Boromir instructed. "It will keep your head warm, and that –"
"Makes all the difference," Frodo quoted the oft repeated advice with a smile. He did as he was told, saying, "Oh, that is much better. The wind is cut, and the material is warm even though it's wet. I'm all the more glad of the Elves' thoughtful gift." Boromir felt gentle hands pat his bare head with sympathy. "But you don't have yours."
Boromir snorted ironic amusement. "I took it off before we went for the second boat. It was too hot. And it caught on the thorn bushes."
"Hmm," Frodo said and Boromir felt him shifting about a little. The next he knew, there was some small but blessed relief from the icy wind as Frodo pulled the long sodden folds of the cloak forward until it was tented about himself and about Boromir's head and shoulders. Remarkably enough, even drenched, the material was indeed warm.
"Thank you, Frodo," Boromir said, sincerely touched by the thoughtful gesture.
"It's the least I can do," Frodo said, adding after a moment, "So now we wait."
"Aragorn will come for us," Boromir said. "You know he will."
"He will. And the others," Frodo agreed.
'Yes, they will come – for Frodo – not you.' A familiar treacherous voice purred in Boromir's mind. 'They don't' care what happens to you. You're not important.'
"Don't listen to it, Boromir," Frodo said, speaking remarkably quietly into his ear, his breath warm against Boromir's chilled face. "It lies."
Boromir snorted humorlessly. "So I've noticed." He waited a moment, then asked, "It speaks to you, too?"
"All the time."
Boromir's heart lurched in sympathy. The cursed thing at least left him alone for entire hours at a stretch, sometimes. But Frodo would have no such luxury. "And – can you hear what it says to me?"
"Not the words, just …the feel, the aim. It torments everyone, but you the most. It was so angry after Caradhras."
"The mountain?" Boromir said with genuine surprise. "Why?"
He sensed rather than saw Frodo's satisfied smile. "Because you won."
Unimpressed Boromir only grunted. "Gandalf didn't seem to think so."
"Why do you say that?"
"I overheard what he said to you. Just before we reached Moria. He didn't trust me, he thought the Ring would win soon enough."
"Not true. You only heard part of what he said. He said a lot more about it after we entered the mines." Frodo paused significantly and poked Boromir in the neck, which, thanks to the Hobbit wrapped around it, was a little warmer than the rest of him. "You know, Boromir, just after you helped save me from the monster and carried me inside."
Boromir heaved a huge sigh that lifted Frodo upward a little. "Thank you, Frodo. But I think he'd wonder if the Ring was in fact calling me to rescue it, rather than you."
"I told you I can hear it!" Frodo said hotly. "It was as scared as me of that thing in the water. Well, almost," he amended honestly. "Gandalf can hear it, too, so he'd know. It was too scared to be doing any talking. It had nothing to do with your coming for me."
"Maybe," Boromir conceded. There was a long silence in which the cold seemed to lunge and bite like a hungry wolf, and the pain in his arm began to make itself felt as Frodo's weight became more a strain. He was weakening. He needed to keep talking. About something cheerful, for preference….
"How long have you known Sam?" he asked.
"Most of my life," Frodo said. "I met him after Uncle Bilbo took me in." He hesitated. "I was only very young."
Boromir could have kicked himself. 'You just reminded him that both his parents drowned. Great work, idiot!'
"Oh," he said, trying to change to something brighter. "Sam has enormous courage, breaking cover like that to try to help us back there."
"I know." Frodo sighed heavily, again warming Boromir's face. "That's what worries me. I wish Gandalf hadn't dragged him into this."
"Gandalf dragged him into this?" Boromir repeated, mildly astonished.
"Oh, I'm sure Sam would have come anyway," Frodo said quickly. "I mean, he was listening at the window." Frodo gave a little chuckle, full of affection. "He told Gandalf he was only cutting the verge."
Boromir snorted. "So he was outside, where, in your garden at the Shire?"
"Yes. It was well after dark, a fact Gandalf mentioned, after he dragged Sam in through the window and onto the table. Poor Sam looked set to die of fright."
"I can imagine!" Boromir was enjoying this, now here was a tale to keep his mind from the cold. "What did he say?"
"He denied having been listening, said he'd heard nothing except –" Frodo dropped his voice a little and changed his accent in a very good imitation of his friend. "That is I heard a good deal about a Ring and the Dark Lord and the end of the world."
"The end of the world!" Boromir laughed. Then just as quickly he realized, that was, sadly, no exaggeration.
There was another silence and even over the background roar of the rapids, Boromir's teeth could plainly be heard, chattering a violent staccato. Frodo would be able to feel his shivering as steadily it became more convulsive. The only warmth was from the contact with Frodo's clinging body and the burning pain in his wounded arm that, ironically, had worsened because of the sharp shivering fits. Boromir decided he needed to turn the conversation away from anything to do with the Hobbits having been dragged into this deadly 'quest, mission, thing'. He smiled at the memory of Pippin's eager but silly description at the Council of Elrond. Back to – he frowned – what had he been thinking…? He couldn't quite remember. A bad sign. He was losing concentration…. Oh right, meaning to talk about something else, something back in the warmth and cheer of the Shire.
"So," he said. "You lived in Bilbo's house?"
"Yes. But it's mine now. He gave it to me when he went off to Rivendell. He gave everything to me."
Including the Ring. Boromir realized. Immediate sharp anger filled him. 'What unhappy chance, what unfair chance, that so vital a weapon should so easily come to someone who could not see it's worth. It should have been mine! I would know how to harness it for – '
'SHUT UP!' Boromir yelled back at the insidious voice. He felt Frodo shift above him and knew the Hobbit had 'overheard' the exchange.
"See?" Frodo said. "You just did it again, Boromir. You keep winning. It really hates that." A small hand patted Boromir's wet, cold head. "I love it when you do that. I absolutely love it!"
"I'm glad." It was some consolation, but Boromir worried how much more effective the Ring's attacks would be when he became more exhausted.
"And," Frodo continued. "I told Gandalf about how you keep doing it."
"And?"
"He knew. And he was proud of you, Boromir. He told me so. He said he had been proud of you ever since the day…. Well, since the last time he'd seen you as a boy."
"When my mother died?"
"Yes."
"Huh. Fancy that."
"Fancy what?"
"Gandalf feeling like that. I thought – "
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Tell me," Frodo insisted with a teasing growl, and small fingers pinched his ear lobes. "Or I'll twist your ears off."
Boromir bit back a laugh. Frodo was beginning to remind him – again – of Faramir. "Go ahead," he said with mock stoicism. "I don't think I'd miss them right now."
Frodo began immediately rubbing his ears, very gently. "I know," he said with sympathy. "You're so cold."
"Am not." Boromir said jauntily. "I'm just having a much needed bath. I'm sure Legolas would approve."
Frodo snorted a laugh. "Anyway," he said pointedly, "Just so you know you were wrong about Gandalf." His voice thickened with grief. "He thought very kindly of you. He was always kind."
"Mostly kind." Boromir corrected. "Ask Pippin."
"True. But –" the fingers rubbed wonderful warmth into Boromir's frozen cheeks now. "I think he may have loved Pippin the most. So there you go, he only snaps at people he likes the best!"
"I concede the point, Frodo. And thanks for the massage, it's helping. But you must be near frozen solid yourself, up there in the open air in wet clothes."
"A long sight better than being down there in that icy water!" A pause, then, hopefully, "Do you think they might come soon?"