Disclaimer: Don't own Boromir. Wish I did, but I don't.

The King's Braid

Chapter Six

Boromir made it precisely ten-and-a-half strides down the hall before his legs decided they couldn't carry him anymore. In the middle of the eleventh stride he stumbled, falling against the wall. Leaning against it for support, he stared sightlessly out of the window opposite him. He knew he should be feeling some sort of emotion – either raging fury or, perhaps more obviously, howling despair. But he felt nothing. Nothing at all. There was an empty space inside him where his heart should have been. It didn't even feel like his heart had been broken, because if it had, there would have been pain. It was as if someone had simply clicked their fingers and made his heart disappear.

Someone.

Aragorn.

Even that thought failed to ignite any emotion.

Somewhere deep inside himself, Boromir knew that this emptiness was just a shield for his real emotions. But they were either buried too deep, or Boromir had far more control over them than he thought, because there was not a sign of them on either his outside or his inside.

How long he stood there, he did not know. Afterwards he reflected that he was lucky that no one had come along at that moment, for he surely would have been taken to the Houses of Healing in an instant. He did not even think he had been listening for sounds inside the room he had just left – either of victory or pursuit. He had just stood there because he could not think of anything else to do.

But eventually, and as if automatically, Boromir pushed himself away from the wall and continued on down the corridor. His thoughts had taken on an almost mechanical quality – telling him what to do, and forcing his body to do it. And at the moment they were telling him that he had to obey Aragorn's last command. "You may go." And go he would. He would leave Minas Tirith. It was obvious that he was not needed or wanted in the city. In fact he would probably leave Gondor altogether. There would be nowhere he could go within the kingdom without rumour and lies following him. But there his thoughts halted. He had no idea where he would go, or what he would do when he got there. But for the moment, leaving Minas Tirith was enough. And for that he would need possessions and provisions.

Boromir's feet led him on down the corridor and around the corner to his bedchamber. But as soon as he opened the door he knew it had been a futile exercise. For his chamber was as bare as if it have never been used. Which, indeed, it almost never had. For Boromir had spent most of his nights, and some days too, in Aragorn's chamber, and so all of his things were there. Boromir sighed. He would have to retrace his steps.

A few moments later, Boromir stood outside the door to Aragorn's chamber. For a few seconds he listened, trying to detect if anyone were within. No noise reached his ears, so he tentatively pushed the door open.

He had been correct in his assumption – the room was empty…of people. However, instead it was full of signs of life – his life and Aragorn's. Clothes hurriedly discarded the night before were still strewn over floor and furniture. A book Boromir had been reading lay open on the windowsill. Through the door into the dressing room could be seen a pile of his own clean clothing, brought there by his valet – it was well known that Boromir rarely used his own room. And on the pillows of the bed still lay the note he had left for Aragorn that morning.

Carelessly, Boromir caught up the note, intending to throw it away. But unwittingly, he found himself reading it.

'Morning sleepyhead! Or should that be afternoon? Have gone to inspect the aftermath of yesterday's celebrations. Will be back in time for lunch, if you can be bothered to rouse yourself for such an insignificant act as eating. See you later.

Boromir.'

With shocking clarity, the full force of what had happened crashed down on Boromir like the roof had suddenly caved in. Shaking violently, he sank down on to the bed, still clutching the note. 'How could it be,' he thought, 'that only a few short hours ago I could write such a note as this, full of familiarity and humour, and yet now it means nothing? That lunch will never happen now. And what care I for the celebrations of Gondor?'

The howling misery that Boromir knew he should have been feeling; had been subconsciously keeping in check, forced its way to the surface, and he collapsed face down on to the blankets. A familiar scent washed over him – that of Aragorn, and to some extent, himself. Boromir could not help but inhale deeply, and the sweet familiarity of that scent brought tears to his eyes. He wept then, sobs wracking his body. He wept for what he had lost and for what he would never now have. He wept for how foolish he had been, and how deceived he had been in his lover. For a long while he did not move, and the bedclothes grew damp from his tears.

A noise outside the door made him draw in his breath sharply. He sat bolt upright on the bed, hastily wiping away the traces of his sobbing. It suddenly occurred to him how awful it would be to be found in such a position, especially if the person who discovered him was Aragorn. But the noise passed - obviously a servant on an errand, not intending to enter the King's room at all. However, Boromir took notice of the warning. He rose from the bed and went into the dressing room. Pulling a couple of blankets from the closet, he laid them on the table and proceeded to toss various belongings on top of them, including the pile of clean clothes, various other articles from the chest of drawers, and his purse. Drawing the corners of the blankets together, he made the whole lot into a bundle.

As he shouldered the bundle, Boromir looked around the dressing room and then the bedchamber. Both looked a lot barer without his things strewn about, and for a brief moment he considered what Aragorn would think when he returned. But those thoughts threatened to overwhelm him again and so, after one final longing look around he departed the room.

Boromir knew he would need certain other things before he could leave Minas Tirith – first and foremost his horse and his weapons, and with that in mind, he headed for the stables. As he reached a junction in the corridor, he looked left and noticed a bustle of activity at the door of his and…no, he corrected himself – it was just Aragorn's study now. He suddenly felt certain that something was wrong with Aragorn, and every fibre of his being screamed at him to go and help. But instead he resolutely turned to the right, away from the commotion. He wasn't noticed, and reaching the end of the corridor he descended the staircase and passed from sight.