The supper that night was solemn and quiet. They were eating at the very foot of the mountain, ready to begin what was going to be a difficult, if not impossible, assent. Everyone felt the heaviness of it settle on them.

Even Merry and Pippin spoke quietly when they spoke, and whatever jokes may have passed between them were quiet and without laughter.

Boromir spent the first part of the meal on his feet, scouting the path ahead, wondering how they thought the hobbits would ever make the trip.

It was the soft, low voice of one of his little ones that brought him to the fire. "You know the path won't change, as hard as you stare. Unless you have some magic you've kept secret from us."

He looked down and saw Merry at his side, looking up at him.

He smiled slightly, and hoped it looked less grim than it felt. "I only wish I had the ability to make this new course easier."

"Well. I have, if you haven't."

"Do you?" He raised his eyebrows and met Merry's eyes.

Merry smiled slightly and nodded back over his shoulder. "I have a lovely plate of sausages waiting for you. It's no magic, maybe, but the path will be easier with food in your stomach."

Boromir's smile grew slightly. It grew in sincerity as well. His eyes went back to the mountain, though. "I don't think it will make much difference one way or another, master hobbit."

A slightly smaller hand circled his, drawing his eyes again. "But you'll pretend it will, just to make me happy."

Boromir chuckled and let Merry tug him back.

Sitting alone on one side of the glowing fire, Pippin grinned as they approached. His voice was quiet, respectful of the tension in the air, but his tone was happy. "I was starting to think we'd lost you to brooding."

Boromir sat, and Merry set down on his other side. "Not yet."

"Good. Strider does that more than enough for the whole race of men." Pippin moved in a little, wiggling until he was close and pressed to Boromir's side. "You shouldn't leave us to sit alone again. We've gotten used to having a big, warm body beside us."

Boromir took the plate Merry silently handed to him. "And should I be quiet and still, as suits a furnace?"

"No, not at all. In fact, we were talking about it earlier, and we're both agreed that now that we've finally heard the proud Boromir give in to laughter once or twice, we should do all we can to make it happen again and again. We rather enjoy the sound of it."

Boromir, obediently, laughed quietly.

Pippin beamed. "You see? Isn't that nice?"

Boromir glanced over at Merry.

Merry nodded down at his plate, motioning for him to eat. There was affection in his eyes.

On his other side, Pippin sat smiling and happy that he had made Boromir laugh one more time.

And Boromir finally understood in his head what was happening with them. Hobbits may or may not have formed the same types of bonds of friendship as men did.but what was going on now, between them, felt awfully close.

***

There it was.

Abandoned, looking lost in the snow. Glowing deep against the backdrop of white.

Boromir stood for a moment, just looking.

And his body, acting before he consciously wished it too, bent and reached for the chain that held the ring.

It was as simple as that. The ring of power, in his command.

The ring of power. The future of all of Middle Earth. Hanging from a thin chain from his cold and flawed human fingers.

Aragon's voice marred the silence that had overtaken the world. Boromir thought the man spoke his name, but he couldn't be sure. It was distant and muffled.

Boromir thought of Gondor. Thought of endless battles won and lost. Endless bodies piled and burned, endless friends and comrades laid out on snow that gleamed less white than this.

And the ring of power, this thing in his hand, could make it all vanish.

Strange. A strange fate that they should suffer so much fear and doubt.over so small a thing. Such a little thing.

"Boromir."

It wasn't until he hear Aragorn that Boromir realized his thoughts were words being spoken out loud. He shut his mouth and his eyes focused, with difficulty, beyond the ring.

Frodo stood there, eyes huge and round, focused on.not Boromir, but the ring.

And Aragorn stood, almost expressionless. His voice was firm, but quiet. "Give the ring to Frodo."

He made to move, to hand the ring over.

But his body didn't obey. The voice of Aragorn trailed off, and the strange white noise of the world filled his ears. And under it, under everything, even his own heartbeat, came a whisper. Low and unintelligible, a voice was calling to him.

Calling for Gondor, for the end to war, the victory of a good race that had known nothing but hard times.

Boromir blinked, then blinked again hard, and shook his head slightly.

The whisper vanished so fast that he was instantly half-sure he imagined it. The muteness of the world went away, and his eyes focused again on the scared, wary eyes of a hobbit that wasn't in his heart.

Boromir smiled, though he didn't feel like it. He had felt something too strange to dismiss. And though the ring felt heavy and firm in his grasp, like it was meant for him and him alone, he stumbled through the snow to obey Aragorn's words. "As you wish. I care not." Too light a tone, too light of words. But he couldn't reveal his true thoughts.

Frodo snatched the ring from him the moment it was close enough.

Boromir smiled down at him to distract himself from a light flash of pain and.wrongness.that came when the ring left his hand.

Frodo. Just a little hobbit, scared and overshadowed by the world. But so unlike the two Boromir now counted as his friends. So serious and lost to duty.

Boromir ruffled the hobbit's hair and glanced only briefly at Aragorn. He turned to trudge through the snow, to get to his own hobbits, his own place in line. Where he belonged.

***

The blizzard hit sudden and fierce, as fierce as any winter ever come to Gondor.

The snows piled around them heavily, sticking to the ground and becoming drifts, and then piles, and then whole paths were buried under it.

Boromir kept his eyes closely on Merry and Pippin. They were struggling already; he himself was struggling, so why shouldn't they be? But they kept going, dragging their legs, without complaint, through snow that came up to their knees.

It kept getting deeper. Driving against their faces, their bodies. The snow pushed against their feet and the wind sliced into their bodies, and every step was a fight against nature to move forward.

The hobbits were overcome fast. They started to stumble, to go more slowly. The fight began to show in their faces, uncomplaining but showing every ounce of exhaustion in their eyes.

For Boromir could read them now, as well as he could ever read any of his own men.

Merry stumbled and fell suddenly, and was lost in white.

Pippin reached out for him with a small, uncontrollable cry through lips that looked blue and numb, and nearly fell himself.

Boromir grabbed him. "Wait," he called out to be heard over the blast of wind.

Pippin obeyed, but his eyes stayed on the snow.

Boromir went to his knees and reached out, finding the cold mass with his hands. He grabbed Merry and tugged him up, rising at the same time.

Merry found his feet again and scrambled to wipe snow from his face. His skin was unhealthily pale, his teeth chattering.

Pippin reached for him and squeezed his arm.

Boromir found himself doing the same thing on his other side. "Are you alright?"

Merry just nodded. He was obviously miserable, but trying not to show it.

"Hurry! We can't lag now!" Aragorn's shout barely reached them, though he was less then ten feet ahead.

"They need a rest!" Boromir shouted back, brushing snow out of Merry's collar and hair.

"There's no time!"

Boromir looked up to glare, but Aragorn had already turned and kept his march going. He cursed under his breath.

Merry caught his hand. "We can go on," he said. His words were almost illegible through chattering and a face almost frozen by cold. His fingers were ice, colder than the snow itself.

Boromir looked down at him, silently cursing the blasting snow coming between them. He turned his eyes to Pippin, and saw the slightly smaller of the hobbits was no better off.

He reached back and grabbed the edge of his cloak. "Hold this!" He pushed the cloth into Merry's cold hand, and found the other end to give to Pippin. And then he dropped to one knee and wrapped his arms around the two hobbits at the waist, one on each side, and stood up with them in his grasp firmly.

They understood what the fabric in their hands was for, and each wrapped their end of the cloak around themselves, shielding their bodies and, effectively, Boromir's.

He started walking carefully, now burdened not only by snow and wind, but by this load in his arms that was too precious to be casual about.

Merry buried his fist into Boromir's shirt and tried to speak. "Y-you can't c-c-carry us-"

Boromir stopped his stuttering protest. He could speak lowly with the two of them pressed so close to him. "It's my honor," he replied sincerely.

Merry met his eyes.

Boromir smiled, though his own face was growing numb with cold. He glanced at Pippin, meeting those wide, scared eyes. "Not to mention my duty as the furnace of hobbits."

Pippin smiled as best he could, burrowing closer to Boromir's chest.

Boromir struggled ahead. He was used to the heavy armaments of war, the burdens of long travels. He could carry his friends without a thought or a regret. And he would.

He forged ahead, catching slowly up to the rest of the fellowship.

At one point Aragorn looked back and met his eyes, and something like surprise registered when he saw their new traveling arrangements. He nodded once, sharply, and turned around again.

Boromir wondered if that had been a sign of approval. If so, it had been hard won and reluctantly rewarded.

He noticed that so far Sam and Frodo had been using the trail left by Gandalf and Legolas to walk through. But the snows piled higher around them, and soon they began to stumble themselves.

When Aragorn lifted them and began struggling as Boromir was, Pippin breathed out a snort, warm against Boromir's neck. "In the songs they'll say it was Strider's idea."

Boromir laughed breathlessly, hugging Pippin closer to him unconsciously.

***

He tried not to feel smug when they at last made it back to the site of their last meal.

He didn't feel smug, really. Didn't feel anything for being right about the mountain being a lost cause. He was too cold and tired to feel much of anything.

Anything but defeat, anyway. Defeat was heavy in the air. The mountain, Saruman, Sauron, they had all conspired to close the path through Caradhras to them.

And now there was a day's travel wasted, and nine company members exhausted and frozen. For nothing.

He didn't bother listening to Gandalf and his summary of the new path ahead - the path leading to Moria. He didn't listen to Aragorn or Frodo's quiet, sullen words.

He laid out his bedroll and hoped they would realize he wasn't going to be the first on guard duty that night, and he instantly and completely fell into a cold and weary sleep.

***

He woke briefly, his eyes opening into the darkness suddenly. Had something woken him?

Not much time could have passed. Gandalf still spoke with Gimli about Moria. Aragorn had put Frodo and Sam to bed, though, and now sat in silence keeping the fire small but glowing.

Something was different, though. Something else.

He realized fast. He was warm. He had fallen asleep shivering to the bone, and was now warm and almost comfortable if not for the aching in his legs and arms.

He looked down at himself, and saw the two nestled against him, sharing their warmth.

His sleep-clouded brain identified them immediately, and he smiled. One hand reached up and dropped to rest in the curls of Merry's head, snug against his chest.

Merry didn't move, obviously deep asleep. But the lighter curls of Pippin's head rustled, and rose. Pippin's bright eyes blinked heavily in the dim light coming from the fire. "Are you cold?" he whispered.

Boromir smiled. "Not anymore."

Pippin returned the smile sleepily. "Good." And his head dropped again, snuggling into Boromir and falling still.