Boromir watched Aragorn walk away, melting into the dark mists of
Lothlorien.
His hands were fists, his eyes still wet and clouded, but he sat straight and proud until Aragorn was no longer in sight.
Once he was alone again, he breathed out and slumped against the trunk of the tree he sat beside.
His thoughts were turning in this place, turning fast and unpleasantly and he didn't like it.
"Ho there, children." A quiet voice rang out minutes later.
He opened his eyes and focused on Merry's smiling face. He looked away instantly, not even managing a smile for the greeting. "What are you doing up?"
Merry moved closer slowly, as if sensing that Boromir wasn't open to his company. "No one is sleeping. The talk keeps bending to Gandalf."
"And where is your other half?"
"Content to lie there and listen and drive himself further into misery." Merry shook his head and ambled up to the tree. "It worries me. He has never been wont to invite unhappiness."
Boromir didn't answer, looking beyond the hobbit into the trees. He could feel Merry's eyes on him, but he didn't move.
Merry spoke again a moment later. "Maybe it's this place we're in; everyone seems to be settling into their unhappiness. Strange, since this place is so beautiful. There is something sad about it, though, isn't there?"
"I would really rather have some time to myself. If you don't mind."
"I do mind, actually. My friends are suddenly acting far out of character, and I mind very much."
Boromir turned to him, frowning. "Out of character? Tell me, Merry. What do you know of my character?"
Merry opened his mouth to answer, then shut it again slowly. He regarded Boromir with shadowed eyes.
Boromir nodded once, sharply. "Nothing. You know nothing about me, nothing about the people I come from. And yet here you are thinking you can determine when I'm behaving out of character. You have a nerve, master hobbit."
Merry sat. Ignoring all the hints he was being given to go away, he actually sat down beside Boromir. "Then you have been out of character this entire trip, and now are righting yourself. Is that what you mean to say?"
"It's truer than you're prepared to believe, if your tone of voice is any judge. I have been behaving differently, and I mean not to anymore. I mean to be the man I was intended to be when I was sent out here by my people. Not blinded by silly hobbits or their games, not to be distracted by you who would call me friend though you don't know me. I have a task, a mission, and it is my job to do that, and nothing but that."
Merry smiled, though nothing like humor was in his eyes. "So you blame us for your transformation."
"Of course I do."
Merry nodded, but made no move to rise.
Boromir glared down at him, then pursed his lips and stared back into the trees.
"You became angry very suddenly, Boromir son of Denethor." Merry spoke differently suddenly, more clipped. Formal. "Is there something in the air here that doesn't agree with you?"
Boromir's eyes went automatically to the spot where he had last seen Aragorn, fading into the trees as silently and as haughtily as any elf. "You could say that."
"I did say that," came the automatic response.
Boromir turned to Merry, frowning.
Merry smiled and held up a hand. "Forgive my flippant tone. I am a hobbit, you see. It is in the spirit of my race to not reveal those things that bother us. To speak lightly though we are in pain. We're a small people, you see, the smallest race in Middle Earth. And we must survive the only way we know how. We're too vulnerable as it is to go showing our weaknesses to the Big Folk."
Boromir blinked in surprise, studying him. This was an interpretation of the light spirit of hobbits that he had not yet heard.
Merry regarded him, still as distant and formal as any stranger. "Tell me something of you, Boromir. Who are the people you come from?"
"I could tell you many things about my people, but I don't think it would pass as friendly conversation."
"I asked because I was interested, not because I'm looking for an idle distraction."
Boromir met his eyes, then turned away. "I am a soldier of Gondor," he said quietly, and he could hear the pride in his voice. "Do you know anything of Gondor?"
"Only what I have been told by you."
"Then let me tell you more, lest you hear from someone else and get the wrong idea. I'll tell you what I know of Gondor. I learned how to fight the moment I was old enough, because the people of Gondor do nothing but fight in these long years. Our lands lie between the awakening borders of Mordor and the dying lands of Isengard. We are, in fact, all that lies between Mordor and the rest of the lands of Middle Earth. We have been placed in the position of warriors. Ever since any of the oldest of my people can remember, we have done battle with orcs and goblins, with men corrupted by the Enemy. With all manners of evil." He glanced down at Merry.
Merry was watching him, but he averted his eyes at Boromir's gaze. His face was pensive.
Boromir was glad. At least he was being taken seriously, for now. "The children of my lands go to school to learn to fight. The boys are led into battles far too young, and the girls are sent to learn trades, to keep the city alive while the men are gone. Many of our boys do not survive their first battles. Those that do become hardened soldiers fast, before they're ever of an age to settle and start families." He thought Merry would appreciate that, since hobbits seemed to take coming of age as an important thing.
He sighed and looked out at the trees, feeling the echoed cries of a thousand battles around him. "We fight all our lives, master hobbit. We return to the city to start families so there will be little boys and girls to keep the war going. There isn't much in the way of happiness in my people, Merry. There isn't much laughter, there isn't much joy. We live our lives as a parody of other men's, but we take no joy in it. What happiness we get is from warfare. From defeating a particularly dangerous foe, from rising against stacked odds to be victorious. From living to see the sun rise again."
Merry moved in closer to him slightly, until his arm brushed Boromir's. He didn't speak, and didn't look at him, but he made his presence that much more known.
Boromir frowned, leaning his head against the tree. "I have seen things you could not imagine. I have seen boys going into war, too young to have known life, and far too young to understand death. I have seen those boys jump in front of arrows to save their comrades. I have seen men, old by our standards, volunteer for the worst of missions, the most certain forms of suicide, because they believe they have already lived longer than they should have. I have seen women cut their hair to hide their sex and don unfamiliar, hard and heavy armor to take an ill or injured husband's place in battle.
"Those are my people, master hobbit. We fight, and that is the most I can tell you. We fight because we are in the position to. We fight to insure that the other lands of Middle Earth don't see the orcs, or the evil men. We fight to keep the lands beyond ours safe. Your Shire, this forest, all the lands we have crossed. We fight all our lives to keep them what they are."
Merry was looking at him by then, his eyes wide and sorrowful.
Boromir returned his gaze for a long moment. "I am one of those soldiers, and that is all. So when I say that the laughter and smiles of the last few weeks are out of character for me, than you may well believe it. I allowed myself to be distracted by your lives, your ways. I have given up thought to you and Pip far more than I have thought of the lands I've left behind, or the dangers we have yet to face."
Merry spoke quietly, almost a whisper. "And now?"
Boromir straightened, his eyes going back to that shadowed place where he had seen Aragorn last. "And now, now that I'm traveling among those other lands, I find that Gondor is forgotten. The people who are giving their lives even at this very minute to warfare are ignored by the people whose lands they protect. I find that the elves of these lofty forests are dismissive, even contemptuous, of men. We are called proud and ambitious, we are thought to be flawed and ignorant by these cold creatures. I find that the dwarves are too distracted by their own lands, their own profits, to spare a thought to us. And I find that other men care no more than that. I find that the one man who should be leading the battle in Gondor, the one man who should know and respect the way we live, is too busy trying be something he is not to see the good in what he truly is."
He swallowed, looking away from the trees, looking back at Merry because he was all that could serve as distraction. "We are not trusted, not admired, not even remembered. And it is a hard thing for me to learn. When I return home, when this quest is over, it will be hard to remember why we should give our lives to save those who hate us or ignore us." He sighed, his eyes drifting back to the darkness of the trees. "It is hard to know why I shouldn't be given that ring, the cause of this whole mess, and take it back to the good people who are dying over it. No one will tell me why it cannot be that way, why I shouldn't take it and wield it to defeat the evil, except that they think we are too weak to use it." He shook his head, laughing slightly in contempt. "Weak. They think my people are weak."
"It is not only your people, I think. Even Gandalf thought himself too weak to use the ring. Even Elrond." Merry spoke hesitantly.
Boromir shook his head. "I am to trust their word on anything? When I hear what they say of my people, how can I listen to what they have to say on anything else?"
There was a pause. A light weight rested on Boromir's arm suddenly. "I don't know."
Boromir looked down at Merry's hand, then sighed. "But perhaps you understand now why I am angry so suddenly."
"No." Merry's voice was sad. "As you say, your people are far different than mine. It isn't in me yet to understand how you must feel. But I have heard your words, and I know in my heart that your anger is genuine and justified, even if I can't feel it for myself."
Boromir looked down at him, feeling something like gratitude at this whole- hearted acceptance. "I." He hesitated. "I would not want you to feel it. When I first met you I was contemptuous of the spirit of you hobbits. But now I see as you do - I can't understand it, but it is genuine and justified, given your lives in your own land. It even brings me happiness of late to see it. It shows me that despite the cold spirit that greets me and the name of Gondor everywhere else, maybe there is something worth protecting out there."
"Then we are doing some good on this quest after all. I'm glad."
Boromir knew that he meant it, and it warmed him despite himself. Merry was sincere - if his whole duty in being on such a long and difficult quest was to raise Boromir's spirits, he would be glad to do it.
It amazed him. Yet it didn't overshadow all the darkness in his mind. "I don't quite know what to do anymore," he confessed quietly.
Merry smiled faintly up at him. "You should rest. Whatever it is you feel now, it will be there to be felt again in the morning."
Boromir sighed. "I don't think sleep is going to come to me here. I close my eyes and see her in my head, and hear her voice. It amplifies those feelings too much to sleep."
Merry nodded. "Then you should listen to her. She had a nice voice, if you ask me, and perhaps if you listen to it instead of fighting it, it will lull you into dreams."
Boromir smiled at that. "You're an optimistic little creature, Meriadoc."
"I am, more often than not. You will try it, though." Merry straightened out and patted his own small lap. "You will use me for a pillow, and lay for a few moments and see if what I say may be true."
Boromir laughed.
Merry glared up at him with feigned offense, his eyes bright. "There are things hobbits are good for, you know. We make excellent pillows. You shouldn't refuse an offer to find out for yourself."
"Then I won't." Boromir hesitated, but arranged himself on his back slowly, resting his head in Merry's lap.
"And now, you will close your eyes and listen to that voice, and let it put you to sleep. Don't think about what she says, if it worries you. Just listen."
Boromir obeyed hesitantly. He slid his eyes shut and let his thoughts drift.
And there were the probing, all-seeing eyes of Galadriel. There was her low voice speaking of Gondor, of hope, of victory, of all those things Boromir and all his people had long ago lost all sight of.
He tried to do as his pillow commanded. Tried to not answer the words with the arguments, the awful certainty, that was in his mind. He relaxed himself and listened to the gentle song of hope.
Sleep came faster than he would have thought possible.
***
When he awoke, the light eyes of an elf were on him.
Boromir blinked slowly and looked around, seeing Legolas standing in the trees, watching him.
He sat up slowly, stretching himself. He felt rested - better rested than he had for days. Weeks, maybe.
A slight snuffle caught his attention, and he looked down to see Merry, fast asleep where he had been sitting. His head was tilted at too sharp an angle to rest on the tree behind him. He would hurt when he woke up.
Boromir ignored Legolas for the time being, putting his hands on Merry and gently, carefully tugging him away from the tree and turning him to lie on the ground.
Merry didn't even stir, just mumbled something through sleep-thickened lips and fell silent again.
Boromir looked down at him for a long moment.
He was amazed at the amount of sheer affection in his heart for the little hobbit. Merry had listened to the words Boromir had long been holding tight within him, had felt genuinely bad for the things he hadn't understood before, and had settled Boromir's spirit so that, despite himself, he had been smiling and laughing again. And then he had given himself as pillow to let Boromir sleep.
Odd that he would do all those things for Boromir, who had been trying so hard to send him away so he could brood alone.
"How do you feel?" came the whisper-soft voice of Legolas suddenly.
Boromir took his eyes from Merry and turned to the elf. He rose to his feet, less stiff than he would have thought, and moved to the trees where Legolas stood. "Rested. You?"
Legolas nodded and gazed around him. "I spent the last hours walking through these trees. It's filled my spirit more than a thousand days of rest." His light eyes went back to Boromir, and studied him carefully. "You make an unusual pair," he said, nodding back towards where Merry lay.
Boromir glanced back, smiling again unconsciously at the sight of the little body. "Not so unusual, except maybe that Pippin is not there as well."
"Unusual indeed, that the two young hobbits should find a caretaker in Boromir of Gondor."
Boromir turned back to him, frowning. Legolas wasn't speaking in contempt, just curiosity.
Boromir smiled finally. "No more than an elf fighting for the protection of a dwarf."
Legolas nodded his agreement. "Times like these call for strange alliances. I confess I should not mind setting Gimli among my true friends. How do you wish to see these hobbits when our quest is over?"
Boromir frowned, confused. "What do you mean by that? I would already call them friend without hesitation."
"And yet. There are more to those two than simple friendship. And more in what you would ask of them, perhaps."
Boromir met Legolas' eyes. "You elves," he said suddenly, shaking his head. "No matter how little there is to see in a situation, you at least have to act like you see everything."
Legolas smiled. "Gimli would agree with you. I only say what I think. I might see more without the clouds of closeness when it comes to others. Or maybe my interpretations are influenced by my own opinions. There is no certainty, that's why my words never serve as counsel. Just question."
"So what is it that you think you see with those two hobbits? I should be surprised if you see anything. All eyes are better served on Frodo."
"I admit to keeping watch on Frodo most often. But there has been time enough to watch over all the fellowship. I have seen, for instance, that the bonds between all these young hobbits are strong. Stronger than anyone could well guess, given what little we know of this race. I have known elves who are linked together, and have been for a thousand years, who did not look to each other as reflexively as these hobbits do. Their links to each other are strong. For all four of them, in fact. I have felt it almost to the point of being able to see, in full color, the bonds around the four of them. It is a strong bond, and even stronger for Sam and Frodo, and for Merry and Pippin, to each other."
Boromir smiled at that. "They are loyal. To a fault, perhaps."
"Perhaps. It is odd, therefore, for me to look over every now and then and see that almost visible bond between young Pip and Merry growing to include a third party." His gaze buried itself into Boromir, searching.
Boromir hesitated. "I don't know what you're looking for, Legolas. I don't know what answer you'd have me give. If I am to be included in their bond, I am all the better for it. I would only wish to give the same kind of loyalty I know I should get from them."
Legolas nodded, and his expression was approving. "Then I won't mention it again. You seem aware of the things I would speak of, and you don't ask for my counsel."
"Counsel from an elf? Even I know better than to ask that."
Legolas smiled. "Then I will tell you only what I came here to say - they are preparing a breakfast for the company. If you would wake your ward and join us?"
Boromir returned the smile. "We'll be along in a few moments."
Legolas lifted a hand and laid it in farewell on Boromir's arm, then turned and drifted into the trees, not a sound to mark his path.
Boromir turned and made his way to Merry. He crouched, smiling, and whispered a word softly. "Food."
Merry blinked instantly, turning over onto his back. "What? What's." He saw Boromir and smiled instantly. "Oh. Good morning."
Boromir returned the smile broadly. "Good morning to you, my pillow. They're preparing breakfast."
Merry got to his feet fast. "Well then. We shouldn't waste time here, should we?"
Boromir grinned and followed the quiet, rapid footsteps of a hungry hobbit.
His hands were fists, his eyes still wet and clouded, but he sat straight and proud until Aragorn was no longer in sight.
Once he was alone again, he breathed out and slumped against the trunk of the tree he sat beside.
His thoughts were turning in this place, turning fast and unpleasantly and he didn't like it.
"Ho there, children." A quiet voice rang out minutes later.
He opened his eyes and focused on Merry's smiling face. He looked away instantly, not even managing a smile for the greeting. "What are you doing up?"
Merry moved closer slowly, as if sensing that Boromir wasn't open to his company. "No one is sleeping. The talk keeps bending to Gandalf."
"And where is your other half?"
"Content to lie there and listen and drive himself further into misery." Merry shook his head and ambled up to the tree. "It worries me. He has never been wont to invite unhappiness."
Boromir didn't answer, looking beyond the hobbit into the trees. He could feel Merry's eyes on him, but he didn't move.
Merry spoke again a moment later. "Maybe it's this place we're in; everyone seems to be settling into their unhappiness. Strange, since this place is so beautiful. There is something sad about it, though, isn't there?"
"I would really rather have some time to myself. If you don't mind."
"I do mind, actually. My friends are suddenly acting far out of character, and I mind very much."
Boromir turned to him, frowning. "Out of character? Tell me, Merry. What do you know of my character?"
Merry opened his mouth to answer, then shut it again slowly. He regarded Boromir with shadowed eyes.
Boromir nodded once, sharply. "Nothing. You know nothing about me, nothing about the people I come from. And yet here you are thinking you can determine when I'm behaving out of character. You have a nerve, master hobbit."
Merry sat. Ignoring all the hints he was being given to go away, he actually sat down beside Boromir. "Then you have been out of character this entire trip, and now are righting yourself. Is that what you mean to say?"
"It's truer than you're prepared to believe, if your tone of voice is any judge. I have been behaving differently, and I mean not to anymore. I mean to be the man I was intended to be when I was sent out here by my people. Not blinded by silly hobbits or their games, not to be distracted by you who would call me friend though you don't know me. I have a task, a mission, and it is my job to do that, and nothing but that."
Merry smiled, though nothing like humor was in his eyes. "So you blame us for your transformation."
"Of course I do."
Merry nodded, but made no move to rise.
Boromir glared down at him, then pursed his lips and stared back into the trees.
"You became angry very suddenly, Boromir son of Denethor." Merry spoke differently suddenly, more clipped. Formal. "Is there something in the air here that doesn't agree with you?"
Boromir's eyes went automatically to the spot where he had last seen Aragorn, fading into the trees as silently and as haughtily as any elf. "You could say that."
"I did say that," came the automatic response.
Boromir turned to Merry, frowning.
Merry smiled and held up a hand. "Forgive my flippant tone. I am a hobbit, you see. It is in the spirit of my race to not reveal those things that bother us. To speak lightly though we are in pain. We're a small people, you see, the smallest race in Middle Earth. And we must survive the only way we know how. We're too vulnerable as it is to go showing our weaknesses to the Big Folk."
Boromir blinked in surprise, studying him. This was an interpretation of the light spirit of hobbits that he had not yet heard.
Merry regarded him, still as distant and formal as any stranger. "Tell me something of you, Boromir. Who are the people you come from?"
"I could tell you many things about my people, but I don't think it would pass as friendly conversation."
"I asked because I was interested, not because I'm looking for an idle distraction."
Boromir met his eyes, then turned away. "I am a soldier of Gondor," he said quietly, and he could hear the pride in his voice. "Do you know anything of Gondor?"
"Only what I have been told by you."
"Then let me tell you more, lest you hear from someone else and get the wrong idea. I'll tell you what I know of Gondor. I learned how to fight the moment I was old enough, because the people of Gondor do nothing but fight in these long years. Our lands lie between the awakening borders of Mordor and the dying lands of Isengard. We are, in fact, all that lies between Mordor and the rest of the lands of Middle Earth. We have been placed in the position of warriors. Ever since any of the oldest of my people can remember, we have done battle with orcs and goblins, with men corrupted by the Enemy. With all manners of evil." He glanced down at Merry.
Merry was watching him, but he averted his eyes at Boromir's gaze. His face was pensive.
Boromir was glad. At least he was being taken seriously, for now. "The children of my lands go to school to learn to fight. The boys are led into battles far too young, and the girls are sent to learn trades, to keep the city alive while the men are gone. Many of our boys do not survive their first battles. Those that do become hardened soldiers fast, before they're ever of an age to settle and start families." He thought Merry would appreciate that, since hobbits seemed to take coming of age as an important thing.
He sighed and looked out at the trees, feeling the echoed cries of a thousand battles around him. "We fight all our lives, master hobbit. We return to the city to start families so there will be little boys and girls to keep the war going. There isn't much in the way of happiness in my people, Merry. There isn't much laughter, there isn't much joy. We live our lives as a parody of other men's, but we take no joy in it. What happiness we get is from warfare. From defeating a particularly dangerous foe, from rising against stacked odds to be victorious. From living to see the sun rise again."
Merry moved in closer to him slightly, until his arm brushed Boromir's. He didn't speak, and didn't look at him, but he made his presence that much more known.
Boromir frowned, leaning his head against the tree. "I have seen things you could not imagine. I have seen boys going into war, too young to have known life, and far too young to understand death. I have seen those boys jump in front of arrows to save their comrades. I have seen men, old by our standards, volunteer for the worst of missions, the most certain forms of suicide, because they believe they have already lived longer than they should have. I have seen women cut their hair to hide their sex and don unfamiliar, hard and heavy armor to take an ill or injured husband's place in battle.
"Those are my people, master hobbit. We fight, and that is the most I can tell you. We fight because we are in the position to. We fight to insure that the other lands of Middle Earth don't see the orcs, or the evil men. We fight to keep the lands beyond ours safe. Your Shire, this forest, all the lands we have crossed. We fight all our lives to keep them what they are."
Merry was looking at him by then, his eyes wide and sorrowful.
Boromir returned his gaze for a long moment. "I am one of those soldiers, and that is all. So when I say that the laughter and smiles of the last few weeks are out of character for me, than you may well believe it. I allowed myself to be distracted by your lives, your ways. I have given up thought to you and Pip far more than I have thought of the lands I've left behind, or the dangers we have yet to face."
Merry spoke quietly, almost a whisper. "And now?"
Boromir straightened, his eyes going back to that shadowed place where he had seen Aragorn last. "And now, now that I'm traveling among those other lands, I find that Gondor is forgotten. The people who are giving their lives even at this very minute to warfare are ignored by the people whose lands they protect. I find that the elves of these lofty forests are dismissive, even contemptuous, of men. We are called proud and ambitious, we are thought to be flawed and ignorant by these cold creatures. I find that the dwarves are too distracted by their own lands, their own profits, to spare a thought to us. And I find that other men care no more than that. I find that the one man who should be leading the battle in Gondor, the one man who should know and respect the way we live, is too busy trying be something he is not to see the good in what he truly is."
He swallowed, looking away from the trees, looking back at Merry because he was all that could serve as distraction. "We are not trusted, not admired, not even remembered. And it is a hard thing for me to learn. When I return home, when this quest is over, it will be hard to remember why we should give our lives to save those who hate us or ignore us." He sighed, his eyes drifting back to the darkness of the trees. "It is hard to know why I shouldn't be given that ring, the cause of this whole mess, and take it back to the good people who are dying over it. No one will tell me why it cannot be that way, why I shouldn't take it and wield it to defeat the evil, except that they think we are too weak to use it." He shook his head, laughing slightly in contempt. "Weak. They think my people are weak."
"It is not only your people, I think. Even Gandalf thought himself too weak to use the ring. Even Elrond." Merry spoke hesitantly.
Boromir shook his head. "I am to trust their word on anything? When I hear what they say of my people, how can I listen to what they have to say on anything else?"
There was a pause. A light weight rested on Boromir's arm suddenly. "I don't know."
Boromir looked down at Merry's hand, then sighed. "But perhaps you understand now why I am angry so suddenly."
"No." Merry's voice was sad. "As you say, your people are far different than mine. It isn't in me yet to understand how you must feel. But I have heard your words, and I know in my heart that your anger is genuine and justified, even if I can't feel it for myself."
Boromir looked down at him, feeling something like gratitude at this whole- hearted acceptance. "I." He hesitated. "I would not want you to feel it. When I first met you I was contemptuous of the spirit of you hobbits. But now I see as you do - I can't understand it, but it is genuine and justified, given your lives in your own land. It even brings me happiness of late to see it. It shows me that despite the cold spirit that greets me and the name of Gondor everywhere else, maybe there is something worth protecting out there."
"Then we are doing some good on this quest after all. I'm glad."
Boromir knew that he meant it, and it warmed him despite himself. Merry was sincere - if his whole duty in being on such a long and difficult quest was to raise Boromir's spirits, he would be glad to do it.
It amazed him. Yet it didn't overshadow all the darkness in his mind. "I don't quite know what to do anymore," he confessed quietly.
Merry smiled faintly up at him. "You should rest. Whatever it is you feel now, it will be there to be felt again in the morning."
Boromir sighed. "I don't think sleep is going to come to me here. I close my eyes and see her in my head, and hear her voice. It amplifies those feelings too much to sleep."
Merry nodded. "Then you should listen to her. She had a nice voice, if you ask me, and perhaps if you listen to it instead of fighting it, it will lull you into dreams."
Boromir smiled at that. "You're an optimistic little creature, Meriadoc."
"I am, more often than not. You will try it, though." Merry straightened out and patted his own small lap. "You will use me for a pillow, and lay for a few moments and see if what I say may be true."
Boromir laughed.
Merry glared up at him with feigned offense, his eyes bright. "There are things hobbits are good for, you know. We make excellent pillows. You shouldn't refuse an offer to find out for yourself."
"Then I won't." Boromir hesitated, but arranged himself on his back slowly, resting his head in Merry's lap.
"And now, you will close your eyes and listen to that voice, and let it put you to sleep. Don't think about what she says, if it worries you. Just listen."
Boromir obeyed hesitantly. He slid his eyes shut and let his thoughts drift.
And there were the probing, all-seeing eyes of Galadriel. There was her low voice speaking of Gondor, of hope, of victory, of all those things Boromir and all his people had long ago lost all sight of.
He tried to do as his pillow commanded. Tried to not answer the words with the arguments, the awful certainty, that was in his mind. He relaxed himself and listened to the gentle song of hope.
Sleep came faster than he would have thought possible.
***
When he awoke, the light eyes of an elf were on him.
Boromir blinked slowly and looked around, seeing Legolas standing in the trees, watching him.
He sat up slowly, stretching himself. He felt rested - better rested than he had for days. Weeks, maybe.
A slight snuffle caught his attention, and he looked down to see Merry, fast asleep where he had been sitting. His head was tilted at too sharp an angle to rest on the tree behind him. He would hurt when he woke up.
Boromir ignored Legolas for the time being, putting his hands on Merry and gently, carefully tugging him away from the tree and turning him to lie on the ground.
Merry didn't even stir, just mumbled something through sleep-thickened lips and fell silent again.
Boromir looked down at him for a long moment.
He was amazed at the amount of sheer affection in his heart for the little hobbit. Merry had listened to the words Boromir had long been holding tight within him, had felt genuinely bad for the things he hadn't understood before, and had settled Boromir's spirit so that, despite himself, he had been smiling and laughing again. And then he had given himself as pillow to let Boromir sleep.
Odd that he would do all those things for Boromir, who had been trying so hard to send him away so he could brood alone.
"How do you feel?" came the whisper-soft voice of Legolas suddenly.
Boromir took his eyes from Merry and turned to the elf. He rose to his feet, less stiff than he would have thought, and moved to the trees where Legolas stood. "Rested. You?"
Legolas nodded and gazed around him. "I spent the last hours walking through these trees. It's filled my spirit more than a thousand days of rest." His light eyes went back to Boromir, and studied him carefully. "You make an unusual pair," he said, nodding back towards where Merry lay.
Boromir glanced back, smiling again unconsciously at the sight of the little body. "Not so unusual, except maybe that Pippin is not there as well."
"Unusual indeed, that the two young hobbits should find a caretaker in Boromir of Gondor."
Boromir turned back to him, frowning. Legolas wasn't speaking in contempt, just curiosity.
Boromir smiled finally. "No more than an elf fighting for the protection of a dwarf."
Legolas nodded his agreement. "Times like these call for strange alliances. I confess I should not mind setting Gimli among my true friends. How do you wish to see these hobbits when our quest is over?"
Boromir frowned, confused. "What do you mean by that? I would already call them friend without hesitation."
"And yet. There are more to those two than simple friendship. And more in what you would ask of them, perhaps."
Boromir met Legolas' eyes. "You elves," he said suddenly, shaking his head. "No matter how little there is to see in a situation, you at least have to act like you see everything."
Legolas smiled. "Gimli would agree with you. I only say what I think. I might see more without the clouds of closeness when it comes to others. Or maybe my interpretations are influenced by my own opinions. There is no certainty, that's why my words never serve as counsel. Just question."
"So what is it that you think you see with those two hobbits? I should be surprised if you see anything. All eyes are better served on Frodo."
"I admit to keeping watch on Frodo most often. But there has been time enough to watch over all the fellowship. I have seen, for instance, that the bonds between all these young hobbits are strong. Stronger than anyone could well guess, given what little we know of this race. I have known elves who are linked together, and have been for a thousand years, who did not look to each other as reflexively as these hobbits do. Their links to each other are strong. For all four of them, in fact. I have felt it almost to the point of being able to see, in full color, the bonds around the four of them. It is a strong bond, and even stronger for Sam and Frodo, and for Merry and Pippin, to each other."
Boromir smiled at that. "They are loyal. To a fault, perhaps."
"Perhaps. It is odd, therefore, for me to look over every now and then and see that almost visible bond between young Pip and Merry growing to include a third party." His gaze buried itself into Boromir, searching.
Boromir hesitated. "I don't know what you're looking for, Legolas. I don't know what answer you'd have me give. If I am to be included in their bond, I am all the better for it. I would only wish to give the same kind of loyalty I know I should get from them."
Legolas nodded, and his expression was approving. "Then I won't mention it again. You seem aware of the things I would speak of, and you don't ask for my counsel."
"Counsel from an elf? Even I know better than to ask that."
Legolas smiled. "Then I will tell you only what I came here to say - they are preparing a breakfast for the company. If you would wake your ward and join us?"
Boromir returned the smile. "We'll be along in a few moments."
Legolas lifted a hand and laid it in farewell on Boromir's arm, then turned and drifted into the trees, not a sound to mark his path.
Boromir turned and made his way to Merry. He crouched, smiling, and whispered a word softly. "Food."
Merry blinked instantly, turning over onto his back. "What? What's." He saw Boromir and smiled instantly. "Oh. Good morning."
Boromir returned the smile broadly. "Good morning to you, my pillow. They're preparing breakfast."
Merry got to his feet fast. "Well then. We shouldn't waste time here, should we?"
Boromir grinned and followed the quiet, rapid footsteps of a hungry hobbit.
