It was true, Aragorn thought as he gazed out at the night. The Ring did not seem to be any greater a burden around his own neck than it had seemed when it had graced the Halfling's. Indeed, its whisper seemed lessened, somehow; he did not recall feeling so sure of himself since the wizard fell.
He glanced towards Boromir, who lay wrapped in his cloak a short way from the banked fire, unmoving, his dark hair a deeper shadow in the night, and no other part of him visible. The warrior had seemed uncertain from the moment Aragorn and Frodo had returned to camp. Boromir had looked first at the Ringbearer, as he always did, but his glance had changed from expectant to confused, and then he'd turned to Aragorn. Aragorn had met his gaze without wavering, and had seen the Gondorian's expression turn to one of alarm, and finally disbelief before the man had dropped his eyes and gone back to sharpening his sword.
Surely if he had guessed the truth he would have spoken. But he had done nothing, had said nothing.
Even in the dark, Aragorn's sharp eyes could make out the steady rise and fall of the warrior's chest, but it seemed to Aragorn that Boromir was not asleep. He breathed evenly enough, but not deeply, and Aragorn wondered why he feigned.
He shook his head slightly. 'Why so suspicious?' he thought to himself. 'Why suppose he feigns? Perhaps he is merely wakeful.' Aragorn watched the other for a time, but Boromir neither moved, nor did his breathing deepen. Finally, Aragorn said softly, "Boromir."
Nothing.
"Boromir," Aragorn repeated. "Come here."
At that, Boromir shifted, turned his face to look at Aragorn. "What is it?" he whispered.
"Come here," Aragorn said again, fighting off a flash of irritation at how slow the man was to obey. 'He is not my subject yet,' he thought.
After a moment Boromir rose, and stepped carefully and quietly to where Aragorn was, pulling his cloak more closely around himself against the cold night. "What is it, Ranger?" he asked apprehensively, and was startled by the black look that flickered across Aragorn's face.
"Call me by my name," Aragorn said, his voice hard, surprising them both, "or call me 'my liege,' but do not speak to me as though I am unworthy of respect from the Steward's eldest son."
Boromir scowled, not prepared to confront the change in the man for fear of waking the others, who were all as tired as either of them. "Why do you rouse me?" he asked in a sharp whisper, ignoring the implicit threat. "It is not yet my watch."
"You were not sleeping," said Aragorn, trying to soften his tone, for he had not intended to speak so sternly to the other, despite his irritation. When had he objected to being called Ranger? for he was, and was proud to be, and king by birth, yes, but not yet by decree. But the insolence in the Gondorian's tone had pricked him, and anger had welled up in the spot. Surely by now he deserved some measure of respect from the man.
"I was resting," Boromir answered. "I could not sleep. Did you call me over here to ask if I was awake? for surely when I answered you it would have been clear enough."
Aragorn fixed Boromir with a penetrating gaze, not liking how willing the man was to show his own annoyance. "What keeps you wakeful?" he asked archly.
"I know not," Boromir replied, then looked at Aragorn closely, and saw something in the other he could not place. Something of the power that had struck him like a blow by the shore of the river, but banked, smouldering. No, something else was there - something that did not seem wholesome.
For his part, Aragorn felt his anger returning, and he let it come, a welcome respite from the longing for his foster-sister that played like a constant tune beneath all else. 'Resting,' he thought. 'Waiting his chance, more likely.' "If you were planning to take the Ring from the Halfling, by force or by design," he said, and Boromir stepped back from him, made apprehensive by the steely tone of the other's voice, "then you should abandon your plan, for he no longer bears it."
Boromir felt that cold take him again, felt the shiver of that power, and with it, beneath it, like the fragrance of rotting flowers, was the smell of that foul and needful thing. "I knew it," he murmured, staring at the Ranger. "The moment you returned to camp, I knew what you had done, though I did not wish to believe it." He shook his head, fury etched on his features but his voice still low. "You, who were so determined that I should not use it for Gondor, have now taken it for your own ends?"
Aragorn tensed, certain for a moment that Boromir was going to strike him and almost relishing the thought. "Not for my own ends," he replied tersely, "but to save you from yours. You will not steal it so easily from me."
"I would not steal it at all!" Boromir spat, then turned from Aragorn and started back to his blankets, but suddenly Aragorn's hand was on his shoulder, spinning him around and pushing him against the trunk of a tree. His head cracked sharply against it, and before he could block the unexpected attack, Aragorn's arm was pressed hard to his throat.
His face twisted with anger, Aragorn said, "I see your eyes when you look on the Ringbearer," his voice low and fierce. "I saw you born, Gondorian. I know what is in your heart."
Wrenching downward on the trapping arm and twisting to the side, Boromir escaped Aragorn's hold and stepped quickly back. "If you do then it is because you share it, Ranger," he replied in an angry whisper, his gaze flickering over the still-sleeping forms of their companions. "You, whom the Elves name 'hope,'" he said, bringing his gaze back to Aragorn's and struggling against fear, sharp as copper in his mouth. "You have taken the Ring and broken your oath! No fit king, nor fit companion." And though unwilling to turn his back on the other, he did, shaking with anger, and went back to his place by the fire, expecting all the while to hear the rasp of a drawn blade behind him, for there was something mad in the Ranger's eyes, and Boromir recognized it.
Aragorn felt rage seething up in him as he watched the Gondorian stalk back to his bedroll, but he did not follow, nor call the other back, and like shadows from a flame he saw a sudden vision of the arrogant soldier kneeling before him, begging - though for what, Aragorn did not know, and with a shiver of revulsion he pushed the image from his mind, and with it his rage.
When, some time later, he woke Boromir to take watch, he opened his mouth to apologize, but at the other's black and angry gaze, Aragorn's own anger returned. He fought the urge to strike him, and instead simply watched him rise and take his place as guardian of the company for the next few hours of the night.
Then Aragorn moved silently back to his own blankets and lay down, pulling his cloak around him tightly, but with sleep came only unwelcome visions of Boromir's surrender, of fire and ash, Minas Tirith at his feet, and of the dark hair and smooth, pale skin of the Evenstar.
Frodo approached Aragorn upon rising, and Aragorn felt a chill pass over him, and again had to push away quick anger. The dreams had shaken him, and left him tense, and irritable, and he struggled to control his emotions. "Aragorn," Frodo began, "I think I have made a mistake." His large eyes were hollow with weariness.
"Mistake?" asked Aragorn, trying to keep his voice gentle. "How so, friend?"
Frodo seemed apprehensive, and shifted his weight nervously. "I believe I am strong enough to bear the Ring, Aragorn. Would you - " and he hesitated, startled by the sudden dark flash of Aragorn's eyes.
"Would I what, Halfling?" Aragorn asked sharply. "Do you mistrust me now as well?"
"No, no," Frodo said quickly, eyes wide. "No, of course not, but - but I feel the burden must be mine, and I - it does not feel right," he said, dropping his gaze, "that thing not around my own neck."
Aragorn knelt in front of Frodo, sudden realization striking him, and sorry for his sharpness to his already troubled comrade, whom he only wished to help. "Frodo, my friend," he said gently, "do you not see? That is the Ring's deception." He shook his head, placing a hand on Frodo's trembling shoulder. "No, dear Frodo, I would not give you this burden back. It would take you," he said, sadness overwhelming him, and fear for this innocent, who should never have had to shoulder such a burden. How could Elrond, how could Gandalf - how could he himself have ever allowed it? The burden was the fault of Men; it must be borne by Men.
"Can you not see?" he continued. "If scarcely a night without it causes you to come to me and beg it back, can you not see that you are not strong enough? Oh, Frodo," he said, his voice grieved, "we should never have asked it of you. This is the fault of Men; you should be free from this terrible task, and back in the sweet hills of your home."
Frodo was surprised to see tears in the man's eyes, and though his heart called to him to take the Ring back, he felt suddenly ashamed of what he'd been thinking only moments ago. Aragorn had not deceived him, and if his own longing for the Ring was so strong, perhaps the man was right, and he should not bear it.
Aragorn stood then, his hand still on Frodo's shoulder, and turned to find Boromir standing scant feet away, watching the exchange, his eyes narrow, his expression grim.
"You should return it to the Ringbearer, Aragorn," he said in a low, tight voice
Aragorn shook his head. "So you might seize it more easily?" he asked. Around them the others were waking, and silent as a cat Legolas emerged from the trees behind Boromir.
Boromir did not turn at the approach of the Elf, though he tensed. "I do not wish to seize it," he replied. "Have I not had ample opportunity?"
The other Halflings were out of their bedrolls now and watching the confrontation uneasily; Gimli, nearby, looked from one man to the other as though sizing each of them up, his gaze finally falling on Legolas, who moved to stand beside Aragorn.
"Estel," said the Elf softly, "what has happened here?"
"Your 'Hope' has taken the Ring," Boromir said flatly.
"Boromir," said Aragorn, ignoring Legolas' sudden pallor, "you know that the longer you travel in its shadow the more difficult it becomes for you to resist its lure."
"I know no such thing," he replied sharply, the lie coming too easily to his lips for his own comfort, but he continued, heedless. "I know only that you now possess that which you assured me would destroy any who bore it."
"Any who wielded it," said Aragorn, "and I do not wield it."
"Yet," Boromir replied.
Aragorn shook his head sadly. "I cannot do otherwise, Boromir," he said. "The Ring must be safeguarded, and Frodo is too easy a target if it claims you utterly." He turned to Legolas. "Fear not, my friend," he said, and smiled, placing a gentle hand to the Elf's cheek. "I shall not fall."
"Isildur's heir," said Boromir, "with Isildur's weakness."
Aragorn rounded on him and said angrily, "This, from one whose constant watchful eyes have caused the Ringbearer to ask me to take this burden from him?"
"And now he has asked you to give it back!" Boromir said, his voice rising, though his hand had not yet dropped to the hilt of his sword.
"That is only further proof that it must not be his," Aragorn replied. "Why should an innocent bear the evil that the weakness of Men has inflicted on the world? How can he?"
"Because he is an innocent, Estel," said Legolas, placing his hand on his friend's arm, "with all the strength of the innocent."
"I will not falter, Legolas," Aragorn said, turning to look at his friend, his eyes sad. How could Legolas not understand? Surely he could be made to understand. "My friend," he said gently, "you yourself have been ever as concerned as I about what might happen. Do you not think that the bearer of the reforged sword is better suited to defend this evil from those who would take it than is a Halfling, however sturdy?" He turned fully towards the Elf then, raising his hand again to cradle that face of silky angles. Legolas felt the warmth in Aragorn's hand, the gentleness, and almost pressed into the caress, so few soft touches had there been since he had left the home of his father. "We take the Ring to Mordor," Aragorn said, "and we go to destroy it. Naught has changed but who protects it. Trust in me, as you have," he said gently.
Legolas seemed far away, and Aragorn stroked his thumb across the sweet plane of his cheekbone. He would need this one's support against the Gondorian, if worse came to worst. "Please, mellon nîn," he whispered, "trust in me."
Legolas gazed at him for a long moment, then finally nodded. "Perhaps you are right," he said.
Boromir snorted in derision and both Aragorn and Legolas turned to him. "He is not right, Elf, and well you know it. Loyalty blinds you."
"As greed blinds you, Gondorian," said Legolas.
"Do you know," said Boromir, ignoring Legolas' tone, "that since Aragorn took possession of that cursed trinket, I have felt barely a whisper of desire for it?" His smile was without humour. "Indeed, on this cold morning I would sooner steal the Ranger's cloak than that circle of gold, for at least its warmth is wholesome, if a bit ripe. I wonder why the desire has left me," he said thoughtfully. "Perhaps it has found meeter prey."
Aragorn's eyes narrowed and he took a step forward. Boromir stepped back in turn, and now his hand did fall to his sword, a motion Aragorn did not fail to see. The Ranger smiled grimly. "Perhaps the desire has left you, friend," he said, though there was nothing friendly in his demeanor. "Never the less, I would not like to set the Ring out on a stump and wait to see if you might take it after all."
Boromir's breath caught in his throat at the glint in Aragorn's eyes. It was the same feral light that Denethor's had when he had spent long hours in the upper chamber of the Tower, and neither Boromir nor Faramir nor any other chose to be with him then if not summoned. But Denethor, for all his ferocity, did love his sons; this Ranger wanted only his submission, and Boromir did not wish to find himself drawing swords against him. Not with the Elf at the Ranger's side, and the Dwarf at the Elf's. And it appeared that if he did not retreat, he would have to fight.
He recalled Faramir, and his brother's own tactical retreats from their father's wrath; recalled promising to return home to him, as well.
He lowered his gaze, and released the hilt of his blade. The words came hard, but he forced them out. "Forgive me, Aragorn," he said. "I am weary. I should not have spoken so."
As the mists of morning vanish in the brightness of the sun, Aragorn's anger dissipated at the Gondorian's quiet words, and with a smile he came forward and clapped his hand to the nape of Boromir's neck, drawing him close in an unconscious echo of their hard confrontation the previous day. "We are all weary, my friend," he said. "I, too, spoke harshly, and for that, I am sorry. Let us not argue, for we have the same goal, and far to go to reach it." With that, Aragorn cupped Boromir's chin in his other hand and raised his lowered head.
His hand was warm, and strong, the bones like the bones of Denethor's hand and for a moment Boromir wondered if the Ranger intended to embrace him or snap his neck; he was not sure he could prevent either action. And unable to do otherwise, he met Aragorn's gaze. In those grey eyes now, Boromir saw none of that fey gleam, but there was that flash of ... something. Something of his power, and something akin to hope, but beneath it, as though buried in silt at the bottom of a clear river, something else, something Boromir did not want to name, and sudden bile rose in the back of his throat. He swallowed hard, and forced his lips to return the smile. "You are right, of course," he replied. "We have strife enough ahead of us; let us not carry it with us as well."
Aragorn smiled, brushing his fingers across the skin of Boromir's cheek, and the feeling was like the air before a storm.
Aragorn turned then to the Halflings, who had watched this exchange with trepidation. "You have sacrificed too much," he said, moving to stand before them, and Boromir thought Pippin shrank back a bit from him, gazing up with eyes that betrayed little, but his arms crossed in front of his chest, and his hand resting on his knife. Boromir almost smiled to think of the youngster trying to defend himself against the Ranger, but the smile quickly faded. The image was not as impossible as it would have seemed a day before.
"Galadriel will welcome you back to Lothlórien, if you would go," Aragorn said, "or you could pass into Rohan and perhaps find favour there, and means to return to the Shire from either haven. There is no need for you to risk your lives further, and I would have you safe, not stranded in the wilderness with ones who may not be able to protect you."
"But who shall see them safe there?" asked Gimli. "We cannot set them loose to find their way back to Lothlórien or to Rohan alone."
Aragorn smiled at Gimli then, and said, "You could take them, friend Dwarf. I will miss your axe," he went on at Gimli's doubtful look, "but evasion is our course now, not battle, for we are too few to defend against the companies that will be set against us. Go, and protect the Halflings."
"We need no protecting," said Merry, though the quaver in his voice betrayed him, "and this is Frodo's decision, I think."
"Aye, it is at that," said Sam, and they turned to the one who had borne the Ring.
Frodo seemed shaken, and pale, and did not respond to their questioning gazes.
Finally, Aragorn said gently, "Can you not see how weary he is? Do not ask more of him," and he knelt in front of Sam, who looked at him warily. Aragorn smiled. "You have never trusted me quite, have you, Samwise?" he asked.
"Well, I think you've done us fair enough so far," he said, "but it's my master I'm concerned with more than anything."
Aragorn nodded. "As you should be," he said. "You are as loyal and true a friend as anyone could hope for." He paused, then, and glanced at Frodo, and Sam's eyes could not help but follow. The Ringbearer - for such he would always be, wherever the Ring itself went - was sitting with his face in his hands, and Aragorn looked back at Sam then, and said, "Take him away from here, Samwise. Take him where he can rest."
With another glance at Frodo, Sam finally nodded. "Lothlórien, then," he said. "He seemed to find it peaceful enough there. We all did, and it might be that the Elves could give him a measure of peace again."
Gimli smiled slightly and clapped Sam on the shoulder. "Lothlórien," he said. "I shall see you safe there, if you'll have me."
The look of relief on Sam's face was invitation enough.
Boromir felt as though a stone were suddenly pressing on his chest, and he watched in disbelief as the Halflings and the Dwarf gathered up their belongings and prepared to depart. Finally, unable to contain himself, he said, "Have you all gone mad?"
They stopped and turned to him.
Boromir shook his head. "What is this insanity? The Ringbearer surrenders the Ring to Isildur's heir, and now all five of you are ready to return to Lothlórien as if there is no quest, and Gimli!" and he turned to the Dwarf. "I had not thought you so quick to surrender to such a plan."
"Oh, come now," said Gimli, "'tis not such a bad plan at that."
"The Halflings should not continue to risk their lives when there is no need," said Aragorn, his voice low, but brooking no resistance. "They should return, and we will finish the task we have begun."
Boromir shot him an angry glance. "I wonder what your esteemed Elrond, or the wizard would say of this turn?"
"They are not here to ask," Aragorn replied, his gaze narrowing, and Boromir saw that light in his eyes again, fey and feral. Fear coiled in his guts, and he struggled not to retreat. How could the Ranger have this effect? King, Ranger, companion, brother-in-arms - none of these could explain the crackle of power that surged around the man.
"If the Fellowship is scattered," Boromir said, willing his voice not to waver and trying to keep his wits about him, "then I shall return to my city, where I am needed, and await your coming."
The words struck Aragorn like a fist, though he knew not why. The Gondorian's desire for the Ring had been a constant worry to Aragorn, and it was true there had been times he'd questioned the wisdom of traveling with the man, but to hear him speak so casually of abandoning the quest - of abandoning him to his fate in Mordor with none but the Elf and his own destiny to give him hope of coming out again - it was not to be borne. It would be difficult enough with only three, and he would not allow the Gondorian to shirk his duty to his king and his people.
"You are needed here," he said angrily, crossing the distance between them in long strides, catching Boromir off guard and gratified to see the man retreat before him until they two were pressed again to the trunk of a tree. There was panic in Boromir's eyes, and they flickered past his shoulder before returning to his own and being held there.
Aragorn smiled. "It appears I shall ever have your back to something," he said softly, and Boromir scowled.
"Do not press me, Ranger," he replied.
"Do not give me reason to, Captain," Aragorn said, tracing one finger along the line of the other's jaw, and Boromir winced as though pained.
"Step back," Boromir said, but could not raise his voice above a whisper.
"Or?"
Aragorn's eyes caught Boromir's and held them, piercing him like blades, keeping him in place. And in the Ranger's eyes Boromir saw again that flash of something, something buried in the silt, waiting. A glitter of power. Boromir's skin felt hot where that finger traced a path, and he finally found voice enough to say, "I - we have been friends, I think, and brothers in arms," and he hesitated. Aragorn watched him, smiling softly, but did not dispute it. "I speak as one such, now," Boromir went on cautiously, "who would ever guard your back in battle, and keep your faith as you keep mine." That fear rising up from its nest in his gut, he met Aragorn's eyes and said with what strength he could gather, "Give the Ring back to Frodo, Aragorn. It harms you."
Aragorn scarcely moved, now stroking Boromir's throat gently and causing waves of fear, and of something equal parts revulsion and desire to shudder through Boromir's body. He closed his eyes, hoping to escape it, but Aragorn said quietly, "Look at me, Captain," his voice as soft as the petals of flowers that rotted in still water. Unwilling to do anything that might provoke the creature before him, who wore the face and form of the man he had traveled with for so long, and for so long had denied, he obeyed. "You would keep my faith now?" he asked. "Do I have your fealty now, with my hand at your throat, only to lose it when your will is your own again?" He paused, his gaze growing languorous. "You will not take it, Boromir of Gondor." The edge on his voice was sharp and cold, and belied the heat of his hand.
"My will is my own now," said Boromir sharply, struggling not to shrink away from that caressing touch, "and as for the trinket you carry, I no longer wish it, for I see what it does to you."
At that the Ringbearer's eyes narrowed and his hand tightened, a low growl rising in his throat, and Boromir knew he had overstepped. Softening his tone he continued quickly, "But if you do not trust me, then I will leave the company and you may return it to the Ringbearer without fear. I swear to you that I will not trouble you again, if only you will return the Ring to Frodo."
Boromir hesitated then, confused by what he was seeing in the other's eyes. He had thought Aragorn would have given much to see the back of him, but now....
Anger boiled up in Aragorn as he listened to this whelp make promises and beg him to return a Ring of power - the One Ring - to a Halfling. "You have always been one to demand too much, Boromir son of Denethor," he said. "I will bear the Ring, and you and I and the Elf will go into Mordor, to Mount Doom, and there consign this evil to the fires that made it. And you will not return to Minas Tirith until we come there together." His eyes were hard, and he leaned close, his breath hot on Boromir's skin. "Men kept this evil in the world," he said softly, "and Men will destroy it. Do you understand me, Captain?"
Gimli eyed the two men thoughtfully from his distance, and considered, only briefly, going with them into Mordor after all. He was loath to lose the company of the Elf and the Gondorian, whom he had come to regard as friends somewhat moreso than the Ranger, who was a bit too taciturn for friendship. But neither could he bring himself to let the Halflings go into the wilderness alone.
And Lothlórien.... The memory of Galadriel would have lured him back to the Golden Wood even if the safety of the Halflings had not, but though he felt this was the right thing to do - let Men bear the burden for which Men were responsible, and let the Halflings return to their lives - yet something was amiss. It itched at him like an insect, touching his mind and wriggling, but vanishing when he tried to find it.
After a moment he turned to Legolas. "Master Elf," he said, "do you wish to return to Lothlórien, or would you go with your friend and the Captain into Mordor?"
Legolas glanced at the two Men, then turned to Gimli. "Take the Halflings," he said softly. "I will stay with Aragorn, for I fear what the Ring does to him, and what the Man might do."
But Gimli did not have the chance to ask which Man Legolas meant, for they were returning, and Gimli read fear in the lowered gaze of the Gondorian, and anger in his posture, and he wondered what had passed between them.
