Chapter 2 Inauspicious Beginnings

(Edited repost of this chapter)

A few hours later. Dawn had broken. Boromir had not slept. The remainder of the night he had lain awake, wondering how he could possibly undo the damage he had caused.

Boromir decided to tackle the issue early, as soon as the elf and the ranger woke up. Fortunately, both of them always seemed to wake up early, so as soon as he saw Legolas sitting up, Boromir went over.

Legolas stiffened. The Gondorian could see and feel the almost palpable hostility of the elf. Legolas'movements had also woken up Aragorn, who now also looked at Boromir, his eyes guarded and betraying nothing.

"I have come to apologise. I do not know what came over me last night, but I had no right to say the things that I said. What you do with your private life is entirely up to yourselves, I have no right to interfere. I hope you can accept my apologies. I will not ask for forgiveness because what I know what I said was quite unforgivable."

With those words, the Gondorian warrior stopped. Both the man and elf looked at him. Aragorn's dark hair was still tousled with sleep, and the ranger pushed it impatiently out of his face. Legolas had slipped his arm protectively around Aragorn's waist, a gesture that Boromir did not fail to notice.

Aragorn nodded. "Apologies accepted." Boromir looked at Legolas. With a visible effort, the elf said: "From me too." But all three knew that it would take a long time to rebuild whatever trust there may have been in the first place.

A few days later.

It was still cold and raining. The fellowship had stopped, and Aragorn had allowed a small fire. After the events a few days ago, things had settled down. Boromir kept himself to himself, and the others left him alone. Only Aragorn and Gandalf tried to talk to him on occasion, trying to integrate him at least partially.

Aragorn and Legolas were much less concerned about being discrete now In all the long years they had spent together, they had never been overly demonstrative in public, but neither of them liked denying the affection he felt for the other. In some way, both Legolas and Aragorn felt, Boromir had done them a favour rather than a disservice.

Currently everyone, even Boromir, sat around a small, flickering fire, Aragorn and Legolas sat next to each other, when slowly the Elf's eyes dropped and he sagged against the human. Aragorn smiled gently. Legolas had taken on the vast majority of the night watches, claiming that as an elf he did not need anywhere near as much sleep as the others. This was true, of course, but even elves have limits, and Legolas had clearly reached his.

Aragorn pulled the prince down on his lap, at this moment not caring one bit what the others thought. After all, the elf had ensured that all of them could sleep for many nights, it was his privilege now to sleep in relative comfort. With some difficulty, Aragorn also slipped out of his cloak and spread the garment over Legolas, who simply slept on with his eyes closed.

Everyone had been watching Aragorn. It was Merry who broke the silence. "Strider, may I asked you something?"

"It depends what it is." Aragorn looked at the curly-haired hobbit.

"In Rivendell I thought … " The hobbit hesitated, "that you and Lady Arwen are close…"

Aragorn sighed, and remembered a similar situation many years ago on their first journey together with the rangers. Then it had been him who slept on Legolas shoulder, and it had been the elf who had answered Halbarad's questions about their private life.

Merry's question was not an entirely unexpected. "Lady Arwen is my foster sister. She cares much for me and we have come to an understanding many years ago." The ranger did not want to elaborate on the details of his private life. What mattered most to him, and had done since he was very young, was that he loved Legolas and the elf returned his affection. And had always done so. Over the years they had gone through much hardship and had to deal with lengthy separations, and yet, every time they saw each other again, mutual affection and, as Aragorn admitted, attraction soared.

He looked down at the elf who slept in his lap. Legolas was as beautiful as he had beenover 60 years ago when they first met, with his slim, graceful body, light hair, and flawless face. And yet, what Aragorn most appreciated about Legolas was his personality. Strong and gentle, quiet and outspoken, loving towards himself and cold to strangers, Legolas' personality was as complex as his face was beautiful.

Boromir watched the sleeping elf. With his eyes closed and his hair covering his ears he looked much like a young human, his dark lashes and eyebrows contrasting with his fair skin. And all of a sudden, Boromir realised that some of his resentment at least was envy. It appeared to the Gondorian as if Aragorn had everything that Boromir himself had wanted, and which fate had denied him, only to show him in a cruel twist what could have been. Aragorn would, if this quest ended well, take on the throne of Gondor. He was respected by men and elves alike, and had a beautiful lover who was devoted to him. Boromir could not imagine any couple to be together as long as these two had, it was longer than the lifetime of most men.

Boromir had always expected one day to become the steward of Gondor and to lead his people, and now Aragorn had turned up. A few months before the quest, Boromir's lover, a dark-haired lady living at the court of Minas Tirith, had decided that she did not want to put up with Boromir's constant travelling and had announced that she was going to marry someone else. And the one person Boromir truly loved, his younger brother Faramir, was pushed away again and again by their own father. Faramir. How he missed his brother! If he was only here now! Since the incident involving Aragorn and Legolas, no one had spoken with Boromir beyond what was strictly necessary. He knew that it was a problem of his own making and yet resented the silent dislike of the others. And, he admitted to himself, he felt lonely and out of place on this quest. He should not have come.

Boromir did not sleep this night. He stayed up, sitting next to the dying embers of the fire, allowing himself to be distracted by the red glow of the glimmering wood. On the other side of the fire, Aragorn and Legolas were curled up, both sound asleep. Or so he thought, until he saw Legolas watching him. After a while, the elf got up and walked around the fire. Boromir braced himself for some kind of unpleasant confrontation.

But the elf simply looked at him levelly and said: "You look very unhappy, Boromir."

Boromir was so surprised that he stared at the elf. This implicit question, asked in a neutral tone, was so different from anything he had anticipated, that he was too stunned to answer for a moment. But then he recovered and decided to tell the truth, the elf had already a poor opinion of him, to admit to a further weakness would do no harm. And at least it would be honest. "I miss my home. If only I could be home in the White City, see the white tree and hear the trumpets in the morning breeze!"

Legolas looked at the man in surprise. He had not expected such depth of feeling in the warrior. Later, he could not say what made him say the next sentence. "I miss my home too. To lay in a forest glade with the night sky and the stars above, what would I give for that!"

Now it was Boromir who looked surprised. He, in turn, had not expected this from the elf. And so, tentatively at first, and later with longing, they quietly talked about their respective homes. Later still, the conversation turned to hopes and dreams, what might have been and what could still come to pass. And both realised that they had much more in common than they had ever thought possible. All of a sudden, for Boromir, it was no longer important that Aragorn and Legolas were lovers. Perhaps, just perhaps, this night had changed hostility into tentative friendship, and he might not be quite so alone for the rest of the journey. Because Boromir was certain that if Legolas gave him a chance, Aragorn would do as well.

And so, dawn was near when Boromir, son of Denethor, rolled up in his blankets and went to sleep, much happier than he had been for many days.

The End

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