5
Death, darkness, falling into water. Where was I? Oh, there I was, far down below, small as an ant. Was I dead? I was, wasn't I? I was in a boat. A silvery gray boat. I was lying in a silvery gray boat and I was dead. Faramir was sad, Father was sad; an odd sort of pleasure that they were so sad for my death. Water again, hitting my face. Again. Where was it coming from? Again.
Water! I shot bolt upright in the stern of the boat, water dripping from my beard. Aragorn was looking intently into my face.
"You were quite difficult to wake, Boromir," he observed drily. I blinked, trying to get my bearings, and ignored him. Something was in my back-- I arched gingerly and felt around under me, to find my sword had somehow twisted around behind me and dug its hilt into my spine while I slept. I winced and pulled it back around to the side, where it belonged, Aragorn waiting the whole time.
"Are you quite finished?" I rolled my shoulders and yawned, feeling the last of sleep leaving me.
"Yes, sorry." I looked up. "What is it?"
"I have been trying to waken you for the past two minutes," he replied. "You have slept until evening." I looked around then and found he was right; the sun had sunk just below the reeds to the West, and darkness came quickly in February.
"Sorry," I said again, sheepish this time. "I don't usually have that much trouble waking up. In fact, I don't usually have any trouble waking up..." Aragorn studied me, then nodded.
"The Ring's influence on you is all but gone. I am pleased you have been able to sleep well; I would venture you did not sleep so well since Lórien?"
I thought for a moment. Well, except for that dream at the end, I probably hadn't slept that well since- "More likely, not since Rivendell," I replied. "And you're right, I'm sure it is the Ring being gone."
"Well," he responded brusquely, now that I turned out not to be ill, "we will land for the night soon. You can take the first watch." I looked back at the overgrown banks and frowned.
"Where will we land?" Aragorn pointed at an upcoming spit of land that jutted out right into our path.
"There should be a dry area in the middle of that peninsula, we'll camp there." I looked questioningly at him.
"How do you know there's a dry spot there?" Aragorn smiled slightly.
"I have been here before," he answered. I frowned again.
"When?"
"You remember the Council in Rivendell?"
I rolled my eyes. "Yes..."
He raised that much-overused eyebrow. "Clearly you do not remember very well. I explained how I hunted Gollum-" I did remember, then.
"Oh, that's right." I waved a dismissive hand at him. "And you camped here, I take it?"
"Indeed."
"Well, that's good." Then I remembered another difficulty. "And wood? Reeds do not make good lasting fuel."
"We won't need a fire," replied Aragorn, somewhat impatiently by now. "We do not actually wish the Orcs to visit us, remember? Now, stroke three times on the left side and we'll land right on the shore." I noticed with a bit of a start that our argument-- well, really, all my questions-- had taken us almost beyond the proposed landing. I obeyed; a moment later, the boat slipped right into the reeds as if through a curtain.
--
I sat by the fire, poking it idly with the end of an arrow; Aragorn had managed to break it somewhere on our trip down the Anduin. Right now, the mighty Ranger was out hunting us something to eat, hopefully with an undamaged arrow. I smirked to myself. The mental image of Aragorn trying to shoot an arrow like this one, and the perplexed expression I imagined on his face, was quite a picture.
He'd come through, this time; after the reeds, there was indeed dry land, a small circle about ten feet across surrounded entirely by stalks higher than either of us. A perfect campsite, secluded, hidden, quiet, and since it was in winter, no insects. I imagined the gnats that would be present here in the summer and winced involuntarily.
Just then I caught a soft muttered word, something in-- Elvish? Aragorn slipped through the reeds across from me, somehow having avoided setting them waving. His bow was in his hands, an arrow on the string, but when I made to question him he shook his head; his eyes ordered silence. I sat back slightly and watched, confused. He crept past me and disappeared into the reeds behind, the reeds between the camp and the river.
I turned to watch where he'd vanished. After a long minute he returned, walking normally (for Aragorn at least-- I swear, if he tried to stomp he'd have trouble waking a mouse). I raised my eyebrows in question, and he shrugged.
"I heard something across the river. Nothing has any business there other than Orcs, and I thought it wise to investigate. However, it was a deer who has somehow crossed the Anduin." I grinned.
"Venison sounds good!" He looked at me oddly.
"The deer is too far for me to shoot it, and we could hardly carry the meat with us down the river." Duh. I grumbled something to the effect of "could've tried," but Aragorn just smirked slightly and headed off into the plants again. After a moment he returned, carrying an arrow with one, two, three waterfowl stuck on it. My eyes lit up, and my disappointed mouth got working again.
I took the bird he offered me and set about sharpening my knife. Once ready, I skinned and prepared the bird; Aragorn smirked at me from across the fire, and I scowled to see him already cooking his second one. That insufferable Ranger-- wasn't there something he couldn't do better than me? I irritably thrust the broken arrow through my bird and held it over the fire.
When we finished off the third bird, I cleaned up while Aragorn prepared his bedroll; he stretched out on it with a yawn and a sigh, and I turned away to watch towards the river. The fire began to die, but the night was comparatively warm, near to the equalizing Anduin. I let it sink and sat, thinking. I gradually became aware, however, that Aragorn was awake as well: his eyes were fixed on the small of my back. I ignored him, but he'd made me lose my train of thought quite thoroughly, and I just sat, waiting for him to speak or turn away.
"Boromir." Finally, he did something. I stirred, as if I had not been paying attention to him at all, and turned towards him.
"Aragorn?" He was looking into my eyes now. I paused; he looked like he had something to say that he feared would upset me. "Yes?" He shifted under his coverings.
"Boromir, I would like to speak to you about your... conduct, this morning." I tilted my head, pretended not to understand.
"What about it?" He rolled his eyes slightly.
"You know, Boromir. You showed a great lack of respect." I protested immediately.
"I respect you, Aragorn! You know I do, how could I not?" He eyed me for a moment.
"No, you do not, really. You listen to me, and you recognize my skill with a blade, but you do not respect me as you ought. I do not wish power over any man for the sake of it, but if I come to Gondor I will be King. I would not have you oppose me." I cocked my head.
"How could I oppose you? You are the rightful heir! And I have never disrespected you." A traitorous little voice in the back of my head began reminding me of the thoughts I'd had out on those rocks, though. I pursed my lips.
"You have, Boromir." A gentle voice now, like a father or even a mother with her child. I twisted my mouth this way and that, turned my head. But it was true and I knew it. Finally I spoke.
"You are right, Aragorn." I sighed. "You have always been right." He chuckled mirthlessly at that, but said nothing. "Forgive me for my disrespect and my doubts." Aragorn nodded.
"As I said, I do not wish power over you. I am what I was born as, and such is my responsibility. In the same way, you are who you were born as. I hope you will not resent me." He rolled over. "Good night, Boromir." After less than a minute his steady sleep-breathing began, and I was left alone with my thoughts.
Resent him? Well, I had, more or less, the whole time I'd been with him. Not that he was taking something that would have been mine... "How many hundreds of years needs it to make a steward a king, if the king returns not?" "Few years, maybe, in other places of less royalty. In Gondor ten thousand years would not suffice."
From there my thought turned to Father, and how he might react when Aragorn arrived, or news arrived, as it would if we stopped at Cair Andros. For all his words of loyalty to a nonexistent king, I wondered whether his response would not be to refuse to acknowledge the claim, to deny Aragorn's lineage, when faced with the man who would take the crown. Faramir, I imagined, would be absolutely thrilled with Aragorn. He was never interested in being Steward, anyway. But Father, now-- and, I realized, finally looking into my own heart, I myself shared his attitude. I faced the thought and, in my mind, it took form: a twisted, hateful, shrunken version of myself.
"You've always wanted to be Steward. Who wouldn't? The same power as a King, the same ability. A small difference in ceremony!" The apparition spat. "Ceremony-- useless. And what is his lineage, anyway? You are descended from Elros Half-Elven as surely as he is. He just happens to have some powerful people backing him. Those Elves, Mithrandir... they aren't here any more, though, are they? All he has is you." The petty version of myself shuffled forward and whispered, "Father won't want him. He'll want his favorite son to take the rod of the Steward. You could push him over, though, he would hearken to you, you could make him see Aragorn's claim is right... or you could support him and get Aragorn thrown into prison for insolence." The eyes glowed. "And what will happen if Aragorn becomes king? Will you and Father be so very much welcome in his court? I don't think so. Rivals, one-time lords, possible plotters. You'll have so many people dogging your every footstep, watching your every meeting, you'd not believe it. You'll never escape. But-" the apparition reached out now, touched me with insensible fingers "-you can end it now. You've seen the way he leads men. If he reaches Minas Tirith he will gain such a following the city will cry out for him to be king if you and Father deny him. He should not be allowed to reach the city. He must not be allowed to reach the city." My horrid double stepped back and smiled, licked his lips.
I stared in revulsion, unable to speak. The reflection smirked at me and opened his mouth to continue, but mercifully I found my voice. "Begone," I snarled. I'd listened to myself for the first time ever, and I did not like what I heard. "Begone and trouble me no more!" It sneered, then smiled again and bowed insolently.
"Think about what I have told you," it whispered. "You know it is true!" It vanished.
I blinked. My sword was in my hand, I had risen to my feet. I shook my head; clearly I was not quite as well-rested as I had thought. Aragorn stirred, but when I said nothing he returned to slumber. I sheathed my sword and sat back down, watching the reeds round about our camp, and waited for the dawn.