One time Boromir tried to explain some of the rigors of high society with Merry. Pippin was off listening to one of Gimli's stories of dark mountains, wide eyed and eager though Gandalf warned him they'd face similar perils soon enough and he ought not act as if it was something to look forward to. And Merry and Boromir were left to their own, talking quietly.

It was in a space between their talks that Merry took the time to realize how odd it was that such a great man from such a great city would spend so much time in conversation with a silly halfling - not even the ring bearer, just one of the companions. But as they talked he acted as if they were equals sharing stories.

Boromir explained about kings and stewards, and how his father and their family had ruled the country for many years, yet were not kings and would never be.

"Well, why not?" Merry asked in return. "Why shouldn't he be? I mean, if he's the one ruling, what does it matter what title you call him by?"

Boromir's eyes went to Aragorn, off in the distance huddled with Gandalf, casting dark, grim glances to the east. "I used to ask that myself, often. I have never yet received an answer that convinced me it was right. My father holds to the honor of the stewardship, though. He considers it an honor to be a gatekeeper until the real ruler returns." He hesitated, casting another look at Aragorn. "Although..."

Merry waited. "Although?" he encouraged, tugging lightly at Boromir's sleeve to regain his attention.

Boromir turned back and looked down at him, almost as if shaken from a sudden nap. He paused, and something in his gaze felt prying to Merry, searching and invasive, but not unwelcome. "I suppose these are just stories to you. Just another group of folk tales to add to a collection. You'll be the first in your own home that's heard them, no doubt. Good for many a free drink."

Merry laughed at that, and he only felt the warmer when his laughter made Boromir smile. "Well, you've planted the idea in my head, thank you. Though I think whether you talk to me or not I'll have many new tales to tell when we get back to our Shire." He took a bite of the cooked meat Aragorn had made up for dinner that evening. He was just filling up the corners after a good meal, but he'd been filling them for an hour perhaps. He wondered how that must look to a grim, strong man who ate so little. "We've a great fondness for food ourselves, and for tales. But that doesn't make our interest insincere at all."

Boromir bowed his head. "My apologies."

Merry smiled. "Don't apologies, tell me your although."

"My what?"

Merry sat back, gazing. "You said your father considered his being just a steward an honor, but there was an although."

Boromir smiled slowly. "My apologies again. I'd half thought you were paying the substance of my words little mind." He studied the hobbit suddenly. "If you're truly interested, I'll tell you, though it's not something I speak of often. Never before, in fact, except to my own brother."

Merry leaned in, fascinated. "Well, I'm interested, so go on."

Boromir smiled, but it was distant and it faded fast. "My father says that he is honored to be a placeholder for the real king. But I am very sure that he says it because Gondor has long given up on the hope that any king will return."

Merry blinked. That was no great although, but he nodded after a moment. "You think that once he hears that Strider's come to claim the throne your father will refuse?"

Boromir nodded. "I don't think ill of my father, you must understand. I never speak ill of him, except the ill that might be implied in this. But he is proud, and he has ruled. A proud man with power will chafe to give it up, though he may say honorable words about doing so."

Merry smiled at that. He loved listening to the man talk. The rhythm of it, and the words he used. He spoke grandly like all men seemed to, not plain and simple like a hobbit. But his grandness felt more near, more approachable. Even Strider at his dirtiest Ranger moments had something in his manner and speech that put him above others. Rather like Gandalf himself, Merry thought sometimes. He would have thought all men were like the wizard but for Boromir.

"My brother." Boromir spoke suddenly, as if now he was started talking of his home the words would trail out until he'd said it all. "Of the men in my family, Faramir is the only one I think would serve as a proper steward. If the king does return, in this lifetime..." Another sidelong glance towards Aragorn. "My father will resist, and I think that in his place I would as well. I am too proud; I am too much like him. Faramir has our father's wisdom, but little of his pride. Perhaps more wisdom for that, in fact."

Merry could see the glimmer in his eyes, when he spoke of his home but more when he spoke of his brother. "I hope I get to meet him one day," he said in answer. "He sounds like too high a person for me, but maybe he'd take after his brother and be kind and talk to a silly young hobbit for a while."

Boromir looked at him, his brow creased, something like amazement in his face. Then he laughed, a low rumble loud enough to attract attention from the nearest company. He spoke, sounding suddenly boisterous. "Wise the men of Gondor may be, but we've found our betters in politeness." He smiled at Merry, and it seemed to brighten his entire face. The grimness for a moment was erased, the lines of care around his eyes smoothing out.

He seemed young, suddenly, happy - the way Merry might have pictured a young lord from a grand city of men. He seemed to be lightened entirely, and no matter how long or how short the effect lasted Merry was dazed by it, and felt heated tendrils of selfish joy that he had been the one to cause it.