.Boromir rode slowly, behind the front lines of Gandalf, Aragorn, and Theoden. He rode behind the second flank of Eomer, Legolas and Gimli, and Hama. He had lost a bit of pace during the long trek, but he was tired and there wasn't a soul there who would begrudge him a few paces in line.
The battle at Helm's Deep had been worse than he'd expected. A siege, lasting all the long and endless night and into the morning, taking too many good men with it, causing too many hurts. None to Boromir, none save a glancing scratch from a passing arrow that hurt more in the memories it stirred than the gash it caused.
He was half asleep on his horse, and beside him a lot of the men looked the same. They had all asked to come, of course, and Boromir was more curious than most to see this great and evil wizard, Saruman.
But what they found no one save perhaps Gandalf expected to see.
Ruin. Rubble. Great gashes and tears in collapsed walls as if great hands had simply torn away stone like paper.
The gate was in ruin, and a great pile of rubble lay where it had once stood.
On the ruin, Boromir saw as those in front were pointed towards it, were two figures smoking pipes.
He sat up straight in his saddle, and a smile came to his face, slow and then stretching broad to a grin, and he laughed aloud, drawing the eyes of tired soldiers near him.
His weariness fell off like a heavy coat in warm weather, and he spurred his horse to catch up to where Gandalf, Aragorn, Theoden, and Legolas and Gimli had ridden forward.
Gimli was growling at the two when he got there. "I am so torn between rage and joy that if I don't explode it shall be a wonder!"
The hobbits laughed, and Boromir had a moment to see them without being seen, to marvel at the change in them. Their hair, their height. They seemed healthy and flourishing. But he could see on Merry's face grief and pain under his laughter, and he marveled that he could tell.
He spurred his horse on, flanking Legolas and jumping from the mount without thinking. "And for me? Do two hobbits have any greeting for the one who took the most hurt at their parting?"
The two turned to him and instantly froze. The laughter vanished from Merry's face, and Boromir could see then how thin a mask it had truly been. Pippin on the other hand laughed louder, delight all over him radiating so much it could almost be felt.
"Boromir! I might have known Merry was exaggerating your injuries!"
"Exaggerating...?" Boromir fell silent then, instantly realizing that the last Merry must have seen of him was collapsing after he had been shot. He understood the pain and grief, and knew that they had been for him. He moved forward instantly, forgetting Pippin, forgetting the king behind him and the soldiers further off past the gate. "Merry."
"Boromir?" Merry stood stricken, his eyes round and baffled.
"But I thought...I saw you..." He stood silent after that.
"Surely these are the missing members of your company," came the voice of Theoden behind them. "There can be no mistaking that this is a meeting of old friends."
Boromir scanned the face of his own precious little hobbit, sorrowing at the grief he found there, the care that had never been in Merry's face before.
But even as he looked the care was leaving, the grief replaced by simple shock and a naked hope. He crouched without thought to the people behind him. Though he was giving no thought to his injury and the tiredness that had threatened the entire way to Isengard, the injury had not forgotten him, and he winced at a pull of torn skin beneath his bandages and clothes.
Merry saw and stepped forward. "You're hurt?"
Boromir nodded, a hand on his side. "The arrow. A wound, but not fatal. And not enough to keep me from coming to find you."
Merry stumbled forward another step, his eyes wide and worried now, searching Boromir's face. "Are you alright?"
He smiled faintly. "I am now."
Merry laughed, a faint, hesitant sound. Uneven, without the melody of the normal hobbit laughter, but it was the most welcome sound Boromir had heard in some time.
He smiled more sincerely, and Merry smiled back.
And then Gandalf rode forward and made mention of Saruman, and the goings on of the world beyond the two of them infiltrated Boromir's mind.
In the end, he made the choice to ride with the others, and if their reunion had been cut short at least Merry was allowed to ride with him, and he could hold his hobbit safely in front of him as they rode after the solemn line towards the tower of Orthanc.
"There is no telling what sort of tricks he could use against you, if you come to him with a light heart." Gandalf was advising the group as they rode to the tower.
"I don't think even the enemy himself could stop my heart from being light," came a soft response from in front of Boromir.
He squeezed Merry to him without a reply, though he too felt suddenly that nothing that could happen this day would be bad enough to overwhelm the good that had already occurred.
Saruman spoke to them from atop his tower, from a balcony where he was imprisoned in the house he had made for himself. He spoke and Boromir could hear the compassion in his voice, the wisdom. The danger. The men of Gondor didn't bow to words, they were men of action.
He spoke when it seemed that Theoden was prepared to listen to the words of the wizard. "King Theoden, I speak for the Steward of Gondor. You have allies, allies who have proven to be loyal to you as you have to them. The friendship of Isengard was once a thing to hope for, but look around you. Isengard is no more, and the friendship of Saruman will lead to similar ruin to your own lands."
"You were not given leave to speak, Boromir, son of Denethor." Saruman's voice drifted down to him, hissing at first in anger and then instantly softening to a caress of voice. "But since you have spoken, I will address you. Your lands have proven loyal to themselves, and then to all allies. You are a people strengthened, and weakened, by warfare. You think with the sword, and are quick to call an enemy by name."
Boromir straightened in his saddle, pride in his eyes. If Saruman meant any of those words to be an insult, he had not succeeded.
"But be sure you do not call names that have not been earned. Because you have doubts, doubts that have been planted in your mind by the words of those around you, do not call me enemy who has never struck a blow against your land. "
Boromir looked up at the balcony, his eyes narrowed. He spoke, his voice clear and strong despite his exhaustion. "Saruman, you spoke true. The men of Gondor think first of their lands, and then of their allies. If our lands fall, our allies fall. We do not put the safety of other lands second, nor do we consider a blow struck against us only if it falls against our land."
"You speak as a headstrong young lord, one who has never held the true authority of your country. There is a difference between leading soldiers and leading nations. You are a valiant soldier and you make your decisions based on that. Your father would not thank you for your foolish defiance of a powerful ally. Prove yourself more than a soldier. Prove that you have in you the wisdom your father and brother have always shown so much more that you."
Boromir had a flash of uncertainty. It was true, and it was said by more than Saruman - the blood of Numenor, the blood of their ancestors, had always shown plainer in his father, and in Faramir. It was not Saruman alone or his influence that spoke those words.
A small weight on his hand distracted him, and he looked down to see Merry turned in the saddle, looking up at him. There was a smile on Merry's face, crooked and wry and at once he was the young hobbit Boromir had first met again, without the weight of care on him. "Sounds like he's doing an impression of that silly ring, doesn't he?"
Boromir grinned instantly, and looked back up with his doubts vanished from his mind. "I'm not here as a leader of nations, Saruman. I am here as a person of Middle Earth who will not see all nations destroyed."
"You are here nursemaiding rats from the Shire, Steward's son." Saruman's voice cracked over them, fierce and angry. "You are weak! You think I am too far away to sense it? I can smell your weakness, it fills the air around you. You would endanger yourself, your land, and your companions. And for what? To be a waiting-boy for this so-called heir to your throne, to the wizard who would see him usurp your father. To reduce the line of Denethor to a prop to hold up undersized Shirelings on their horses."
"Saruman!" Boromir called up suddenly, and somehow he found himself wanting to laugh. His voice held a chuckle as he spoke. "If you are trying to read into my mind you will have to try harder than that. You speak of things I hold pride in as if they are things I will deny, or regret."
Gandalf spoke then, cutting off any reply Saruman might have made. "He is right, Saruman. It seems you've lost your touch for influencing, or else you have no power over a company that is true in heart and mind."
Boromir relaxed then, as the wizards took the fight upon themselves. He looked over when he felt eyes on him, and Aragorn nodded his way and gave a faint smile. Appreciative, Boromir thought. If nothing else he seemed sure then that Boromir was no longer corruptible by tricks of the enemy.
Boromir nodded back, saving his smile for when he looked down again, at the head of curly brown hair sitting against his chest. He reached around and lay his hand on Merry's arm. "I think you have saved me again, Master Merry."
"Don't be silly," came the response, light in words but thick with emotions. "You saved yourself and me as well."
"You?" But Boromir didn't question further, because he thought he understood, and it warmed him. He leaned in, resting his chin against brown curls and stroking Merry's arm with his hand.
They would have time, he thought, to talk later. And much to talk about, as his mind had spoken clearly to him in the days of Merry's capture and their chase.