He moved into the room and shut the door behind him, sighing to himself heavily. The requirements for a steward after a tremendous battle were greater than he'd imagined, and he was fairly sure that he was absolutely bad at the job. He had voices coming at him from all sides, advisors of his fathers, soldiers who knew Boromir through years of fighting side by side. The opinions, always given and from them at least usually looked for, of the Fellowship itself. There wasn't enough time in a day to do all that had to be done, and Boromir was happy to delegate most of the tasks to those who knew better.

Then again, he thought, maybe that was the primary job of a leader - knowing whom best to delegate authority to.

Still, all in all it was a tiring business, complicated and scattered. He wasn't settling in well, but there wasn't time to dwell on it. There wasn't really time for anything.

And so, this visit. This stop in a dark corner room of the healing house, hoping for a little time to rest and gather himself.

The room was quiet and still, and he sighed with relief at the silence. His shoulders lost their rigidity as he sighed, moving into the room and over to the small bed. He sat in the chair left for the visitor who never left the room - the one who was even now curled on the bed beside the sleeping patient. They both breathed heavy and even in sleep. Both together, he saw with a smile, were about the mass one man might be under the cover.

They were wrapped close, and something in him sparked a bit uncertainly. Maybe jealousy, he mused. A silly thought, but he looked at the two heads leaning against each other, so similar, and for a moment he did let himself envy it. Not that Pippin had Merry there so close, but that he was small enough and like him enough not to think twice about it.

He tried to imagine himself there with them, a great, hulking, ungentle body alongside those two small forms. It seemed ridiculous.

Pippin looked up suddenly, blinking tired eyes. He smiled. "Boromir," he said softly. "He was waiting up for you, but Gandalf told us you were far too busy to see us again today."

Boromir sighed. "Unfortunately, he was right. It's tomorrow." He sat down at the edge of the bed, on Merry's side, and looked down at him for a long, quiet moment. "How is he?"

"Like an old man. He's tired and sore and he's still a bit odd from that curse, I guess. And he missed you." Pippin sat up slowly, carefully pulling free from Merry and stretched himself. "But he understands, so he says. Honestly, I think he wants his Gondor soldier back. The one who sat with us at fireside and talked about his city and tried to teach us how to hold a blade properly."

Boromir laughed softly, but it was wistful. "I'm going to quickly begin missing that soldier myself." His hand came up and almost unconsciously he touched a cheek, letting go of some subtle tension when he felt the skin warm and alive.

But he became aware of Pippin again, watching him closely, and he pulled his hand back and almost blushed.

Pippin laughed, but there was something restrained about the sound. "I told Merry you cared for him. He half believes it now."

Boromir opened his mouth to answer, but shut it again.

Pippin studied him. "I don't guess it really matters though, does it?"

Boromir looked back at him.

"Merry is lost in his relief that you weren't killed. It's the second time he's convinced himself you were dead when you weren't, and the second time hurt as badly as the first. He's not thinking of bigger things, and I'm glad he's not yet. But they're still there whether he realizes it or not."

Boromir didn't want to think of it either.

"You're going to hurt him terribly, you know. He thinks fanciful things, and that's in our nature. But we're also practical about a lot of things. I'm one of the worst for fanciful thinking, except where he is concerned. This journey has made me practically serious where he's concerned. He on the other hand is solemn too often, but with you he's become fanciful." He sighed, looking back at his cousin. His voice was soft but he spoke without much fear of waking Merry.

Indeed, he was too pale where he lay, too still in sleep. The effects of the black breath still hung on him, Pippin was right about that. Boromir frowned. "He's made me more fanciful than I've ever been, so I suppose it's right I returned the favor."

"You're going to hurt him terribly when this all ends and he must go home."

Boromir shook his head, more from an attempt to drive the words away than a denial of their truth. He didn't want to think about it.

"He believes in miracles. He was telling me so. He's got his heart set on one more." Pippin looked across Merry at him, as solemn as Boromir had ever seen the little hobbit. "You may think that light-hearted creatures like us must love lightly. It's not true."

"I don't think anything like that," Boromir answered, almost annoyed. He didn't want to talk about this. He and Merry hadn't had five minutes together since they were first separated, and he didn't want to think of anything until he had at least a little while with Merry. "I think the future's too uncertain to bother worrying about it. If we have time now we ought to do what we want without worrying."

Pippin sighed. "Maybe. But you can't even give him now, really. You're steward, my lord." He added the title with a faint smile, nothing mean-spirited.

Boromir frowned. It was true. He was taking his rest here, and once it was done there would be no more time. He would have to lead his country and gather with Aragorn and Gandalf and Eomer and decide where the course of this war had to take them. The fighting wasn't done. Time was drawing short.

"You should talk to him. Don't let him go on and fight under false pretenses."

"Pippin, you're serious indeed where Merry is concerned. I can't say it makes me happy to see."

Pippin shrugged, a hand stroking Merry's arm even as his attention focused on Boromir. "That's because it's me that will be left to tend him when it's all done and you're here on your throne and he's sent back to the Shire."

"I would never send him back," Boromir started, then sighed. "You may be right."

Pippin slid off the bed, straightening his disheveled livery and uniform. He moved around the bed slowly, and with a sigh went to the door. "Don't leave him with false hope. It's dishonest, and Merry says you despise dishonesty. "

Boromir tensed at that. It was dishonest indeed. If they truly had no chance then best be done now.

He heard the soft sound of the door shutting, and his gaze fell from Merry to the mattress beneath them. Idly he touched Merry's hand, and smiled at the warmth there. He was pale still but he wasn't lost as he had been.

The silence settled in to the room, and he felt himself releasing tension he'd carried all night and into the day. Pippin was right, and it hurt to think about. When Merry woke up Boromir would have to use the first time they had alone together to tell him they had to let go of foolish dreams. It would hurt them both to talk about it. He wanted rest, and instead there was only more grief in store.

How long he sat there before Merry stirred he didn't know. He was lost in thoughts, trying not to think of plans for the future but unable to avoid it. He could hide in a room and shut the door against reality, but he couldn't forget it.

But Merry did stir, his brow furrowing and mumbled noises coming from a troubled little mouth. Boromir focused on him, taking his hand and watching his face. He wanted to be sure to catch that moment - the lovely moment when Merry opened his eyes and saw him sitting there. It always seemed to bring such joy to Merry to see him, and that in turn gave Boromir warmth all over. He wasn't gentle and soft, but he felt there was something to the idea of having someone there who always seemed thrilled to see you.

Merry's eyes opened after a moment of restless stirring. His fingers tightened in Boromir's hand, then relaxed. He blinked up at him and there it was, the warm happiness. It lit his pale face and made his eyes soften. He smiled and his fingers tightened to squeeze his hand. "Hullo."

Boromir smiled uncontrollably back at him. "Good morning. You've slept a long time. Are you feeling better?"

"I feel fine," Merry answered, but he tried to sit up and it made him pale again, and Boromir reached out to help him, bringing him closer to the hobbit. Not a hardship. "I feel sore," he amended with a sheepish smile. "But not as if people ought to be panicking over me the way Pip seems to be doing." He looked around.

"He left. He wanted to give us time alone, I think." Boromir nodded towards the door.

Merry grinned. "Good for him."

"He says we ought to talk about something." Boromir's smile lost some strength.

Merry laughed. "He told me the same. He said I was laboring under a misapprehension about you."

Boromir hesitated. "He said the same to me. He said I ought to correct you."

Merry blushed, confusing Boromir. He smiled almost shyly, dropping his gaze to their hands. "Only if you want to."

"I don't," Boromir said with a sigh.

Merry looked up again instantly, his brow furrowing. "You don't?"

"No. I know it's foolish not to, but I want to enjoy the time we've got."

"I wonder if we're not misunderstanding two different things about each other," Merry said with a slight smile. "Unless you think we wouldn't enjoy ourselves if you admitted you did care something for me."

"What?" Boromir straightened, and his other hand wrapped itself around their joined hands. "No, no, if you're confused about that then you mustn't be a moment longer. I care deeply for you, Merry. I would..." What would he do? He sighed. "Faramir says he longs for love the way I've found it. And he knows me better than I know myself. I must love you."

Merry's little smile grew, then faded, and then grew again, as if he couldn't decide how to feel. "Pip thought as much," he said, his voice soft. "I wasn't so sure. Not because I doubted you, but because...I'm so small." He looked at their hands, his own engulfed utterly by Boromir's large fingers. "Different," he amended. "I knew you were so aware of it..."

"I am," Boromir said quietly. "But somewhere along the line it became so unimportant I stopped caring. I can't ignore what I'm feeling because the one I feel it for has little hands."

Merry smiled at that, and his face glowed as he looked at Boromir. It made Boromir's heart stutter to see such simple, uncomplicated joy. Uncomplicated, though, was the last thing this was.

"You know I love you as well, of course," Merry said suddenly, making Boromir wince.

He nodded and gripped Merry's hand. "That is what Pip thinks I ought to talk to you about. He says I'm being dishonest."

"You?" Merry laughed, sitting up with a sudden ease, as if the words were lifting weight and soreness from him. "Dishonest? He ought to know better."

"Well, perhaps it's not really dishonest if I'm fooling myself as well as you."

"You're not fooling anyone. After all this fighting and horror we ought to be clear enough about how we feel."

"No." Boromir sighed. "It isn't how I feel that's in question. It's what we're to do with those feelings."

"Do?" Merry rose to his knees, putting himself at eye level with Boromir. Their fingers curled together between them. "You don't have to do anything with it. It just is."

"It's not that easy. I'm a steward now. The first-born son of a long line. Our legacy is more important than my feelings."

"Your legacy? You think somehow you won't be a decent Steward with a little hobbit dangling from your arm?"

Boromir laughed uncontrollably, and his eyes softened as he looked at Merry. "No. But I do think that one of my duties as Steward is to have children. Sons to take the title from me when I am dead."

"Oh." Merry sat back on his legs, frowning thoughtfully. "Well. That's bit of a dilemma, yes."

"More than a bit of one. It's of such importance to have sons to carry the name on that father introduced me to women almost as soon as he introduced me to the sword."

Merry sat back, his face paler. He swayed a bit, and Boromir reached for him.

"Lay down. Merry. You shouldn't be sitting up at all."

"I wanted..." Merry sighed and lay himself back on the pillow, frowning up at Boromir. "I guess I don't like always having to look up at you. It makes me aware of things."

Boromir smiled despite himself. "Well. I snuck here when I was supposed to be resting. So I ought to rest." He stretched himself out on the bed, lying beside Merry on his side.

Merry smiled and rolled to his side, and they were evenly matched then, at least their gazes were.

Boromir felt his face warm a bit. The pillow was soft and giving to help the patients recover, and he felt suddenly stirringly intimate, Merry's breath puffing against his skin. He reached up and touched the soft flesh of his cheek. It was becoming a favorite gesture, he thought to himself with a smile.

Merry smiled back against his hand. "Well then. What were we talking about? I've forgotten."

Boromir chuckled. "I think I've almost managed to forget as well."

"Ah, right. I remember." Merry sighed, and it brushed warm over Boromir's face. "It seems so strange to suddenly be thinking of propriety and position and that sort of thing. It was all much easier when all there was to worry about was orcs and evil."

Boromir laughed quietly. "Indeed."

"And I can't help but think it shouldn't matter. We're dealing with life and death and good and evil, and what are rules and regulations beside those? Love can hold up in front of them, and duty. But you'll do your duty and none could do it better. If you're a good Steward with family around you what should it matter if you have no children? Couldn't your brother...?"

Boromir frowned, thoughtful. "It's not the same. Faramir is the younger son."

"Theoden has died, and he has given Rohan to Eomer. I can't help but think it won't suffer much for being in his hands. He is the king's family, even if he's not his son."

Boromir blinked at that. "That's true, isn't it?"

Merry nodded against the pillow, his eyes darker than usual as he gazed at Boromir. "Of course. Blood is blood. We know it in the Shire. We love cousins as much as brothers. Why should men be different?"

"You make me almost believe it's possible."

Merry reached up to him, and he copied Boromir's gesture. His fingers stroked lightly down Boromir's cheek and lay against his jaw. "Believe, then. There's still war and death to deal with, and what's the harm of facing it with a pure and good sort of belief in love?"

Boromir's hand moved, resting over Merry's where it lay against his face. He felt a stirring inside him, a warmth in his chest. Why not? There was no one to order him to marry some woman. No one but Aragorn, in time, and Aragorn would not. Faramir would marry, and through him would pass the wisdom of the Numenoreans, and none would have better heirs. Not Boromir, ungentle and unwise soldier.

Merry smiled in the pause that fell. His thumb brushed back and forth, light and gentle, over Boromir's jaw. "You go by your instincts, you told me once. As a soldier you listen to your heart. Listen to it now. If it says to walk away from me and find a woman and have sons, then I would never try to stop you. I'll come visit and play with them as tots and teach them proper eating habits. Seven meals a day with lots of time for snacks." He smiled. "Listen to your heart, Boromir. It could never steer you wrong. If you make a mistake in its name, then it's the best mistake you could make. An honest mistake, at least, which I suppose you'd find better than a dishonest duty done."

"You're so very wise, Merry. I want to believe it's wisdom, at least, and it seems like you pulled the thoughts from my own heart and told them to me so my head would hear them."

Merry's eyes were glowing. "Then do what you have to, and don't worry about making me unhappy. You never could, as long as you live."

"Listen to my heart, then? Those are your instructions?"

Merry nodded, his cheeks flushed. There wasn't a hint of nervousness in him.

Boromir was quick to show him that his faith was well placed. He only had to lean in a little bit, tilt his head up, and they were together, mouths brushing gently. The whisper of a sigh brushed across his mouth and cheeks, and Boromir smiled into the kiss.

The hand against his jaw moved back, sliding into locks of hair. Boromir echoed the gesture, sliding his fingers through soft curls before resting his palm against the back of Merry's neck. It was easy to hold him there, not only because of how large his hand was against the hobbit, but because Merry showed no intention of ever wanting to pull away again.

Boromir had come for a rest, and what he found was rejuvenation that had nothing to do with sleep. Whatever tension had been in him drifted away, and the soft touch of warm lips against his mouth seemed to drain doubt and apprehension out of him.

He pulled back to catch a breath, and Merry's eyes slid open to look at him. Grey eyes glowed brightly, and his lips were pink and full, and Boromir made a soft sound in the back of his throat and moved in again instantly, locking them together.

Merry chuckled against his mouth, and slid his whole body in closer. Boromir felt a warmth suddenly that had nothing to do with simple emotional joy. He pushed himself more deeply into the kiss, sliding his hand down to Merry's back. He was rewarded with the solid warmth of him pressing closer.

Merry's arms found him, stroking down his chest and grasping his shirt. A soft groan came from Boromir and vanished into Merry's mouth, and the hobbit echoed the noise quietly.

Boromir pulled back, his hand still stroking, up and down, along the curve of Merry's back. "I don't know how you do it," he said in a low rasp. "I've been kissed by women all my life, but this heat...I don't know where it comes from."

Merry's face had the pink flush of health in it. He laughed breathily, and his eyes held wonder. "Maybe because you didn't love those women."

"I think you're right." Boromir indulged in his favorite gesture, lifting his hand to slide down the warm, soft curve of a rounded cheek. "And those women did not love me."

"I don't know," Merry raised a hand to lay over his. "I doubt anyone could kiss you and not love you."

Boromir smiled against the pillow. "You are the first one, Merry, who has said things like that so that I actually believed they might be true."

Merry's eyes shut heavily, but his smile stayed. "Good. You're a good man, Boromir. Better than any I've met. Except perhaps Aragorn, but he would tie you, not best you. Not in that. You deserve to know it." His eyes opened again.

Boromir's fingers rose and dusted over light brown eyebrows. "You're tired. You ought to sleep."

Merry nodded. "You won't be here when I wake up. Pippin says I sleep for terrible lengths of time now."

Boromir sighed. "No, I probably won't. But that's still a ways away, and for now I was sent to rest so I will sleep beside you."

Merry curled in to him instantly, warming down his side. "I'll sleep good knowing that." His voice was already thick and slower.

"Go to sleep, Merry." Boromir moved to lay on his back, a hand coming around Merry to hold him close. Merry didn't need holding - he shifted with Boromir so as not to lose contact for an instant. He lay his head on Boromir's shoulder and smiled, eyes still closed.

Boromir stroked a gentle hand down his back, soothing. His own brave, heroic, wounded little hobbit. He cocked his head to look down at the curly brown hair pillowed against him, and he smiled to himself.

When his eyes lifted from Merry he saw the door to the room was open, and standing there was Pippin Took. Their eyes met across the small room, and Pip frowned.

Boromir looked away from him. Somehow, talking to Merry, it had seemed so foolish to end any chance between them because of unknowns. He didn't want that unusual optimism to fade in the glare of disapproval from Pippin. His hand tightened around Merry, and his head dropped, his cheek resting against soft curls.

The door closed, and light footsteps padded to the bed. Boromir felt eyes on him, but his own eyes were closed and he kept them that way stubbornly.

But a light hand appeared on his arm, the one around Merry, and a small sigh sounded. "If it's because you love him, I can't fault you for that."

Boromir opened his eyes and watched Pippin curl up on the bed on the other side of his cousin.