Bumptious

I'd like to take this time, in this little space, here, to say that I know this probably has a lot of faults, grammatically and characteristically. But I won't apologise – I loved writing it, every single of the 67 minutes I spent writing it (Alright, so I get easily distracted…). It made me giggle no end, the thought of Boromir giving Aragorn a big squishy man hug. And that's all it is, mind, don't go expecting me to do a Aragorn/Boromir pairing. Yucky.

Anyway, what I am trying to say is that, this isn't to be taken as anything serious. Seriously, eh?

That's enough from me.

P.S If anyone happens to want to spread the Christmas/New Year cheer I shop at Takuya Angel XD

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Once more I found myself around what would be called a fire if it hadn't been for the slight problem that it was just a bundle of twigs frozen together. It was Boromirs' turn to light the fire, you see. He had viciously rubbed two frosted sticks together for some thirty seconds before throwing them down and stomping of, muttering something along the lines of 'Stupid fire… I'll show it; I'll show all of it, and some more…'.

I wondered for months afterwards how someone would go about getting revenge on a fire that didn't exist. I mean, it's not as if he could threaten it with a good beating or, I don't know, tell it if it didn't start behaving it would have to face the idea of a bucket of water.

But that's a whole different story. Boromir had waltzed of, leaving the poor hobbits clutching one another. They always reacted to his random outbursts of emotion like children watching their parents argue for the first time. Rather sweet, really.

To lighten the mood a bit, I shifted in my seat so I could see Merry whimpering beside me. "My favourite song, out of all the songs in the world, opens with the line 'and he called me a bumptious arse-girder'." I said to him. "Have you heard it?"

"No. Huh..." He thought for a moment. "What's a bumptious arse-girder?"

"I think knowing what it meant would ruin the whole point of saying it."

"…Makes sense."

"Yeah."

And then that uncomfortable silence that is oft to fall over a group of people who have spent the last week brought together only to discover that polite conversation can only stretch so far. To escape I took the only route available – search for Boromir. I left the cosy campsite we had set up and went of into the abyss to find our favourite Gondorian and see if he was prepared to come back in a mood that was somewhere near approachable, as it was getting dark, and the last thing I wanted was Sulky Boromir with me on first watch.

I found him sitting on a log some two minutes from what I fondly called Ringers HQ. He was clenched.

"What up, bitch?" I asked, punching him softly on the arm. I was never quite sure how to act around Boromir.

"…what?" An eyebrow rose, then back to sulking. No time for silly rangers.

I took a seat next to him. "C'mon, Boromir. It's not good for camp moral when you throw things at the Hobbits. Sure, they're easy targets when they've had a meal, and it's funny to watch them run around when you put bags over their heads, but it's just not sporting. There something on your mind?"

I deep sigh came from somewhere from the furrowed brow and furry beard. "Nothing that you could help with, ranger."

"Yeah, probably. No harm in sharing, though. Might be something I'm obsessing over and we can be neurotic together and we could go back to HQ and bully the Hobbits as a team. More effective, you see."

Boromir gave it, probably to shut me up about my plans to bother the Hobbits. He spent the next half hour explaining he was suffering from what we humans call 'irritation' at the rest of the Fellowship. Legolas's anal retention, Gandalf's insurable silence, Gimli's rough speech, the Hobbits adorable stupidity and my…well, my everything, apparently, from the way I pulled on my socks in the morning to the way I insisted on touching my elbow three times before going to sleep at night.

I was rather taken aback by this outburst. When one asks 'How are you' or 'tell me your problems' you hardly expect months of bottled up bitterness to come pouring out at your feet. But never-the-less, I gingerly patted Boromir on the shoulder. "We're all a bit tense right now. Give it some time, and you'll get used to everyone's ticks and mannerisms."

"Hah! Yes, sure… I…" Boromir looked down. "I just can't take it anymore." I was horrified to see tear drops fall judgingly onto the ground.

"There, there." I murmured. I wasn't trained to cope with this kind of behaviour.

Then something happened which was Just Not On. With one quick movement, Boromir had me in a grabble-manly-cum-bear-hug thingy. "Alllllright, there, fella', that's enough of that." I said, hiding my nervousness with a giggle. "I think we've had enough emotion for one evening."

The man had strong arms. He made a noise that sounded suspiciously like 'Snurp' and pulled himself away. Without looking at me, he bumbled out "Thanks for the support" And then skittered of back to camp, wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve.

I felt used.