Gandalf studied the Hobbit sitting beside him in front of New Bag End, puffing pensively at his pipe, and was pleased by what he saw. There was a bright eyed jauntiness about Frodo these days that reminded him of the merry, mischievous Hobbit lad he'd once known. "Boromir's presence has helped you, I think."

"Yes it has." Frodo looked up at him, blue eyes clear. "He's completely free of the Ring, doesn't dream about it or long for it, he gives me hope that someday I will be free of it too."

"You will, Frodo." the wizard promised, "but the Ring's hold on you went far deeper than its grip on Boromir. It will take time."

"I understand that. The important thing is now I really believe I can get well. It makes the waiting easier to bear."

"Hope is the best medicine there is." Gandalf said softly, almost to himself.

But Frodo's face clouded. "When we were talking the other day Boromir said something rather awful," he shot a quick, reassuring smile up into the wizard's suddenly concerned face, "not about me, about himself. And it's been haunting me ever since. He said he was never meant to sit in peace anywhere and it doesn't suit him. I remember Aragorn saying something like that once too." his voice trailed off as his brow creased in thought.

"And it troubles you." Gandalf prompted.

"Yes. It seems a sad and terrible thing to say, to believe about yourself."

"To me too." the wizard agreed. "But I fear it's quite true." he sighed. "There is a restlessness in Men a longing for something not even they can name, that makes it impossible for them ever to be truly at peace - at least within the Circles of the World." And now it was Gandalf's turn to sink into reverie. "Perhaps that's why Ulmo has always understood them so well. He too never knows rest, or even desires it."

"It doesn't seem fair." said Frodo.

The wizard roused himself to give the Hobbit a sharp look. "Eh? It's not a question of fair or unfair, Frodo, it is the nature given to Men by the One. And it's not altogether a bad thing," he continued musingly, "because of that restlessness of theirs they can not only bear, but even thrive, on lives of strife and danger." He sighed resignedly. "But it can be perilous too if they should set their wills on something they cannot and must not have."

"I'm glad Hobbits aren't like that." said Frodo and got another sharp, sidelong glance from the wizard. "Aren't they?"

"No, of course not -" Frodo began then stopped, suddenly uncertain.

Gandalf smiled. "The restlessness sleeps in you, as the sea longing sleeps in the hearts of the Woodland Elves, but it can be wakened." His eyes twinkled. "How else could I have gotten a settled, respectable, middle aged Hobbit to go off Dragon hunting with a band of Dwarves?"

Frodo laughed. "Bilbo is special."

"He is indeed, but not unique."

"When I was a boy I used to dream of grand adventures in faraway places." Frodo admitted and smiled wryly. "Well, I got my wish didn't I? And serves me right the Gaffer would say!"

"I'm sorry, Frodo."

"It's not your fault. Even if you did practically shove Bilbo out of the door he could have turned around and gone home right up to the gates of Erebor itself - but he didn't. And I decided to take the Ring to Mount Doom. You were against it I know."

"Only because I knew what the quest would do to you, Frodo." Gandalf sighed. "But I also knew you were our best, indeed only hope. If you were willing I had to let you try."

"And I did try," the Ringbearer said softly, "even if I failed at the last." The wizard opened his mouth to reply and he shook his head. "Please, Gandalf, let's not argue about it again. I know what I know, as Boromir said."

"And you are as stubborn as he is! You both expect too much of yourselves."

"Maybe." said Frodo, unconvinced.

Gandalf vented his frustration by blowing out a particularly smoke ring and watched it float away towards the harbor. It was hard to listen to his frail yet unbelievably strong Mortal friends blame themselves for failure when they had in fact succeeded beyond his wildest hopes. Especially as he himself bore the burden of a far greater and more momentous failure.

A small hand touched his arm. "What are you thinking, Gandalf?"

"Of a mistake I made, long ago, and all the bitter fruit that's come of it." he answered, looking down into grave blue eyes.

"What kind of mistake?" the Ringbearer asked softly.

"I trusted where I should have doubted." The wizard heard himself say, almost involuntarily. He shouldn't be talking to Frodo like this, the Hobbit had enough burdens of his own to bear.

"That sounds like the kind of mistake you would make. It was somebody you cared for very much, wasn't it?"

"My brother." Gandalf closed his eyes against the sudden surge of pain. "He turned to evil and was punished for it. I fooled myself into believing he had changed, seen the error of his ways, and let him go free to work more evil." he took a deep breath, opening his eyes. "I refused to see the brother I had loved was gone, destroyed by his own will and appetites."

"That's not something anybody would want to see, or believe, about somebody they had loved." said Frodo quietly.

The wizard shook his head fiercely. "I should have known better!"

That made the Ringbearer smile, "Now who's expecting too much of himself?"

It wasn't at all the same thing, Manwe Sulimo thought irritably. He was the second born of the thought of Eru and Lord of all Arda - and caught himself up mid-thought. Yet for all that he was still but a creature, fallible and sometimes blind, as much a child of the All Father as the Little One beside him. He let out a long sigh.

"Maybe you're right, Frodo. Perhaps you, Boromir and I must all find a way to forgive ourselves for our failures and move on."

…..

"Don't tell the Elves I said so, but I miss fall - even winter." Frodo confided later that same day sitting on the bench by the round door with another companion.

"You miss death." Boromir said, quite seriously, than smiled apologetically at the Hobbit's shocked look. "I know, it sounds a terrible thing to say yet it is true. We are mortals you and I, born and reared in mortal Middle-Earth where death is a part of life. Without death there can be no birth, no renewal. No change. The old must pass away and be lost so the new can grow. You of all Men - I beg your pardon - Hobbits must know this to be true."

Frodo looked broodingly into the ever blooming brakes of Elvenhome beyond Bilbo's doorstep and nodded slowly. "Yes I know it. I know that the fair as well as the evil of the Elder World had to pass away so the new Age could begin. But it is sad."

"Of course it is sad." Boromir said robustly. "Life is often sad, Little One, as you know only too well but joyful too, sometimes, as I hope you also know."

"Yes, I do know that." Frodo said softly. "I forgot it for a while but I've remembered it now - thanks to you."

"Thanks to your own strength," Boromir said. "But I will accept part of the credit if you wish to give it to me!"

Frodo laughed. "I do." then he looked at little ruefully at the blossoming orchard trees, heavy with apple, pear and cherry, beyond the hedges of the garden. "Flowers and fruit at the same time," he shook his head, "whatever will Sam think of that?"

"Very likely he will think that it is a great wonder and blessing, once he gets used to it." Boromir offered. "He was as happy in Lothlorien as you. I think he will like it here too."

Frodo looked thoughtfully at his friend. "And you were unhappy there, I remember. Was it just your fear for your city and the bite of the Ring as it took hold of you?"

"No doubt that was part of it, but only part." Boromir smiled ruefully. "I am a Man, Frodo, Lorien was alien to me and I could not like it."

"But you were as at home as any of us in Rivendell." the Hobbit protested.

"Rivendell was very different from Lorien." Boromir said firmly. "Its master was half Man, after all, and somehow for all its Elvish look and inhabitants he made his house welcoming to his Mortal kin as well."

"And Mortals who were not kin, like Dwarves and Hobbits." Frodo agreed, continuing pensively: "I liked Lorien, and I like it here too. But I know in my heart that I do not really belong and someday I will want to leave."

"When you are well," Boromir agreed. He turned his head and a moment later Frodo too heard light footsteps coming up the path behind the tall hedge. Then the visitor came round the corner and the two sitting on the doorstep saw it was Elrond himself.

"Speak of trouble - as we say in Gondor." Boromir whispered.

Frodo was still choking on laughter and pipe-smoke when Elrond reached them and made a little bow to the Ringbearer. "Forgive me for interrupting your mirth, Frodo, but I would have a private word with Boromir if I may."

"Of course," he managed to wheeze, "be my guest."

They walked a little ways into the park-like woodland beyond the Hobbits' orchard and sat down on a bench beneath a great chestnut tree.

"Boromir, I have been asked to instruct you in certain arts against your return." Elrond began.

The Man frowned at him. "What arts would these be, my Lord?"

"Ways of seeing and knowing, and of guard and defense against the Shadow."

"No!"

Elrond raised a brow at the force of the refusal and Boromir took breath and moderated his tone. "My Lord, even if I wished to learn such things I could not, my father and brother had power but I do not."

The Half-Elf shook his head. "How can that be, Boromir? The same blood flows in your veins as did in theirs, you must have the same gifts. It is only that unlike Denethor and Faramir you have made no use of them - yet."

"So why cultivate them now?" he demanded. "I am being sent back to Middle Earth as a warrior, Master Elrond, not a wizard!"

"You are being sent as an emissary to fight the Shadow in all its forms." Elrond answered sternly. "And for that you will need both power and the knowledge to use it," his voice softened. "Had you had such teaching perhaps you could have resisted the Ring."

Boromir's face set like iron. "Knowledge and power did not help my father, why should they have helped me? My brother had wisdom enough to refuse what Father and I grasped - and wisdom is something I have never had." he got up from the bench and made a short bow. "I thank you, my Lord, for your interest, but my answer is no. I was chosen for what I am and I will return as I am to do the work set me." He strode away through the trees, back towards the Hobbit hole.

Elrond looked ruefully after him until his tall back, stiffly held, vanished into the green twilight of the wood. A shaft of golden sunlight shimmering on a square of dewed turf formed itself into the Lady Galadriel. She glided forward, bare feet and the trailing hem of her gossamer gown whispering over the grass. Elrond glanced at her sidelong. "I told you he would take it so."

She nodded. "His experience with the Ring has made him fearful of all power."

But Elrond shook his head. "That is only part of it - perhaps the least part. It was not easy even for me to learn to be Elf as well as Man, and I had always known and accepted my mixed nature - as Boromir has not. He is proud to be a Mortal Man, even more so now that he understands more fully what it means to be one. It is natural that he should deny the Elvish side of his nature."

Galadriel's fair brow furrowed in a troubled frown, "Yet he must accept it if he is to be the Emissary the Valar need."

Elrond gave her a wry smile. "It is not the Valar that he serves, Mother. But you are right, he must be made to see that he will need the gifts of both halves of his nature - And I think I know just the one to convince him."

North of Frodo and Bilbo's Hobbit hole the land rose in hills marching along the sea coast. Beneath them there ran a narrow strand of honest sand and stone facing eastward towards the Mortal Lands. Boromir had discovered the place early in his stay and made it his own. He sat now on the pebbled beach looking out over foaming surf and blue waves, no different from those that washed the familiar shores of Belfalas, with the east wind from sweet Middle-Earth full on his face.

The conversation with Elrond had disturbed him deeply. He knew the thin strain of Elvish blood in his mother's veins had bypassed him entirely, as had the more eldritch aspects of his Numenorean heritage. Theodred had often said laughing, that he - Boromir- was more like the swift sons of Eorl than the grave Men of Gondor and he had accepted that as both a compliment and a truth. He was not like his father and brother and the handful of other true High Numenoreans left, which was just as well for Gondor had needed a captain of war, not a loremaster and certainly not a sorceror, as its Steward's Heir and right arm. And it was for his skills as warrior and captain as well as his need for redemption that he was being sent back - wasn't it?

After a time he heard a step crunch the pebbles behind him. He did not need to turn to know who it was; "Mithrandir."

"Boromir." the wizard returned evenly.

"Have you come to try to persuade me, or are you on my side?" Boromir asked.

"Your side?"

"Yes." the Man turned to look at his visitor. The wizard leaned on his white staff, his spotless robes shining against the brown of the sea bluff behind him. "You have known me from childhood, Mithrandir, you of all people must know how impossible it is for me to learn what Elrond would teach."

Bushy white eyebrows rose. "I know nothing of the kind. You are of the pure blood of Numenor with an Elven strain on your mother's side - there is little you could not learn if you set your mind to it. But it seems you will not."

"I cannot!" Boromir blew out a frustrated sigh. "Mithrandir you know me, you know the ancient wisdom of Numenor passed me by. As did any glimmer of Elvishness. Faramir has a touch of it - perhaps more than a touch - but not I."

"Faramir was free to delve into ancient lore and cultivate the wisdom of Westerness and the Elven side of his nature which you were not." the wizard answered quietly. "Denethor taught you early that war and arms must be your study and you accepted that."

"Because that was what Gondor needed," Boromir answered, "and it suited me very well."

"Did it?" the wizard asked. "Can you truly say you never felt any regret, any sense of loss?"

For an instant old memories long buried stirred. Boromir swept them determinedly back into their graves: "Of course not."

The blue eyes, fixed thoughtfully on him, did not waver. "You met Mithrellas, your ancestress, in Lorien did you not?"

"Yes," Boromir answered, a little bewildered by the seeming change of subject.

"Was she so fearsome?"

He laughed out loud, "Far from it. She is very charming and I liked her well."

"Then why are you so determined to deny the heritage of her blood?"

Boromir closed his eyes struggling to keep his temper. "I am not denying it, only saying that it has passed me by. There is nothing Elvish about me, Mithrandir, I am only a Man."

"There is nothing 'only' about being a Man." said the wizard. "But you are not just Man, Boromir. You have Elven blood and the gifts that come with it. Let Elrond teach you how to use them - and the Numenorean heritage you have neglected as well."

"No!" Boromir jumped to his feet in something close to fear. A small, treacherous part of him - perhaps linked to those forgotten memories - accepted the truth of what Mithrandir had said and wanted to learn, to change. But the greater part recoiled in near panic from such knowledge and any heritage beyond that of Men. "The Ring showed me my own weakness, Mithrandir, I do not trust myself with power - nor should you!"

….

Note:

Gandalf is an Avatar of Manwe, High King of the Valar, though this was hidden even from himself while he dwelt in Middle Earth. Had either Sauron or Saruman realized who he truly was while he was in vulnerable mortal form the results would have been disastrous. (This is not my idea, but a concept Tolkien played with - though he had his doubts about it.)

The 'brother' Manwe speaks of is, of course, Melkor. It was Manwe who gave the Great Enemy a second chance after three ages of imprisonment in Mandos. This, of course, was a *BIG* mistake which led directly to the the poisoning of the the Two Trees, the Revolt of the Noldor and War of the Great Jewels. Not to mention the corruption of Sauro,n which in turn led to the forging of the Ring.