9 and ¾

Moria: Part Two

In which a grumbly Boromir worries about Jane and thinks about home and an equally worried Jane wonders about morals.

Boromir was annoyed. Actually, Boromir was more than annoyed, he was livid. But he kept it simmering underneath because he knew his place in the Fellowship and Moria was not the place to have a go at Aragorn.

Moria. He'd read about Moria. Faramir had the reputation as the reader, but Boromir was not just a common soldier. He had read everything about military strategy in the great library of Gondor, a lot of history and Moria had intrigued him. A mine under a mountain. Looking up, it seemed as though the mountain was completely hollowed out.

He had started asking Gimli questions about mining, uses and practices, partly to satisfy his own curiosity and partly to keep Gimli occupied; no one likes a sad dwarf.

Underneath, he felt a sting of rejection. Aragorn didn't want to take the ring anywhere near men. He didn't trust men. Which means, thought Boromir sadly, he doesn't trust me; a poor leadership quality. If he puts no faith in his own kind, then how does he expect to see them do well?

Boromir wasn't sure that Aragorn wanted to take the throne; he felt that Aragorn was ambiguous about it. It's your duty, he said silently to Aragorn's back. Serving Gondor was the most important thing in Boromir's life, he felt Aragorn was belittling him.

Jane sneezed.

Whenever Faramir and Boromir had been sent on different missions, they had always kept in contact with each other by letter. Boromir had never gone this long without conversing in some form with his brother, and he felt he needed his little brother's calm wisdom and cheeky humour more than ever. Boromir had never needed help with women before. Gold-diggers hungry for power that the wife of the Steward would wield had been hunting him for the last twenty years; he was adept enough at sidestepping them. Tavern wenches also loved him. Women from the villages. Women from the fishing villages near where his mother was from. Lot's of women had been interested in him; he'd never had to worry about it before. He thought back to all the women he'd known, and although he could remember all their names, he could never remember any of them ever touching his heart.

Noble ladies, that his father had pushed at him, usually for some reason that would profit Denethor, had never even tickled his ribcage. If they hadn't been gold diggers, they had been terrified of Boromir's burliness and fierce eyes, they had been horrified at choosing a husband who looked like a bear. Or, they had attempted to play games with him, tangle him up with their witty discourse and have him at their mercy; they had forgotten of course, that Boromir, although the consummate soldier, was highly educated and more than adept at keeping up with their games, so whenever they teased him in Elvish, he knew enough to answer back and evade their nets. His heart was never in danger and he told his father he would marry when he was ready; something Denethor had to respect as he had told his father the same thing, many years ago.

Jane, he considered. He had never spent this much time with a woman before. He didn't know her status, but she seemed just as comfortable in high born Elvish company as she did with Gimli and his stories about gutting pigs. She learned very quickly; her Westron was coming along quite well. She was clearly educated and clever.

Was she pretty, he wondered. In the wild, she looked a tangled mess, like the rest of them. It didn't seem to matter if she was pretty or not, he thought, she was Jane and that was it.

Valar, he wanted to talk to Faramir. He was out of his depth.

If they ever made it out of this godforsaken mine, and survived the mission, Jane could come and live in Gondor, he thought. Preferably in my bed. If I can convince her.

He looked at her, through the gloom. She looked tired, he thought. Another reason to be annoyed at Aragorn, for refusing to take them through the Gap of Rohan, so he could get her to safety.

The Hobbits were faring well, he thought, as he passed Pippin an apple, they didn't seem to mind the darkness too much. Nothing like the Elf; Legolas was jittery, something he had never thought an Elf could be. And Gimli wasn't much better, always looking around him with that upset expression. Boromir had been talking to him a lot, he knew what it was like to come upon your dead kinsman and the guilt and the anguish that ate into you. The best thing, Boromir thought, was to take Gimli's mind off it, and so had asked him any question he could think of about dwarves and mining.

Jane had joined in and his heart had soared. Together they didn't leave Gimli alone, kept him company, asked him difficult questions about dwarf culture and sat with him while he told them about his dead cousin, about how he had taught him about diamond lore and how to braid his beard and shine his axe. Boromir was glad to be of aid to his fellow warrior; the thing Boromir liked doing most in the world was being useful, but also…there was something about doing something with Jane.

He felt like he was in partnership; like they were a team. And not how he felt when he was commanding an army, or being equals in the fellowship, or even talking with his brother. He felt really close to her, just like he did with Faramir but with an extra something. The shared looks of worry about Gimli, the smiles they managed to illicit from him, the time she had touched his shoulder…

I'm getting really soft, he thought, amused. He had caught Jane looking at him in the darkness a couple of times and his heart had skipped a beat, like it had been grabbed by an iron fist. Why was she looking at him? It felt like she had been appraising him. What did she think of him?

Maybe it's the darkness that's making me depressed, he wondered, as they prepared camp for the third night, feeling both uneasy and glorious when Jane pitched her bedroll next to his. I can't imagine that she has a good opinion of me, I've criticised, mocked her, ignored her, I've never treated her like a lady. She must think that I'm an oaf.

Would she accept an offer of marriage from him? His father wouldn't like it at all, but Boromir didn't care, Faramir would love her, he thought, wryly. She might accept because she had no other option, he thought, chilled to the bone. She had no kin in Middle Earth and nowhere to live. He would rather she would reject him than accept him for that. Aragorn would probably take her in, he realised, when he became king.

When did I start thinking Aragorn was going to be the king of Gondor? He asked himself, horrified.

A little part of him, that sounded very much like Jane said, oh shut up, you always knew it.

He frowned as he lied down, pulling his cloak over him. Legolas had first watch, but Boromir would relieve him in three hours, so he told himself to start sleeping and forget that she was inches away from him.

Three hours later to the minute, Boromir woke up and groaned softly, his back cracking. I'm getting old, he thought, remembering the times when he was in his twenties and sprang out of bed. Legolas wordlessly nodded at him, looking pale even in the dimness. Boromir felt a stab of pity for him.

His heart was heavy as he looked down into the darkness.

He hoped Faramir was fine, away from the city in Ithilien. He didn't like the idea of him being anywhere near their father without Boromir there. Denethor was so hard on him. It was bad enough that Boromir was worrying about his brother's safety (although he conceded that Faramir could easily handle himself, but he wouldn't be a proper big brother if the idea of Faramir being injured or killed didn't prey on his mind from time to time) he didn't want to worry that his father was bullying him, too.

He knew why though; his brother reminded Denethor of their late mother. She had been beautiful, he thought, smiling at the memories he had of her, young, singing lullabies to Faramir, interested in stories and ancient history and the Elves, such a light presence compared to their father. She would have hated all this war and battle and Sauron's power rising again, but she would have loved that Boromir was part of the Fellowship and would have loved to meet an Elf or a dwarf. She had loved and trusted Gandalf, just like Faramir.

But it was too easy to say Boromir was like Denethor and Faramir was like Finduilas, he thought. They were both their parents' children; they had their flaws and flaws of their own, too. Faramir had Denethor's cleverness, something that they had both failed to notice and he must share something in common with his mother. He hoped he did. Something of her goodness. He did not want to be solely like Denethor, his strength, yes, his courage, but not his hardness, or…his single-mindedness.

And he would never treat his children like Denethor treated his.

I'm in a mine under a mountain, watching out for goblins, why am I thinking of children I don't have, he asked himself. And why are they blonde and brown eyed and covered in jam, he wondered. He realised he was staring at Jane, her messy hair flowing around her like a lion's mane. Concentrate on the job in hand, Boromir of Gondor, he chastised himself sternly. He spent the rest of the night thinking about battle plans and stretching and not thinking about running after little children with messy blonde hair.

The next day, when everyone woke up, they came to a fork in the road; there were three passageways leading up and Gandalf couldn't remember which one was the one they wanted.

Jane thought that she could have mentioned something; but she was tired and had some thinking to do. She sat down next to Pippin and Merry and pulled out some water. Taking a gulp, she tried to reassure herself that letting Gandalf fall down the mine with a very scary Balrog was not a betrayal. He dies, yes, she said to herself, but he comes back, more powerful and with nice new clothing. The real betrayal, she tried to convince herself, would be to let him stay the same and perhaps compromise the story.

Who am I to stop his spiritual and emotional growth, she joked with herself. Then, stop being so bloody facetious.

He's not real, she said. None of them are real. She looked over at Boromir, who was sitting on the other side of the tunnel, looking curiously at her, and felt her heart pang.

Okay, they feel real, but that's only because they're sweaty and dirty, but they're characters in a book and I'm having some sort of mental breakdown.

Why is he always looking at me, she thought.

"He's in love with you," said Merry.

"Didn't you know? We thought you did. Everyone knows," said Pippin.

"What?" said Jane, confused. She'd asked out loud, had she?

"Boromir's smitten," said Merry.

"We thought you were just pretending not to notice, to be polite," said Pippin. "Sausage?" He held out half a cold sausage. Jane stared at him.

"You really didn't know?" asked Merry. "Maybe we shouldn't have told you," he said, worried. "Don't think about it too much," he advised, "Then it won't be a problem."

"Merry, she hasn't blinked in a really long time," said Pippin, waving a hand in front of her eyes.

"Ah!" cried Gandalf, making them jump. "The air smells much fresher in this tunnel. When in doubt, Master Meriadoc, always follow your nose!" and with that he was off, climbing the stairs, with Frodo in close succession.

"Don't say nothing to him," said Jane, softly, as they got up. "That means you, Pippin."

"I am the very soul of discretion," said Pippin very seriously, while Merry looked at him agog. They all started to file towards the staircase.

"By the end of today, we'll be in fresh air," said Boromir, suddenly popping up at her side. She stumbled on a step and he caught her arm. "Careful!" he said. "We don't want you getting hurt," he said softly.

"No," said Jane, wishing she could say something more intelligent.

They had reached the top of the staircase, and were in a grand hall, with higher ceilings than Jane had ever seen.

Jane didn't know what to do regarding the Balrog situation, she only knew two thing; Boromir had not let go of her arm and she didn't really want him to.

"I've never understood," said Boromir, softly, "Why such a small people made such high ceilings for their dwellings," and he turned his head and smiled at her.

Gimli ran off to the left, wailing.

Oh dear, thought Jane sadly, looking at Boromir's green eyes. I have a bad feeling about this.

Well, it's certainly taking me an awful long time to drag them out of Moria...seems that there will be a Chapter Nine and Nine Tenths as well...oh well! Anyway, thank you very much for your reviews, I will get back to you individually in a wee bit, but I appreciate the support and the constructive criticism as always! Tell me what you think about Boromir's thoughts! I'm breaking my heart as I write them.