Sybil awoke with the dawn to a strong arm wrapped around her middle, and a broad chest pressed against her back. And her first thought was that she could get used to it.
"I might happily make a habit of waking like this," Boromir rasped behind her, echoing her thoughts, and she smiled.
Their elven host was nowhere to be seen, and judging by the muffled Sindarin murmuring she head somewhere through the trees, he was occupied by discussions with his kin over how the day would go.
With a little wriggling, she turned in his hold so that she faced him, heart swelling at how he loosened his hold just enough to allow it, before tightening it again as soon as she was settled. Her cloak was wedged beneath their heads and they'd shared his to sleep beneath, but it barely covered them now, tangled at their boots as their shared body heat kept them more than warm.
"I think," she murmured, "if we stay very quiet and very still, we can get away with remaining here forever."
"Of all the strategies we've debated over how to proceed, I must say I like that one best."
"It's the most reasonable," she replied with a great deal of mock-seriousness.
"The most tempting," he added in a murmur.
This was, she realised then, the first time they'd been properly alone for some time. And she watched as Boromir visibly came to that same realisation – his eyes flickering about the flet before coming back to her…and then straying down towards her lips. He was so handsome like this. All right, he was handsome in general, but now? Here? The most rested either of them had been in some time, with the glow of the morning catching the gold tones in his hair just so, all while his green eyes levelled a heart-rending sort of fondness her way?
Something about him put her in mind of summer. Obviously, not the bits that had often found her sweating over a cauldron, the cabin too humid to bear as she cobbled together remedies, but…the pleasanter bits, certainly. Of finding a quiet, tucked away bit of grass by the river, on which she could sprawl out, soaking in the sun with a book, wading through the water if she grew too hot, sipping at the wine she'd snuck away with her. Of staying out later and later, until it was far too dark to read but she was too occupied with stargazing to care. Of slowly, lazily, picking her way through the fields to return, her mind easier and her muscles not quite so tense as they'd been when she first left.
The man before her somehow had that same feel, or at least made her feel the same way she had on those days – although she'd have never thought a person capable of inducing that in her. Often, they had quite the opposite effect. It was a good thing they had not travelled to Gondor, after all. No doubt all the women there would wish to throttle her. If it came to that, though, it would be worth it. So long as he kept looking at her as he was now.
"You're feeling better," he spoke quietly.
It wasn't a question, she knew he could see it on her face.
"Thanks to you," she admitted. "How are you feeling? About…it?"
"You're sure it cannot help my people?"
Her answer came forth without hesitation.
"I'm certain."
"And what of you?"
"I don't understand."
"What if it can help me protect you?" as he asked, he watched her keenly – almost worriedly, like he feared that a foe would rush at them through the trees, giving him something to protect her from.
Sybil faltered – not exactly stunned that such a matter factored into his thinking, but still touched by how much of a priority it presented itself as in his mind, judging by how he asked…and how that blasted thing tried to leverage it.
"You've never needed any help with that," she answered softly.
While she did not think there was a correct answer to the question he asked, it appeared she'd found it by accident. It helped, she thought, that he did not have the look of a man in the midst of crisis. Not more than any of them were, anyway. His questions were not dire and pressing ones that demanded immediate convincing. Not now. Mostly, she had the impression he sought to hear what he already knew she say, as far as Gondor and his people were concerned. But her second answer surprised him, in some way. Or at least left him lost for words.
The surprise – along with the earnest way in which he was touched by her answer – gave her the courage to speak a little more. For talks of feelings were not something she was used to, nor yet entirely comfortable with. But it was important, never more so than now, and after all he'd done to carry her through her terror and grief the night before, she damn well owed it to him now to brave her own embarrassment to speak truly to him.
"Boromir, do you know how rare a thing it is for me to feel safe? And it's rarer still that I feel comfortable. I can be steady and calm when I have to be, I could hardly have been a healer if not, but to be comfortable? That's always been a hard-won, fleeting feeling. It would last an hour or two at best, perhaps, and then disappear the moment a person came along. I envy the ease you feel when it comes to people, you know, for I've never felt that. Until…well, until you."
Pausing, she considered her words and then sighed.
"Do not misunderstand me – I don't mean safe in the sense that when I sit with Aragorn, I'm worried he's going to lunge at me with a dagger. I trust the Fellowship, I like the Fellowship, but with you I…I exhale. I'm here, rather than tangled in whatever fifty thousand thoughts I'm having at once. I speak and move without thoroughly weighing up the risks and benefits of each word or, or twitch first, and I don't know how it happens, it's not intentional on my part and I don't even think it is on yours, not most of the time-"
"If it was, it would have the opposite effect."
The fact that he knew that only exemplified her point.
"I've been meaning to say, too, that…" she paused and did hesitate then, only because she didn't want bad memories to ruin the point she was making here, "I'm glad for what happened between us in Rivendell, you know. Had whatever lies between us, what formed so uncommonly naturally for me, gone untested, I would have been suspicious of it. Not of you, perhaps, but of myself. That I was being foolish, and fawning over you because of how we first met, and that these feelings were rooted in that, along with inexperience, rather than anything true – because up until now, that would have made more sense to me than…"
Than being daft enough to fall for him. Than lying here, entangled together, daring to dream there might be a real future in it. Than Gondor's most eligible bachelor, perhaps even Middle-earth's most eligible bachelor as far as the Race of Men was concerned, returning those feelings.
But voicing any of that had to much the sound of a profession to it, and now was not the time for that. This was not the place.
"…than this being real. But we were tested, and we still found our way here. When you see how miraculous forming such a bond has been for me, much less reforging it, you'll know that the last thing you need is his foul magic to do what you have achieved so naturally thus far. And if that had been the cost of your protection, I would not want it."
He saw that she was not done, and waited patiently for her to find her words. The more she spoke, the easier it became, until she was meeting his eye intently, hoping to impress upon him how earnestly she spoke by sheer force of eye contact alone. And it was a look he met readily, his eyes only drifting from hers to trail down to her lips, or to flutter a little as she lifted a hand and snaked it into what little gap there was between them, smoothing his hair away from his brow.
"And if you…if you can make me feel like this, and I do not feel this sort of thing easily, indeed I do not feel it at all. I didn't, not before you. If you can do that in such a short amount of time, I can only imagine the trust, and the belief you've instilled in your people across a lifetime. Deservedly. That thing would bring nothing but danger and death to them. They need you. Not that."
"Does it still say it can give you a home?"
"I don't need it for that either."
Another correct answer, for it made him kiss her, and her heart soared when he broke the gap and slotted his lips over hers.
The kiss was slow – painstakingly so, and careful, for they were very aware of the proximity of the others, even if they were out of sight, and had no wish to betray their actions with sounds that would be an unmistakeable giveaway. Or, worse, misconstrued. Maybe he was right, maybe the Fellowship would not shun her, but if they thought she was choosing this as the time and place to embark upon a wild seduction campaign, it would not help her standing with them. But there was nothing unpleasant about taking their time in this.
Sighing into the kiss, she nudged closer and he responded by pulling her to him, the strength in his arms sending a thrill through her as he held her close and kissed her deeply until they had no choice but to part for air.
"I hope there'll be opportunity to grow used to this," he murmured, his gaze intense as he fought to regain his breath.
"Holding me without a squad of chaperones present?"
"That…and being able to kiss you without injuring my neck," he teased.
"I'm not sure you've kissed me enough to risk much damage," she pointed out.
"Is that a complaint, my lady?"
Sybil considered her answer.
"A lament."
"A lament?" he echoed – and though he kept his play at being mock-serious, she could see how the answer delighted him, mirth in his eyes. "That cannot be allowed to stand."
"What shall be your strategy then, as you proceed, Captain?"
"That is the problem, is it not? The distance between us is no small thing, and cannot be closed subtly in the company of others. Indeed, if I were to try and sneak a kiss, they might easily think I was falling over," he contemplated solemnly. "I suppose if I pretended that I was checking my boots…"
Sybil made a fair pretence of being outraged, her lips parting as she prepared to fight back, but he snatched the opportunity to seize them in another kiss, and she lost all interest in play-acting then.
It was a good thing that there'd been no opportunity for this thus far, for she didn't see how they'd have ever gotten anything else done. At first, she was tempted to blame her own scant experience for that sort of thinking, but then when they parted she saw Boromir's face and read a similar sort of thinking on it, his eyes hooded with desire, and all she could do in response was close the gap once more. Fitting a handful of kisses into such a short span of time did seem a fair way to make up for how few there'd been opportunity for 'til now.
The world narrowed down to the flet that they occupied – more than that, even, to his lips as they moved over hers, the way his beard tickled her skin, the heat and the glide of his tongue as it slipped into her mouth, the press of his hands, ungloved, one at her back and the other cupping the side of her face, callused fingers stroking her skin and encouraging her impossibly closer still. Soon she was inescapably aware of how they were entwined, how they were pressed up against each other, and the voice in her head that only wanted more, more, more.
The whimper that escaped her was almost silent, as was his deep, responding groan as he shifted, rolling them a little so his upper body was over her, and what little awkwardness lay in the angle was erased. Her fingertips snaked up around the back of his neck and up into his hair, but when she unthinkingly bent her knee to plant her foot on the smooth surface of the flet, the move slotted her thigh at his hips, and she inhaled sharply – as did he – aware they were skirting too closely to danger now.
They parted, but Boromir remained as he was, half over her, his brow pressed to hers, unwilling to forsake the closeness while knowing they could go no further. Not here. Not now.
Only when the chatter of the elves died down did they finally part, Boromir sitting up to kneel and offering his hand to help her sit up. She winced as she did, the pain in her lower back from the day before reigniting.
"We'll see what we can do about that, when we have a chance," he said – his tone offering no room for argument.
Not that she was inclined to argue, but she didn't see what could be done. Coherent sentences were beyond her in that moment anyway, her heart still pounding and a flush blazing across her cheeks.
"And Sybil?" he added, not exactly free of dishevelment himself.
It was impossibly attractive – his hair ruffled, desire still gleaming in his eyes.
"Yes?"
"You won't need it."
"What?" she blinked.
"It," he said, his voice filled with meaning, nodding in the direction where the rest of the Fellowship stirred. "To find a home. You won't need it for that."
She had no idea how to answer that, for it had the sound of a vow to it. But she was powerless to stop the smile that took over her face.