The silence they sat in was tinged with awkwardness, too uncomfortable to be companionable.

It was more than the situation the Fellowship found itself in, faced with several days of perilous and, for all the vastness of the caverns, claustrophobic journey through Moria. It was more than Gandalf's uncertainty now as to which path to take. Aragorn spared a glance at the wizard, who sat lost in thought of his own.

No, the unease Aragorn felt was not with their present situation nor exactly with the Fellowship; it was with the man beside him.

He had suspected that the Ring was whispering to Boromir, for he knew it whispered to him. And given Boromir's words at the Council of Elrond, Aragorn had been concerned about him from the start. Though they faced a common foe, though they were all sworn to destroy the Ring and protect the Ringbearer, Boromir had merely acceded to the Council's decision where the other members had embraced it.

Still, he had agreed to it, and had done nothing to cause doubt of his intentions.


Until Frodo had lost the Ring in the snow, and Boromir had picked it up. He'd had such a strange look on his face...

But that was not what bothered Aragorn. Who among them did not find it a strange fate, that they suffered so much fear and doubt over so small a thing? Boromir merely said aloud the things they all felt and thought.

At least, he said the things Aragorn felt and thought. Yet instead of Appreciating the honesty and openness, Aragorn found himself condemning it; fearing it as much as he feared the call of the Ring, feared its power. As much as he feared himself. His own weakness...

He shook off those thoughts, thoughts he dared not dwell upon with the Ring so near. Again he let his mind replay what had happened out in the snow when Frodo had taken a tumble down the slope of Caradhras.

Really, it was his reaction to the incident that was making him - and, he suspected, Boromir - uncomfortable now. It was not so much the strange look on Boromir's face or his musings that unsettled Aragorn, as his own hand on his sword when he told Boromir to give the Ring back to Frodo. He knew Boromir had seen the gesture for, though he'd made no comment, the man's eyes had flickered down briefly before he'd returned the Ring to the Bearer. Aragorn did not think any of the others had seen it; it had been something of a private moment between the two Men.

Their first encounter had been that, a private moment in Rivendell in the dark, the night before they had actually met. Boromir had been meditating on the Shards of Narsil - though "meditating" was not really the right word, for Boromir had displayed an obvious passion and enthusiasm in his musings... before he'd seen Aragorn, seen the way Aragorn was looking at him and, though he hadn't known who Aragorn was, had suddenly become self-conscious and tried to dismiss his feelings...

And then there had been the very public moment at the Council of Elrond. "Gondor has no king. Gondor need no king." Aragorn could not get the words out of his head, nor the way Boromir had delivered them, nor the look the man had given him. Again, the naked passion, the raw emotion. And again, something else under it... Aragorn had perceived a change in Boromir's attitude in the time they had been traveling together, or thought he had - or maybe only hoped he did. For while he could not dispute that Gondor neither had nor needed a king, Aragorn had come to wonder if, perhaps, Gondor wanted one...

But that lapse in the snow - not so much Boromir's as his own - not the command but the hand on the hilt of his sword - how much damage had that display of mistrust done? Should he not have let Boromir overcome the Ring's whispers on his own, to give the man confidence in his ability to resist them? What had Aragorn's own doubts cost him? Cost the Fellowship?

"Aragorn?" Hushed so as not to disturb the others, hushed to give them another private moment, the voice brought him out of himself. He turned to look at the man beside him, who dropped his eyes when they met. Boromir hesitated and then, head bowed to study his own hands, said quietly, "I was going to give it back."

Without thinking, Aragorn reached out and cupped Boromir's neck, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I know," he said sincerely. Boromir turned to him then, responding to the warmth of the tone as much as to the words themselves, an odd look on his face - one very different from the one Aragorn had observed in the snow, one that he hesitated to define... but that he found himself wanting to encourage. He kept his hand curled around Boromir's neck and began to rub his thumb along the skin, following and smoothing the whorls of shorter, softer hair there, soothing the tensed muscles. They held each other's gaze for long moments, until the tension eased under Aragorn's hand, in Boromir's face, in the air between them; and Aragorn saw a look in Boromir's eyes that made him smile.

He took his hand back then to search for his smoking materials. Boromir watched him fill the pipe and light it, and only after Aragorn had taken his first few drags did Boromir speak again.

"I will leave you to the peace of your own thoughts now," he said quietly, making to rise.

He was arrested by Aragorn's hand again finding his neck, slipping beneath the hair to press palm to bare skin. "Stay if you like," Aragorn said, holding his gaze. "For my thoughts are more peaceful with you near."

As he settled beside Aragorn once more, so near now that their knees touched, Boromir's only reply was a soft sigh. Though it vibrated with something more, the silence that fell between them now was easy enough to be companionable, and so they sat together, and together waited to go on.