Dawn came clear and cool, the way it had practically every day since the Fellowship had begun journeying on the river. Aragorn knew that, if the weather held, there would not be many more dawns before they reached Emyn Muil. A large part of him rejoiced that he would finally be able to look upon the faces of his kin, carved into the huge stone sentries that stood guard on the river approach to his ancestor's homeland. Another, more hidden part, wished only for the voyage to never end, for he could see only sorrow and pain waiting for them on those shores.
Despite that, he couldn't help but enjoy the fresh tang of the air as he climbed up to the tree line at the edge of the riverbed, eyes automatically seeking signs of small game that he might add to the morning meal. Instead he found footprints - hobbit footprints unless he was very much mistaken - and hurried after them, harsh words already forming on his tongue for whichever of the four had strayed so far from the safety of their camp. Within a few hundred feet he caught sight of Frodo sitting with his back against a tree, knees up and forearms crossed loosely over them, staring down a sharp embankment into the encampment, expression filled with aching sorrow.
Aragorn slowed his step and held down a sigh. The Ringbearer had taken to slipping away from the company, but he usually stayed close enough not to alarm whoever was standing watch. For a moment Aragorn hesitated, not wishing to intrude, but he did not think that Gandalf would have stood idly by when Frodo was so clearly troubled. That was the guide he lived by, now, in his dealings with the Halflings, and it had served him well enough. He moved to where Frodo would see him, deliberately making enough noise to warn him of his approach if he wished to hide his turmoil.
Thankfully Frodo didn't try to hide what he was feeling when he turned his face up to him. Aragorn sat beside him, crossed his legs, and took his own turn at looking down into the camp. He saw nothing amiss there. Gimli and Legolas were loading the canoes, exchanging their usual banter, which he thought grew more amicable and affectionate every day. Boromir, along with Merry and Pippin, were at sword practice, as they were most mornings now, since Aragorn was loath to leave the water until night was almost upon them. Sam was at the fire, cooking their breakfast, and Aragorn knew without asking that was where Frodo's attention truly was.
Sensing that perhaps, it was also where his sorrow lay, Aragorn asked, "He is very dear to you, isn't he?"
"How could he not be?" Frodo said. "See how the sun loves him, turning his hair into gold and his skin into shimmering silk? Sometimes I think it pours itself into him, so that he can give it to the soil in turn through those strong fingers of his, making any garden he touches blossom. It makes him warm and nourishing and caring in ways most people can never appreciate, and by some blessing that I do not understand, he lavishes it on me as if I were one of his seedlings."
"A blessing that has been sorely needed of late," Aragorn said, probing gently. Frodo shot him a hard look, but whatever censure he expected to find in Aragorn simply wasn't there, and he dropped his gaze to the ground between his feet in acknowledgment. Tentatively, Aragorn added, "You are as dear to him."
To his surprise, Frodo said simply, "I know."
Uncertain as to what to say to that just yet, Aragorn picked up a small twig and idly turned it in his hands. Keeping his eyes on the motion of his fingers, he asked, "Is love for one male by another forbidden among Hobbits?"
Digging his toes into the soil and watching them as if there was a secret there to be unearthed, Frodo said, "No, not exactly. It's...tolerated among those who are still too young to settle down and start a family; a part of reckless youth, like pinching treats from the farmer's field or playing pranks. Most think it's better to satisfy passions like that with a trusted male friend than to risk siring a child on a lass not yet ready."
"I see." This time Aragorn let his voice ask the next question: why not go to Sam, then?
Unexpectedly, Frodo said, "I know that it may not mean much to you and Boromir, given your rank among Men, but Merry and Pippin are both eldest sons from titled families with means. No doubt when they return to the Shire, more than a little pressure to marry and build a home will be brought to bear on them by their kin and by the people of the Shire itself."
Though Aragorn knew the weight of duty well, he couldn't help but be indignant on Merry and Pippin's behalf. "They will be expected to forsake one another?"
"Only the physical part of their companionship," Frodo said, with a small, unhappy frown. "And I'm not sure how important that is to them. It may well be that wives will change little or nothing in how they feel about each other, yet they will not desire one another any longer."
He stood, turning his back on the river and those beside it, and crossed his arms defensively over his chest. "Or it may be that they will only visit their marriage beds for the purpose of children. I should think they wouldn't be the only males among us who have a wife but continue with their first loves when opportunity allows. Bilbo hinted at as much when I asked."
Nodding his understanding, Aragorn said, "You could not do that. Nor, do I think, is Samwise capable of dividing his loyalties in that manner." He waited a heartbeat, and added gently, "Which is why you love him with your eyes alone."
"He would swear himself to me if I but declared myself. I know this," Frodo said, as miserable as Aragorn had ever seen him. "But I have no kin close enough to argue with me to behave respectably, and half the Shire thinks I'm already as cracked as 'that old fool Bilbo Baggins.' Position and wealth would shield me from the worst of the busybodies and gossips. All the scorn and derision will fall squarely on Sam's shoulders, not to mention the sore disappointment he would be to his beloved Gaffer. How could I subject him to that misery?"
Aragorn glanced back down into their camp to see Sam stand and stretch out the kinks in his back from bending over the fire, face flushed with the simple pleasure of a simple job well-done. "Shouldn't this be Sam's choice, also? He may well feel that being with you would be more than worth any small hurts public opinion could give."
"He's so strong in spirit and heart, I don't doubt that he could and would endure whatever was necessary for love's sake." Frodo finally met Aragorn's gaze. "But he wants children, a whole brood of them; he told me so long ago, when one of the lasses first caught his eye." From somewhere he found a faint smile, though it didn't warm his grief in the least. "I think he likens them to another kind of garden to tend."
With a sudden surge of fierceness, he finished, "All he wants is a simple, uncomplicated life of hearth and home. He shouldn't be here! He should have never left the Shire!" Frodo stepped close to Aragorn and daringly touched the jewel he wore around his neck. "Surely you, of all people can understand that. You sent your lady to Gray Havens, to safety. Is it so wrong of me to wish Samwise safe - or as safe as any can be in these hard times?"
Ice speared Aragorn's heart, burning and aching in equal, devastating measure. Protectively covering the gem, he said roughly, "I would not have her trade an immortal life, where there is time enough for the healing of a lost love, for a mortal life spent in endless mourning for a fallen warrior. Across the sea, she will eventually think only of me as fond memory and take another as husband."
"And will you take another to wife?" Frodo asked with unexpected wisdom. "When enough years have passed to blunt the edge loss? Or will you remain hers alone, for whatever time is left for you?"
"A soldier has no need for a wife," Aragorn said with more heat than he meant, loosing some of his hurt on one who did not deserve it.
"A king may. Or will you never turn toward Minas Tirith?"
Dropping his chin onto his chest, Aragorn said, "My path lies elsewhere."
"And if it did not?" Frodo persisted.
The all-but-forgotten stick broke in his grasp, but Aragorn said levelly, "Boromir spoke truly when he said that Gondor bears the brunt of the Enemy's assaults and always has. Yes, I would turn my steps toward the White City, even if only as a simple soldier, to offer what skill I have."
"Serving as a soldier would be like using gold to make an arrow," Frodo said with devastating honesty. "Do not waste yourself so. Gondor may not need a king, but I believe with all my heart that they may need Aragorn, son of Arathorn, for the hope and spirit that comes with that bloodline." He knelt, laying his hand atop Aragorn's knotted fists. "Will you end your line by taking no wife, siring no child on some willing lady of rank who would welcome the honor?"
"Not even if I *were* king," Aragorn bit out. "I have released Arwen from our vows, but in spirit and mind, I am still bound by them and always shall be."
With a harsh sigh, he tilted his head back to stare sightlessly into the sky. "If it were the right thing to do, if it would defeat Sauron without creating a civil war that could do the work of destroying Gondor for him, I would lead them. If an heir was needed, I would name Boromir, finally giving the Stewards the title of King that they have so long deserved."
Frodo asked, "Do you think he would accept that role in your life?"
"If it would serve his people best, yes, I think he would." Giving Frodo's hand a gentle squeeze, Aragorn stood and met his gaze forthrightly. "He is a brave and honorable man, who would do well as Steward, King, or just defender of Gondor. I trust him to fight at my back, and sincerely believe that he trusts me to do the same. With that bond between us, we could lead Gondor back to its glory."
Frodo's eyes slipped away, back toward the ground, and he said quietly, "A good road to take for both of you." He summoned an artificial smile and said as if in jest, "Perhaps I could ask a boon of Gondor's best, then."
Aragorn tried to return the teasing and inclined his head in what he hoped was a regal manner. "If it is it is within my power."
All traces of anything remotely resembling humor vanished from Frodo's expression, though he tried valiantly to keep up the pretense. "In the end, regardless of my fate, will you see the others safely home?"
It was, Aragorn realized, a fragment of hope for Frodo to hang onto himself - not just Merry and Pippin back safe and sound, but Sam living the life that Frodo truly believed he needed and wanted. No matter that both of them knew how very unlikely it was that any of them would survive; no matter that Sam himself would gladly fall if it meant keeping Frodo alive. It was the dream he clung to, much as Aragorn himself clung to the dream of Arwen's smiling love and approval.
Somberly, making it the oath he believed the Ringbearer needed to hear, Aragorn said, "If it is humanly possible, I will see it done."
This time Frodo's smile was real, though wan. "Then I have no doubt it *will* be done, and I will have a word with my kin to make sure Merry and Pippin will be less trouble on the return journey!"
"How will I know then I have the right hobbits?" Aragorn said lightly. He jerked his head toward the sound of a small rock tumbling down the slope to their left. Not letting his tone waver, he added, "In the meantime, we best be finding our way back to camp while we have some small chance of finding a bite or two of breakfast left."
"Don't worry; Sam will defend it for you." Frodo led the way back, and Aragorn followed him cautiously, trying to see all ways at once.
Nothing was amiss, yet it disturbed him when they reached the fire and he discovered Boromir was nowhere to be seen. Why it should, he did not know, but it troubled him more when the thought occurred to him that Boromir might have heard his conversation with Frodo.
Though he reassured himself that it was harmless in its content in all ways, there was something in the sidelong glances Boromir gave him when he returned that said perhaps he had found something of note. Finally, when the two of them were alone at the river's edge, presumably to discuss the conditions downstream, Aragorn said, "You heard, then?"
Casting his eyes down as if he had been accused, though Aragorn had tried mightily to keep all trace of it from his voice, Boromir said, "It was not my intent, but Frodo spoke of Minis Tirith." After a pause, he lifted his gaze to boldly meet Aragorn's. "I cannot regret that I did. It eased my heart greatly to know the regard you hold for my city. I had not thought her fate mattered to you at all."
"I would not see the White City fall," Aragorn said, returning truth with truth.
Boromir sat heavily on a large boulder. "Then you truly believe that the path you have chosen is the right one for her as well."
"Do you believe Denethor would welcome me, even with the Enemy's weapon in hand?" Aragorn asked, an unexpected gentleness coming with the words.
To his surprise, Boromir resignedly answered, "Only as long as it took to strip it from you by any means fair or foul. In truth, I am not certain I would wish for him to have the Ring." He hesitated and added in a low voice, "I do not wholly trust his wisdom to rein in his pride."
Going to his haunches, Aragorn said, not without some sympathy, "A hard matter to consider."
With a return of his usual ferocity, Boromir said, "That does not mean that a Man cannot wield it at all!"
"It is not called Isildur's Bane in jest," Aragorn said, deciding that candor had served them well thus far, and perhaps would do more than answering or ignoring Boromir's ire. "Look what it has done to a once proud line." He waved at himself. "Reduced it to this, a 'mere Ranger from the North.'"
Not without some satisfaction he saw a flare of regret in Boromir at having once said those words himself, but he rallied stoutly enough. "Perhaps it would take a mere Ranger to who has shown himself to be strong and true to redeem that line."
"Perhaps," Aragorn reluctantly admitted. "And perhaps it will be done by falling on the barren plains of Mordor to allow Frodo the one moment necessary to destroy the Ring. He is resolved, I think, and my oath, if nothing else, sends me with him."
Seeing the others begin to gather at the boats, Aragorn stood and clapped Boromir on the shoulder. "When we reach Emyn Muil, will you turn south to Gondor, or continue with us?"
"I do not know," Boromir said. "Mine might the single sword stroke required to protect Frodo at Mount Doom, and I do not wish to forsake Merry and Pippin when they have the most need of a strong right arm. But if I am to fall...." He stopped, staring at something in the far distance or far future that only he could see. More slowly, he went on, "If I am to fall, I would rather it be with the sure knowledge that it would be for Gondor's good." He came back to himself, mustered something resembling humor, and stood as well, making it clear their conversation was over. "Not that any soldier has a choice in that, eh?"
"If they had, the battlefield would not be where one would find most of them," Aragorn said dryly.
Boromir slanted him a look that was equal parts amusement and surprise at the wit, and said in a matching humor, "A discussion best left where young Hobbits can't hear."
"Can't hear what?" Pippin said, bounding over the rocks to join them.
"Out of my left ear because of your chatter," Boromir said lightly, leading the way back to the boats.
"Ah, then I'll be sure to sit on your right for a time - balance things out," Pippin shot back. He grinned cheekily at Aragorn before racing after Boromir, calling ahead to Merry that they needed to speak a little louder to poor, old, deaf Boromir.
Aragorn followed more slowly, aware of Frodo's penetrating stare, as if Frodo sensed that he- or the Ring- had been the cause for Aragorn's private words with Boromir. Aragorn considered whether he should tell Frodo that Boromir had eavesdropped on their earlier conversation. The thought of doing so was disquieting, though he couldn't really say why.
That prickle of unease kept him silent until they had been on the water for a while, and the others had pulled ahead slightly, giving them a semblance of solitude. Mindful of a dozing Sam's hearing, Aragorn said, "Boromir was near enough to hear us when we spoke this morning."
Half turning to face him, Frodo eyes went wide and he glanced in apprehension at Sam. Aragorn gave a tiny shake of his head to indicate that Boromir had not been privy to that part. With a stifled sigh, Frodo said, "There was no harm in it, then. If you have no quarrel with him on the matter, I have not."
"No harm," Aragorn agreed. After a moment's thought, he added, "Perhaps good, though. Boromir must soon decide if he will continue on with the Fellowship or turn toward his home, and neither choice sits well with him."
"All choices have been hard of late," Froodo murmured.
"Nor are they likely to become easier."
Frodo turned back to face the bow of the boat, and daringly adjusted Sam's cloak, as if to shield him better from the cold wind that came off the water. When he spoke again, his voice held a disturbing tone, one of finality, or despair.
"I know," he said. "But they must still be made."
finis