Heavy Burden, G

Title: Heavy Burden 1/1
Author: Claudia
Rating: G
Summary: Boromir tries to comfort Frodo after Moria.
Category: Angst
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and make no money from them.
Story Notes: MOVIEVERSE!! A fill-in from the extended version of FOTR (movie).





“You carry a heavy burden, Frodo Baggins – do not carry the weight of the dead.”

The hobbit lifted his eyes, and the agony in their depths cut into Boromir’s chest. Never had he felt so much pity.

Frodo never asked for help. Nay, he rarely complained about the suffering that plagued him more as each day passed. Sam normally perceived his master’s needs – an extra blanket at night or a slower walking pace. Aragorn took over what Sam could not, as when the foul wound given to him by the Enemy pained him.

Now Aragorn was in hushed dialogue with the elves, pleading to gain the company entry into this cursed Elvish land. Since reaching Lorien, Boromir’s heart had felt naked, as if everything there could be read and judged. He hunched over, as if shielding it, though he had nothing to hide as far as he could tell. He was a Man of Gondor, pure and true, and he had done nothing of shame, nothing for which he should be judged.

His attention turned to Frodo, who hugged his knees to his chest, his eyes glazed with unspeakable despair. How Boromir yearned to relieve this little one of his burden! He had come to know and to love the halflings on this journey. They were brave, but Hobbits were not meant for such hardship. Frodo trembled and pulled his cloak tightly around him.

Boromir moved until he sat beside the hobbit. His huge hand trembled only a moment before pulling the hobbit into a tight embrace. For a disconcerting moment, Boromir feared Frodo would pull away. He had done nothing to earn the hobbit’s trust. This task of comfort should lie with Sam, but Sam and the other hobbits were far too preoccupied with their own grief.

Frodo did not pull away. His head fell against Boromir’s chest in weary acquiescence, and Boromir felt the gentle vibration of the hobbit’s trembling. Gandalf’s death had been a grave blow to Frodo’s heart.

“I cannot continue.” Frodo clutched Boromir’s tunic with a strong, pale hand.

“You can.” Boromir covered Frodo’s small fist with his callused warrior’s hand. “I still marvel at your strength.”

“He was my strength.”

“There is still much strength left in the world,” Boromir said in a nearly inaudible voice so that none but Frodo could hear. “Much light that glows in the dark. My city still stands, and her towers are proud and fair.”

“Tell me more,” Frodo murmured, and he sounded stronger.

Boromir spoke in a low voice, tinged with pride and love. He spoke of the Tower, its banners fluttering proudly in the wind…of the Anduin winding past the city like a silver serpent…of trumpets that called home the lords of Gondor. He spoke of his father’s pride and of the stony narrow streets that wound up the seven layers of the White City. As he spoke, a lump filled his throat, as he had not realized how homesick he was.

At last, Boromir was rewarded by calm under his hands. Frodo’s trembling had ceased, his eyes were closed and his breaths were deep.

“Rest, Frodo.”

Boromir had fought valiantly for the company of the Ring in Moria, but only now did he feel he had earned his right as one of the nine.

END