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Frodo was finally feeling well enough to begin to feel restless. A walk would do him some good, stretch his legs. Aragorn had said not to leave the camp, for even with Sauron dead there were still orcs a plenty. But with so many soldiers, the camp stretched for miles.
Frodo knew that Aragorn’s tent was to the left, so he went to the right. Everyone in the camp recognized him, as one of only four hobbits, and bowed to him. He didn’t know what to do with that, feeling rather like he had woken from a long fever, not like a great hero. He turned to the less occupied paths as he could, going between the rows of tents and cook fire corrals for horses, and wishing he still had the Ring just so people would stop staring at him.
Eventually he found a lone man facing the other way and cleaning his boots. None stayed with him, but no one seemed worried about coming into arm’s reach. Perhaps this Man simply preferred quiet, and would be willing to share a little bit with Frodo.
“Good morrow, sir.”
The Man turned, and Frodo realized he recognized him indeed. He had not known whether any of the Fellowship lived when he spoke to Faramir, had not been able to give him news of his brother. It was only yesterday that Aragorn had explained that they had all survived, and that Boromir had gone to Minas Tirith after the Amon Hen, too injured to help track Merry and Pippin, but not pursuing Frodo to steal the Ring.
Frodo had been told Boromir was part of the charge on the Black Gate.
But he had not expected to see him here. At least, not unguarded. He had tried to claim the Ring, and would have led to all their downfall.
After a long pause, Boromir said, “Good afternoon, Master Baggins. I am glad to see you in better health.”
“Are you truly?”
“Yes! I never wished you harm.”
“And still you attacked me.”
“Yes.” Boromir sighed. "I was weak, and afraid, and saw no other way to save my people. I still should not have, and will make whatever amends you desire.”
Frodo didn’t know how to respond to that. Perhaps he could find it in his heart to forgive Boromir on his own behalf - but maybe not; there was such a betrayal of trust, from within the Fellowship. But even if he could, Boromir had endangered the world. Attempting to wield the Ring rather than destroy it would have drawn Sauron’s attention, and the nine of them would not have evaded the full might of Mordor. It had seemed only a theory then, but now Frodo knew it in truth, having that Eye’s unblinking stare focus on him when he put on the Ring in Mount Doom.
Frodo nearly swayed at that comparison. Could he really judge Boromir, when he himself had given in? Frodo had held out until the last - but was not Amon Hen the last chance Boromir would have before the Fellowship diverged?
Boromir leaped up in alarm. “You’re still recovering-” He reached out an arm to Frodo, but Frodo flinched back.
Boromir winced. “My apologies.” He stood up. “Let me offer you my seat; ou look like you’ve had a shock.”
“Thank you. I was looking for somewhere quiet to think.”
“I’ll leave you to it then.”
“No. I mean,” Frodo added, “you can stay if you would like.”
“Thank you.”
Frodo simply nodded. He stared - hopefully Boromir would think his gaze was on the fire, or his thoughts lost in the distance. But really he was looking at Boromir. Boromir, who had tried to claim the ring, and only been stopped by someone else. Boromir, who was still welcomed even though people knew the truth. Boromir, who had only wanted to keep his home safe.
Frodo could not hate him for that, even if he could not forgive him. How much sooner would Frodo have fallen, if he had spent years fighting for the Shire and knowing it was not enough, rather than getting to say goodbye with the confidence his home would be as he left it?
Frodo sat for half an hour, thinking on the Ring and how they had both fallen.
Boromir said, “We’ll strike camp in a few days, but until then my fire is always open to you.”
“Thank you.”
Boromir thought it had gone far better than he deserved. Frodo had not fled, or cried out for him to be chained up, or refused to speak to him again. Boromir had used his chance to apologize.
That the apology was not accepted was only to be expected.
He had ruined any chance at friendship with Frodo, but tolerance of comrades was enough.
(Never mind that he had wanted more. Had wondered from the moment Frodo volunteered to carry the Ring at the council of Elrond Half-Elven, had marveled at the bravery. Even more so when he learned that Frodo was not a being of the wilds, but a man of leisure, used to his house and his food and the same small town. It was one thing for a soldier to volunteer for a mission that would likely end in death. Frodo had never before faced danger, and here he was going into the perils of Mordor. To save them all, though it was a chance tat Frodo could have retreated to the Shire, walled up against the world for the rest of his life.)