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They had been travelling for weeks and not once did they set foot in a village or town. It is understandable, really, given their situation, but Boromir could not help but miss the safe warmth of an actual bed. So every night, when he was trying to fall asleep under the ever-watchful eye of Gandalf surrounded by the soft breathing of others and unnerving sounds of the forest, he liked to imagine he was back home, in the White city, sleeping in his bed perfectly safe without a dangerous quest in sight.
He would never admit it out loud, but ever since he had been a child he disliked sleeping alone and in the dark, especially in unknown places. However throughout the years he learnt to suppress his fear, for what kind of warrior and commander can be a man afraid to sleep alone if it was dark in the room.
At the beginning of the journey he would barely sleep during the night, unable to calm his nerves. Luckily he got somewhat used to it as time passed and nowadays he wakes up only a handful of times during the night and falls asleep quite fast. The more interesting thing, on the other hand, is that it seemed Boromir slept better if a certain dark haired ranger was on guard duty.
You see, the Gondorian was not able to pinpoint it precisely, but something about Aragorn’s presence was oddly soothing; he felt… safe knowing the ranger was looking over him. Therefore every night Aragorn was on guard, Boromir would go to great lengths just to lie as close to him as possible (without being too obvious, of course).
Tonight was no different and the ranger was content smoking his pipe and humming under his breath, occasionally looking around if a suspicious sound could be heard. Meanwhile turning around on his own bedroll was Boromir who fell into restless slumber for no more than a couple of minutes every now and then. He was trying not to be too loud or display his distress too obviously, but that did not fool Aragorn. The thought of asking the younger what was troubling him crossed the olders's mind multiple times, but he ultimately decided against it; he didn't wish to intrude on what could possibly be a very personal matter. So instead, the ever so familiar melody of The Song of Beren and Lúthien occupied his thoughts.
After what felt like an eternity of laying awake, Boromir finally heard Gandalf take a seat by the dying fire and exchanging a few hastily whispered words with Aragorn, who then went to his bedroll next to Boromir's. The ranger made practically no sound while moving and the younger could have sworn it was the elvish blood.
They were now both lying down and even with being turned away from Aragorn, he could feel the older's gaze on him. Boromir caught himself thinking what it would be like, sleeping next to the mysterious man. Nevertheless he was quick to discard such thoughts as he had always believed such fantasies to be reserved for the women and were an implication of weakness.
Aragorn, on the other hand, was having an emotional debate on his own. Because for the entire duration of the journey since the departure from Rivendel he had been observing Boromir and had a strong suspicion the younger was afraid of something. Not afraid in the sense that it posed a serious threat, if that was the case he would have already spoken out, but that something was plaguing his mind and causing him great distress during night-time. He was worried for his companion and after seeing him be particularly restless tonight he truly wanted to offer him support. But for that, he first needed to finally reach out.
So after staring at Boromir's covered back for an embarrassingly long time, he tentatively reached towards the other man. And when his fingers mere centimetres away, he hesitated for a short second, before his fingertips gently brushed against Boromir's covered shoulder.
A light touch startled the gondorian and caused him to instantly tense; only then did he realise it's likely Aragorn.
Boromir turned around to properly look at him.
In the faint light cast by the moon he could hardly see make out the rangers face – the only thing really standing out were the cool gray eyes which were constantly boring into one's soul leaving one feeling naked and exposed. It was nearly impossible to hide anything from the man; one was permanently under the impression those eyes could see everything.
Boromir was shaken when Aragorn whispered in the dark: “What is it, that is troubling your spirit so much sleep is evading you, my friend?”
The softness of the words betrayed Aragorn’s honest concern for his comrade and Boromir felt his cheeks redden. He could only hope the shadows concealed it.
The younger hesitated slightly before replying: “It is of no importance. There is no need to be worried for me… Aragorn”, in hopes of ending the debate. He certainly did not wish to embarrass himself in front of Gondor's future king by admitting unmanly his fear.
Aragorn’s eyes furrowed together in concern and his gaze visibly softened. But in that very moment a freezing cold wind began blowing directly from the mountains and Boromir could not help but shiver. His gondorian coat was most definitely not made for such cold nights. The man, of course, was well aware how this may pose a significant problem in the near future, when they will be crossing the Misty mountains, but he shall cross that bridge when he gets to it. As of now, he simply grit his teeth together to prevent them from clattering and accepted he won't be getting much more sleep tonight.
With that being said, he noticed how much warmer Aragorn’s clothes looked despite being ragged and dirty and a pang of envy struck his heart.
A shiver ran through Boromir's whole body and he did his best to conceal it. Though it was apparently of no use, for the ranger knowingly whispered: “Do not try to be brave by shivering in silence; A true warrior knows to pick his fights wisely and this should not be one of them. You see, my coat is far thicker and large enough for the both of us.”
The Gondorian could not believe own ears and a queer sensation arose in his stomach, when he fully processed what Aragorn was implying. He could hardly deny that sleeping so close to the ranger was more than just tempting for reasons he had yet to discuss with himself. Nevertheless he was well aware of the awkwardness such a situation might present.
“Aragorn, I am perfectly able to handle a bit of cold on my own. I mean no disrespect to you, but I do not need your help,” he tried to protest and his usual stubbornness became more prominent, but Aragorn was having none of it.
“Boromir, I understand you may not be used to it, but it is quite common amongst rangers to share bedrolls and covers alike during colder nights. It is nothing to be ashamed of and, after all, sharing body heat is one of the best ways to remain warm. So come here so you will not be frozen by the time morning comes around." Although Aragorn’s words were stern, there was an unmistakable softness in his voice.
Everything was silent for a minute and Boromir was debating with himself. When the ranger was almost certain Boromir wasn't going to take up his offer, the younger wordlessly scooted towards him and dragged his bedroll along.
Mere centimetres were separating the men and Boromir was hesitating, unsure how to proceed, so Aragorn took the initiative and threw his coat across the both of them. Now that they were (sort of) huddled together, Boromir could feel the heat radiating off the body next to him and it dawned on him just how cold he was before. Now they were simply lying side by side with an awkward gap in between. The Gondorian was scared to close it in order not to escalate the situation or cross any boundaries (and most certainly not because he might actually enjoy it).
Thus he instead tried to focus on catching some sleep. At first he was hyper aware of the man sleeping next to him (who could apparently be fast asleep in less than a minute) as well as his own body. Fortunately he eventually managed to relax enough to be lulled into a deep slumber.
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There was sunlight frying Boromir's eyeballs through his eyelids and despite the sun's more than welcome warmth the poor victim was cursing the celestial body and its entire bloodline (including the second cousins thrice removed of its great aunt-in-law). It took his sleepy mind quite some time to truly process that he was feeling a bit too warm for it to be just the sun.
The realisation hit him like an Orc’s arrow; sometime during the night he and Aragorn must have come to a conclusion that cuddling was a brilliant idea, because it turns out the comforting warmth on his back and legs is actually Gondor's future king plastered along his back. As if that in itself was not enough, one of the ranger's muscular arms was slung over the younger's waist preventing him from escaping. Boromir could feel Aragorn’s soft breathing on the back of his head, rhythmic like a lullaby. He would never admit it out loud, but he… liked… the feeling of someone taller embracing Him in such a protective (and possessive) way.
For the next few minutes he just lay there hoping Aragorn wouldn't wake up yet and deciding how to proceed. It was obvious as day this was objectively far more intimate than what was considered normal for two men, even if they were close companions. He also did not have the slightest idea how other members of the Fellowship would react to this scene and he had no intention of funding out. Therefore he could only hope the rest were still sleeping safe and sound, blissfully unaware of what was going on under the rangers coat. His mind and heart were racing, figuring out how to escape Aragorn’s grasp without waking him.
But just as he was about to remove the arm from around his torso, Aragorn stirred and further tightened his grip. Boromir was able to pinpoint the precise moment the other woke up; the breaths on the back of his head quickened before a slight gasp was heard – and so the realisation must have hit.
Yet instead of moving away or relaxing his grip Aragorn remained just as he was seemingly perfectly content. That is when the Gondorian heard a faint whisper from behind him. “Did you sleep well?” The ranger paused before continuing: “It is early and from what I gathered no one else is awake yet. There is no need to worry, Boromir”, he reassured the other.
Boromir hesitated before replying as quietly as possible: “I- well I slept quite well. But I wasn't… worried. If they saw us”, he rushed to explain himself.
Aragorn immediately saw right through him. “ No need to explain yourself to me, friend. I know of Gondor's customs and the… stigma surrounding relationships between two men,” there was a strange undertone in the rangers voice when mentioning this. “So of course I shall move if you are uncomfortable.”
What Aragorn has said about customs In the white city could not be more true. Boromir had seen with his own eyes what had happened to those men who were caught together. They had been lucky if they had been merely cast on the edge of society – death had befall those less fortunate. He did not wish to dwell on the reaction of people if someone of (extremely) high status was to be exposed. However the army was a quite different thing altogether, though one might initially presume the opposite to be true. But anyone that has ever been a warrior, soldier understands that during the cold, lonely nights far from home and without any guarantee of return, it is perfectly natural for a person to seek connection and comfort in others. And if it just so happens all other people are men… well it's safe to say bedrolls were often shared.
But you see, there is an unspoken rule amongst the men that they do it with each other purely as a result of the circumstances and that there are absolutely no feelings involved whatsoever. Boromir of course knew this as he himself was no stranger to the whole ordeal and yet a peculiar unnamed feeling had always been present during the encounters. Thus he had always been suppressing something, something which he knew was wrong, soothing which would irrevocably taint him if he let it out. This feeling was never properly acknowledged even if, deep down, he somehow knew it was nothing but burning desire unlike anything he had ever felt towards a woman.
However this most certainly wasn't something Boromir intended to explore or, God forbid, come to terms with, so he simply focused on the warmth Aragorn’s body was radiating. Being embraced like this was actually quite enjoyable, he begrudgingly admitted to himself and came to the conclusion staying in this position for a tad bit longer wouldn't be so bad.
In that moment he remembered he got so lost in his own thoughts he forgot to say anything back to Aragorn. “Yes- I mean, you don't have to move. It's… nice like this”, he breathed as blood rushed to his face making him feel even warmer with every spoken word.
The ranger muttered something incomprehensible in reply, so Boromir allowed to enjoy the comfort and quickly fell back asleep (highly unusual indeed), peaceful and content.
The next time Boromir woke up, the sun wasn't much higher, barely peeking over the distant mountains and he was already feeling more well rested than usual despite sleeping almost the same amount of time. It appeared Aragorn was awake too, judging by the shifting behind him, but after glancing it seemed that it was still too early for the others to be awake.
Boromir was indulging himself in comfort, so drunk on the intimate closeness that he let the emotions bubbling constantly under his surface momentarily escape and run free through his mind, the disgust of it all forgotten. When suddenly, the other man detached himself and got up without a word. That sobered Boromir up as if a bucket of ice cold water was poured on his head.
Only then did it dawn on him what he was so clearly carrying inside for so, so long. It was neither respect nor was it jealousy. It was nothing but confusing and cruel love.
But none of this mattered; Aragorn was already with the love of his life, an elf royalty no less, and it was so glaringly obvious Boromir was everything she was not. He was rough and bruised and mortal and so flawed.
He was a man.