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It saddened Frodo that Boromir’s touch no longer stirred his heart or sent shivers up his arms. What made him even more sorrowful was that he could pinpoint the exact moment his emotions changed, when the feelings that had surprised him in Rivendell with their suddenness and their fierceness died. During the long march down Eriador and through Moria, he had grown to believe they would help see him through to the end.
He could also remember the first time Boromir's touch had made him feel something special. Perhaps that memory was the saddest of all.
"You would have much in common with Faramir," Boromir said one day while he and Frodo sat before a bright fire in Elrond's library. Frodo held a small book of maps of Gondor open on his lap, and he turned the pages with increasing curiosity and delight. He pushed away the always-lurking apprehension and reminded himself that he was safe and warm in Rivendell. After all, departure was still many days if not weeks in the future.
Looking up, Frodo smiled at the man and said, "Faramir ... that is your brother, the one you spoke of during the council?" and then turned back to his contemplation of a highly detailed rendering of a place called Dol Amroth, which appeared to be near the southern sea. Belegaer—the name sounded strangely on his tongue; it sounded warm. He traced his fingers lightly over stylized waves drawn at the edge of the land.
"Yes, he would be much at home here." Boromir rose from his chair and walked to where Frodo sat, kneeling by him and peering down at the map.
There was something in the tone of Boromir's voice that caught Frodo off-guard, some hint of loneliness or discomfort. Perhaps it was an awkwardness. When Frodo looked up, he was able to study the lines and planes of Boromir's face for the man was intent on the map, a half-smile raising the corners of his mouth. The sound of voice and sight of smile somehow did not go together; there was a dissonance there.
"Do you know this place?" Frodo asked. "Dol Amroth?"
"Oh, yes," Boromir answered and looked straight at Frodo. The half-smile became full-hearted. "Faramir and I visited there often during our childhood. It was our mother's home. You would like it, I know you would. There ..."
Boromir pointed to a spot just above the mark representing the city, and his fingers brushed Frodo's hand. "That is where our grandsire's house was. How well I remember it, during the summer months especially. It overlooked ..."
Though Boromir continued talking about his happy memories, his voice now relaxed and eager, Frodo would have been hard put to remember any of the specific words. He squirmed in his oversized chair, glad of the book on his lap for an outlandish thing had happened to him!
It all happened quite naturally after that quiet afternoon in Elrond's library, their coming together. Though it should have been one of the strangest things of all to have happened to Frodo—engaging in a lusty romance with a Man from Gondor, a rather large man in all respects—it didn't feel that way.
It felt good. Very good. Sometimes Boromir, with his strong body and thick cock and warm voice, even blotted out what loomed in Frodo's future, and that was saying a lot.
The Lady held them all in her gaze. Frodo watched Boromir as his face broke into a sweat and he lowered his eyes as though the light from Galadriel's inquiry was too bright to bear.
Oh.
They told her and Celeborn what had happened to them in Moria; they spoke of their loss. Boromir kept his gaze on the ground and spoke not until they reached the pavilions on the ground that had been prepared for them. When he did speak, his words and the rough sound of his voice was more chilling than his silence. At least, that is how Frodo felt about it though he was so very numb and tired and sorrowful that not much penetrated the fog of unreality surrounding him. Not much, but enough.
Oh.
The company prepared to sleep, each rolled in his own blanket. From far away, ethereal voices broke into mournful song.