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It was already late, and the sky was turning dark blue, the sun’s rays having long since vanished behind the mountains. The trees rustled, the birdsong had fallen silent, and insects chirped into the night. Flames licked at the charred branches, crackling and sending sparks spraying high into the air. Out of the corner of his eye, Boromir looked up at Aragorn, who sat right beside him. The bright light was reflected in his piercing grey eyes, and the shadows of the campfire danced across his noble face—framed by thick, dark hair that lent him a distinctive, wild look. Boromir liked this rugged appearance; he was not clad in the fine robes of Gondor’s high lords, yet he possessed a fairer bearing than all of them combined. Though it was not his outward appearance that Boromir had fallen in love with—but rather his generous and kind heart—he still could not gaze enough at that face, illuminated in the darkness only by the glow of the fire. He only turned his gaze away when Gandalf stood up from a trunk he used as a seat.
“The night is growing old and we will have a long day tomorrow. I ought to get some sleep," he said, and went over to an oak tree to lean against it.
Gimli started up from his dozing and nodded.
“Aye, he's right,” he murmured, “And I say you should seek some sleep too"
Frodo and Sam followed his advice but the remaining two hobbits stayed by the circle of the campfire. Pippin rummaged in his pockets and pulled out his pipe with a bright grin.
"And I say they can dive into their sweet dreams, but I'd rather breathe in the warm scent of Longbottom Leaf.”
“I second this!" said Merry and carefully stuffed some pipe-weed into his pipe.
Soon the air was filled with the scent of sweet flora and white curling rings of smoke. Legolas waved them off with his hands as if to shoo away a fly and put on a displeased expression.
"I shall rest my mind beneath the clear, starry sky—far away from this smoke," he murmured, and walked away with light steps.
Pippin shook his head.
“Elves," he said, as if that explained everything, "Fair and wise but they don't understand this simple thing — only Hobbits do”
"And men,” added Aragorn and puffed on his pipe, “And I think wizards as well — at least Gandalf does"
“Aye, he is fond of Old Toby, just like Mr. Bilbo,” Merry said. "And I assume you are as well?” he asked, sniffing the air.
Aragorn laughed softly into the cold night — a sound that warmed Boromir's heart and conjured a smile to his lips.
“You have a good nose Master Meriadoc!”
He nibbled lightly at the end of his pipe and glanced at Boromir, who blushed under his gaze and turned away — yet he could have sworn he heard a faint chuckle.
"I always carry some of these. It's not called the finest weed for nothing," said Aragorn and pursed his wine-red lips to slowly blow the smoke out in a ring.
"Well I prefer the Longbottom Leaf because it is sweeter—as if I had a whole field of flowers in my mouth," argued Merry, “Legolas and all these elves are truly missing out on something magnificent"
"Boromir doesn't smoke either,” Pippin suddenly remarked and turned to him, “At least I have never seen you smoke"
"Indeed that's because I have never smoked in my life,” Boromir answered.
"Never?” asked Merry in disbelief, "But didn't Aragorn just say that men do smoke?”
"To be honest, he's one of the few men I have ever seen smoke," Boromir said.
"Well it's certainly not for softies,” teased Aragorn with a silly grin.
"A softy? Is that how you address a Captain of Gondor and a skilled soldier? I would be more careful, my Ranger from the North, if you do not wish to feel the edge of my blade,” said Boromir indignantly—though, in truth, he quite enjoyed this little jab.
"Captain or not, you are still a softy if you don't dare to smoke,” Pippin chimed in.
“You ought to watch that exceedingly reckless tongue of yours," said Boromir with feigned anger.
"We aren't afraid of you, Boromir; you'd sooner chase a hundred birds than do us any harm," said Merry.
"And you'd sooner kiss Strider than Merry will shut his mouth,” Pippin added with a grin.
Boromir blushed furiously, feeling the heat rise all the way to his ears.
"Pippin!" Merry scolded. "You shouldn't say things like that out loud; you're making poor Boromir feel embarrassed. Strider notices it anyway—he’s looking at Boromir as if he’d rather nibble on his lips than on his pipe.”
Aragorn cleared his throat.
"We’re straying from the subject. What those two silly Hobbits meant to say was that Boromir ought to give smoking a try."
"That's right," Merry agreed. "Otherwise, we’ll call you a softy—tomorrow and for the rest of your life."
"All right," Boromir conceded; "There is no harm in trying."
"Now that is a truly brave Captain of Gondor!" Pippin exclaimed. "You even have the honor of trying out my pipe—filled with Longbottom Leaf from the Shire!”
"Ah, nice try, but he won't be doing that," Aragorn said, casting a mischievous glance at Boromir. "He’ll be trying out my pipe—the Old Toby."
"Yes, Pippin—at least let the two of them share a pipe, even if they can't share a bed," Merry stage-whispered—loud enough for everyone to hear—and the two Hobbits grinned foolishly.
"It’s a mild smoke, with an earthy, sweet flavor," Aragorn explained, ignoring Merry and Pippin. Boromir reached for the pipe, but Aragorn didn't let go; instead, he leaned forward.
"Are you sure? I don't want to force you into anything you don't want to do," he whispered in his ear, his voice so low the Hobbits couldn't hear. Despite having teased him earlier, he never wanted to pressure Boromir and always cared deeply about his well-being.
Boromir nodded.
"It can't be that bad; I'm certain I've smelled that scent on you more than anything else."
"Does our Captain need encouragement—or help—from his King?" Pippin teased from the other side of the campfire.
"No, he’s brave enough to manage it on his own," Aragorn said.
"Then take a big puff," Pippin chimed in, demonstrating by exhaling a large cloud of smoke.
"Right—after all, only softies take small puffs," Merry added.
Boromir put the wooden pipe in his mouth; it actually had small notches, as if Aragorn had gnawed on it, and it was still slightly damp from his saliva. He tasted the herbal flavor unfolding on his tongue—with a slightly sweet undertone—and took a deep draw, just as Pippin had shown him. A great cloud of smoke rushed into his mouth and filled his lungs; feeling as though he were suffocating, he pulled the pipe away and coughed violently. He heard Merry and Pippin giggling while feeling a warm hand gently patting his back.
"Easy, I've got you," Aragorn murmured in his ear, kneeling down in front of him.
Boromir looked up, his face still flushed from coughing.
"That's horrible," he managed to say before coughing again.
"Well, you took a very deep draw," Aragorn remarked, handing him the waterskin.
"Because those two Hobbits said so!" Boromir complained.
"Well, we didn't force you; we just said you ought to take a big draw if you weren't a softy," Merry defended himself.
"And it seems our dear Captain is a softy after all," Pippin added with a giggle.
Boromir groaned.
"You're lucky you're my friends, or I'd have chopped you down long ago. But friend or not, you won't get away with calling me a softy from now on," he warned them.
"All right, then that nickname stays between us," Pippin promised. "But that means we can still call you that now, doesn't it, Merry?"
"Oh yes, sure; there are only four of us, no one's listening, so it's just us."
Before Boromir could say another word, Aragorn interjected.
"It's getting late; tomorrow will be a long day, so you should get to bed. I'll take the first watch," he said. "Besides, Boromir might not help you carry your packs tomorrow, seeing how cheeky you've been today."
"No—oh, Boromir, you know it was just a little prank!" Pippin blurted out.
"You'll surely forgive us, merciful as you are?" Merry added.
Despite what had just happened, Boromir had to smile.
"I forgive you, but only on two conditions," he said. "That you stop calling me a softy, and that you go to bed right now."
"Agreed!" Merry and Pippin said in unison.
"Though I don't quite get that last point," Pippin muttered.
Merry clicked his tongue. "Well, obviously, so he can spend some time alone with Strider."
"Oh, right—I forgot to mention there’s a third condition," Boromir interrupted. "Stop teasing me and Aragorn."
"Oh, really?" asked Pippin. "I thought you two secretly liked it? You always blush so nicely."
"Just go to bed," said Aragorn, and the two Hobbits disappeared, giggling, into the darkness where the other companions lay.
"Those two jesters, really," Boromir muttered, shaking his head. "The way they tried to call me a softy!"
Aragorn laughed softly.
"They can get under your skin a bit, but they certainly have a sense of humor."
"Oh, so you find it funny too?" Boromir asked, annoyed.
"No, I find it sweet how you get worked up."
"Sweet?" Boromir blurted out in disbelief, "I get called all sorts of things—bold, fearsome, or reckless, perhaps—but 'sweet' doesn't suit me at all. I don't know what hurts my pride more: you calling me that, or the fact that I can't smoke."
"Want to try again?" Aragorn asked, amused, taking his pipe out of his mouth. "Without puffing quite so hard?"
"No, thanks," Boromir grumbled. "That’s one of the few things about Elves I can actually understand."
Aragorn smiled. "So you're staying a softy, then."
Boromir groaned.
"Not you too! I’m not a softy; I’m a Captain of Gondor."
"No," Aragorn said gently, reaching out for a hug, and Boromir moved closer to him. "To me, you’re neither of those things, because I will always see you simply as Boromir”
"But I am a soldier of Gondor," Boromir said, looking confused.
Aragorn smiled sweetly.
"I know that you are a soldier of Gondor—and a very good one, if not the best of this age. But I do not want to see you as a soldier, a shield-brother, a captain, or eventually a Steward; for here with me, none of that matters. Here, you are simply Boromir—my heart and my love. I do not expect you to always be strong or to save our people, and I need no heroic deeds from you. I want only you, for you complete me, meleth nín ."
He tilted his head, and as Boromir felt a gentle kiss on his forehead, he melted. He buried his face in the crook of Aragorn’s neck and hummed contentedly as Aragorn ran his fingers through Boromir’s dark hair.
"Am I forgiven now?" he asked.
"There is nothing to forgive; I could never stay angry with you for long," Boromir murmured, looking up to meet Aragorn’s grey eyes, which gazed down at him with affection. Aragorn looked so much younger when he smiled peacefully, free from the constant need to be on guard against new dangers.
"Besides, it was good to be carefree for a while."
Boromir’s eyes darkened as he was inevitably reminded that their perilous mission was far from over and that peace was still a long way off. Aragorn must have sensed this, for he pulled him close once more.
"Don't think about that. Right now, it’s just the two of us."
He pressed another kiss to Boromir’s forehead and slowly ran his hands over his head to soothe him, humming an Elven melody. The world faded away as Boromir’s eyelids grew heavy and he felt nothing but the heavenly touch of Aragorn’s fingers. Just the two of us.