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The night was still young when Boromir sat on a rock to take the first watch. He listened to the rustles and soft whispering behind him. Pippin and Merry were already huddled in a wool cloak deep in sleep, and Aragorn was talking softly with Gandalf about the next day. But even they laid to bed, eventually, and Boromir was left alone in the darkness.
The night was quiet except the faint scratching sound of metal while Boromir was cleaning his sword. Suddenly, an uneasy feeling crept up his throat and he frowned. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep that made him feel sick, he thought. Yet he still had another hour left till Aragorn would relieve him from his watch. He put his sword back to its sheath, leaning on the trunk of an oak tree.
The unpleasant feeling didn't seem to go away and he tried to remember what he had eaten that day; a piece of bread and Sam's stew that everyone had eaten — it cannot be food poisoning. Was it the beginning of a sickness then? But he didn't have any other complaints.
Or perhaps, his exhausted body was playing a trick on him.
Boromir pulled himself together, forcing himself to sit upright with a straight back. His watch was not over yet and he wouldn't allow himself to let down his guard.
But not long after, he felt the salvia in his mouth gathering like a float. Boromir tried to swallow it but at the very moment he felt something else rising up his throat. He instantly turned around and bent down, the hand on the tree trunk. The sour stench stung in his nose and made him vomit again. He tried to clench his nose with his fingers but it helped little. He coughed and another gagging escaped his throat as he heard a blanket being hastily pushed aside, followed by hurried steps.
Boromir felt a warm hand on his shoulder and turned around. Aragorn was standing next to him, eyeing him with concern.
“What is the matter? Are you feeling sick?"
Boromir managed to let out a slightly annoyed snort.
“Obviously, master healer"
Aragorn ignored him, already rushing back to his pouch with herbs and coming back with fresh water in a wooden bowl. He sat down on his knees in front of Boromir and stroked his dark hair out of his face, placing a rough hand on his forehead, searching for fever.
“Is anything else bothering you?", Aragorn asked, searching for his gaze.
"No,” replied Boromir, "I merely felt a sudden unease overcoming me but I do feel better now. I'm fine, Aragorn."
“You always say that"
Aragorn held him the bowl with water and motioned him to drink.
“Perhaps you should believe me for once," mumbled Boromir but he was glad to have Aragorn by his side. He allowed himself to relax and close his eyes as the ranger ran his fingers through his hair and gently laid his head on his lap.
“It is over now, meleth nín," whispered Aragorn, “You have done enough. Now close your eyes and rest. I will look after you."
The ranger laid a warm hand on Boromir’s cheek and he leaned into the touch.
"I am glad to have you, Aragorn“
“As I am glad to have you, Boromir. Now sleep before the moon fades and daylight comes.”