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Aragorn's coronation had been befitting for the king of renewed hope. Boromir didn't think his heart could be filled any more than it was today. To see the rightful King of Gondor reclaim his throne, to have his brother by his side, and fellowship united here to witness the momentous occasion, this is what he had been fighting his whole life for.
He did feel a pang, knowing his father was not here to be able to witness this. Denethor's death hurt, but it was further complicated with what Faramir and Pippin told him of his father's madness toward the end that led to his death. He owed a the hobbits a great debt for all they did to save middle earth, but also for the role they had in saving his brother's life. He could not imagine what it would be like to have defeated Sauron, but to have lost both his brother and father in the process.
But those melancholy thoughts of grief and pain had no place on a day like today.
Boromir focused on the shine of the crown on Aragorn's brow, and the promise of a new age for Gondor.
* * *
Boromir woke with a start, breath catching in his throat. It was still dark out and his eyes felt heavy, yet his breathing was fast and his mind felt wide awake. He reached out to his right, hand finding the hilt of his sword. The familiar comfort of knowing it was readily available if danger were to strike helped calm his breath.
After a moment, he released the sword, letting his arm flop back onto the bed. His eyes longed for a few more hours of rest, though past experience had told him sleep tonight was a lost cause. He had spent many nights since returning to Gondor with a restless slumber. He even had some days where sleep evaded him entirely, his thoughts refusing to allow him reprieve.
He quietly berated himself for that weakness.
After months of longing for his home while he was on his quest with the fellowship, he was here. The ring had been destroyed, along with Sauron and his supporters. Against all odds, Minas Tirith still stood and there was a king on the throne for the first time in ages. He wished all those things could be enough to quell the uneasiness in himself. And yet he couldn't sleep without images of death and the battles for his homeland and middle earth playing on the back of his eyelids. Even in the waking world, he'd had moments where a loud sound would startle him, thinking orcs were laying siege to the city again.
Why did he still long for the turmoil of war in a time of peace?
Boromir was High Captain of the White Tower. He carried that title with pride and knew he was one of Gondor's strongest defenders. With this path he had tread since birth maybe this was his fate, to always be cursed by visions of war and bloodshed. What place did he now have in a world that was trying to turn away from such things?
His thoughts continued to grow darker in contrast to the twilight skies that eventually gave way to the dawn light. The soft rays of the sun cast the mountains in an that ethereal orange glow that stole the breath of many who got to witness the experience.
At least there was one benefit allowed by these lidless nights.
Boromir arose for the day, attending to his morning needs and readying himself for the court. The last item he grabbed before leaving his chambers was his sword. There had hardly been a single skirmish since the ring had been destroyed, but even in the citadel, Boromir didn't stray too far from his blade.
Boromir was the first to enter the throne room, though Aragorn was only minutes behind him.
“Good morning, my Lord.” Boromir greeted, giving a small bow of his head.
“Good morning, Boromir.” Aragorn said. “Are you well?”
Boromir answered without preamble. “I am. And how do you fare?”
“I fare well. Thank you.” Aragorn said.
Boromir nodded and handed Aragorn a slip of parchment. “A messenger found me in the halls this morning. The reparations on the west gate seem to have stalled yesterday over a wage dispute. I was going to pay a visit after the council meeting to find out how we can remedy it.”
“Why not send an envoy in your stead?” Aragorn asked.
“Reparations on the gate are critical. If the Steward of Gondor is present to lend an ear to their concerns, we may be able to find a successful resolution within the day.”
Aragorn hummed, watching Boromir closely. “Perhaps, but Boromir, I admit, I have been worried for you as of late. You have been working tirelessly these past several months to guide Gondor through this transition.”
Boromir shook his head, shrugging off the concern. “Worry not, my Lord. I am more than up for the task and there is much to do.”
“While that is true, you do not need to personally oversee every challenge.” Aragorn said placing a hand on Boromir's arm.
Boromir straightened up. “I am your Steward and Captain of the White Tower. It is my duty to see to the defenses of the city and comfort of our people.”
“Peace, Boromir.” Aragorn said, raising his hands with palms open. “I am not concerned of your fitness as my Steward or Captain.”
The door to the throne room opened and council men started to filter in. Aragorn's mouth twisted into displeasure. He sighed, turning to Boromir. “We have a long day ahead of us. After the days toils, I would like to have your company before you retire for the evening.”
“Of course.” Boromir agreed, though part of him wished he did not have to. He had a feeling he would not like whatever words Aragorn deemed unnecessary to say to him publicly.
Nevertheless, Boromoir took his place to the right hand of Aragorn, his face a mask hiding the trepidation of whatever Aragorn wished to speak of to him later.
* * *
The Gondorians had many names for Boromir. One of them, that was regularly shouted by the town folk throughout the streets was Boromir the Brave. He felt anything but brave now approaching the king's chambers, but he wasn't one to shy away from difficulty. He knocked on the door with a steady hand.
“My king, it is I, Boromir.” He announced, awaiting a response.
“Enter.” Aragorn's voice said, muffled by the wooden door.
Boromir took a breath and did just that.
There was a fire gently crackling in the hearth and Aragorn was sitting in a chair near it. “Good evening.” Aragorn said, motioning to the armchair across from him by the fire. “Come. Sit with me.”
Boromir did so, taking off his baldric and setting the sword on the table next him.
Aragorn raised an eyebrow, watching Boromir carefully. “Is there a reason you felt the need to bring your sword?”
“One never knows when danger will arise. It is best to be prepared.” Boromir answered.
“Do you not trust your men to guard the citadel in your stead?” Aragorn asked evenly.
Boromir bristled. “I trust my men implicitly.”
“Yes, they are very good men.” Aragorn said in agreement. “Yet, I've naught to see you without your sword, even in casual conversation.”
“I am the Captain of the White Tower. It is my duty to be able to defend you at any time.”
“And I am eternally grateful for that, but I think it goes further than that.” Aragorn leaned forward in his chair. “I know this a not a conversation you will not wish to have, as your earlier reaction attested, but I need to give voice to this.”
Boromir tensed but gave a nod, “You have my ear.”
Aragorn's eyes shined softly in the firelight. “Boromir, I admit I have been worried for your health as of late. You do not look rested. You work from sunrise to sundown and there are servants who speak of light from your chambers well into the night.”
Boromir gave a nod. “Some nights are later than others, I agree.”
“I've noticed some patterns about you and I must ask you... What is it that troubles you so greatly that you must overtax yourself daily and yet still not find rest in the evening?” Aragorn asked gently.
“I-” Boromir started, taken aback by the earnest in his friend's face. Boromir looked down at his lap, unable to hold Aragorn's gaze. “I'm sorry, I do not know what to say.”
“Are you unsure what troubles you, or are you afraid to give voice to it?” Aragorn asked.
The question touched directly at the heart of the matter, and still Boromir hesitated. “You will find this foolish.” Boromir admitted quietly.
Aragorn looked solemn. “I assure, I will not find any thoughts of yours foolish.”
Boromir looked into the fire, finding it easier to speak to the flames than a face. “I took up the sword young. In our lessons as children, Faramir was always better with books and scrolls. I, not so much.” He smiled at the thought of his brother and those memories. “But, what I lacked in learning literature, I surpassed in other arenas. I took to the martial arts very well. I fought my first true battle at fifteen.”
“Fifteen?” Aragorn said, eyebrows raised.
“Aye. It was under my uncles' command but it was the first time I saw death so wantonly. I have now seen over forty summers on this earth, which means I have been a soldier far longer than I have not.”
“And what an incredible soldier at that. I'm proud to have you as my Captain and Steward.” Aragorn said, placing a comforting hand on Boromir's knee.
“Thank you, my King. And I am proud of it. Everything I have fought for was for this very moment. For the peace of our people and city. I am grateful to have seen it through.”
Aragorn smiled, letting go of Boromir's knee. “As am I. But, despite this, I can see you are still distressed.”
Boromir's eyes turned downward. “Yes, and this is where your judgment may come down upon me. I have dreamt of peace for my people, but I fear I do not know how to live in such a world myself.”
There was silence for a moment and Boromir kept his eyes down turned so he did not have to see his King's reaction, but gentle hands grasped Boromir's chin. Boromir's eyes lifted to kind gray eyes staring back at him.
“I will cast no judgment upon you, for there is no shame in that feeling.” Aragorn intoned. “In fact, I had begun to suspect this was the cause of your recent suffering.”
“How is there no shame?” Boromir asked, with confusion. “My king, I just told that I do not know how to live in a world without something to fight.”
Aragorn let go of Boromir's chin and leaned back in his chair. “I understand, and now I know where your mind has been. It may bring you comfort to know that others have felt this way too.”
Boromir was reminded of Aragorn had many more decades on this earth than him despite looking the same age as himself. “Truly? There are people like me, who long for war so much that they look for threat where there is none, even in their sleep?”
Aragorn gave him a pitying look. “You would look more rested if your dreams of war were of longing. The bruises under your eyes imply the opposite.”
Boromir gave a start, worried about the direction this conversation was heading. “I am still fit to be your captain. I fight better than most, even in this state.”
Aragorn raised his eyebrows.“I apologize. I did not mean to imply you weren't fit for duty. There is no one I would rather have as my captain. As I stated, you are not the first man to suffer this affliction.”
“And what is it I am suffering from?”
“You have known the strife of war your whole life without reprieve. That takes a toll and can wear down the spirit.”
Boromir stood up suddenly as if burned. “So, you are saying I am weak? Or broken by this life?”
Aragorn made a small noise of dissent. “No, this does not mean you are weak. And you are far from broken. In fact, you are one of the strongest men I have ever known.”
Boromir huffed a short laugh. “If that is true, then why am I feeling this way after the war is won?”
Aragorn rested his fingers on his chin in thought. “There is a difference between survival and thriving. You have never known such a world of the latter. It is natural for your mind to experience growing pains after living in shadow for so long. I suspect that is why you have overburdened yourself with your duties. It is easier to let go of those difficult thoughts when you have little time in the day.”
Aragorn's gaze was piercing and yet Boromir could not look away. It was almost frightening how well Aragorn understood his current plight. It was easier to work than allow his mind to have time to ponder things. The fact there was so much to do just enabled him to do so without seeming desperate for reprieve from his tumultuous thoughts.
“So, we have established why I am feeling like this, but I fail to see how I am not broken for it.” Boromir admitted quietly.
“You are much too hard on yourself, my friend. I cannot see you berating a fellow soldier if he came to you with such concerns.”
Boromir knew there was truth in that logic, and so he stayed silent.
“You are not alone in this.” Aragorn said, standing up and moving closer to Boromir. “This ailment can be remedied.”
Boromir let out a bitter laugh. “How so?”
“You have toiled endless to keep others safe and protected. It is time for that debt to be repaid.”
Aragorn said, before grasping both of Boromir's hands and got down on his right knee to kneel before him.
“What are doing?” Boromir hissed, grateful they were in private chambers so no one could see Aragorn's antics. “Stand up. You are a King.”
Aragorn ignored Boromir's bidding, refusing to let go, even as Boromir tried to pull his hands back from Aragorn's grasp. “Boromir, son of Denethor, High Captain of the White Tower and Steward of Gondor. You tended to our peoples' needs in my absence, at great cost to yourself. I give you my solemn oath, as your King, to honor that devotion and protect you from harm as I am able.”
Boromir blinked, feeling incredibly moved by his words, and felt a lump form in his throat. A larger part of him felt unworthy of his King's oath. “Aragorn, it is my duty to protect you from harm. There is no need for this oath. You, above all others, know I do not deserve such an honor. You know of my failure with the ring and how I broke the fellowship apart.”
Aragorn frowned. “It pains me to know that still weighs on your heart. I think of you no less for that, and I know Frodo has said the same.”
“I do not know how that is possible.” Boromir whispered, his traitorous eyes filling with tears.
Aragorn stood so he was face to face with Boromir once more. “A moment of weakness does not define a man. You fought valiantly at Amon Hen for our friends, despite near mortal injuries. At Helm's Deep when you thought hope had forsaken us, you still stood by my side. You held the defenses of the Minis Tirith as we marched on the Black Gate. My friend, you have proven yourself time and time again. How I wish you could see yourself through my eyes.”
Boromir had no words for that. He didn't know how Aragorn had developed such a view of him, but Boromir didn't doubt that Aragorn truly believed what he was saying. His king was an honest man.
Aragorn must have seen the conflict in Boromir's eyes and wrapped his arms around him. Boromir rested his chin on Aragorn's shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut. The tears finally leaking from his eyes.
“It will be all right. I will carry you through this.” Aragorn promised.
“You shouldn't have to shoulder my burdens.” Boromir said, feeling shame rush through him once more.
Aragon pulled back to look at Boromir. “It is not a burden to support a friend. You have kept others safe for years. Now we will do the same for you. I prepared fresh linens for the bed. I would have you sleep here tonight.”
“My lord, I cannot sleep on your bed.” Boromir protested.
Aragorn rolled his eyes. “And why not?”
Boromir sputtered. “It's improper.”
“We have slept in way worse places on our quest. I believe sleeping here in my chambers will help you find the rest that eludes you.”
“How so?” Boromir asked.
“Because here, you know someone will be awake keeping watch over you, so you can allow your mind and body to rest without fear. I will also be here to wake you if you become haunted by any terrors in the night.”
Boromir supposed that made sense, but he still felt the impropriety and unease at Aragorn's undue concern over his condition.
“You need to rest as well.” Boromir countered.
“And I will, but it my steward and not I who has had many sleepless night as of late.” Boromir stayed silent so Aragorn added, “I will not order you to stay here as your king. But I ask, as your friend, to let me help you. It pains me to see you suffer when I can aid you.”
Boromir gave a wan smile and relented. “Only for tonight. I do not wish to disturb you unduly.”
“It is no burden to me.” Aragorn said, returning Boromir's smile warmly.
Aragorn stood and gave Boromir fresh bed clothes and behind a screen, Boromir stripped down to his small clothes to change. By the time Boromir was ready to crawl into bed, he could smell pipe smoke. Sure enough, by the light of the fire illuminated the room, he could see Aragorn was settled into the chair by the fire, a book in one hand, his pipe in the other.
Boromir closed his eyes, allowing his body to relax into the soft sheets. Boromir would hear the turn of a page every now and then. Though he was loathe to admit it, the familiarity of the ranger turned king keeping watch did calm the racing of his thoughts. Between one breath and the next, Boromir succumbed to his slumber.
He did not wake until after the dawn bell's rung the next morning.