By: Dana
Summary: He always feels so very alone.
Characters: Frodo, Boromir
Pairings: Frodo/Boromir
Rating: PG
Warnings: Light slash, angst
Author's Notes: An experiment in tenses. Thanks go to Trianne for the beta.
Disclaimer: The author makes no claim to owning the rights of anything to do with J.R.R. Tolkien or New Line Cinema. Any and all characters and situations that have been borrowed are for the author's personal use only, and for the entertainment of others.

There will come a time when the air is charged with the electricity of a thunderstorm unleashed, and a hunger will choke the air with its intensity. Fear will take hold of Frodo's heart and all he had hoped would not come, and yet had known was inevitable, will come crashing down upon him. Boromir's voice will be hoarse and he will grab for him, and he will demand what is rightfully his. He will have the Ring, but panic will seize the Hobbit, and he will not let it be. The world will stand still when he feels Boromir's weight above him, the Man's hand grabbing for the burden about his neck, words like iron dropping from his mouth.

Yours and mine will blend together, and Frodo will fight back with all the power that he has; he is not as weak as he seems. It will be a surprise to the both of them when he fights off the strength of the Gondorian, and he will find solace in the Ring, and will run in a world of shadows. Boromir will call after him, a clarity coming to his mind.

But Frodo will not turn back to him.

The Eye of Sauron will seek out the power of the Ring that is rightfully his own and Frodo will be stricken with its intensity. He will throw off the Ring, and Aragorn will come upon him. Boromir's actions will seal Frodo's fate, and there will be no doubt of the path that he must take.

Aragorn will let him go, and he will do all that Boromir was unable to.

Frodo will be set in his resolve and he will watch his cousins sacrifice themselves; he will watch them as they divert attention from himself. And he will stand before the rest of forever and he will remember all that he is leaving behind.

And he will not wish to go alone, but there is no other choice that can be made.

He will think of Gandalf and be resigned to what destiny has been assigned to him, what lot in life he has made his own, he will start out to Mordor alone, to cross the waters of the Nen Hithoel.

But Sam will prove himself in the end; that Frodo will not ever be left alone.

But that will be then, and this is merely now.

Now, and the ghost of old dried tears track the curve of Frodo's cheeks. He sits in silence, under the softly lit darkness of the trees of Lothlorien.

"Frodo?" Boromir's voice calls to him, and he turns slightly so that he can look upon the Man. Frodo does not think that he has ever seen Boromir appear to him in such an open light. There is true emotion upon the Gondorian's features, and a sadness in his eyes.

Frodo does not reply.

"I have come to speak to you, Frodo, if you would allow me."

Nor does Frodo answer now, though he bows his head in a gesture to draw Boromir near. The Man complies, sitting a little away from the Hobbit. Frodo's gaze drifts to a spot over Boromir's shoulder, and the shadows that play there upon the bark.

Boromir takes a breath to calm the racing beat of his heart. "I do not come to speak to you of the Ring, Frodo, nor do I wish to offer counsel as to the route which we must take. We have spent much time in this blessed place," and here, Boromir's voice shakes, "and yet your grief consumes you. It will devour you whole, little one, and there will be nothing left. You are strong, for I have felt your strength before, and I know that you are torn. Yet to hold in your grief is not to show great valour, Frodo. Such repression will simply tear you apart."

If only it was so simple.

Boromir is close now, and Frodo wonders at what point the Man had moved. Fingers brush over Frodo's cheek, very lightly, and Boromir's sigh is a warm breath that stirs Frodo's curls. "It would wound me greatly, would tear the company apart, if we were to lose you as well. It would wound me greatly indeed."

Frodo looks to Boromir, in a new light, as though he has never seen the Man before. He almost feels that a new day is upon them, that the decisions he has made in the past are not to determine the course of his future. And yet he cannot simply forget; the path through Moria, and the loss of Gandalf, which was due to his own foolish decision. The curse of the Ring about his throat. How well he knows that he cannot let it go, though it would be so easy, so easy indeed, to gift it to another, and to be free of its chains.

And yet the voice of the Lady of Light is still in Frodo's mind, and he knows that he walks an uncertain path alone.

"Is that so, Boromir?" he asks, and for such simple words, they are laden with such meaning that Boromir nearly reels as though struck with a physical blow.

"I do not wish to see you so harmed," Boromir replies, and his voice is heavy. Now Frodo's breath is close and Boromir feels the weight of Frodo's presence straining the edges of his world.

"There is not much that you can offer to me, Boromir. Do not tell me how it is proper to grieve."

"Yet you do not simply grieve. You are consumed by a darkness from within, Frodo, and I know this darkness," Boromir's eyes flash, and Frodo trembles. Boromir's jaw clenches. "I have seen this darkness myself, and I have felt it."

A breath, a pause, a dizzying swell of heat.

"I feel it even now."

All will come to ruin.

Frodo feels a whisper of heat against his lips, and they are drawn together, like a moth to the flame which consumes and leaves nothing but a spray of dead ash.

He knows who will try and take the Ring.

But for the moment, those lips are instead entangled with his own, hard and yet soft, inviting and devouring, pulling him close and scorching the breath from his lungs. And for the span of those seconds the world itself seems to stand on edge, and fear takes hold of Frodo's heart, fear of the unknown, and panic causes the blood to rush, the thud of his heart to rise to a painful height.

The pain is sweet, and right then, Frodo is made ready for what the future will bring.

He is so very alone.

But this is merely now, and then is yet to come.