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For some reason, the actions that have been most painful for Frodo after... everything are simpler ones that he shouldn't be hurt over. His body has gotten used to feeling deep pain as an ache, so the wound on his hand rarely bothers him by simply existing. The pain only gets too much when he bumps it into something.

Even the simple act of it brushing against a desk when he sets his hand down is horribly painful. A sharp, agonising jolt equivalent to someone taking a blade to the stump. Yet it shouldn't. That hand had travelled through Mordor, had gone into Mount Doom. It shouldn't react so horribly to what is, ostensibly, such a minor pain. When Frodo had been injured as a lad, jolting an old wound had hurt less and the most he had to fear was being late for dinner.

Frodo truly doesn't enjoy how he winces over the wound, even if he has been informed so many times that it is serious.

As he wanders through a little of the Houses of Healing, a part that is mercifully empty, he wonders if Aragorn has put him in a more private ward. Frodo rarely sees people who aren't visitors, and even then it is generally an observation from a distance. Sam and Merry and Pippin keep him company, although organically talking to someone and talking to a guest is different. He does talk to some people; Faramir comes to the gardens sometimes, and he is good company. When he talks to Frodo he speaks to him more normally, or as normally as Frodo has accepted the people of Gondor will talk to him.

They discuss the Houses of Healing for the most part, or Faramir will answer his questions about Gondor. Neither of them ask about the bandages on the other's body, or the haunted look in their eyes. Boromir is not mentioned either. Sometimes Frodo does see him, either from far away and only just capturing him or when he's within a room's length and visiting Faramir. Occasionally the man will notice him, and their eyes lock for a moment before Boromir respectfully bows his head and turns away. Frodo isn't sure if he's glad or saddened by the fact he has yet to talk to Boromir.

He thinks he misses the man, but he's not sure what the act of missing him is; is it that he wants to talk to Boromir now, or that he misses the man who didn't try to take the ring from him? He misses the Frodo who was determined to destroy it at any cost. These introspections tend to take up a lot of Frodo's day when he isn't busy, and Frodo can't make up his mind in regards to them being better than being alone with his own thoughts or worse.

Frodo is somewhat far into his own thoughts right now. About nothing in particular, although vaguely trying to recall the past days and if Faramir will be free. In being too absorbed in his mind, Frodo misses how the path continues to slope down - it's a slightly awkward gap between the end of the path and continuation of the floor.

Then he falls.

The fall should not feel as painful as it does, a brief one on his ankle that still feels as though it could snap in half and then an agony on his knee. It shouldn't feel as destructive as it does, falling such a small distance, but for a moment it is as though his knee has fallen apart. All of the meagre skill Frodo has learnt over his quest seems to leave him as he lands awkwardly. Simply lying against the ground without being able to brace himself. Once his body stops falling he knows that he should push himself up again, but the pain still courses through his body and it's easier to just keep lying down. If only for a moment.

The ground is smooth and well-worn in Minas Tirith, but it is not as gentle as the earth of the Shire. It is stone.

"Is everything well? I heard you..." The voice trails off as it grows closer to Frodo, but it has spoken more than enough for Frodo to recognise it. Boromir had sounded concerned the entire time he had been speaking, but it is not as concerned as he had sounded on the few occasions he's spoken to Frodo. Although the concern there is more deep, the pain it worries about is not as temporary. "I heard you fall."

Frodo realises he's still lying on the ground and starts to push himself up, as Boromir waits nearby and watches. The man seems to want to talk throughout all the silence, but he waits until Frodo is up. "Forgive me, I did not mean to disturb you. I mean to travel to my brother, only..."

"I cannot fault you for making sure someone is okay." Frodo dislikes the formality in both their voices, "It is a good thing to do, and it is in your nature."

Shock flashes in Boromir's eyes for a moment, and then his gaze breaks with Frodo and looks to the floor. "Not enough."

The air chills around them before Boromir looks up a little more, "Are you certain you are not injured?"

To be honest, Frodo isn't sure how injured he is; is there just a pain on his knee, or is the skin deep enough to draw blood? "It only hurts a little, and wounds like this I've endured even in the Shire."

"I did not ask if you were familiar with the injury," Boromir smiles for a moment, and his tone gains a little jest. Then it becomes concerned again, "Are you sure you are not injured?"

"I am sure." Strangely, Frodo enjoys the concern. Genuine and not from a point of duty as it has so often been in these past days.

"If you are certain." The space between the two of them is slightly awkward, as for the first time Boromir does not seem to want to rid himself from Frodo's sight as soon as he can. Yet there is nothing the two of them can speak about that is light and wholesome. "I hope it does not plague you for long."

As Boromir leaves, Frodo feels his loneliness more keenly again. And his knee begins to smart.

Knowing that leaving the wound and not cleaning it won't help with anything, Frodo takes one last look at the garden before starting to walk back to his rooms. Besides, Boromir and Faramir will most likely be in there - and his presence will only bring the mood down. Minas Tirith is a poor place to have a knee injury, he quickly discovers, for even in the Houses of Healing there are steps. Many steps.

Frodo imagines briefly the inconvenience of travelling through all of the levels with a worse injury than he has - frowning briefly in sympathy before his leg hurts again. Sitting on his bed, Frodo gently rolls up the fabric until he can see the wound. It is bleeding a little, although there are only a few spots where the skin has broken enough for blood to actually come through. Most of his knee has simply lost a layer or so of skin, the fresh and exposed skin painful but not incredibly damaged. For such a simple wound it should not complain as much as it does - even when he has aggravated it.

Both bandages and water are kept in the room, and so Frodo resolves to deal with the wound himself. It's easy enough to wash it, although there is no good way to wrap a bandage around it. The knee is an awkward place, and if there's a trick for wrapping bandages around it then Frodo is not privy to it. It's also hard to keep steady without a functional right hand.

Still, Frodo doesn't do too badly - he isn't planning on running or even moving much in the near future - and a healer comes to check on him every morning as well as someone who will make the rounds with meals. It's nearing the time that dinner will appear when there's a knock on the door. It moves the slightest amount before Frodo calls out a greeting and it freezes. Confusion only comes for a  moment before the door reopens again, this time more slowly and carefully. He recognises the hand that comes around the door before all of Boromir appears, but doesn't call the man's name. Only smiles.

There's a roll of bandages in his hand, and Boromir's gaze shifts from them to Frodo before again settling halfway. "I did not know if you already had bandages, or- or if you even need them. Forgive me for disturbing you again today."

"Not at all," Frodo appreciates the thought, even though the bandages remind him of the pain, "There's no real injury. I imagine it is the most minor of all things in the Houses of Healing."

"Even a small injury can weigh you down, if the circumstances are right. Well, are wrong enough really." Boromir's voice goes quieter towards the end; it's the first joke that Frodo has heard Boromir make since the incident, and he gives a small smile. It's the longest conversation they've had since the ring, aside from earlier.

"The healers tell me that I am doing better than they expected, most things considered." Frodo offers, and now he's rewarded by Boromir giving a smile as well. The flicker of it is only brief, barely a tug up of the lips, before Boromir has it go back down again and become something controlled. A neutral, verging on pleasant blankness he seems to have chosen to not offend Frodo in some unknowable way. As if a lack of semi-strong emotions will make him less threatening.

Boromir pauses for a while, unsure about taking the conversation hook, "Most things?"

"I told them what was relevant to the healing, is all. I think Sam is the only one who knows everything that happened on our journey." Almost everything. He never left Frodo's side during the journey of just the two of them, and knows Frodo well enough to know the thoughts that Frodo could never speak out loud. Although he doesn't know all that happened beforehand when they weren't quite by each other's side the entire time. Frodo told him most but not all. But between Sam and Boromir, then all of his journey is known.

"I see." Boromir's gaze goes to the door, then back to Frodo.

"Oh, forgive me. That was not an attempt to get rid of you, by any means," Frodo says, "You are the only member of the Fellowship who I haven't been able to speak too properly."

A mixture of sheepishness and guilt comes into Boromir's eyes, and although they go from Frodo's again they do not go to the door either. "My apologies."

"No, it is my poor manners as well. I should have asked to see you."

"Our meeting should not be your responsibility."

"Possibly not. But, of all the responsibilities I've had in the most recent times, it is one that I welcome far more than most."

"Faramir mentioned you briefly, on one of the first times we talked," Boromir hesitates, "I thought he was trying to help me more than you."

"Do you think he would do that?"

"No." Boromir's stance is a little more relaxed now, with the topic, "No, I know he wouldn't."

"Perhaps I should have employed Merry and Pippin to find you." Frodo catches Boromir's gaze properly for the first time, "Unless you would have turned them both away as well."

"I think both of them are far too aware of the fact I could not." Boromir holds it this time, as well. There's more silence, although it's slightly more comfortable.

"Is your injury well? I still remember when Faramir was a boy - falling over in Minas Tirith and scraping himself." Boromir looks at Frodo's injury, although not his knee. "He never cried, at least not on things like that, but I could always tell he was hurt."

"The stone in this city is not quite as pleasant as Hobbiton, but I am truly okay."

"If you are sure?"

"I am."

The topic both of them skirt around, that neither want to broach, smooths a little from its jagged edges. Uncomfortable but not unbearable. Minor enough that Boromir's company is truly pleasant. The man steps back to leave again, and this time Frodo doesn't stop him. Not until he's almost out of the door, at least, "Boromir."

The movement stops immediately, and Boromir turns again. "Yes, Frodo?"

"If you're not too busy, it would be nice to see you again. Perhaps I could send Merry and Pippin after you?"

"Of course." Boromir properly smiles for the first time, "Or perhaps I can pass a message via Faramir. Or perhaps I could come to see you, if I find the time and your day isn't too full?"

"The only person you will likely have to take me from are the healers. And I would be rather thankful for it."

"Then I will endeavor to rescue you soon."

No one else comes to see Frodo for the rest of the day, save a plate of food for supper. If he were truly feeling hobbit-y, he probably should ask for a second plate later on. Instead he picks at this meal, and by the time he would eat dinner around half of the plate is left for him to eat. The food isn't overly rich either, a fact he imagines most of the patients are not overly fond of but he is grateful for. Lembas bread does have a flavour to it that's more obvious than men's bread, but he has been on subtle food long enough that anything too flavourful is still too soon.

The next day is one of the few that no one has said they'll visit Frodo, and he decides to take the time to wander around. A worse idea than it sounded in his head, when he finally gets out of bed. His first leg leaving the bed to touch the floor is fine, but the second one goes wrong. There is only a slight twinge at the very start, and then it gets worse when his knee protests. The thing is only a little worse for wear, there's only some skin lost from the top of it and a little blood, yet it seems to be acting as though Frodo has been stabbed. For a moment it feels almost as unbearable as when he lost the finger.

Walking on flat ground is fine, and Frodo can get around in his room well enough - opening the door to find a breakfast laid out for him. Bending down, his knee going from flat to bent, makes him wince all the way going down and coming back up again. A movement that, considering all the slopes in Minas Tirith, makes Frodo rethink his plans for the day. If he takes it slowly enough then it should go well. Frodo has travelled further distances than a gentle walk around the Houses of Healing, and in a worse condition than this.

It's a sentiment he has to repeat in his mind as he only leaves the door and it slopes down onto the main path. Still, it is not as bad as stairs, and the route that Frodo has planned out ignores most of them. In truth, it is just the walk that Faramir has shown him a few times - although with only him walking around and thinking it feels different.

The walk is going well, except for when Frodo finally runs into the set of stairs on his journey. Normally it's Faramir that lets out a slight sigh at these, and they both politely don't comment on each other's awkward movement - Faramir from pain and Frodo from having to adjust to mannish stares. Now making the exaggerated movements to get over the stairs comfortably does truly hurt, but after stopping for a rest after the first two he grits his teeth and goes up them all at once. He does rest when he gets to the top of the stairs, however.

The wince isn't quite off Frodo's face when he hears Boromir speak, "Frodo?"

"Boromir!" The discomfort is replaced by a smile, and Frodo fully stands up, "It is good to see you again, especially so quickly."

"Not too quickly, I hope." Boromir says, voice - and presence - slightly awkward. "Are you well?"

"Not too quickly at all." Frodo moves forward to broach the distance, "And as I said, it is only a minor thing."

"If I recall what you said, you assured me when I first saw you that there was no injury." This time his eyes do go to Frodo's knee, "You're worse than Faramir when he was young."

"I did not want to worry you."

"You can." Boromir says. "You can always worry me, should I be the - or any of the - persons you wish to talk to."

He realises that he's spoken quickly, and adds, "Although do not let me pressure you. I... I am well aware that I am one of the last people that you will want to confide in."

"You are not." Frodo says, "In truth, I haven't spoken to you because I do not want to relive my last days with the ring. When I-"

It is the first time someone other than Sam and Aragorn will know the truth, if he says it, but the words seem to stick in Frodo's throat. "It is a comfort to know there is someone in Middle Earth who understands how I felt about the ring in the end."

"I did not know."

"I have told almost no one." Frodo lets the revelation have the time that it deserves, before speaking again, "But that time is past us now, we should speak of lighter things."

"We should go back to the injury that you have tried, admittedly well, to avoid talking about." There is a warmth in Boromir's voice. "Have you seen a healer about it?"

"I did not want to bother anyone."

"I imagine most will consider it an honour to help you." Boromir steps forward this time, although doesn't cover quite as much distance. "I am no healer, but I would be happy to look over it."

"I don't want to trouble you."

"You are not." They stare at each for a moment, although Boromir does concede, "Let us walk together; when we get back to your room, we can see if I do need to tend the injury or if it has healed itself."

"And I assume you will be the judge of if I am injured?"

"Should you truly not want me to help you, I will not be able to refuse you." Boromir looks towards the path, and gestures with his arm, "Shall we?"

"We shall." Frodo begins to walk first, and it is he who sets the pace, "I would like to be able to hear about the city from someone who knows it so well."

Boromir's voice grows fond, "Did Faramir not give you several books worth of lore when you walked with him?"

"He did, and I enjoyed it. But it was the stories that were better," Frodo's gaze travels over the buildings, "I want to hear about what made Minas Tirith a home for you."

That makes Boromir light up. As they walk together Frodo can see the man look over the white city, his eyes lighting up in so many places before trying to pick only one to regal Frodo with. Eventually, Frodo reassures him that he'd rather like this to become a tradition they could have together - and so Boromir does not have to feel pressured to tell all on just this walk. It helps Frodo when his knee smarts on slopes as well, for he can simply point out a building and ask Boromir to share the story he has with it with him.

And yet, when they finally get back to Frodo's room Boromir's eyes still fall to his knee. "Will you allow me to help you with your knee now?"

"Are you going to insist on that?"

Boromir, for the first time, gives a smile that has more mischief in it than anything else, "Are you going to lie to me and tell me that there's nothing wrong with your leg?"

"I-" Frodo tries to keep eye contact before looking away and staring more at the floor. "I suppose I must concede, although I truly am all right."

"I have heard that for too long with too many injuries to believe you without question, unfortunately." Boromir opens the door to Frodo's room, allowing the hobbit inside while he picks up the bandages he'd left in the room earlier. Waiting, Boromir stands still until Frodo has fully settled before slowly starting to move. "Is it bad?"

"I wasn't when I checked yesterday." Frodo answers honestly, before pulling up the fabric over his knee. The bandages around it have peeled and are falling off horribly, with Boromir briefly raising an eyebrow before electing not to comment on it.

"May I remove it?"

Frodo nods, and Boromir reaches out to untuck the flimsy bit of bandage before starting to unwind it from Frodo. The sensation is odd, with the coarse roughness of the bandage's edge contrasting with the slightly rough but warm hand of Boromir. A slight hint of his callouses before they simply brush around his leg and fully remove the bandage.

It doesn't take long, with Frodo just growing used to the sensation when Boromir finishes the task. The wound itself is not very impressive, and Frodo imagines most of the pain comes from the pink, fresh skin on his knee rather than the few bits that are bloody and beginning to scab. Casting his gaze around the room, Boromir speaks up, "Do you want me to wash it, briefly? There is no obvious dirt, but it is your preference."

Frodo doesn't know how to feel about Boromir's hands being on him, still. He knows that they'll still have to rebandage him, but to stay on him for a little longer than that? Frodo's leg stays still, but he shakes his head politely, "I will be fine, thank you. If this has had no risk of infection, I imagine my knee will be okay."

Boromir looks distinctly unimpressed at Frodo holding up his hand and missing finger, but he simply takes the new roll of bandages and holds them out for a moment. His eyes gaze over Frodo's knee then back to the bandages, "You have a talent for choosing the most inconvenient places to be bandaged, Frodo."

Frodo laughs, "I can assure you, it is not a deliberate choice. Certainly not a scrapped knee while in Minas Tirith."

"One of the few comforts of being in the Houses of Healing. Me and Faramir would still regularly traverse through all of the levels of this city with one."

"And you would manage it?"

"We would always complain about it to each other. Or I to my mother, when we were younger. Her advice was always that we should go slower and be  more careful, but what boy heeds that advice when he's young?"

Boromir's hands circle around Frodo's leg, neatly containing the wound before starting to tie it. Frodo speaks, "Was there truly anything urgent that you were trying to get to?"

Boromir finishes the bandages, looking up and meeting Frodo's eye with a smile, "The urgency of glory, of course. Of bragging rights between whether me or Faramir would make it down first."

An image comes to Frodo's mind of a much younger Boromir racing his brother down the steps, of the two of them arriving at almost the same time with one just in front of the other. Looking at each other while frantically breathing as they determine who won, before beginning to laugh. It is the same thing Merry and Pippin would always do, racing down slopes in the Shire instead of Minas Tirth's stairs.

A common complaint of Pippin comes to Frodo. "But how did Faramir ever end up winning, if you are five years older than him?"

"I would sometimes let him win, when he was very little. Or I would have some little bruise which slowed me down." Boromir doesn't disguise the fondness in his voice as he talks, "At times he seemed to win by almost throwing himself down the stairs, or figuring out some shortcut that I wasn't aware of. Once he got older he would win in his own right. Though of course, should you tell him that, I will deny it and not forgive you."

The jest makes Frodo laugh, loudly and heartily, being treated in a way before Mount Doom and not after it. The kind of ribbing that he would hear in Hobbiton (that he used to hear the rest of the fellowship say when they didn't use to check their tongues around him). For a moment Boromir smiles along with the joke, before realising what he said and who he said it too. The man withdraws again, finally stepping fully away from Frodo and standing up. "Forgive me, I spoke without-"

"There is nothing to forgive." Frodo says firmly, "It was a good jest, a common one that you say among when sharing old stories. I know you did not mean anything by it."

"I should still be more thoughtful."

Frodo shakes his head, "You should speak to me how you would speak to any other. It is better to still have conversations that we had before all of this, is it not?"

"It is easier." Boromir admits, "But I would not say better. I did... change during your quest, and it would be foolish to not acknowledge it."

"I do not blame you for trying to take the ring, Boromir." The dark, jagged thing that has sat between them the entire time jolts and he can see Boromir stiffen. Draw himself up instinctively as if to face a foe, or at the very least to defend himself. But Boromir does not look away, lets Frodo attempt to shift the blackness between them. So Frodo continues, "I do not believe that anyone could resist the ring forever, and there was nothing ignoble about your cause."

"And yet you did."

"I did not." Saying it out loud again, in a way that cannot be danced around or misunderstood, feels both beautiful and painful at the same time. To finally have someone other than Sam know he is just as fallible as them all, that he was not a saint of the ring and just a victim of it. A better victim than some others, perhaps. "I had no grand goals to prevent me from destroying it, either. I had no reason to use the ring and yet, at the end, I still wanted to."

"You were the ringbearer - to falter after such a burden is-"

"To fall." Frodo corrects, "I stopped once the ring was destroyed, not to destroy it. We all carried burdens during the quest.”

There is still tension in Boromir's body, still something deep and instinctive at those words. With the guilt. Frodo does not push it, but sits slightly upwards. Letting his gaze break from Boromir and going towards his knee. The silence continues, and he can tell that Boromir wants to leave. So he looks up, briefly, "I plan to walk in the gardens again, tomorrow. If you think that my injury will allow it?"

A swallow. "Of course."

"I imagine I shall be fine regardless of companionship. Although it would, perhaps, be reassuring to know someone is there in case I happen to fall again."

"Of course.”

The rest of the day is not spent overly productively, with Ioreth seeming to get the most of it - the heart grinning at Frodo’s talkativeness, and some kind of knowledge in her eyes. When Frodo wakes up the next day, the first thought in his mind is that his knee does not hurt as badly as it did yesterday. Likely just a result of time passing, although the fact it was properly bandaged will have helped as well. It's a bandage that has shifted slightly in the night, movement he must have made while he was asleep catching it a little. A truly irritating place to get injured. Getting out of bed and getting changed, Frodo's thoughts turn instead to the person who had bandaged it yesterday; he never gave Boromir a time to meet him so they could walk together. So when will he come?

The first knock on his door is met eagerly, although Frodo can feel his face fall a little when it is Ioreth that opens the door before he catches it. She catches his expression as well, glancing over her shoulders before smiling at him, "Somehow, I suspect that I am not the person you are eager to see today, Frodo."

"It is always good to see you." Frodo's words are a deflection rather than a protest, but it does not keep the smile entirely off her face.

"Good for your injuries, you mean. I have more salve - and have been informed that you managed to hurt yourself again while simply walking in the gardens."

"I was not paying attention, and it is only a minor wound."

"And it is not you who has been charged by the king to look after companions most precious to him, nor the one who has to say that they've managed to injure themselves on just the ground." Ioreth places the small jar of salve in his hands, gently and carefully enough he knows that her scolding is simply from concern. And that Aragorn would not blame for whatever he has managed to get himself into. "If it wasn't for walking and seeing people being so good for the mind, it would be far easier to tend patients by forcing them into their bed all day long."

The walk with Boromir comes into his mind again, and the meetings with others that he has had. "Well, I am glad that that is not the practice of Gondor."

"As am I." She goes back to the doorway, almost leaving before looking back on him. "It seems that the private wards of the Houses have better ways of healing in many ways. Or better people for doing so."

The door closes behind her, and Frodo takes the food she's left for him. It is almost the same as it usually is, aside from having an apple with it this time. Picking it up, Frodo rolls the fruit around in his palm for a moment before setting it back down to eat later. A treat, of sorts. Waiting for a knock seems even more eventful now, because today has reached the time when it is acceptable to start knocking on other people's doors and greet them in order to see them. And, when there is that noise, there is less of a question as to who it is. Now there is a much more defined anticipation.

The anticipation lasts long enough for Frodo to have finished most of his breakfast, and for him to have picked up the apple and started to bite into it. He is still not trusted with a knife, not that he has been given any foods tough enough that a firm fork cannot break them, although it is not an offence. He isn't sure if he knows anyone in the Houses of Healing that has been trusted not to accidentally stab themselves with one (although perhaps a sample size of three, all with arm injuries, is not the most free of bias).

Tasting the apple, it is not quite as rich or sweet as the ones in the Shire. Suddenly the taste of those has come back to him much more clearly, along with how cider truly has that sweet aftertaste as well as the way it warms him. But even if it is not as good as the produce from the Shire it is still fine to eat, it is possibly more welcome as an introduction back into the flavours of life, spring time, and wholesomeness.

There is a good chance that the Shire has some of the finest crops in all of Middle Earth, except of course the kingdom of the elves. Frodo knows that only passing by lands that have been blemished by fighting or that are far too close to the enemy's shadow is not a good way to get an accurate representation of what they are capable of, but even so he thinks the Shire will do better. More specifically Hobbiton, of course. Although maybe he is putting too much weight on pride and loyalty. Biting into the apple again, Frodo shifts the fruit slightly in his hand so that a new portion comes closer to him. It will be more awkward to eat once he has finished more of it, balancing both eating new parts while trying not to let apple seep into his bandages. Would apple juice be horribly detrimental to a wound?

A knock comes to the door, and even though Frodo is expecting it the apple still jumps a little in his hand. Hopefully apple juice is not.

"Come in, please." The eagerness in Frodo's voice is not wasted as the door opens and Boromir steps in, crossing the threshold before looking between the door and Frodo.

"Do you wish for me to close it?" Boromir's hand rests there, waiting for an order. "I did not mean to interrupt your breakfast."

"You are not at all, I have had most of it. The apple is a bonus - although I am not sure if it is Ioreth feeling sorry for me or her way of telling me that I am recovering well." Frodo beckons Boromir in more, "And come in, you can close the door behind you."

"Very well." Boromir says, and the door swings shut as he goes fully into the room and looks around.

Frodo's gaze briefly sweeps the room as well before he realises the problem; there is minimal furniture in the room. A bed, a desk, and the chair that Frodo is sitting on. "You can sit on the bed if you do not wish to stand."

"I could not intrude."

"You are barely, and the bed is the House's -not mine." Frodo looks up and down Boromir for a moment, "If it were a hobbit bed, I would not feel so swamped in it. I wager that it could even fit you lying down, although perhaps not overly comfortably."

"I... I think it could." Boromir sits gingerly on the bed, only enough to support him and nothing else. "Did you sleep well?"

"I think so; I woke up late and had no dreams." Dreams are yet to come back to Frodo. "Yourself?"

"The same." Boromir shifts, "I am still not sure how much I miss them."

"Or that you miss the good ones, but are not sure if those will be what you have."

There is a little surprise in Boromir's eyes before he nods. "Aye, like that. I did not mean to dampen the mood quite this quickly."

"We both did." Frodo's hand briefly raises, a subconscious flick away as the thought makes itself words. The apple shifts in his palm again, and he speaks, "Do you know if apple juice is awful for a wound?"

"Is there, as a guess, a reason that you're asking me this?" Boromir smiles as he looks to the apple, "I do not believe so, more that I would get annoyed by it settling and becoming sticky. I cannot imagine an apple poses a great threat."

"I cannot either, but- oh." Another thought comes to Frodo, and the half eaten apple in his palm. "But you must take a piece, if you want some. It is terribly rude of me to eat in front of you and not even offer you something."

"I have already eaten today."

"As have I. If you had walked in before I had started this apple, I would have insisted we split it evenly - and now I have already eaten half." Frodo holds it out, hoping the man has some kind of knife on him, "My uncle raised me to be a polite hobbit."

"If you insist." Boromir's hand reaches out to take the apple, careful to not disturb the bandage. He does indeed produce a small knife of some kind from a pocket, moving to cut himself off a segment of the fruit. The metal stops as he feels Frodo's disapproval, before repositioning it to ensure that both of them are given an equal slice of the apple. "Thank you."

"Of course." Silence settles between them for a little while as the two of them just eat, but it has returned to being comfortable. Boromir finishes his half slightly quicker, but waits for Frodo to finish swallowing before starting a conversation between the two of them again.

"Do your bandages feel over sticky?"

A brief flex of his fingers. "I do not believe so. And I am sure I can survive once they become so."

"Because wrapping one hand with your non-dominant one is so simple." Boromir jests, although experience seems to guide his voice. "What are the healers giving you for your other cuts?"

"My other cuts?"

Boromir's hand briefly traces his own face, mirroring when Frodo knows a few scrapes of his own are. "They seem too annoying to bandage. Although- I am aware at this point most of my men would be telling me to leave it alone."

"I have a salve for them." Frodo glances to the desk briefly, then holds it out. "I sometimes end up smearing it on just my face, but there are yet to be harmful consequences."

"Have they not given you a mirror?"

"Not a permanent one. I have asked to see myself a few times, although... I have no real want for one."

Frodo is not pressed on the matter, although Boromir's gaze falls to the salve. "Do you want help with it?"

It is a simple thing for Frodo to apply himself. A quick, five minutes out of his day - with the most major stake being if he is going to accidentally smear some on parts of his cheeks that don't contain wounds. But he nods, and hands the jar to Boromir. "They do not need much."

Nodding, Boromir stands from the bed and stands a little in front of Frodo before kneeling. The chair they have found for Frodo is, somehow, hobbit-size and so when Boromir kneels they become almost on the same eyeline. If anything, Frodo may be very slightly higher up. Opening the jar, Boromir waits for a moment to study Frodo's face again and look at the wounds. To Frodo's surprise it is not an uncomfortable feeling to wait, to be watched; Boromir's eyes stop near a scab before moving left and suddenly keeping a full gaze with his own - and then Boromir quickly looks down.

The coolness of the salve is always soothing on Frodo's skin, although it does not disguise the warmth of the hand underneath it. The humanness of the person putting it on. Frodo can feel a little of Boromir's callouses as well, when the salve is gently placed where there is more skin than injury. Although it is still skin that cannot feel quite as well as the rest of Frodo.

The first side of his face completed, Boromir's hand briefly withdraws and goes back to the pot. He has not made eye-contact since, now looking into the jar, and Frodo takes a moment to breath as silently as he can. Can feel the slight warmth on his cheeks that he had missed due to the previous coldness - due to thinking it was warmth entirely from Boromir. Then Boromir softly clears his throat, and Frodo sits still again and allows himself to be helped.

Boromir's fingers are still feather-light as they apply the application, with only one or two grazing him at a time. Frodo can still feel the rest of his hand, however, it is resting close enough that it still radiates some warmth. As the seconds tick by Frodo vaguely recognises that there are almost no wounds left on his face, only the final larger one. Boromir begins to place salve over it again, and this time Frodo tries to focus on the feeling of the man's hands against his face. To commit them to memory, as yet another sense that brings him some form of joy - only this time he is more determined not to lose the recollection, knows how rare this feeling will be.

And then Frodo himself moves. Only slightly. Just a little bit sideways, enough to rest his face gently in Boromir's hand instead of there only being a finger touching him. Instinctively, Boromir's hands curl around and cup his face as well - the warmth fully encompassing his cheeks.

Frodo can hear Boromir's intake of breath as it happens. His eyes regain focus and he can see Boromir's gaze looking into his, taking in Frodo's face as he holds it - as if this is a memory that the man does not want to forget either. Boromir's hand does not pull away from him, but Frodo can feel the slight tremble in it. Can see the strength in Boromir's eyes as he only stays close. Stays waiting.

It is Frodo that bridges the gap.

That leans down to Boromir, gently pressing their lips together and waiting to see what happens. He feels the intake of breath more than he sees it, a mixture of surprise and longing, before Boromir's lips part open as well and he can feel himself being kissed back. Boromir's other hand leaves his side, and instead going around Frodo and pulling the two of them closer together.

It is Boromir that pulls back from the kiss, eventually, although only enough to look Frodo in the eyes. His hands stay where they are; Frodo catches Boromir's gaze, and then he can see the man look down and his hands begin to retract. "Do not go."

His voice is quiet, but Boromir stops immediately. Stays exactly where they are, the two of them together. Swallowing. "Then what would you have me do?"

Frodo gets closer again, and he can feel Boromir ready for a kiss once more. They do again, but not before Frodo's lips whisper, "Stay."