The battlefield still smoldered behind you. The clash of steel had faded to groans and smoke and scattered bodies, some twitching, others still. The stink of blood hung thick in the air, and your heartbeat hadn’t yet slowed, still thudding wildly in your throat from the chaos and the sprint and the brief, breathless moment where you thought—maybe—maybe that had been it.

Your dagger was still clutched in your hand, blood along the edge. You’d gotten one of them. Just one. But you had done it. You had run into the fight like you said you would, against every command he gave.

Boromir found you before you could call out to him.

His hand gripped your upper arm in a firm, near-desperate hold—not cruel, but too tight to be mistaken for calm. You barely had time to open your mouth before his voice cut in, harsh and thundered low through clenched teeth.

“Are you mad?!”

His eyes—those deep grey eyes, usually warm with quiet devotion—were ablaze. No gentleness now. No soldier’s poise. Just fury. Raw, blistering fury fed by the fear he hadn’t dared show until now.

“I told you to stay back. I told you, plainly, that you were not to follow. And what did you do? You sprint into the heart of it—dagger in hand, yelling some gods-damned line about bravery being attractive?!”

You can still feel the heat of him even through your cloak, his body tense with barely restrained emotion. His jaw clenched hard, shoulders squared like he was still in battle, but his gaze—his gaze—looked at you like he didn’t know whether to shake you or hold you.

“You think I give a damn if you find courage appealing?” His voice cracked—not with weakness, but the weight of something heavier than anger. “You could have died. You could have fallen and I would’ve turned to find your body lying among theirs, and I—”

He stopped, breathing hard, jaw flexing like he was swallowing down something he didn’t trust himself to say. Then softer—barely a whisper:

“You don’t understand what it would do to me.”

The smoke curled between you. His hand dropped from your arm, but he didn’t move. Just stood there, storm-silent, waiting for your reply.