Leaves fell between the trees, flickers of starlight playing with them as they gently guided them to the ground. It was a natural flurry of activity, but a serene one.

Everything was serene in these woods, and it was driving Boromir insane. He felt restless like never before. His breaths came in uneven puffs, his fingers were tingling as though his nerves were severed in places, and his very skin was crawling. And since his talk with Aragorn, his stomach had begun to clench nauseatingly as well.

Why were they lingering here? Why would these elves Aragorn was so fond of want to help them? Especially... Boromir snorted disdainfully... especially considering the great Aragorn, who fancied himself a man of Gondor, its future king even, could barely find it in his heart to help his own people.

Boromir paced, his heavy boots crushing autumnal leaves carelessly under their weight, his fidgeting hands tearing at low-hanging branches wherever he passed them. Suddenly, his wrist was stilled in mid-air by a tight grip.

"Why take out your aggravation on innocent trees?" a low, only vaguely familiar voice asked.

Boromir jolted. He had heard no one approach, and he prided himself on his keen warrior senses; they had saved his own life and that of others many times. And yet, just then, those senses had evidently failed him. Spinning around, ready to strike, he found himself face to face with the Lord of the Lorien woods in all his silver splendour, who stood clutching Boromir's wrist in the air, tightly but not painfully.

Testing the grip, Boromir tugged a little, but found he could not retrieve his hand until the other would concede to return it to him. "Is this the hospitality of the elves?" he fumed. "To attack your guests when they have their back turned and are lost in thought?"

Celeborn's lips quirked minutely, but his eyes remained stern. "You speak out of turn, son of Gondor. I am the Lord of this realm, and I ask you to remember that."

Boromir stared at the silver-haired elf with what he hoped passed for defiance, but under the other's gaze - steadier and more dominant than he himself could ever hope to match - his own eyes lowered, and he felt ashamed. "My apologies, Lord Celeborn. I fear I am not... myself."

Celeborn nodded and released the man's hand to fall by the other's side. "I am aware of that. It is why I am here now."

Boromir felt the lump that had been in his throat all night grow larger. He met the other's gaze with trepidation. "You believe that I will fail the ringbearer."

Celeborn looked at him evenly. Then, walking past him, he lead the way down a narrow path, and Boromir automatically followed. "What do you believe?" the elf asked, his own hands stroking hanging branches reverently in passing as though calming them.

Boromir, walking now beside the elf, sighed. "In truth, I cannot say. I would like to think I can be trusted."

"Then why be so unsure of yourself?" Celeborn asked, turning into an even narrower path into a dark part of the forest. "By your very lack of self-confidence you challenge your trustworthiness."

Boromir continued to follow without question, entirely unaware of his surroundings. "Perhaps it is to do with everyone else gazing at me suspiciously, as though I were about to attack Frodo." His voice spoke of frustration rather than anger.

Celeborn assessed Boromir with a curious expression, then he made a wide gesture with one silver-clad arm, and Boromir looked at the scene before him.

"This is... magnificent," Boromir said, awed.

"I call it the star chamber." Celeborn walked into the center of the tree-canopied circle, where indeed nothing but the distant stars provided illumination. They flickered in between thin white branches which were entwined like the arms of lovers. "My favourite place."

Boromir stared at the elf lord. "Why... why have you brought me here, my Lord?"

"There are enchantments upon this circle. No one can enter it unless accompanied by myself or my wife. No one can see inside it until standing within it. We bring here anyone who needs to find strength and tranquility within himself," Celeborn explained.

"Will you put some manner of charm upon me?" Boromir asked suspiciously.

"No, Boromir of Gondor. This is not about spells or incantations. There is nothing false here, except the illusion of the chamber's non-existence. This place, and its tranquility, are merely meant to ground you, and to make your mind clear about its true purpose."

Boromir considered his options. He could flee like a coward and continue fighting the cursed ring's whispers in his mind. Or... He assessed Celeborn unashamedly; the elf lord - otherworldly and powerful though he was - appeared sincere. And after all, he would have no need to trick a mere man, would he? But what if he was after the ring for himself? No, Boromir decided immediately. Were that the case, he would have found a way to lure Frodo here instead.

"Boromir?" Celeborn's rough-edged velvet voice cut short the man's thoughts. "All I ask is that you let me guide you to a quieter state of mind." And devoid of the roughness, he added, "Please."

Boromir shivered. He no longer doubted the magic of the elves as he once used to. It was all too easy to fall under the spell of such a voice. Such a being. He felt connected to the elf lord as though by some invisible thread, but instead of filling him with fear, it made him feel only warmth, and a heavy longing anchoring him to the ground he stood upon. "Yes," he said softly.

Celeborn nodded, and to Boromir's utter astonishment, he said, "Undress."

"What?" Boromir shifted uncomfortably, wrapping his arms around his middle protectively. "I can't. I..."

Patiently, Celeborn explained. "You must feel the earth, the grass, the warmth of the chamber against your skin. You must allow its calm to infuse your very being." Amused by the typically human modesty but unwilling to show it, Celeborn focussed his night dark eyes seriously on the man's unsteady gaze, and coaxed softly, "You can trust me, Boromir. I give you my word."

As if of their own accord, Boromir's hands moved to the front of his vest and drew it back over his shoulders. When it fell to the ground, he began to undo the criss-crossing lacing of his tunic.

Celeborn, to put the man more at ease and gather up the necessary strength to go through his ritual, raised his eyes to gaze up at Ithil through the web of branches overhead.

Boromir had removed all but his leggings, and his bare toes curled into the grass. He hesitated, his eyes never leaving the elf's beautiful face, though it was mostly averted from him. Then, with a sigh, he undid the fastenings, and stepped out of his last items of clothing. He cleared his throat, fighting down the threatening blush.

Celeborn faced him, his eyes not straying from the man's face, and reached out to place a hand on Boromir's shoulder, exerting the slightest hint of pressure - enough to tell the man he was expected to sit down.

Boromir did so, and found to his surprise that the soft ground in this starlit circle felt warm, as if the day's sunlight was still stored within the very earth.

Celeborn knelt beside him, to Boromir's surprise. "Lie down. And breathe easy." His eyes flickered across the man's beautiful nude form taut with apprehension. "Be calm, Boromir. You are safe here. No one can see into this place, and no one can enter it."

Boromir nodded and lay back, surprised at the warmth and serenity spreading through his entire body the moment he was stretched out to his full length on the forest floor. A deep sigh escaped him, and he did breathe more easily then. A warm hand rested on his forehead, and he closed his eyes.

Celeborn allowed him time to grow accustomed to the feel of the grass and leaves against his skin, knowing that men shielded themselves from everything with the aid of clothing - attack, fear, passion, and being one with nature. "Does it not feel good, Boromir?" he whispered.

Boromir shifted a little and sighed. "Yes."

"Does it not warm you, and make you feel alive?"

"Yes." Boromir's voice cracked a little, and Celeborn knew that the sensuousness of lying naked in this beautiful clearing, as well as his own voice, was tantalizing the man.

"It is perfectly fine to feel aroused, Boromir," he said, surprised by the roughness in his own voice. His gaze flickered once again over the man's body, and he was surprised by how thrilling the sight was to him. "You are as beautiful as Ithil above," he heard himself murmuring.

A soft moan passed the man's lips, and one leg came slightly off the ground as Boromir's toes curled deeper into the grass.

Celeborn's eyes were fixed on Boromir's growing arousal, and he fought with all his strength to not touch where he had no business touching, no matter how enticingly the narrow hips and moon-bathed skin beckoned. "Let the earth be your anchor. Let it remind you why are you here, and what it is you fight for," he intoned softly, focussing on the task at hand.

Boromir remained still for a time, sinking into a kind of trance. Then, he whispered something, a single word, too quietly to be understood.

"What do you fight for, Boromir?" Celeborn coaxed. "Is it not the freedom of Arda, the freedom of this world?"

Boromir's nod was so hesitant that Celeborn frowned, letting his hand slide over the man's face until his fingertips touched a temple. The fierceness of the pulse beating there astonished him.

Again, Boromir whispered that word.

Celeborn's chest clenched with sudden apprehension. "What do you fight for, Boromir?" he asked, still softly, but with more urgency.

"Faramir..." Boromir sighed.

The elf lord did not need to ask who this was. His fingers were trembling from the throbbing of Boromir's veins where they traced them, and he felt the increase of the man's temperature through his own skin. He closed his eyes in resignation, but unwilling to give up so easily, he spoke once more. "Is he not part of this earth, Boromir? Must you not protect it for him?"

Boromir's breathing grew uneven. "I have always protected him," he whispered urgently. "I always will." He inhaled sharply. "I must always have the strength to do so."

'And what could give you more strength than the One Ring...' Celeborn added in his mind. He fought to keep his stroking touches gentle on the man's skin, even though he wanted to shake him until he came to his senses. "It is a false strength, Boromir," he tried. "The price is too high."

"No! No price is too high." Boromir trembled. "Not for Faramir."

Celeborn felt as though Arda began to crumble about them and, uncharacteristically, silent tears began to pearl over his strong cheekbones. He leaned over the man, whose calm was slowly returning, and pressed salt-stained lips to his.

Boromir did not return the kiss, nor did he draw away. He merely let it wash over him like soft rainfall.

Celeborn withdrew, whispering, "Those are the tears of Arda you taste, Boromir. Many more will flow if you take the ring."

Boromir whimpered softly, his brow furrowing even as his body remained a picture of stillness. "I know the taste of tears all too well," he said sadly.

Celeborn sat back on his haunches and let his gaze rest on Boromir's eyes - staring up at the night sky, wide and unfocused. It was clear to the elf lord that Boromir spoke not of his own tears. Sadness and longing shone from the ocean-coloured depths, but the impression of sparkling silver tears was no more than Ithil's deception.

Knowing there was nothing more he could do, Celeborn allowed Boromir a few more moments of undisturbed rest, and under his gentle strokes to a pale forehead and soft strands of hair, Boromir fell back into a state of deep relaxation. "Come back to me, Boromir," Celeborn eventually softly infused. "Look at me."

Boromir took a few deep breaths and did as he was told, and the expectation in his gaze as he once more faced Celeborn lucidly nearly broke the elf's immortal heart. "I do feel calmer now," Boromir said. "I do not think my strength will fail me now. Do you, Lord Celeborn?"

Celeborn weighed his words with great care. Had he not earlier told the man that a lack of belief in his own strength was a dangerous thing? "No, Boromir. Your strength will not fail you," he said. A half-truth.

Boromir smiled and remained lying in the grass as though to continue soaking up his newfound calm, completely unaware of the darkness which had descended upon the elf lord's face.

When they left the chamber soon after, walking in silence back to where the rest of the fellowship lay in slumber, Celeborn observed how gently, almost tenderly, Boromir shifted low-hanging branches out of their way. And as they were about to part, Celeborn's soothing touch to Boromir's cheek was answered with a hand upon his own.

"I thank you, Lord Celeborn. For all you have done for me," Boromir said, only a little confused when the elf nodded without meeting his eyes and quickly left.

Celeborn's return to his own talan was greeted by his Lady, who had been waiting eagerly.

"How did you fare, husband?" Galadriel whispered in hushed tones.

Celeborn looked at her with sadness. "Badly."

She paled visibly. "How can that be? I felt sure, as did you, that Boromir would have the strength to resist."

Celeborn sighed deeply. "It is not a lack of strength which will cause him to fail, but its abundance." When she looked oddly at him, he added, "He will fail not from a lust for power, but from an overwhelming love."

Galadriel's beautiful eyes lowered sadly. "Then there is nothing we can do."

"No," Celeborn agreed. "We cannot aid him in this. I fear the fate of Boromir of Gondor is sealed."

That night, they cried bitter tears for him. And even more for his beloved brother's loss.

End