"I should hope that I do not demand that of anyone." He smiles a little, more softly, and wraps both hands around his mug so that the heat of it almost scalds his fingers.
It is still a strange thing, to think of Boromir in the past tense; it is a strange and tugging sorrow to have it so clearly recognised when he does. Grief is an odd beast, that hides itself away only to come out at the most inopportune moments. Knowing that Boromir died well, and as he would have wished, does not take the ache from his absence - and yet, it is not as sharp as it was a year ago, and there is a different kind of ache in that, in realising that his brother fades ever more readily into someone that was and did and is no longer.
Her smile is, perhaps, the most genuinely sympathetic he has seen from her, and there is something strange in that, too. There is an understanding there, and a fear which he hopes is never realised for her; not knowing anything about her, still he can guess what it signifies: that she has a sibling of her own to put, in her mind's eye, into Boromir's place. There is, despite the immense differences between them, a strange solidarity in that.
But she does not pry, and he is grateful for that; and so he does not pry, either, but considers her over the top of his cup, running one thumb idly against the rim. "Do many people demand such entertainment from you?"
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It is still a strange thing, to think of Boromir in the past tense; it is a strange and tugging sorrow to have it so clearly recognised when he does. Grief is an odd beast, that hides itself away only to come out at the most inopportune moments. Knowing that Boromir died well, and as he would have wished, does not take the ache from his absence - and yet, it is not as sharp as it was a year ago, and there is a different kind of ache in that, in realising that his brother fades ever more readily into someone that was and did and is no longer.
Her smile is, perhaps, the most genuinely sympathetic he has seen from her, and there is something strange in that, too. There is an understanding there, and a fear which he hopes is never realised for her; not knowing anything about her, still he can guess what it signifies: that she has a sibling of her own to put, in her mind's eye, into Boromir's place. There is, despite the immense differences between them, a strange solidarity in that.
But she does not pry, and he is grateful for that; and so he does not pry, either, but considers her over the top of his cup, running one thumb idly against the rim. "Do many people demand such entertainment from you?"