He cleans the room carefully. Every dustmite, every sign of age or change, is swept away. The room has to be perfect. Perfect as it was the day the one he loved left and didn't come back.
Aragorn won't let anyone else clean this room. The servants whisper that, in this room, Aragorn finally cries. In this room, Aragorn finally finds release.
But he doesn't. The king knows that in this room, of all rooms, he has to be strong. He has to be royal and commanding. He has to put on a brave front, for the man who will never return.
And when he's done cleaning up the signs of the years, Aragorn begins to speak. He tells the empty room of his accomplishments, his deeds, and the goings-on of his kingdom. He tells the empty room about his children, about his wife. He tells the empty room about his doubts, his fears, and the dreams that come to him in the night. He tells the room about Faramir, Stweard of Gondor, and about Eomer, King of Rohan, because he knows the room would like to hear about them. He tells the room everything he should have told Boromir. And can't.
For this room, this room was Boromir's room. Boromir of Gondor, of whom the songs sing. Boromir the Bold, who fought Orcs at the battle of Osgiliath. Boromir the Tall, who tamed horses. Boromir the Fair, who won the heart of his king.
Aragorn finishes his weekly task, and looks up. He can almost see Boromir standing before him. Can almost see his lover the way he was before, standing tall and proud. Can almost see his beloved Steward's Son, the way he was before the Ring drove him mad. And Aragorn can almost forget the look on Boromir's face when he died. Can almost forget the way it felt to kiss the cooling forehead of the one he loved above all. Can almost forget his promise to a dying friend, to live and be king. Can almost forget the words his lover did not say.
And he tries not to think of the last time they exchanged words, or the time before that. He tries not to think of the way he spoke, what he spoke. He tries to remember the better times, the stolen kisses under the Lorien moon, or shared moments in Moria's mines. He tries to banish his disparagements of Gondor and of its champion. He tries to banish his pain.
Today is a day, Aragorn knows, when Boromir would have been overjoyed with life. The sun shines through no cloud, and it seems like every bird in existence is pouring out its heart. There is no shadow on the world, not even a whisper of Orcs. Today is a day, Aragorn knows, when Boromir would have begged off duties and gone sparring with fellow soldiers. Today is a day, Aragorn knows, when Boromir could have been truly happy.
But the vision fades, and Aragorn is left alone, with nothing but memories. Nothing but regrets, for the things he said, and the things he didn't say. He cannot stop thinking of them as he performs this sacred duty, week after week, year after year. Gandalf told him once that regrets were for those who had nothing else with which to occupy their minds. But Aragorn knows that this is not so. Regrets are for those who never told the one they love that they were loved. Regrets are for those who insulted the one they love mere days before their lover died. Regrets are for those that broke their lovers hearts with strong words and stronger actions in small clearings on rivers, while tempers raged. Regrets are for men like Aragorn, who can never have the one they want again on this earth. Regrets are for men like the King of Gondor, whose one wish would be to take back haughty words, and to salvage a souring relationship. Regrets are for those like the lord of the Dunadain, who would do anything for a moment again with Boromir of Gondor. Regrets are for those who desire above all a chance to apologize. Regrets are for those, those like Aragorn, who would kill for a last kiss.
The cleaning is done, but Aragorn is loath to leave. Every time he cleans Boromir's room, he hopes this will be the last time. That Boromir would somehow be returned to him. That he will die ere the next week came. But Aragorn is bound by his promise.
A brother; a captain; a king.