What Can't Be It was
quiet, all he could hear was the quiet breathing and the occasional
rumbling snore from the dwarf. Looking around Aragorn could easily spot
his travelling companions. The dwarf Gimli slept soundly next to the
cliff that was hiding the fire, seemingly unfazed by all of it. The
elf Legolas preferred sleeping closer to the trees. The hobbits made
out a small pile of curled-up figures, if Aragorn looked closer he was
just able to figure them out individually. Of course Sam laid close
to Frodo, and he had to smile at the sight of Pippin practically covering
his friend, one hand in Merry's hair and stealing his blanket. Merry
didn't seem to mind though, just slept on. Gandalf wasn't in sight,
not that that gave Aragorn any worries.
Sitting
back again, he let his eyes roam the ground for the last of them, feelings
weaving through his minds as gentle fingers as he did. Silently moving
he crept closer to the strong figure sleeping on his right side. In
the dim light of the fire blonde hair seemed golden, the light catching
on the casing of a sword and a heavy shield. He should have known the
other man would keep his weapons close. After all, he was a warrior,
just as Aragorn himself.
Sitting
absolutely still, Aragorn just watched for a second. Even though he
had never laid eyes on the man before now, before the allmeeting, there
was a familiarity between them he couldn't rid himself of. At first
they treaded lightly around each other, like large cats. Eyeing each
other carefully, there had seemed to be a lot of baring of teeth, hissing
and ruffled fur at first. Still there was something else there...something
that made its way through all of it, and made Aragorn uneasy.
The night
settled quickly in the mountains, and they had walked a long, hard distance
during the day. After finishing a quick meal, all had been too tired
to do much more then getting ready for sleep. Aragorn had volunteered
for the first watch, knowing he wouldn't get to sleep anyway as there
was a lot on his mind. As the little camp quieted down, he allowed the
feelings he knew he should fight to come to the surface again.
His path
was clear before him, it had been for a long time. Yet all it took was
the first look from grey-blue eyes to tempt him to stray. And he would
have strayed gladly. If not for the sense of duty he sometimes cursed.
But in the quiet of the night he'd let himself have a rare dream of
what could have been if things were different.
Studying
the other man's face as if to imprent every little detail in his mind,
Aragorn was startled when Boromir moved slowly, fine strands of light
hair falling over his face. He was holding his breath, almost certain
that he had somehow woken the other just by thought and yearning alone.
In an almost desperate urge he reached out and gently brushed the hair
away, the stubborn feelings hoping for Boromir to wake. Warm, smooth
skin was a delightful shock to his fingers, sending lazy warmth up through
him.
The intensity
of the feelings made Aragorn sit back, knwoing he was crossing borders
already. But his hand moved as of its own will, leaving him with merely
the power to just watch. He watched as his fingers braided slowly through
Boromir's halflong hair, curling soft locks around a finger while admiring
the play of light in the fair strands.
"I wish,"
he thought, as countless times before, "that he would have destroyed
the wretched ring when he had the chance. That Elrond would have made
him, forced him to do so. If only..." He stopped, knowing wishful thinking
was of little use know. His heart was already full of disturbing premonitions,
and there was nothing he could do to change the course of some of them.
Taking advantage of his thoughtfullness his hand had moved, fingertips
now drawing patterns on a warm cheek, touching the short beard that
was softer than he had imagined. A shivering breath that ended in a
sigh escaped Aragorn as he neared sligthly open lips, moist breath coating
his skin.
Licking
dry lips, it was all he could do not to lean down and capture those
lips with his own, to feel if they tasted as sweet as they appeared
to be. Frustration welled up in him, spiced with the everpresent longing
he feared was all too evident in his eyes whenever he looked at Boromir.
"It's practically sorcery," he tought with a wry smile. "I'm bewitched.
And I can't even fight it, just let it entangle me with a smile on my
lips..."
The rest
of the camp, and his companions were forgotten for a while. Their mission
pushed back into the back of his mind, kept there until the sun had
risen and they had to continue. "It's not fair," Aragorn decided. "It's
a cruel trick of fate, this... To let me see you, to let me touch you...and
let me know that it can't be. You will never be mine."
Sighing
again, although silently, Aragorn took Boromir's hand in his his, pressing
a kiss to the palm, his eyes closed in a tremble of bliss and despair.
Twining their fingers together, he stared at the sleeping man's face.
"You could make him yours," an insistent voice said in his mind. "You
know he feels it too, you see it in his face, in his eyes, everyday.
Forget about duty and honor...follow your heart. You can have him..."
"I can..."
Aragorn whispered, not even knowing he was speaking. He was breathing
heavily, drops of sweat coating his forehead in a fine sheen. "All I
have to do is get rid of the ring, hide it somewhere... Yes, that's
all... And then..."
He felt
the presence before he heard the voice. He didn't even need to look
up to see the shadowy figure of Gandalf, only a few steps away. Reluctantly
he let go of Boromir's hand, turning to Gandalf. The sorcerer was still
hidden in the dark, only the glow of the pipe gave him away.
"He is
not for you," the deep voice sounded inside Aragorn's mind. "And you
are not for him."
Everything
inside the darkhaired man wanted to fight those words, every fibre of
him wanted to scream, cry, lash out, claw, anything, fighting to the
end for a chance to change things. He hated himself when he simply bowed
his head and meekly agreed.
"Get some
sleep." Gandalf's voice wasn't devoid of compassion, nor sadness on
the young warrior's behalf. But there was nothing he could do, nothing
any of them could do.
Not another
word was spoken as Aragorn woke Gimli, letting the dwarf take his seat
by the fire. Not looking at Gandalf, he laid down next to Boromir. Closing
his eyes, feeling reassured by the dwarf's low humming as he kept both
hands on his trusted axe, Aragorn secretely reached out his hand. As
his fingers touched the hem on Boromir's shirt and he was able to feel
the warmth of the other, he finally could sleep.
by BlueKat
omehow
keeping watch in the quiet night seemed like a waste of time. But the
tall, darkhaired man sitting next to the small, hidden fire knew that
they could be watched by a thousand hostile eyes. They couldn't afford
to be careless, they couldn't even afford to make mistakes. Leaning
forward as if actually feeling the weight of the mission on his shoulders,
the man some knew as Strider placed another dry branch on the fire.
The embers quickly caught up and long shadows licked over the cliff
over them.
