River Gift
"We will send him to the falls of Rauros and give him to Anduin. The river
of Gondor will take care at least that no evil creature dishonours his
bones."
Perhaps it was the echoes of the wind on the waves, echoes of a long
familiar horn-blast, one that she had not heard in some time. Perhaps it was
the overpowering taste of grief in the water, a heavier, more personal grief
than most battles normally provoked. It might even have been the taint of
shrouded evil that swept over the area, prickling at Anduin's normal
disinterest in the world. Whatever the reason, her attention was roused and
when the small boat glided down her staircase, Anduin chose to watch as the
craft travelled with the current.
She only impeded its voyage a bit. There could be no harm in dragging at the
tiny boat a little, in whirling it through an eddy or two to give herself
more time to look the craft over. Anduin slowed it, but she didn't stop its
progress. In fact, the strangely buoyant vessel had very nearly passed out
of her reach before she decided to catch the offering. Even then it took
more effort than she had expected to pull the boat under her calm surface.
The handsome blond human that lay cradled within the magical wood was not
the source of evil that Anduin had sensed in the world, but the miasma of
that evil had brushed him. Fortunately, a love-inspired blessing that had
been bestowed on the man's brow and her own cleansing waters had preserved
the blond's soul.
Gathering the cold body of the warrior to her even colder breast, Anduin
stroked the blessing on his pale forehead. It was a powerful piece of magic.
Something about the mark sent a shivering wave through Anduin. She couldn't
resist smoothing her finger over the charm, toying with it. A bit of power
fed into the blessing caused a delightful sensation to ripple through her.
Smiling, Anduin decided that this one was special, a precious jewel worth
saving for another time.
The elemental being wrapped her newest treasure in strands of raw magic,
paying special attention to the point on his forehead that sent tickles
through her being whenever she brushed it. Anduin cocooned the man against
time and the wear her substance inflicted on everything touched by the flow
of her watery essence. She then tucked the tidy bundle away in one of her
many bowers. Such a man might be useful, but there was no hurry about
reviving him. Anduin had all the time in the world to decide what use she
would put this man of Gondor to.
At times the mantle of leadership lay too heavily on a man who had spent the
first part of his life travelling the forests and byways of Middle-Earth.
The man, now known as King Elessar, needed at times to slip away from family,
hearth and throne to remind himself who he had once been. Elessar's steward,
Faramir, and the Queen knew enough to cover for the King's absence. Both
were secure in the knowledge that Elessar would return to them before long
in a much calmer state of mind thanks to the break.
Perched on the bank of the river Anduin, clad in simple ranger gear, Elessar
could be Aragorn once again. His gaze swept across the water, turning
upriver. It seemed whenever he had the time to spare lately the Anduin
invariably drew him near. Something about the great river called to him,
focused him and right now Aragorn's thoughts were a dark storm dearly in
need of focus. One exceedingly troublesome, rather personal, problem
burdened him, as well a few minor concerns for the kingdom he ruled. Over
the last while he'd grown short-tempered and difficult to live with. His
wife had practically tossed his ranger garb at him, suggesting he not return
until he was in better spirits for the sake of her, their daughter and all
of Gondor. Arwen was in the early months of another pregnancy and had no
patience for her husband's mood swings while her own were so unstable.
So little in the world was still dangerous. Wilderness remained, of course,
but few were the pockets of life-threatening evil. The situation was to the
benefit of all the folk of Middle-Earth but Aragorn couldn't keep himself
from feeling a guilty craving for something wild, dangerous, and unexpected.
He felt an irresistible need to test himself right now. To fight, bleed and
triumph over something. Lately he had grown impossibly restless, almost
twitchy, and his perspective was sorely in need of a challenge. Perhaps a
complete upset of life might be one way to put things straight.
The man lingered nearby for quite some time before Anduin recognized him.
This was the King who had helped bring peace and calm to the land after a
time of great darkness. This was a man who had earned her gratitude. He had
helped to end the pollution of orc bodies and filth spilling into Anduin's
pristine waters. A whim seized hold of the entity that was the river. She
would give this man a token of her gratitude. Many were the possibilities.
Anduin had bits and pieces of everything, from trinkets of gold to bright
fruit produced an age ago up near her headwaters, stored in various bowers
up and down her length.
The man waded into the flowing water to scoop up a drink in the palm of his
hand. The taste of this king's essence roused a memory that Anduin had laid
aside some time ago. Inspiration struck, bringing with it the recollection
of bright sensation tickling through her entire being. She had something
stored in one of her magical caches that bore this man's mark and Anduin
decided to return it.
A violent bubbling in the water near the centre of the river was the first
warning for Aragorn that some strangeness was occurring. He immediately
retreated to the bank and set his hand up his sword hilt. A waterspout that
glittered with all the colours of a rainbow erupted near the centre of the
river, then the Anduin settled down to a steady flow once again. The only
sign of the odd disruption was a wash of shimmering foam. The anomaly moved
toward Aragorn, breaking apart like a soap bubble as it touched the rocks of
the shore.
A huddle of black, burgundy and gold stretched out into the form of a man as
the foam fractured. Coughs wracked the long body and limbs flailed in the
shallow water. Heavy clothing and armour were weighing the man down.
Confident that such a distressed figure was no real threat, Aragorn splashed
back into the shallows to help the man stand. Aragorn seized a handful of
sopping wet silk and an overpowering feeling of familiarity hit him full
force. Seeing his own fingers bunched in crimson and gold-flecked material
caused a memory to crackle through Aragorn like a bolt of skyfire. It was a
recollection charged with raw emotion, a memory that had grown, impossibly
enough, more vivid when it should have been dimmed by time and distance.
Only one man Aragorn had ever met had worn a tunic of such a particular
material as this. Desperately he dragged the figure upright, needing to see
this man's face.
The water had darkened golden hair to almost black but there was no
mistaking this man's face. Time had not eroded Aragorn's memory at all; in
fact it was quite the opposite. This face had begun to invade Aragorn's
dreams on a too regular basis lately. "Boromir?" Unable to control his own
reaction, Aragorn released the other and flinched away.
Still partially insensible after his long cocooning, Boromir collapsed back
down into the shallows. A weak whimper rumbled up from him. One hand clawed
mindless at his own chest as if searching out the orc arrows that had
pierced him long years ago. He sputtered against swallowing even more cold
water. The entire world had turned upside down. He felt as if he'd been
sleeping for days and couldn't quite wake himself up, but that couldn't be
for only moments ago his sword had been slashing open orcs.
Realizing the extent of the other man's helplessness, Aragorn surged forward
yet again. "By the Valar, Boromir..." He caught the dripping wet man in his
arms, drawing the lean body against him. "Boromir." The name was voiced in a
disbelieving whisper. Aragorn stared at the face so close to his own. It was
Boromir, it had to be. The face was everything that Aragorn remembered,
everything that haunted him and more. The only difference was a small mark
of dark gold on Boromir's furrowed brow and the fact that the blond was
drenched and shivering. Shivering had been part of Aragorn's dreams, even
water had been a feature in more than one tormenting fantasy but the misery
on Boromir's face at the situation was not. Recalled to the here and now,
Aragorn moved. Mostly dragging the other man, Aragorn managed to get them
out of the Anduin. Water streamed away from their bodies as they made their
way up onto the lush growth of the riverbank. As soon as he was released,
Boromir staggered and fell to the earth.
"What?" Boromir floundered, his hand grasping at the front of his tunic.
Confusion marked his expression. "Why are you still here? You should track
the orcs. The little ones need you more than I do." Raising his hand, his
oddly stained forehead creased as Boromir watched clear water rather than
blood dripping from his extended fingers. His face lifted, eyes wide. "Why
was I in the river? Did you send the others after the orcs? I don't
understand. What's happened?" There was a disturbing quality to the stare
Aragorn had turned on him. There was a weight to it that made Boromir's skin
burn.
Dropping down to his knees beside the other man, Aragorn caught at the
fabric covering Boromir's chest and tugged at the memorably patterned cloth.
The rents where the orc arrows had pierced Boromir's tunic remained but upon
pushing his fingers through the holes Aragorn felt unblemished skin.
"What? WHAT?" Panic had invaded Boromir's voice. "What has happened?"
Recoiling violently away from Aragorn's touch, Boromir caught at the small
rips and tore his shirt the rest of the way open. His breath hitched. "I
should be dead." The admission was tinged with horror.
"You were," Aragorn conceded in an even grittier whisper. "You died, years
ago."
A long, stunned silence delayed Boromir's next question. "Years? What are
you talking about?" Pale eyes darted. "Where are we? What has happened?"
"It's over, Boromir. The war is over."
"Gondor? The Fellowship? The ring!" His attempt to rise was hopeless.
Boromir's legs refused to support him. "Mercy! We failed. I ruined
everything. You aren't in Minas Tirith. I doomed everything." Being dead
must have been a mercy he didn't deserve for this crime. It had to be
justice that had brought him back to face the results of his inadequacy.
Boromir had known since he was a child that his weakness would be his own
ruin if he was unable to master it, but to learn that he had doomed the
entire world as well was more than he could bear.
"Hush. That is not what happened." Aragorn wrapped his fingers around the
other's wrists, holding him still. "We won. Frodo did it, Boromir. The ring
was destroyed. Gondor stands. The White city remains. I took the throne. The
halflings are safely back in the Shire." The assurances rushed out. Aragorn
couldn't bear to see that kind of despair on Boromir's face. "It's long
over. Years over. Sauron is gone. Peace is ours."
"Merry and Pippin?"
"Yes, all the halflings survived. They're all safely home."
A shuddering sigh of incomparable relief hissed out. "I feel as if I've
awakened from a long, strange dream." Boromir fell back to the soft turf.
His breathing was still ragged and uneven. "But what happened, my Lord? What
has happened to me?"
"I do not know." Aragorn's head shook, hiding his eyes behind uneven bangs.
"We were not mistaken, I swear it. We placed you in one of the boats,
Legolas, Gimli and I. We all laid hands on you. I am certain that no breath
passed your lips." The declaration oddly vehement. "You were cold, so very
cold, and pale." Aragorn bent, putting his face mere inches from Boromir's.
"We gave you to Anduin." Aragorn's lips almost brushed the other man's. "Now
it has returned you, returned you to me." Unconsciously, Aragorn still held
Boromir's wrists and as he leaned forward Aragorn's weight pinned the other
to the ground. "You have not changed, not a hair, save this one small
thing." A crease formed between Aragorn's eyebrows. Shifting higher, Aragorn
touched his lips to the stain of gold on Boromir's forehead. The reaction
was immediate and exceptionally violent. Boromir writhed underneath him,
arching up into Aragorn and screaming as if his soul was being wrenched out
of him.
Aragorn's mouth burned, his entire body burned. He was aroused beyond belief
at feel of Boromir's passionate response to the passing touch. When Aragorn
finally lifted away from the erotic, grinding contact Boromir collapsed,
panting. Boromir's eyes were squeezed tightly shut, tears leaking from the
corners. The blond went limp, almost sobbing.
"It's so much more than I remember. You feel it too, don't you? Have you
always, like I have? I can barely believe this. That you come back to me now
seems a gift of the ancients. I have been having such dreams of you since we
were parted, Boromir. Extraordinary, devastating dreams."
Boromir shivered ferociously, his face turning away. "Release me, Aragorn."
Weakened muscles attempted to bunch.
"You are wet, cold. Though not so cold as when we were parted." Aragorn
lowered even further, covering Boromir's body with his own. The need to be
as close as possible to Boromir was impossible to resist. This was strange
beyond belief. Aragorn had indulged in a few casual fantasies when he had
first met Boromir but they had been impossible to act on given the
circumstances. At times, when the loneliness of the trail and his ache for
distant Arwen's arms had dragged at him Aragorn had considered seducing
Boromir. It had tempted Aragorn along their trek and then again in
Lothlórien o' so long ago but it wasn't to be. Each time Aragorn had begun
to move someone was there to make him reconsider his rash decision.
Gandalf's disapproving frown was just as clear as Galadriel's voice in his
mind saying 'The warrior is not for you, King of Gondor'. The passing
fantasy had faded with Boromir's death and Aragorn's following change in
circumstances.
The winning of the war, his coronation and his wedding to his beloved Arwen
had seemed to overpower his attraction to Boromir. The haunting dreams had
come only after things settled into a routine. Erotic, invariably
frustrating, images of himself and Boromir that always skirted the edges of
fulfilment had gradually invaded his sleep until Aragorn grew accustomed to
waking up urgently in need of Arwen and the relief her touch could bring.
That the body Aragorn desperately wanted had miraculously been returned to
him was a sign. It was a sign that those vivid dreams would now come true
and that his fantasies could now be fulfilled.
"Boromir, fair Boromir." Aragorn's lips brushed the other's soft beard. "I
have sorely regretted that I never did this..." Stretching to compensate for
Boromir's averted face, Aragorn captured the other's mouth with his own. A
protesting noise vibrated Boromir's throat and he tossed his head but
Aragorn refused to stop. He continued to press the kiss, nearly chewing in
his eagerness. Too many times in the dark of his dreams Aragorn had
experienced the promise of Boromir's body against his own, only to have it
torn away as soon as his excitement grew. That would not happen this time.
This time was too real, it would shatter him to lose this chance.
When a gasp for air parted their mouths, Boromir managed to give voice to
his distress. "NO! Lady Arwen. The Evenstar. You are promised to her." That
had to matter to Aragorn, even through the haze that had enveloped him.
As expected, Aragorn's questing mouth pulled back so he could stare down at
his captive. "My lady, my Queen. She is not something for you to speak on,
Boromir," he countered quietly.
Boromir shuddered at the words 'my Queen'. "But SHE IS! For you and I both."
Boromir tested again, attempting to push the other off. "I need to see my
home. I need to return to Gondor. Release me. I have much to discover about
what has occurred."
"We are in Gondor," Aragorn clarified. A deep breath was drawn in and held.
His dark eyes were glazed with arousal. "I will take you home. I will, but
not yet." He continued to keep the full measure of his weight on the other.
"Thoughts of you have been tormenting me, Boromir. I didn't understand it.
It has very nearly driven me insane, that I could feel such hunger for a man
beyond my reach. You were with me every night only to vanish like morning
mist whenever I neared satisfaction. I despaired, but I was unable to stop
the images, dreams of your body straining against mine. It's unreasonable to
expect me to resist you, not now I finally have you in my arms." A tip and
grind of Aragorn's hips caused Boromir to gasp in obvious arousal. "I refuse
to allow you to disappear on me yet again." Aragorn's erratic breathing
tickled over skin. "You can not say this scandalizes you. Your brother knew.
He told me one night over wine." Faramir's confession had been yet another
factor in increasing the intensity of Aragorn's impossible fantasies. "You
lay with men, Boromir, not women. Faramir knew. He told me." Teeth grazed
Boromir's exposed throat. "I need you!"
A thick, clearly eager, groan was the first response to the contact, but it
was immediately followed by a desperate shove. "DO NOT! I CANNOT DO THIS!
Not like this. Not now." Boromir's voice cracked on nearly every other word.
"Show mercy! I beg of you. By the Evenstar. Do not do this!"
"Be you real or illusory, you are ever the tormenter!" The accusation was
overflowing with frustration. All the air gusted out of Aragorn. He pushed
up and off, landing on his back beside Boromir. Aragorn's trembling arms
lifted to cover his face and eyes, as if the king were attempting to hide
from the heavens. Aragorn's frame quaked, threatening to curl in upon
itself. Both of them were shaking and short of breath. The silence between
them stretched, holding even as the sun dried their clothing.
"I need to return to my..." a pause broke the statement, changing it. "...to
Minas Tirith," Boromir corrected himself in a hoarse whisper. "I would like
to see my father and brother."
Aragorn sat up cautiously, turning his face toward the other without meeting
Boromir's eyes. "In that, I am sorry. Your father is gone. Faramir is the
Steward of Gondor now."
"No." Boromir's breath hitched and he bolted upright. His head shook. "This
is insufferable. How much time has passed? I need to know." For a split
second his hand twitched as if he might seize Aragorn, but the motion
failed.
Cautiously their gazes met. "Eight years, give or take a little time."
Aragorn's own hand lifted when he saw the hurt that the announcement put on
Boromir's face, but he stopped himself before actually touching Boromir. "I
am sorry."
"Eight years?" Boromir repeated in a shocked whisper. He fingered tatters of
his tunic, picking at the spots where the arrow holes were. "Eight years?"
Boromir slid his hands up and over his face, and then into his hair. The
palms protectively shielded his forehead. It throbbed, that one spot, still
burning from the passing touch of Aragorn's mouth. "My father? What
happened?" Boromir was envisioning the powerful man he had seen standing on
the ramparts as he departed on his quest.
"It was before the end of the war. You were gone. Faramir's condition was
grave, as was the situation." Aragorn licked his lips, almost devouring
Boromir with his eyes.
"But Faramir remains?" The muffled question was underscored with misery.
"He is Gondor's Steward, my right hand. He is a married man and a father of
three already. You've two nephews and a niece. He wed Éowyn of Rohan."
Curving in on himself as if to protect himself from a gut blow, Boromir let
out a weak chuckle and his fingers tightened in his blond hair, purposefully
pulling at the strands to provide a measure of calming pain. Boromir's face
remained hidden behind his wrists.
Unable to resist, Aragorn shifted so he could lay his hand on the other
man's shoulder. Their faces drew near to each other once again. "Boromir."
Aragorn's voice was husky.
The enticing flavour of the softly spoken name made Boromir hiss and lean
toward the sound. He wished he could allow himself to indulge. He had wanted
to from the first moment his gaze had locked with Aragorn's back in
Rivendell, but it wasn't to be. Boromir had long ago resigned himself to
being different from most men in his desires but he was comforted by pride
in his uncompromising self-control. He had never pressed his attentions on
any man who had not been obviously welcoming of the contact and Boromir had
never, ever, laid hands on a man until he had investigated first and was
absolutely certain that the man was not already claimed by another. Boromir
had learned of Aragorn's commitment to Elrond's daughter with only a casual
inquiry. Aragorn's affections belonged to someone else. Aragorn was
forbidden. Night after night in Rivendell, and later on the trail, Boromir
had recited those words inside his head. Boromir had to slice into the skin
of his hip or thigh more than once to reinforce the lesson to himself.
"Please." Aragorn's breath misted across a whiskered cheek. He took hold of
Boromir's forearms one at a time and tugged, exposing Boromir's stricken,
confused expression. "I have tasted your lips hundreds of times in my mind,
tasted every part of your body, swallowed your pleasure. I have pressed my
lips to, run my tongue over, every bit of your fair skin night after night
in my dreams. I have felt you quake underneath me and above me. I have
entered your warm flesh and felt as if my heart would explode from the
pleasure of it. I have spread my legs for you and screamed with joy at the
union." Aragorn groaned, a sound that rattled up from deep in his chest. "I
have felt all of that, only to have you escape me, again and again,
sometimes at the very moment before completion. You have left me aching
times beyond counting. Oh Boromir! I want you, need you. Please. Please!"
His words branded the other man's skin. "You have come back to me, FOR ME.
This has to be why you were returned to me."
Aragorn's scent was making Boromir's head spin. It felt as if he had been
breathing nothing else for time uncountable. There was nothing that could be
more familiar to him than the musk invading his senses at this very moment.
"I honestly wish I could say yes, my Lord." Boromir panted, breathing
through his mouth, practically tasting Aragorn with each gasp.
"Then say yes." Aragorn cupped one whiskered cheek. His hand moved with a
will of it's own, slipping upward.
Aragorn's thumb settled on the bridge of Boromir's nose between green eyes
gone wide with something near terror. As Aragorn's thumb edged higher
Boromir's trembling increased until it appeared as if he would fly apart.
Only the thinnest sliver of contact with the smear of gold on Boromir's
forehead was enough to make the blond convulse, thrusting his body wantonly
against Aragorn's. Boromir's hands dug into the front of Aragorn's shirt
with the power of a great eagle's talons. Teeth bared, Boromir's mouth
tipped, opening in invitation.
When Aragorn lunged to take the kiss however, Boromir scrambled backward.
"But we cannot!"
"WHY?" The word was screamed out, laced with the sound of excruciating pain.
"Cruel torturer!" It was just as Aragorn had suspected all along. It was all
another trick. He'd fallen asleep in the forest and this was yet another of
his frustratingly erotic dreams, it had to be. The real, flesh and blood
Boromir could never be so merciless. By all that was sacred he wished this
were just another dream.
"Please, take me home. I beg of you, my brother, my captain, my king. Take
me home, and then ask me again once we are within the walls you share with
your Lady. Once there, I will attempt to answer you, but please, do not push
me any further right now for my body aches, it screams to disregard
everything my mind tells it, and if I were to act on what I feel right now,
it would be the ruin of us both for I could never live with myself afterward
or look you in the eye ever again."
It was Aragorn's turn to throw himself backward, shaking with denied desires
and emotions. "Home?" The request was completely wrong. His dream lover had
never asked for such a thing before. In the past these fantasies had always
existed entirely outside of Arwen, their extended family, and Aragorn's
responsibilities as King Elessar. This unforeseen alteration in the pattern
was terrifying.
"Home," Boromir repeated, staring at Aragorn with impossibly darkened eyes.
"Please."
Biting his bottom lip, Aragorn rose unsteadily to his feet. "Then come with
me, beautiful, cruel, sensible Boromir." His fists were clenched. "Let us
tell the tower guard that the Lords of Gondor have finally returned
together."
If there was any mercy in the world, Aragorn hoped he would awake chilled
and alone in the wilderness before they set foot in the White tower.
Marked with Gold
Part I
by Carla Jane
any a gift had passed through her length and down the falls over the
forever time that she had lived within the waters. Some had been worth
catching within her long silver fingers, but most she let flow by and out to
the great water. Bodies were not a new thing to Anduin. There had been
beautiful forms and evil forms. Some had been intact, others were decayed
beyond recognition. Mostly she ignored the corpses, but not this time.
