Dawning
The heir of Isildor dragged his long limbs tiredly as he approached
Boromir with a grim, desperate look in his eyes. Slowly, as if each
word would open a new wound, he said: "The Lady of the Woods has
refused the request."
"Alas, I was right all along," Boromir made light of the news with a
weary smile.
"I am sorry." Aragorn knelt down on the ground, leaned over his
friend and attempted to untie his own cloak. Cursing when his
fingers, stiff with anger, would not co- operate. "For hauling you
here all this way, and yet to find no rest in Lothlórien."
Boromir shook his head vehemently, but a cough choked him so he could
only wave his hand in denial. But the gesture could not placate
Aragorn.
"I have failed you most miserably. Against advice from Gimli and
Legolas, I've exhausted you on this backwards journey, all for the
sake of my foolish pride, that the Elf Queen would do as I command!"
At this, Aragorn caught Boromir's hand between his palms, bending
down until his forehead rested against Boromir's heaving chest.
Panting as he began to weep. "And now, I have let the dew drench you,
and you are cold and shaking."
"It is not I who is trembling," Boromir patted Aragorn's head
awkwardly. He allowed Aragorn to cover him with his weatherproof
cloak because it gave Aragorn comfort to see Boromir warmed. "And
stop that awful singing, I am not stiff yet."
Aragorn sat up immediately, turning his back on Boromir and quickly
wiping his face with his sleeves. For a moment they sat in silence,
Aragorn holding Narsil in his hand, touching its smooth sheath with a
frown in between his brows. At last, he said with eyes closed and
jaws clenched, "She cannot do this. She cannot be wise and yet so
unkind. If Elrond were here, he would treat you. If Arwen was near,
she would waste herself into an echo, if only it would help you."
"You love the Elves," Boromir sighed, lying against the roots of a
tall tree, using Aragorn's back as a hot strong prop. "You are upset
because for once, one did not act as peerlessly as you've come to
expect of them. Callous creature that I am, I have little faith in
holding the interests of the fair-kind. Or, for that matter, in being
as gentle and good humored as Hobbits. Nor perfection-loving as the
dwarves nor as wise as Gandalf the Wizard. I've known only the
company of men, how they fight and lose, and yet still live. It is
men I love."
Boromir gave his friend a long look, but Aragorn did not seem to
notice.
"I pleaded with her but she said she would not interfere. She fears
the fellowship walks on a knife's edge, but I cannot see how this
denial could be for good." Aragorn's fist tightened on Narsil's
hilt. "And then, she said... other things."
"She has not forgiven me for assaulting Frodo." Boromir stirred, his
face red with the effort. "And she is right, for I hurt him and
pushed him into the ground and I was violent with him. Poor Frodo, he
was so terrified of me, that he would put on the One Ring to escape."
"No, Boromir!" Aragorn caressed the cheeks that were enflamed with
shame and regret. "None of us can resist the ring, it is not your
weakness alone. We were ensnared as soon as we left Lothlórien, the
water spoke many charms and lured us to dock at that treacherous bay.
We grew unnaturally dull witted, and though Legolas paddled fast with
all the strength of an Elf, he could not catch up to warn you and I,
as if the currents themselves worked to speed us up and hinder him.
Even loyal Sam fell into a restless sleep and cautious Frodo
wandered off by himself. Can't you see how we were divided, until
you were alone with the Ringbearer, for all the seduction of the One
to work on you?"
"That is not entirely true," Boromir was not appeased by those
words. "Gandalf was much tried in Hobbiton when he was left alone
with the ring for hours. And you, too, have resisted its power, on
many occasions. It is not impossible, it only asks for one true of
heart."
"Now you talk of me, as I once spoke of Galadriel, of perfection,"
the Ranger gave a bitter laugh. "Many things tempt me and I fear that
soon you will know me to be a man of bad faith."
"Tell me, Aragorn, of this great crime," Boromir smiled, lifting a
corner of his coverings and offering Aragorn the spot beside
him. "And let me be the judge."
Aragorn hesitated, his glance darting towards the shelter made by the
stretch of one of Boromir's shapely legs, a prominent tree root and
the thick covering of Aragorn's cloak. All round them the forest was
lonely and harsh and that small space along-side Boromir seemed as
steady as a fortress and as comfortable as a Hobbit hole. And in any
case, if Aragorn was to make his confession now, he might as well
take the sweet with the acrid.
"I am the one who broke up the fellowship," said Aragorn, crawling in
next to Boromir and held the man's waist with his arms. "Because I
could not let you go. Now our fate is changed, but I am glad in any
event to be here with you."
"I don't quite understand," Boromir stared up at the sky hidden
behind a canopy of Elmwood leaves, but Aragorn noted his cheeks were
flushed and his eyes had a wistful shine in them.
"I believe you do." Aragorn stroked the gently blushing face, the
heat felt searing to his fingers. "We did not like each other in the
beginning..."
"I remember. I belittled your family heirloom," Boromir chuckled
softly. "And so you let me cut my finger on it."
The reminder made Aragorn close his eyes in guilt. What a horrid omen
for Boromir.
Aragorn felt a nudge in his side as Boromir shifted minutely, and
then the press of a quick forgiving kiss to his temple.
"It is all right, it is true," whispered Boromir in the
darkness. "Why should I have worshiped you, a king without a crown, I
thought. My very existence taught me that we, the able independent
men of Gondor, had no need of you. All my life, I despised you...
Now finish what you were saying, Aragorn, about us not liking each
other. Please, I would like to hear it."
Aragorn let out a sigh and a long moment passed before he was able to
speak. "Boromir, I have fallen in love with you."
"How absurd," Boromir laughed, after savoring another silence. "So
have I, with you."
Aragorn blinked, taken aback. "Thank you," he said at last, lying
still and letting the knowledge of it sink into his skin, flesh and
bone. "I am glad."
Aragorn expected some gesture of affirmation from Boromir, but none
came. The men held one another and endured the night. In a haze,
Aragorn drifted to sleep, long after Boromir's breathing had evened
out.
He was awakened by nothing he could fathom. Only that he could hear
Boromir's ragged breath as if he were struggling to talk.
"Though I have one concern," Boromir said as if there weren't a break
in their conversation. "Is it these that made you love me?"
He indicated his heart, his middle and his thigh.
The tears dropped onto Boromir's face from his own before Aragorn
could stop himself. "No," Aragorn vehemently shook his head. "Yes."
"Do you pity me?" Boromir licked his lips, where a few droplets had
fallen. "That is a kind of love, too."
"No, I love you." Aragorn touched his hand to Boromir's heart and
middle and thigh. "But I did not know it until I found you on the
battlefield and loss struck me then. It intensified as I traveled
back with you. As you worsened and ailed, I saw your beauty as it
slipped away. And loved your strength as you lost it."
"Will you tell me what Galadriel said?" Boromir smiled. "All of it."
"She said," Aragorn surged forward and slipped his tongue into
Boromir's mouth, licking until the taste gave him the courage to
break free and speak again. "That I should not have taken out the
arrows against your wishes. That I should not have forced you to
suffer these two days as we re-tracked for Lothlórien. You are dying,
Boromir, and she would let you, because I do not have the
strength to do that."
"She is right," Boromir held Aragorn's hand over his heart. "You've
robbed me of the glory and ease of falling on the battle field, for
this unclean end."
Aragorn bit his lips and Boromir knew there was a scream trapped
inside Aragorn's mouth. He kissed Aragorn, at first over the white
flesh stretched painfully over the bite of Aragorn's teeth. Then,
coaxing the jaw to unlock, he nipped the bruised lips, finally
squashing their mouths together.
Boromir forgot his pain and his doom. He could almost, but not quite,
feel a vague pleasantness in his member, which Aragorn was rubbing
against carefully with his own. Aragorn was hard and virile and
gasping for him, open mouthed and with two wide shimmering bands of
wetness trailing from the tips of his drooped lashes, past the lines
by his mouth and down his chin and neck. Boromir made an effort to
taste the patch of wet glistening skin at the base of Aragorn's neck.
And when Aragorn embraced him tightly and reached his apex, Boromir
thought how sweet it was, the sweetest taste he had ever had in his
mouth.
Aragorn was asleep when Boromir felt the sting that woke him. The
night was the darkest shade of black. Boromir studied the glow of
Aragorn's face and saw it brighten into a blinding, encompassing
light. This, Boromir decided, compensated amply for the dawn that did
not come for himself.
The End.
by Poncing Ponies
oromir beheld the dark beauty of the woods. It was very late and
the rain was falling. From a corner in the inky sky, a bright white
light appeared. He thought it might be the evening the star, but no,
it was Aragorn's pale face.
