A Sea Gift The women were twittering and flitting about, and I decided to go down
to the sea, to the great Bay of Belfalas where Gondor's river empties
into the wide ocean. There are a series of sandbars here, blocking
the river's mouth from the fury of the tides. Channels were carved
through the banks to allow ships to pass, but here on the shore, the
ocean was gentle and shallow, barely knee deep, the waves breaking
small, even in a fierce wind.
The Sun was sliding down into the West in a clear sky, setting on a
sultry Midsummer's Eve. I sat in the sand and pulled off my boots,
digging with my toes under the hot upper layer to where the grains
were cooler. The Sun touched the rim of the horizon and the wind
died. I turned around and behind me, the Moon's silver disc was
touching the other horizon as he rose full round that night.
Without the wind, the sea was almost as still as my lady's bathing
tub, the waves lapping quietly at the shore, the fingers of foam
finding the land languidly as the tide retreated. I stood up and
walked to the water, letting the small waves tickle my feet. I stared
into the Sun as she slid lower, then lowered my eyes to the water
again.
He was there, between one wave and the next, and I thought my eyes
were still sunstruck, for he could not be striding so easily through
the shallow water of the bar toward me. I rubbed my eyes, and then
looked again, but he was still there, the last dying rays of the Sun
lighting his hair into a golden fire. The Sun disappeared and I saw
the happy grin on his face, his sea-green eyes twinkling. He was clad
as I had last seen him, layers of finery and leather over chain-mail,
his fur cloak about his shoulders, but his sword and his horn hung
whole at his waist. His boots splashed the shallow water as he neared
me.
The sight froze me in place, struck as dumb as any beast. Tears
leaked down my face, for the gift of this vision granted me the sight
of the one man I loved with all my heart, the one whom I had lost
forever.
But when the apparition lifted his cloak out of the salt water and
made an indelicate noise, I forgot to breathe entirely.
"It's bit hot for all of this nonsense," he said as he stopped in
front of me, and he shrugged the cloak off and tossed it higher on the
strand. His hands moved to his leather coat, which quickly followed
the cloak and then he shed his long maroon tunic, and I finally found
my voice.
"What...what are you doing?"
He gave me an astounded look. "I had thought it was obvious that I am
stripping off. Help with the mail."
I obeyed, assisting him as we lifted the heavy mail over his head. I
gave a passing thought at the strangeness of the High King of Gondor
and Arnor playing squire to a ghost, but the armor was heavy in my
hands, slithering and rustling as I set it in the sand, entirely
earthly.
"Much better," he said and then he smirked at me, his hands tangling
in my hair and his mouth covering mine. He was cold at first, but as
he deepened the kiss, his skin became warmer, as a swimmer who leaves
the water loses his chill.
My breath was coming ragged from my lips by the time he let me pull
away, and tears glittered in my eyes again. He was strong and sturdy
under my hands, his arms around me, his lips on my skin. My body
responded as if he had never left me, as if the years had rolled back
and he had not died while I held him helplessly.
Hands shaking as I stroked his face, my fingers tracing the lines I
found there, laugh lines around his eyes, and my voice was wobbling,
"Boromir, you died, you're a...a...ghost. How can this be?"
I was rewarded with one of his mischievous grins and my throat closed
over again. How I had missed that very expression, of suppressed
mirth and gleeful intelligence.
"Ah, and this from the man who raised an army of the dead to defeat
Gondor's enemies. If those ghosts could fight, why can I not love?"
"But they were cursed, the dead men of the Dwimorberg. You died at
peace, I would stake my life on it."
"So I did, blessed I was in death, not cursed. Thus I do not come to
do battle but to love you." His face was peaceful and his hands were
gentle on me.
The hope that I held in my heart for all of those that I have ever
loved faltered in that moment. "But why? Men are removed from the
circles of Arda, this was promised us." That pledge had sustained me
during the time since we had been parted.
He leaned his head on my shoulder, his hands moving to my back,
tracing circles there, fingers kneading lightly at my muscles. "I am
a small gift from one who has never had the troubles of Middle Earth
far from his mind. He gave me leave to remain...to wait for you.
I shall not go until you do. A blessing to us both, in payment for my
suffering and a gift to you to sustain you in your struggles."
My arms tightened around his waist, pulling our bodies closer. "I
gave you to him and he gives you back."
"For a time."
"Then, Son of Gondor, do what you came to do." I tried to make my
voice commanding, the voice of the High King, but I was too
overwhelmed. I whispered, "Love me...please."
"Always."
He laughed then, a clear ringing sound that carried easily in the
twilight. His fingers worked the fastenings of my clothes and I was
laughing too as we quickly bared each other's bodies. We spread his
cloak on the cooling sand, and fell together on it, hands and lips
searching, rediscovering sensitive places, stroking our desires higher
and higher. His body was warm and firm, and there was nothing
eldritch about his hardness as he slowly split me open, entering me
and filling me. My cry of triumph was echoed by his as we moved
together, our calls rising on the small breeze blowing out to sea. We
finally crashed together, our orgasms ripping through us and his seed
was warm within me.
The warm summer night was close around us as we lay on the beach
recovering. My hands never ceased to move over his skin and his never
left me. We came together many times that night, resting in between
while he told me tales of the wonders of the deeps, the creatures and
sights of the realm of Ulmo. That night I laughed more than I had in
months, his presence at my side restoring my spirits. I did not feel
any need for sleep until the Moon lay touching the western edge of the
world and the night was giving way to day once again. I slid into
slumber then, enfolded in his arms.
When I woke, I was alone, wrapped in my own Elven cloak. I sat
staring at the heaving, living ocean, thanking Ulmo in my mind for the
gift of the night. I got up and went back to my kingdom and my
burdens, but with a lighter heart, feeling renewed by those short
hours spent with him.
The next year on Midsummer's Eve, I went back to the sea, but he did
not come. It was only on those nights when the rising full Moon was
in the sky at the same time as the setting Sun on the shortest night
of the year that he would come out of the sea to be with me.
And the years passed, and on those nights when Ulmo gave me his gift,
Boromir would shine like a beacon out of the sea, his love a light to
guide me past the rocky shoals of my weary heart. We would lay
together on his cloak our bodies entwined, our spirits joined. Down
through all the years, he never changed, but I hid my shame at my
silvered hair and wrinkled skin. He never gave any sign that my aging
body disgusted him, but always approached our trysts with the same
joyful spirit that pulled me to him when I first met him, though over
time his touches grew gentle rather than forceful. But my body
responded to him as it always had, and I could feel again my lost
youth in his arms.
I come here this year, my astronomers having assured me that the moon
would rise full tonight, to wait for him, knowing that this is the
last time, that this will be the last Midsummer's Eve for me in Middle
Earth.
I see him there in the water, still golden, still beautiful, and he
comes to me, takes me in his arms, and holds me through the night,
stroking my white hair, kissing me softly, telling his tales of the
sea, and his remembrances of our shared experiences, of Hobbits, and
firelight, and falling leaves.
I sleep rarely now, the restlessness of old age forever making my mind
unquiet. The Moon slides to the horizon before I can tell him.
"This is the last time."
"I know. And after this, new life awaits us."
"I have never stopped loving you."
"I know that, too. It has been your love that has guided me here out
of the deeps."
I smile at that, realizing that we have both been a light for each
other. I sit, safe in his arms, watching the Moon disappear, thanking
Ulmo for this wondrous gift, until the Sun rises behind me and I am
holding only seafoam.
My knees are shaking as I get to my feet, and I stare out at the
endlessly forming waves. I turn and walk steadily back to the my
horse, knowing we will meet again.
by Raederle
The tide rises, the tide falls,
The twilight darkens, the curlew calls,
The little waves, with their soft, white hands,
Efface the footprints in the sands,
The day returns, but nevermore,
Returns the traveller to the shore,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.
—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
he first time I saw him was on the occasion of Éomer's marriage to
Lothriel. I had removed my court to Dol Amroth for the event, and
had taken a moment to escape from the festivities. They would wed the
next day, on Midsummer's Day, the anniversary of my own wedding. I
hadn't spoken to Éomer about his nuptials, but his eyes still held the
haunted look that had been in them almost since I had met him. He
lost as much in the War of the Ring as Faramir and I had, but my
Steward and I at least found comfort in the arms of the wives that we
loved. Lothriel seems a gentle, biddable girl, and I hope the young
King of Rohan can find that same solace. I hope she understands his
grief as well as my Lady does my own sorrow.
