Old and Wise You would be a great father. I see that in the way you deal with the
young Hobbits, even if they are not children anymore; they respond to
you with a certain boyishness that is absolutely adorable. I wonder
why you never married.
I have an idea, but I dare not let it take possession of my mind
because it would completely upset the balance of my life. For if what
I suspect is true, if the looks and glances you throw in my direction
when we sit by the fire at night, if the shiver of pleasure that
coursed through my body when your eyes met mine in Rivendell, if your
constant nearness to me when we are travelling are any indication
that you feel about me as I feel about you I know why you never took
a wife. And I don't know how to deal with that knowledge. I am
betrothed, I have pledged my life to another, having already forsaken
the love of one person and I cannot stand the thought of going
through that again, even if Legolas and I have settled our issues
about that long ago in the dark forest of Mirkwood and we are friends
again.
And then there is this other thing, the fact that I could be your
father, even if I know for sure I'm not. I might have been, though. I
was there in Minas Tirith when you were born, I saw you when you were
just a baby, suckling at your mother's breast. I was there more than
forty years ago when I was not Aragorn, but Thorongil, and your
father vied in vain with me for Ecthelion's affection, although I
did not seek to strife with him.
Denethor was always a harsh man and from what I gather that did not
change during the time you and your brother were growing up. I feel
for you, knowing that you must have suffered in some way for my being
around when he was wooing Finduilas, your mother. I am sure he has
taken it out on you in one way or another. He has never forgiven me
for the fact that everyone he cared for heeded my advice, or wanted
my company, even if I did not seek them out.
For not only your grandfather, Boromir, but your mother, too,
preferred me over Denethor. She told me she loved me and the fact
that I did not return her feelings drove her into a marriage in which
only you and your brother brought her any happiness.
I am not your father, Boromir, that is the only thing that I am sure
of and for which I am glad, although I would have been proud beyond
words to be father to a son like you. But it is confusing enough as
it is, to have the image of a two-year-old toddler riding horsey on
my knee being overlain with your presence of which I am aware every
minute of the day. You've become a handsome man, Boromir. A leader of
Men, a veritable Captain of the Guard, someone that I would gladly
follow into battle and beyond were I a soldier of Gondor.
But I am not, and that is yet another issue that will continue to
stand between us. Eventually you will have to bow to me, recognize my
claims to the throne of your Kingdom, however hard it may be to you.
And for that reason my heart bleeds for you. Because I will hurt you,
whichever path I choose.
There is only one path that would lead to shortlived happiness for me
and you and even that path is strewn with sorrow. Choosing it would
mean betraying Arwen, betraying the Fellowship, betraying the free
lands of Middle Earth, in all probability casting them into eternal
darkness. Were we to leave now, Boromir, run off in the night
together, we might have a slim chance of escaping Legolas' sharp eye
and Gandalf's wrath and maybe we would be able to make it to
someplace safe. For just a short moment. Because our abandonment of
the quest would mean the downfall of Middle Earth, I am sure of that.
Our happiness would be shortlived indeed.
So there really is no choice, Boromir. We go on, casting furtive
looks in each other's direction, hoping no one sees them, seeking out
one another's company under the pretence of forming the rear guard,
and act as if we are merely discussing strategy when we are huddling
close, bent over a crude map drawn in the sand, while all I want to
do is kiss your face and feel your warm skin against mine.
I am the oldest, I should be the wisest. And normally I am in full
command of myself, but right now I just want to take leave of my
senses and do what my heart tells me.
Boromir, I can only pray that you are wise beyond your years,
because, truly, even though I am so much older than you I do not know
whether I can manage being wise for very much longer.
The End
by Sasjah Miller
"So sit on top of the world
And tell me how you're feeling;
What you feel is what I feel for you."
Dido—Take My Hand
'm twice the age you are. I realize that as I watch you fooling
around with Merry and Pippin, practising their sword moves with them,
teaching them how to defend themselves. You are professional in your
teachings, a swordsmaster by nature and lifelong practice, yet you
manage to bring pleasure into their having to master so serious a
skill. We have made our camp on the top of a barren hill, and there
is time for some sorely needed rest and merriment. I sit perched on a
bare rock, quietly smoking a pipe and watching the two smallest
Hobbits throwing you on the ground, landing on top of you, each one
of you laughing carefree, no worries at all for just a little while.
It is the first time I've seen you truly happy, Boromir. The first
time I see the laugh that brightens up your face, turning it from
merely handsome into absolutely stunning.
