Title: Just The Second

Author: Vagabond

Pairing: Elrond/Isildur ; Elrond/Boromir

Disclaimer: I don't own them and I don't think that I would share if I did! ;-)

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Elrond is reminded of Isildur when Boromir arrives at Rivendell.

Notes: 1.) Movie-verse; 2.) I see a bit of similarity between Isildur and Boromir. They are both strong, noble, proud, damn good warriors, so very human and both are tempted by the Ring. And I could convince Elrond of that fact, too ;-) 3.) As always: The characters are on my mercy - so you also have to stand it! ;-) This plot bunny hopped in my mind for so long now - I'm glad that it finally came out! :-)

Beta: Wonderful Osiris and Aj. I'm nothing without a Beta - so thank you both very much! :-)

Feedback: <nods enthusiastically> little_vagabo67@hotmail.com

Archive: I would feel honoured

Just The Second
by Vagabond

Something happened when I saw you. Something that did not happen since over three thousand years. my heart winced. pounded faster. hurt. It hurt, as if it was yesterday that HE drew all my blood from this beating thing in my chest. I thought he had stolen it from my body, for I did not feel it anymore. after he abandoned me, betrayed me, betrayed us all.

But it is still here this aching heart, awakened from its frozen state when my gaze fell upon you. My lips have not forgotten how to whisper his name. "Isildur".

I can feel the shocked look on Mithrandir's face. He is standing close behind me, when you arrive at my home. We are watching you from a balcony . The wizard's hand gently squeezes my shoulder. I hear him speak to me. "He reminds you of the great warrior of Men? Indeed I see the similarity. By his appearance I mean. the same pride. "

Yes. the same pride. "Who is he?", Gandalf the Grey asks me and I can give him no answer.

~

"I am Boromir of Gondor, eldest son of the steward Denethor and his legitimate heir. I come in the name of my land, to ask you for advice. Lord Elrond."

You bow before me as it is required, for I'm the Lord of Rivendell and you are guest in my house. But you bend only your head, your shoulders remain straight and your look shows that you are not accustomed to submit to anyone. It would have amused me if I could pay attention to anything other but your eyes. They are strange to me. Their blue-green sparkle doesn't show my face in the way I wished. You are not HIM. I see it now.

~

We do not exist in the way the Men do. We are not proud or humble nor are we strong or weak. We are not good or bad and we do not love and hate in the way the Humans do. We are Elves and that is beyond all what a Man could ever hope for. or understand. And although I knew this all, although I carried this in my soul as every Elf does, I fell for a human man. It must be due to my human half that this could happen. It must be my weak human half.

~

My thoughts still hung on Isildur when you came along the little bridge, not far away from the place where my daughter had stood just a few minutes ago with the man who stole her heart and now her immortality.

My beautiful daughter - I will not allow this. I know I have to speak to her, but not yet. My mind is too clouded, haunted by old memories - you carry them with you when you come to me. No, not to me. only in my direction.

Tomorrow it will be a month since you have arrived in Rivendell. Every time we meet I can feel the sparkle between us. We are both longing. But my longing isn't what you hope for, that's why I resist to make the deciding step (and it must done by me as we both know, for you are at my home).

Moonshine is your friend. It caresses your hair, makes it gleam like silver. The handsome lines of your face are softer in the moonlight. It makes you look more vulnerable.

~

HE never seemed vulnerable to me. Sometimes softer, but never soft. Sometimes more gentle, but never tender. Sometimes I really knew that he liked me, but I was never sure of his love for me. To hear him say that he loved me - what would I have done for that! But it never crossed his lips. He not even said a `Farewell' to me. He just turned -with this evil smile in the corners of his mouth- and then he was gone. His "No" seemed not only a `No' for refusing to let the One Ring go. It was meant as a refusal to me, too. He abandoned me. Without looking back. For Sauron's Ring, for power and might - for all the weaknesses that were buried in Men.

Isildur - I screamed your name, but I should have known that this wouldn't change your mind. You never heard my requests. The fires of Mount Doom burned my heart away and I went and leave it all behind. Sauron, the Ring, the battle, the pain, the loss, and more than all - you! Or so I thought.

But you have found a wicked way to haunt me. You came back to me - in Boromir's shape. The same pride. the same weakness.

And I hate him, like I hate you - and I love him yet, as I loved you. My whole body yearns for him, for you.

~

His fingertips are playing with the wooden railing, he seems lost by the beautiful dream that is Rivendell. He is almost caressing the railing, stroking it softly when he goes forward, to the hidden place where I lie. It is as if he would caress me... My eyes are fixed on his long fine fingers. How could a warrior have such fine hands? Would they be soft or rough? When he is about to pass me, I can't hold in myself any longer. With careful steps I approach him, placing a smile on my lips. I have to remind myself of his name. Boromir. And so I call to him.-

He is startled. His eyes searching mine. I can see how he is drowned in my gaze. He tries to be composed, but that is not his way. The man opens his mouth - surely to say something stupid. I interrupt him before the words leave his mouth. I take him by surprise and pull him in a tight embrace. Obviously he isn't used to that and struggles first, but when my lips are on him and greedily begin to learn the lines of his mouth, he stops his fighting.

After a while I can be sure that he will not consider otherwise and so I let go of him and take a step back. Not to leave him, but to admire his shape - and to decide which of his clothes I want to remove first. He takes a deep breath and looks at me, unsure of what to do now. I can't suppress the sad smile that rises up in me. If you were HIM, I would be already on the ground, panting under you.

But for Boromir I am the Lord of Rivendell. You are afraid you could do something wrong. I see it in your eyes. I touch your cheek, enjoying once more the strange contrast of its softness against the rough beard. I remember it well.

I have laid you down on the warm ground, `Steward's son'. Your clothes gone, one by one. And I love what I see. Your are a beauty. Not like an Elf. not so pure.. but nevertheless you understand it to make men or women desire you.

Now I will allow you to see me as not many Men have had the pleasure to. You will feel what it really means to desire. What it means to love an Elf and to be loved by an Elf. You will never forget it. I thought HE would never forget it.

Where the clothes leave my skin, it shines with the brightness of the moon above us. Boromir. I bathe in your astonished gaze, it feels so good to be wanted. I kneel down, my knees pressed close to the sides of your hips, capturing you under me. Now your hands begin to touch me, shyly first, but then with awakening hunger. I throw my head back, exposing my throat to your searching hand and you slide over it. and down to my chest. and down to my belly. and down to my. When I give a moan you seem to burst. You haul yourself up to me and your mouth burns on mine. Your strong arms holding me, hands roaming wildly over my demanding body. Yes - this is how I want it, this is how I need it, how I need YOU to BE.

Sweat is all over your well-shaped body, drops are glistening like pearls on muscles. Your musky scent captures my senses, so masculine. and I have to taste. I lick the salty water from you - your cheek, your shoulder, your chest and from the hidden dampness in the pit of your arm. You growl and draw my face up to yours. My eyes do not blink when you search in them for the emotions you hope to find there. I know you cannot read me. No one can read an Elf. And you seem to accept it. Your tongue invites mine to a fiery dance. You taste of wine and pipe and your own human taste, which is so exciting. And this wonderful mouth follows the path of your hands... Fervent lips sliding over my throat. and down to my chest. and down to my belly. (I'm immediately leaning
further back now) . and down to my.

Only a human man can do this with such a rough wildness and all-giving temperament. You act as if you were dying for thirst. Your exquisite lips do not once leave me and your tongue catches every drop of me as if you were doomed to death when just one of them gets lost.

I see the moonshine dance over the texture of your moving body, it makes your hair a shimmering wave, but when it is turned into a cascade of silver I have to close my eyes, for I cannot pretend any longer to me that it is brown like my own. But I can't help myself, I have to touch it, let my fingers slip through this soft magnificence and I feel the excitement grow in you only more when I grip your head and force you merciless to take all of me. Your lips, tongue, teeth, throat - all responding to each single movement I make, to each moan I give. When I come, you welcome it with a hungry groan.

I love how I taste on you, the almost sweet essence of Elves that is sealed to the warm moisture of your mouth. Now I want to know how it is to become one with you. To feel you.

You expect that it will be the other way around, for I'm in the position to command it. It must be strange for you, `Steward's son'. I wonder if you have ever been taken? Perhaps I will learn it, but later - now you will satisfy my longing.

I scream when you are inside of me. Your panting and moaning is a melody in my ears, a crescendo. I try to find your tact and pick up the melody from you. A sweet duet to the stars.

"I think I have fallen in love with you". It's only a whisper, almost a whimper, because you are close to your climax now. Your are waiting for an answer, a return. but I just close my eyes and -forgive me- I wish it would be someone other who speaks this words to me.

When you gave me this delightful, oh so satisfying release again, I came with your name on my lips. No. it was HIS name I moaned. "Isildur".

Tears of hurt are in your eyes now. You hardly hold them back. I do not try to beg your forgiveness, I know it cannot be excused. Anger is swelling up in you to defend your pride. Your eyes are a deep green now and wild like a stormy sea.

"I will never be merely the second!" you shout at me. And I have nothing to say in return. I do not move nor blink and I'm not even sure that I feel something. <You are not HIM>, that is all what I'm capable to think, <and no one will ever be>.

~

My thoughts are barely on the council. I have to concentrate hard. All I can see is the human man. <Boromir> I correct myself. The hurt is still shown clearly upon his face.

He speaks of his land. A true, loyal man.

Then the Ring is brought forward by the Halfling. And there it is - his eyes are gleaming, his gaze softened for a moment in quiet adoration. And then I hear the words. they seem always to be the same, they outlast the ages as the Ring does.

And I see only HIM - this evil smile in the corners of his mouth.

You look at me. Boromir. demanding, pleading. you plead for the Ring, of course. Drawn towards this tainted thing is all your desire now, all your hope and all your lust - as it was with HIM.

Oh Boromir - again I must destroy your belief in me. Again I can not give what you so fiery wish of me. And when I hear Legolas angry speech, my heart feels for you. "He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and heir to the throne of Gondor - you owe him your allegiance!"

My beautiful, poor Boromir - from now onwards you will always be just the second.

~End~