A Brother, Captain and King
by Osiris Brackhaus
When I first laid eyes upon him, it was in the house of Elrond, in Rivendell,
mere days before that fateful council that in consequence should decide the
fortune of all free people of Middle Earth. He arrived on his horse, his shield
clasped to his back, sword and horn at his sides. I didn't need to see his
bracers to identify him as one of the princes of Gondor, as his golden hair and
proud features too easily betrayed him as one of the Stewards line.
Even then, standing on one of the many balconies surrounding Elrond's home, I
envied him. Not only had he the recognition of his people I was still to
struggle for—his blood also had given him his broad frame, wide shoulders and
so striking and regal a face that I felt ill suited to take on the challenges
the future still held for me. I knew my envy to be foolish, for though we might
have looked to be of the same age, I knew him to haven seen only half of the
summers I already had passed. It was the blood of Numenor, still strong in my
line, that gave me my slow age and with it, my fate to face. Also I saw in his
face the lines of a valiant and strong-hearted man, driven to Rivendell by grave
concern and worries for his people. He would be a worthy companion in the dark
days to come, yet he was born and raised to lead, and would all but easily step
down to help me to my throne. His fate wasn't any lighter than mine, only far
less rewarding for him in any possible outcome.
Yet my envy stayed, like a thorn in my side, not painful, yet a constant
reminder of something amiss. I envied him for the ease with which he summoned up
a posture of regality, giving orders like the prince he was—and though I knew
myself to be a valiant leader, having proven myself in more battles than I would
have liked—knowing to be his liege yet seeing him act superior with such an
ease irked me more than I would have had myself to believe.
When I saw him again, it was in the night before that fateful council, when I
sat near the statue where Elrond kept the shards of Narsil, reading. Boromir
came along, probably wandering sleeplessly through Rivendell, when he beheld the
mural facing the statue and next, the pieces of the broken blade that once cut
off the Ring off the hand of the enemy.
Taking Narsil's hilt piece, he examined its still-keen edge in the never-fading
starlight of Elrond's home. When he stood there, looking so much more like the
human kings of old than I could ever imagine myself, I came to realise that I
admired him. Foolishly, yes, but fervently none the less, and I despised him for
making me feel so much like an usurper of a throne that rightfully would have
had belonged to him. I despised him for making me doubt every goal I set for
myself in the last decades, despised him for making me feel inferior to a man
whom I would have to act superior to if ever I was to complete my quest.
That he cut himself on Narsil's shard mere moments after, that he beheld me with
a gaze full of fear and spite and called the sword of Elendil 'just another
broken heirloom', did nothing to raise him in my favours. No, the look in his
eyes warned me that, though be he valiant, strong and regal and caring, he also
was short-tempered and full of doubt, and that he might prove vulnerable to the
dangers of the dark days we probably would have to face together.
I knew I had to clear my mind, that I had to watch him with the untarnished eye
of a ruler, ever judging for the best of his people, uncaring for personal
motives. Or personal feelings. I hated him for that, too.
And then, alas, the Council.
Boromir was raving about using the Ring as a weapon, holding Elrond's steady
gaze with all the pride and passion of the old Numénorean Kings, showing so much
more guts towards this elven warrior who had fought next to Elendil and
Gil-Galad at the slopes of Mount Doom, so much more conviction and purpose than
I had ever been able to gather under Elrond's ever slightly disapproving gaze.
I enjoyed watching him, then. I admired the way he spoke so much that I almost
overlooked the fact that though his speech was more than eloquent and
convincing, what he actually proposed would lead us into sure defeat. Shocked by
the fact that my personal weaknesses were able to cloud my mind so thoroughly, I
was careless enough to voice my disapproval.
It did stop Boromir raving only for a mere second. Then the broad Gondorian
prince turned to me with all intensity, asking spitefully what a mere ranger
might know about such matters. His reaction was not unexpected, and I was
relieved that now it would be my turn to speak and inspire.
But unexpectedly and unfortunately, it was my friend Legolas who raised his
voice before me.
"This," he said, "is no mere Ranger. His name is Aragorn, son of Arathorn."
And with speaking for me, he clearly showed Boromir that even in the eyes of a
friend of mine, I was not able to fight for myself, not even with words.
"He is Elendil's heir, and you owe him your allegiance."
Legolas, friend of many summers, I know you meant well, trying to rid me of an
introduction you deemed below my status. But unwillingly, you took away my
chance for action, and all that was left for me was to sit, smile, and nod.
"Elendil's heir?" Boromir pressed out after a moment of stunned silence. Full of
spite he looked at me, full of spite I neither deserved nor wanted, surely not
from a man all I desired of was friendship and maybe a reciprocation of the
admiration I felt for him.
"Gondor has no king," Boromir said lowly, an unveiled threat in his eyes. And
then, with indisputable finality he added: "Gondor needs no king." and sat down.
That very moment, it took me all my strength of will not to stand up and beat
his arrogant face to mush in the middle of the council, right under the ever
disapproving gaze of Elrond. I was not inferior to him, not in any way. I did
not choose the occupations and failures of my ancestors and above all, I did not
deserve that spite he flung at me so balefully. I desired his friendship and his
trust, and was willing to go a long way to gain them, but therefore his glaring
rejection only hurt all the worse.
The council went on, and with much struggle and useless dispute it was decided
to destroy the Ring, to carry it into Mordor and bring it to the place of its
forging to destroy it forever. It was the halfling Frodo who, while all the
other heroes of the free people still bickered among themselves, decided to take
on the burden and try the impossible. He is a valiant chap, true-hearted and
fearless if need be, and I knew then and still know that he was one of the
people I had pledged to serve and protect by either life or death.
Joining his side and pledging my loyalty was natural and came to me like
breathing, and it filled me with pride to see Gimli and Legolas come up and
stand for their races. But also Boromir stood up and offered to join, leading
the company to his home first and then to wherever necessary. I was glad, for
one, for his sword and shield surely would be in high demand on our journey and
I looked forward to spend some more time with him and so might be given chance
to build up the trust and friendship I hoped for. Yet the gaze Boromir fixed me
with while offering his aid was a clear challenge to me, doubting my motives and
my abilities for such pivotal a task, as well as the overall idea of our quest.
I hated him for his stubbornness and unnecessary spite, for the fact that the
company needed him and the fact that I longed for his acceptance.
So once again, I only smiled and nodded and welcomed him into the Fellowship of
the Ring. And hated his guts for tearing me apart.
The following weeks our company set out along the foothills of the Misty
Mountains, trying to reach the Gap of Rohan before it would be closed by our
enemies. Spending every day in close company with Boromir, I began to observe
him more closely, in a vain attempt to unravel the thoughts behind that face
that had put my innermost self into such a turmoil.
It must have been the day we later on would decide to take a try on the pass of
Caradhras, when my observation finally bore fruit, though be it most unexpected
ones.
We had stopped on a stony hilltop for our midday meal and some rest, when
Boromir started to give some sword-lessons to Merry and Pip, as he had done
regularly for the last days after he had learned that none of the halflings had
ever wielded a blade. I sat nearby, watching the three attacking, parading and
counterattacking playfully, so much like boys and their teacher. Though martial
in intend, it was a scene of peaceful companionship, and I was glad that at
least the two young halflings could be at ease with the prince.
Then suddenly, for whatever reason, Merry dropped his sword with a yell of
anguish, more surprised than painful. Boromir at once tried to see if he had
accidentally hurt the halfling, but unsuspectedly Merry kicked his shin and all
of a sudden the two boys were on top of the huge warrior, all three brawling
like kids in the hay. They laughed and shouted, and seeing Boromir's face, I
realised I had never before seen him laughing. He was at ease, for the first
time since I met him, and like the mirth glowing in Boromir's eyes, an
unsuspected warmth blossomed in my heart.
I had not passed all my youth in Rivendell under the unforgiving tutelage of
Elrond and his folks not to know how to listen when my heart speaks. Elves might
be fair and wise, and it is probably right because of that, that they draw back
to a respectful distance when confronted with the emotions of men. An elves
passion is all-encompassing, enduring, steady, yet even their wisdom and control
pales when confronted with the devouring fire a mortals emotions can grow to.
And grow they will, if left unchecked and unharnessed, and therefore I have been
trained since my youth to listen to my emotions, to understand them and deal
with their demands.
Thus, when Boromir's laughter entered my heart, I knew that I had fallen to an
enemy far harder to deal with than orcs. The very moment that warmth radiated
from my heart and filled all my being with gladness, I knew it to be love.
I loved that stubborn, short-tempered Gondorian prince for being exactly
himself, wanted to see him fight next to me, wanted to ease his burden, be his
consolation, wanted him.
What an ill-placed infatuation, I thought, and placed even worse. I could not
let myself suffer from such a liability, not now, when all my senses should be
focused and alert. Right then, my feelings were hardly more than a crush, but
they would grow, inevitably, if I spent my days in Boromir's company any longer.
But leaving the company was not an option, nor was it one to make Boromir leave
us, a thing he would never do alive. Aggravating was the fact that I was pledged
to Arwen, Elrond's daughter, and that my feelings for her were by no means
diminished. Nor were they secondarised, they just were not the only ones in my
heart any longer.
Yet on the other hand, I did not know if I would survive to the day I would be
to marry her, nor was I to know if Boromir would be alive long enough to be of
any concern to any of us then.
So I clamped down on my heart, freezing emotion with necessity, and told myself
that if ever both of us would survive, I would deal with it when the time were
right. In war, there is no place for games of love, even less so if love
unrequited might prove detrimental to the task ahead.
My musings then were cut short by a swarm of Dûnland crows, spying in service of
Isengard. I was sure that an enemy known is an enemy almost defeated, and
thought this problem mostly solved when my mind was put to more recent matters
at hand.
But how my confidence in my resolve was betrayed. For yes, an enemy known will
never get you by surprise, yet it can still wear a man down by constant attacks.
During the long darkness in Moria, I often found myself looking at Boromir,
cherishing his proximity, damming his voluntary distance. He was a man worthy to
fight at my side, to be at my side. And yet, his constant rejection, negligent
sometimes, baleful mostly, rankled me beyond belief. I was no less worthy, not
by an inch. I never let my guard slip, never uttered a word that was not
carefully weighted, never let show either my hate or my love. And yet, he did
not accept me. Even when fighting orcs together in the deep mines of Moria, when
battle had brought us together back to back, shoulder to shoulder, he always
drew back on purpose as soon as the fight allowed.
Whenever I looked at him to see if through mutual battle the ice that separated
us might have broken, he always caught up my look, smiled at me with a twisted
snarl and eyes so spiteful it hurt far more than all the bruises and scratches
the orcs had managed to give me. And than he always turned back to battle again,
with renewed fervour, as if to show me that the only thing he needed less than
my friendship was my sword.
I hated him for always rekindling my love, yet never allowing it to reach him. I
hated him.
The last time he hurt me was when we just had left Moria. Gandalf the Grey, dear
friend and leader of our fellowship, had fallen under the shadow. All our hearts
were wounded, and grief and shock were deep in all of us. I looked into Boromir
face and saw his pain, the fear of our mission endangered, the fear of the last
hope for his people lost.
My only wish was to console him, to ease his pain, to be with him in this grave
moments. I went up to him, intending to offer my arms like the friend of his I
longed to be, and for a moment it looked as if he might accept my offer.
But then again, his face grew hard, his eyes glaring spitefully—and abruptly
he turned away to console Hobbits! I dearly loved our small companions, but that
very moment, I learned what emotion it is that makes men kill their beloved
ones. Boromir's rejection hurt deep, deeper than any before, for my heart too
was wounded, and could hardly stand this second blow.
But I urged down my pain, focused on more important matters at hand and tried to
stay with reason. I called my friends to hurry on, for soon the hills we stood
upon would be overrun by orcs in search of us. But Boromir, stout-hearted as
ever, stood up against me, calling me heartless not to allow them a moment of
grief for their fallen comrade.
Yes, Boromir, rightfully you called me heartless, for I had closed my sore heart
and did not want to hear anything it said. But it was you, with your arrogance,
your unnecessary spite and constant rejection who turned me heartless, so what
right you had to blame me? It was you with your split soul who almost tore me
apart, and your allegations hurt all the more for they were justified and came
from you—whose reprimands I could stand less than anybody else's.
But then again, I managed to stay with reason, to argue on with elven calm in my
voice, and though you almost broke my heart that day, we were in Lórien before
nightfall, all my pain buried deep beneath my duty.
Much has been said about Galadriel, the Lady of the Woods, many things true, yet
most of it mere rumours, but one thing above all has ever been true: Whoever
looks into the eyes of Galadriel will never again leave the forest of
Lothlórien, for her eyes see deep into the hearts of elves, dwarves, men or
halflings. And whatever she sees, it will change the one facing her gaze, and he
will be someone else upon leaving.
I had seen her before, and I never dreaded her gaze as did many others I knew.
Any thought of Boromir, together with my sore heart, was utterly yet
unintentionally forgotten, my mind bent on our task, trying to find a way to
deal with the loss of our guide and leader.
But however deep my pain was buried, the eyes of Galadriel see deeper, and for
the first time in my life, she did find something in my heart she did not
approve of when at dusk we were presented to her and her husband Celeborn.
'Remember', she said, without a word, a voice pounding my head like a hammer of
ice. 'I am Galadriel, mother of Celebrian, the mother of Arwen Undómiel.'
Her look turned into a threat, politely still, yet more intimidating than any I
had encountered before.
'I will not let my daughters daughter give her heart to any mortal man whose
heart is no longer his own to give her in turn.'
Shocked, for a mere thought I was tempted to deny, but well aware whom I faced,
I lowered my head, awaiting judgement, shamefully realising that I had utterly
overlooked her relation to my betrothed.
'The hearts of man are so weak, and yet so strong', her wordless voice thundered
in my head. 'and even the wisest does not know the purpose of each thing.'
I looked up to meet her eyes again, unsure what punishment she might issue for
my faithlessness.
'You know yourself well, you know what ails you. Within these forests, you will
rest. And you will gather the courage to face your enemy, for feelings unspoken
will start to fester.'
'Fate might not allow you a second chance, and thus might leave you scarred and
ill prepared for trials yet to come.'
We were released then, and stunned by shame for both my failure towards Arwen
and my thoughtless facing of her mothers mother, I left. I went last, behind the
remaining fellowship as we descended to the base of the trees, as Galadriel once
again sent her thundering voice after me.
'You will sort this out, Aragorn son of Arathorn, before you leave these woods.'
she scolded, soundlessly, unemotionally, yet loud enough to make me flinch.
'Settle this to any outcome, yet settle it you will, or our young human hero
might find himself unable to claim the prize he has been reaching for so many
years.'
It took some time for her words to find the way to my heart, but when they did,
it almost made me stumble. For Galadriel had not deemed me outright unsuitable
for her daughters daughter, nor had she ordered me to abandon all thought of
Boromir. What solely she had demanded of me was to settle this issue between the
prince and me while we were still in the relative safety of Lothlórien. No
disappointment had been in her voice, nor anger, just the ever-present, mildly
condescending understanding of an elf talking to a man.
I have spend many years living among elves as one of them, yet even I cannot
claim to truly understand them. Many things do look far clearer to me in
retrospective, but when I arrived at our camp at the base of the trees that
night, I admittedly was at my wits end.
It must have been mere hours later, when the others were preparing for the
night, that I noticed Boromir sitting apart, on a stone overlooking some darker,
less inhabited dale of the forest.
"Try to get some sleep," I said, walking up to him, trying to sound neither
patronising nor sheepish. "The borders of this forest are well guarded. We are
safe here."
He looked at me, his eyes unsteady with pain and worry, and answered:
"I will find no peace here among these trees."
He looked at me again and finally, for the first time, confided in me.
"She has seen into my heart," he said softly, barely hidden terror in his voice.
I half expected to find some grim satisfaction to see him so vulnerable and even
more shaken than myself, yet it was only the wish to console him, to ease this
burden that wore down his heavy shoulders, that I found within me.
I sat down next to him, and he began to talk, reluctant at first, then ever more
freely, about his fear of failing his people, to lose the war, to fail to hold
up to his own expectations. And then, finally letting down his usually
ever-present guard, he began to talk about how he missed his home of Minas
Tirith. How the white towers gleamed in the morning light like so much pearl and
the feeling of being called home by the clear sound of silver horns.
"I have a dream," he said, smiling at me sadly. "One day, we both will ride into
the White City, and all the folk will be there, hailing us, shouting 'Alas, the
Lords of Gondor have returned!'"
And he smiled at me again, offering me a truce with his kind words after so much
useless suffering.
Yet it was exactly the one kind of truce I could not accept. I could be second
to none, nor could I share my rule with however valiant a knight. I hated my
fate, dealing me a lover I could never reach, and then, when finally he turned
to accept me, having to reject him myself. I tried to sit back, to be quiet and
say nothing, just to keep this moment of mutual friendship unblemished, but I
could not. Not with the memory of Galadriel's voice pounding in the back of my
head.
"There will never be two Lords of Gondor," I said softly, painfully aware of how
much effort it cost me.
Boromir just sat there, and I already feared that he might have overheard my
words, when finally he turned around to face me, with all the sadness of the
world in his eyes.
"I know..." he said, tears all but strangling his voice.
It broke my heart.
"Why—" I started, surprised by the fact that I had to bite back tears, too.
"Why don't we go for a walk, so that we won't disturb the others," I proposed,
gently nodding towards the rest of our company, mainly busy getting some sleep.
For a moment Boromir thoughtfully looked where I had been pointing, then nodded
and rose. With a quiet gesture of good will he offered me one of his broad hands
to help me, which I thankfully accepted. The last days had been draining our
bodies to the limit, and now, in security, they started to demand some care with
a vengeance. But an aching heart will always overrule aching feet, and so we
both set out for a walk along the less populated areas of the forest.
We walked in silence for a while, the broad Gondorian prince and I, each one
seemingly sorting out his own messed-up emotions.
After some time, when the silence became oppressive, I managed to say:
"We do have to talk."
How weak a line for a man expected to rule a country within a score of month!
But Boromir did not seem to notice or care for my obvious absence of any form of
expressional talent, and nodding slowly he answered, equally sheepish:
"Yes, we do."
I attributed his muted voice to his encounter with the Lady Galadriel, never
guessing it might stem from some other worry, one concerning me far more
personally. But facing an enemy within oneself is always harder than facing an
enemy outside, and it took me some considerable strength to ask:
"Why have you always kept away yourself so much? I have tried so often to treat
you as a friend, yet every time you rejected my offers."
Abruptly, Boromir turned around and stared at me, all traces of sadness wiped
away by an expression of pure flaring anger.
"You?" he bellowed at me. "You tried to be friends?"
He stepped up to me, his body emanating the feeling of physical power barely
held in check. Maybe my idea of opening our talk with something that might be
misunderstood as an allegation had not been so wise a move, but it was too late
now.
"You little upstart with your elven upbringing and your elven manners and your
elven haughtiness tried to be friendly?" He gave off a snorting laugh, saying
"That's ridiculous!" and turned away, deeper into the woods.
I stood, stunned by surprise and disbelief, and felt white-hot anger welling up
in me. Of all people of Middle-earth he dared to call me haughty? Him, who
tortured my heart from the beginning with constant spite and rejection? I went
after him, all fatigue forgotten, yelling:
"You stop now, son of the Steward of Gondor!"
Called by his title, he stopped and turned to see what I was coming up with, his
anger still clearly written in his face.
"You cannot call me haughty and walk away on me like that!"
I came up to him and stood there, clearly in defiance of all his allegations.
"Of all people you call me haughty? You, who never had a friendly word for me,
whatever I did? You, who turned away every time I offered help? You, who—"
"Shut up!" Boromir hissed, emanating pure physical threat. "I neither need your
help, nor do I want it."
Breathing heavily, he stared at me with all the bile of the worlds in his looks.
"I do not need you, nor does Gondor need you. And least of all, we have a use
for a king who'd care more about elves than for men!"
It was simply to much for me to bear. First this constant pain of our
non-relationship, his constant rejection, the loss of Gandalf, Galadriel's
reprimand and now Boromir ridiculous insults. On other days, I might just have
laughed at his piteous efforts of justification, but that night, under the trees
of Lórien, I physically flung myself at him, only filled with the intend to tear
his flesh and stop his petrified, malicious little heart from beating forever.
He must have had expected my attack, though, for he managed to avoid my blow and
propel me into a nearby tree-root easily the size of a man. Grunting, he stepped
towards me, but I managed to get on my feet faster and lurched at him again.
This time, I caught him off-guard, and together we fell to the mossy ground, me
on top of him both beating each other mindlessly. Going for faces and groins, we
brawled like drunkards in front of a tavern, with bleeding noses and bleeding
knuckles.
Somehow his strong blows must have shifted my weight, for all of a sudden, he
bucked up wildly, jerking up his knees, thrusting me into the moss next to him.
Before I could recover, he was on top of me, raising his arms for a final blow.
Yet the expected blow never came. Instead, he let go of me after a moment,
dropping himself next to a moss-covered root. I sat up, bewildered, for I
honestly had expected a killing blow after I had seen the mad rage he was
capable of in his eyes. But Boromir sat there, mere meters away, his head
between his knees, strandy hair covering all his expressions.
"Go away," he muttered defeatedly. "If you really tried to do good, you leave me
now."
I wiped off snot and blood from my face and really thought about leaving this
mad scene, but something in his voice made me stay, much to my own fortune.
"If you do hate me so much," I said, as soft as possible in my slightly damaged
condition. "Then why did you not kill me when you had a chance to?"
Boromir's head went up with a jerk and through the strands of his hair, I could
see his face gleaming wet.
"Hate you?" he asked bewildered, coughing up some blood himself in turn.
"Nay, I do not hate you, Aragorn, not at all."
And then, his voice trailing away almost to inaudibility, he added:
"But you are not a man easily liked. Or loved."
First I thought that my battered senses played me tricks, that I began to hear
words that had never been said merely because I wished them to be said, but
Boromir's expression I could not simply cast away as illusion.
"I am not easily—what?" I asked, my voice far more coarse than expected.
"Liked," he answered. And then, with the saddest smile, but clearly audible, he
added: "Or loved."
"Loved?" I repeated, hating myself for my utter sheepishness, yet Boromir had
noticed the sound of joyful surprise in my word.
"Yes, loved," he said again, softly chuckling.
I was in a torrent of emotions. Of all possible outcomes, this had been the most
desired and yet, the most unlikely one. Many words whirled in my head, so much
to be said, so much to be explained. I was trying to catch at least one of these
well-formed sentences, if only to express my joy and mutual feelings, yet before
I was to make a single thought, I was brought back to the scene by a hand,
softly touching my face.
It was Boromir, whom I had not noticed to stand up, kneeling between my legs,
his face mere inches away from mine, taking a strand of my hair out of my face.
I was bewildered by such a gentle gesture of so strong a man, mesmerised by his
face that, though scraped and beaten and smeared with blood and tears, seemed to
me of such an indescribable and breathtaking beauty that I simply stopped
thinking.
And then, as if trying to call back my fleeing mind, he bent forward, ever so
slightly, smiled and softly placed his lips onto mine. They were surprisingly
soft, his lips, far gentler than I had ever thought a man's lips could be, and
his short beard far coarser than expected.
When his lips met mine, gently and probing first, then his tongue parting my
lips, I was tasting him, smelling him, feeling his presence all over me, in that
moment I melted.
All the tension of the last days, all the pains and worries I had heaped around
myself melted away within a single breath like an armour of ice in a dragons
flame—leaving nothing but me, nothing but the joy of requited love.
And desire.
Turning like the tide I leaned into Boromir and passionately kissed his mouth,
his face, his throat. His movements and desires matched mine, and before long I
found myself tearing at his shirt, trying to rid us of this useless barrier that
barred me from his body. Forgotten were all the thoughts of emotional
discipline, of staying rational and forgotten was even the ever watchful mind of
Galadriel, who surely would not be able to let such an outburst of
long-suppressed passion go unnoticed. Let her watch, I thought, if she needs to,
let her burn her prying mental fingers at the unelven heat of our love.
Finally, Boromir's stubborn shirt surrendered to my efforts and he let me pull
it over his head. For a moment, I held him prisoner, his arms over his head,
still in his shirt, and watched his body in the bright starlight that
illuminated our little grove.
He was as broad as expected, and heavily muscled, and the slight sheen of sweat
and his deep and hard breathing made him seem like a paragon of mankind, full of
passion, so hard to contain it came close to physical pain.
I leaned forward, coming up close to Boromir's face, still hidden behind the
cloth of his shirt, hearing his breath, smelling him, feeling the heat rising
from his body.
"I may have been a fool, but I ever am the fool only once."
With gentle violence, I pressed him down to the ground, still holding him in his
shirt, now kneeling on top of him.
"I do love you too, you brick headed Gondorian prince, and I will not let you
go. Not tonight."
I heard him laugh softly, felt his chest move according to it, and gently,
lovingly he said:
"No insults anymore, tonight, Aragorn. We both have still much talk to do, and
much to settle between the two of us."
He tried to rid himself of the makeshift bonds and I let him go. He took off his
shirt, his muscles gleaming in the starlight underneath his shining skin. He
looked at me for a long moment, than took my hands in his and said:
"No more insults, and no more titles tonight. Lets pretend there were nothing
outside our little grove here, nothing to fear, nothing to be responsible for."
He sat up and looked into my eyes, clear blue eyes that seemed to caress me with
their looks, one of his hands around my back, the other softly touching my
cheek, his fingers callused yet all the gentler.
"Promise me that tonight, we'll be Lovers, nothing else."
"Nothing else, for tonight," I whispered, feeling utterly relieved and happy.
"I promise." I leaned my head on his broad shoulder, just for a moment, and he
took me into his strong arms, held me tight and whispered in my ear:
"Then I promise, too. Nothing but two Lovers. Nothing but tonight."
Once again, I felt passion welling up in me, not as blinding as the first time,
but deeper, slower, more intense. I sat on his lap, kissing the side of his
neck, caressing him, feeling him, losing myself in the sensation of another body
I had so long been craving for. Boromir in turn was kissing my ear, stroking my
hair, touching my face.
When he gently untangled our embrace, I looked at him in irritation, but he
smiled at me so sweet and reassuring I did but sit back.
It was Boromir now who started to unlace my shirt, but unlike me, he took his
time, each lace at a time, like unwrapping a precious and oh so fragile present.
Surprisingly, I was not annoyed by his slow pace, but felt honoured by his care,
precious and beloved.
Gently but determined, he lifted my shirt over my head, leaning back a little,
watching my now-bared chest and arms. It was pleasant, for his look was neither
judging nor examining, but joyful and with the clear intend to delight in this
very moment, and to wait until lust would finally consume his restraint.
"You are far less skinny than I thought," Boromir said softly, after a while.
"I thought we said 'no more insults'?"
"That was a compliment, my dear, for thou art beautiful, as beautiful as man can
be."
He shifted his weight to make him more comfortable, yet through this movement, I
became very aware of the hardening between his legs. I had never really thought
of where our love, if ever requited, might go, and never spend much thought
about the physical peculiarities of a night between two warriors.
But the kissing part seemed to be over now, and we both knew it.
I started moving gently, trying to acquaint myself with this unexpected
additional appearance of such a well known part of my own physique. My movements
seemed to be rather inspiring, for Boromir close his eyes after a while and laid
back, silently enjoying the sensation.
I felt him grow underneath my moving buttocks and it felt good. I enjoy giving
pleasure to the ones I make love to, and obviously gender seemed to be not so
much an issue in this case.
Then suddenly, Boromir opened his eyes again, breathing heavily, and stopped my
motion by fixing my hips with his hands. I looked at him, questioning him, but
he just gave me a leering grin, turning both of us around in a single motion,
pinning me to the ground, lying between my legs.
"Enough teasing, now, my brother." His voice was low and pleasingly unsteady,
passion seeping through every word. "Let me see what you have to offer!"
And with these words, he slid down between my knees, undoing my pants with
surprising ease, pulling down both pants and breeches to my ankles, watching my
exposed body with utter pleasure.
To my own surprise, I was far more aroused than I had thought, and he watched my
shining shaft with a slightly unsettling mixture of lust and hunger.
He bent down, at first stroking my naked thighs with his hands, then caressing
them with his face, then wandering up between my legs until my first gasping
breath made him look up.
"Feels alright, doesn't it?" he said with a moronic expression. "Oh, gods, I
could swallow you whole, just to keep you with me."
His hands started stroking the exposed length of my most sensitive parts, while
his eyes never left mine.
"And tonight, you are mine, to do with as I please."
And with these words, he swallowed me whole, as he had promised, though probably
in different context.
It was pleasurable, for sure. I was hardly able to wonder if I had been able to
give as much pleasure to him were I in his place, but I couldn't be bothered.
His moving lips and tongue sent waves of pleasure through my body, quite alike
to a rocking boat on the shore.
But for all his talent or expertise, my passion demanded more physical an
activity. I started to miss the rubbing of bodies I was used to, missed the
feeling of my partner in my arms while making love to her. Or him. Whatever.
So I pulled Boromir up to me, by his hair, as it was the only part of him I
could grab with my senses mostly busy elsewhere. He came up to me, still
half-clad, his body lying heavily on top of mine.
"What?" he asked under his breath.
For a moment, I revelled in the feeling of his skin next to mine, of the weight
of his body and the hardness between his legs pressing against my hips.
"I want more," I whispered, this time my voice unsteadied by passion.
Slinging my arms around him in a tight embrace, kissing him, I tried to melt
into his body or merge his into mine.
"I see..." he answered when finally our lips parted again. "Come up!"
Before I could even wonder, he jumped to his feet, took my hands and pulled me
up next to him. He seemed to look for something, while my perceptions where
completely occupied with watching the leaves that had stuck to the small of my
back fall down on the ground—and with staring at the promising bulge
somewhere under my Lover's belt-buckle.
"What do you—" I started to ask, but Boromir placed a single finger over my
lips and silenced my question.
"There's too much stuff on the ground," he said with an all-explaining
expression.
"Trying to find somewhere more comfortable for both of us."
He finally seemed to have found what he had been looking for, pointed to a
nearby tree and said: "There."
Taking my hand, he gently pulled me towards the huge trunk, making me suddenly
aware of how naked I was. Grateful for the mild nightly breeze I followed him,
shedding the rest of my clothing that still dangled around my ankles in the
process, the only thing left on my body being Arwen's pendant on its chain
around my neck, sparkling in the gentle light. I wondered what he intended to do
when he gently pressed me against the huge tree with my back, his eyes filled
with passionate anticipation.
For a moment we both looked at each other, revelling in the respective Lover's
features. I looked at his eyes, so sparkling now, his mouth, sensual and not
grim at all. I knew him to be not the kind of man I usually might have
considered handsome, but he was striking, and valiant, adorable and strong, and
above all, tonight, he was mine.
He was beautiful, in my eyes, and if this moment had endured but the blink of
eye longer, I might well have lost myself into sheer admiration.
But then Boromir leaned forward, breaking the spell he put on me himself, and
kissed me. I began to touch him, caress his chest, his back, feeling his
callused hands gliding all over my body, leaving tingling traces of burning
passion on my skin so hot they must have been glowing in the low light. I let my
hands venture deeper along my Lover's body, caressed his stomach, gently playing
with the trail of soft dark-golden curls that led down from his belly deeper,
below his belt. Opening another man's belt is a task more tricky than one might
think, and I might have never managed if Boromir had not come to my aid, all the
while never letting go of my earlobe.
Though I knew very well what I was to find inside my Lover's pants, I was gently
trembling with anticipation when I finally followed that golden trail deeper
into uncharted territory.
I had never before touched a man so intimately as I did then, but I was
surprised how natural the motions came to me. In the darkness of my Lover's groin
my hands discovered hardness and softness alike, like a hand-warm sword-hilt
covered in silk. And I knew my way with swords, alas, if nothing else. Soon
Boromir's breath turned unsteady, and I deeply enjoyed the fact that it was due
to my own hands that this stout warrior started to shiver.
More and more his movements grew unsteady, much to my growing pleasure. His
broad hands caressed me all over, running down my sides, passionately but gently
pressing my buttocks, gliding up the inner side of my thighs. My body was all
mellow with pleasure, tingling with anticipation of the carnal delights to come.
He turned me around, then, so that I faced the moss-covered bark of the tree we
leaned to. Caressed my back with gentle strokes, kissing the base of my neck,
pressing himself against me, his hands between my legs.
It was only when his fingers started to caress places I had not anticipated,
prying for an entrance I had never thought one to be, that I realised where this
course of action was leading to.
All my pleasure-filled thoughtlessness was shattered with the blow of that
cognition, realising what he intended to do to me, replaced within a single
thought by a hailstorm of words, all trying to break out of me to stop this
inappropriate—
But Boromir must have sensed my sudden tenseness, for he withdrew his hand,
asking softly:
"You alright?"
I turned around to face him, breathing heavily, no longer transfixed by the
unthinkability of his proposal.
"I—" I muttered breathlessly, "I am—"
"Yes?" he asked, his voice full of care, his eyes sparkling with passion. How
could he dare!
"I am not to be—taken!" I pressed out with all the determination I could
muster.
And this brick headed bear of a prince had the audacity not to excuse, but
merely to smile seedily, pulling me into a close embrace, looking deep into my
eyes, asking:
"And why should that be, my Lover?"
He did not even see it!
"Why should I restrain to collect a prize I have been longing for so many weeks?
And one, to say, has up until now shown no reluctance at all to be collected?"
I was out of words. All my thoughts were garbled, and my only will was to stop
the man I loved from, well, from using my body that way.
"No." Did my voice really tremble so much? "You just—will not."
Suddenly I found his embrace to be more than confining, and I started to squirm
to get out. But Boromir laughed, as if my reluctance only fuelled his passions.
"Oh, you're putting up a fight?" he asked mockingly.
But I was indeed trying to free myself from his arms without harming him, not
putting up some staged quarrel for fun.
"Eh?" he asked, pressing me against the tree once more.
"Stop that!" I ordered, laying all my strength of command in these two words.
Boromir's head went up, his arms still fixing me against the tree. In his eyes,
I could finally see some trace of doubt, but they were overshadowed by too much
passion and slowly rising anger. A dangerous combination that was, but I only
realised it too late.
"Since when do lovers issue orders, Lover?" he growled, his body pressing
against mine, hot, strong, his pulse almost audible.
"You brick headed prince of Gondor, let me go!" I shouted, feeling my anger
rising slowly to match his.
Unexpectedly, he hit me with his fist, right below my temple, putting all of his
might into his blow.
"You have broken the single one law we have here tonight, Lover!" he growled
menacingly while I stood there, fighting not to lose balance. His hit had been
hard, and the days before had more than demanding, yet it still shocked me that
his blow had almost brought me to the brink of consciousness.
"I will show you what lovers do, Lover!" he added spitefully, slamming me
against the trunk with all his weight. I felt little branches and moss crumble
underneath my impact, and the mad light of wrathful desire that shone in
Boromir's eyes frightened me.
He shoved me against the tree, pushed me up, pulling up my legs over his arms
one after another, while I desperately tried to focus enough to make one
distinctive movement without falling.
"I will have you," he grunted, "with your consent or without."
And with these words, he lowered my body, trying to impale me on him. But
unwilling and ill-prepared as I was, he only managed to shove me, squeezing me
against the rough bark. He thrust again, and again, ever trying to intrude in
me, more lead by instinct and mad desire than any human thought. I struggled
against my failing sense of co-ordination, struggled to prevent him from doing
any real harm, struggling to clear my head enough to free me from this shameful
position.
Then, of a sudden, one of his thrusts was successful, and a wave of pain ran
though my body as I felt myself pried open, torn, violated by the man I only
desired love of. I felt the length of him enter my body, using ways that had
never been intended for such intercourse. I cried out loud, more for pain of
heart than anything else, but with my cry, also my muddled senses reawakened. He
had already left my body but for a minute tip that remained within me, but
before he could launch his next shove, I landed my elbows on his head with all
force.
Dazzled by the impact, he stopped his motion, and I managed to pull up my feet,
pushing him away with a well-placed kick in his face. The impact hurtled him
across the little grove, and Boromir stumbled and fell close to the tree-root
where this ill-fortuned meeting had begun.
Seconds later, I was on top of him, beating him, kicking him. I wanted to hurt
him, to hurt him so mindlessly as he had done with me, and cowered all his body
with blows.
Yet, though my intent to hurt him was clear, it slowly came to me that I took
great care not to hurt him seriously or, the gods forbid, to kill him.
That thought slowed my attacks. After all he had done to me mere moments ago,
could it be that I still was unable to hate him?
I let go of him, the, dropping myself somewhere in the grove. Now that the anger
had left me, I felt cold, hurt, and tired. There was still pain in me, far more
in my heart than anywhere else. But this time, it was no anger that I felt, only
sadness of one betrayed by his love.
It was painful to see that in spite of our love, we seemed unable not to harm
each other, painful to realise that this night had been defiled by an act of
such mindless violence.
And I was ashamed. Ashamed to have been used, ashamed not to have been able to
prevent this disaster, not able to stop him by force, unable to hate him. I felt
tears running down my cheeks, and each single one added more to my disgrace.
Weak and defeated I sat there, holding my knees, praying for this shameful
moment to pass, unable to end it myself.
"Oh my gods, what have I done?"
Once again, it was Boromir's soft voice that brought me back. Once more, he
knelt next to me, watching my face with a shock and shame that must have
mirrored mine.
"Oh gods, I'd never thought—" he whispered, trying to touch my arm in a
gesture of repentance.
But the memory of his uncontrollable violence was yet to young, and I flinched
away to avoid his touch. He retreated as if burned by searing heat, his looks
now naught but shock and sadness, gone like a nightmare were all traces of the
mad, sparkling desire that had twisted his gentle face.
We sat in silence for a moment, looking at each other, trying to understand what
evil fate had befallen our young love. With time, my silent tears faded, my
sadness replaced by cold and grey emptiness. He still knelt there, watching me,
and as my tears left me, they welled up in him again. Heavy with grief and
self-loathing, he turned away from me then, muttering to himself:
"Gods, I'm a monster."
His words struck me like a blow, piercing the gloom I had shrouded around myself
to prevent me from seeing my shame. Yes, he had violated my trust in him,
defiled our bond, yet to see him suffer was still too much for me to bear.
Taking care of someone else's hurts can sometimes prove more wholesome and
healing than being taken care of, and when my eyes saw him suffer for what he
had done, my heart opened again, wiping away all my self-pity like the sun
burning away the mists of morning.
Yes, he had hurt me, but he had hurt himself far worse, and whereas time would
heal my wounds, his could only be healed by my forgiveness. And willing to
forgive I was, surprisingly so, for in the light of my love what he had done
seemed but an over-eager child's misstep. A big and dangerous child, yet
adorable none the less.
I sat up, on my knees, and silently went to him until I faced his broad back,
seeing it heave with silent tears. I tried for words, words to express my love,
my forgiveness, to express that he should stop punishing himself for I demanded
no retribution. But once again, words did not come easily, or at once, and
before I said anymore stupidities that night, I chose silence and gently laid my
arms around him, softly nuzzling his neck.
For a moment, he merely sat there, immobile like a rock, but then he turned,
gently holding my arms, until he could see my face. With a strand of his hair
sticking to his moist face he looked at me in wonder, asking coarsely:
"How can you come back to me after what I have done to you?"
I shrugged, still not sure about how to word my feelings.
"I did never intend to hurt you, but I got carried away. Not an excuse, that is,
none at all. Quite weak for a man so strong, isn't it?"
He gently stroked my hair, and finally, among all the words buzzing in my head,
I found the one explanation, simple and true since the beginning of time.
"I love you. That's all."
His eyes widened in wonder once more, and it filled my heart with joy to see.
"Yes, I do love you. And though I have been hurt in body and soul alike, I
cannot turn away from you."
My expression turned into mocked solemnity as I added:
"And I have learned my lesson not to taunt you with my hands between your legs.
Isn't healthy for both of us, is it?"
My grin managed to split his lips into a little smile, which in turn eased my
heart so much I broke out in relieved laughter. Before long, we both were lying
in the moss together, holding each other gently, laughing, looking at the stars
behind the trees.
"We may be great heroes, both of us," I said when finally our laughter subsided.
"But in things of the heart, we both fumble like children, don't we?"
I turned my head towards him, and he looked into my eyes, still smiling so
adorably.
"True, how true."
A long look followed, as if the answers to his questions were written in my
face.
"You're still—I mean, tonight is the first time you've been with a man,
right?" he asked, his voice filled with gentle care.
I simply nodded, smiling, feeling thoughtless not to have warned him when I
found him so much more experienced.
"Doesn't seem like your first time, though."
He smiled guiltily and shrugged, pulling me closer in his embrace.
"Not truly, no. But, alas, you do know how to raise a man's passion anyway. Seems
you're talented."
He gently kissed my forehead, adding:
"Very talented indeed..."
I could not help but smile. Being courteous to ladies is one thing, but being on
the receiving end of such compliments is utterly different, yet pleasing none
the less.
Loving a man teaches you a lot about yourself, for it makes you able to compare
and see what it is that is lovable about a man.
Boromir kissed me again, then, and trailed down with his lips along my throat,
down on my chest. Lying there, listening to the rustle of the wind in the leaves
of Lórien, watching the few stars that managed to pierce the ever-green roof
above us, I realised to my utter surprise that my body did not mind its former
mistreatment, contrary, I felt desire being slowly rekindled.
Like the returning tide slowly lifts a stranded boat, my Lover's kisses removed
me from my former gloom, revived my body with vigour from before unknown and
unexpected stocks. I knew I wanted him, wanted to see his face filled with utter
pleasure, wanted to feel his body moving against mine—even if this included
offering myself. Beginning to return my Lover's caresses, I leaned closer into
his embrace, pressing our bodies against each other, feeling the heat welling up
in him once more, too.
"Will you try again?" I asked, looking at him with only a hint of the
insecurity I felt. "Just be gentle this time."
Gently I kissed him again, indulging in the sweet taste of his lips once more.
His sure embrace was so different from what I had know until that night, and my
whole body began to answer his every touch.
In spite of my Lover's caresses I left our embrace to kneel next to him, eyeing
his remaining clothing like a foe before battle. Boromir's seedy smile left me
alone with the challenge, and with some effort I managed to pry him out of his
leathern trousers, discarding any other rest of clothing on him on the way.
We were there, in this little nightly grove, now both wholly unclad, watching
each other in trembling anticipation. He lay before me, his legs apart, as if
offering me his most vulnerable parts. And what a tempting offer it was.
I watched him, soaking up this picture to forever preserve it in my memory. Once
more fascinated by the soft golden curls that surrounded the centre of my
attention, I laid my hands between his legs, touching him, caressing him,
watching his passionately sparkling eyes turn out of focus in match with my
movements.
So I bent down to kiss him, placing my lips onto the tip of his hilt, surprised
by the odd sensation of strangeness and familiarity alike. Kissing him,
caressing him, curiously trying to use my tongue, I soon had to realise that I
would still need some training until I could match my Lover's skills with this
kind of weapon.
Releasing him with a last smacking kiss, I raised my head to catch his look and
asked:
"What now?"
Boromir needed a moment to refocus enough to answer. Then he gestured me to move
up to him and willingly I obeyed. For a short while, we again lay in each others
arms, kissing, caressing. Boromir carefully turned the two of us around, so that
I came to lay upon him, my back on his chest, feeling his every breath.
His hands covered my body with gentle strokes, caressing my chest, my stomach,
firmly yet gently holding my eagerly expecting manhood. I could feel his own
hardness hot between my buttocks, pressed against me with soft rhythmic motions.
Feeling my Lover's desire with all my Body, hearing his breath go unsteady and
short so close to my ears made me twitch with anticipation.
One of his hands then wandered deeper between my legs, gently probing, carefully
preparing this time. Filled with anticipation as I was, the memory of the pain
endured such a short while ago was only a mere wraith compared to the warm
glowing sun of my Lover's passion, and my reaction when he finally entered me
with his fingers was one of uneasy unfamiliarity, not one of pain.
Trying to relax was unexpectedly hard, though, as my body wanted to go tense
with desire, anticipating passionate thrusting movements, not the gentle ease of
someone giving himself. But Boromir took great care this time, and under his
hands I mellowed more and more, slowly getting used to this utterly unfamiliar
sensation.
"Just say 'no', if I'm too quick," he whispered, gently nibbling at my ear.
And then, before I had the time to tense up again, he entered my body once more.
Not in a single thrust, but in a steady, gliding motion, allowing me to
concentrate on the feel of him filling me more and more, my senses,
over-sensitive as they were, enhancing the intruding length to a giant's
proportion.
Boromir let out a deep rumbling sound, shuddering with pleasure, and I have to
admit that I probably accompanied him with my own assortment of ill-bred noises.
The sensation when he finally started moving was odd, not unpleasant, yet so
unfamiliar it took some time to make sense out of it.
Yet while my head still struggled with the concept, my body and heart had
already decided they liked what happened. My heart, for one, felt Boromir's
pleasure, his movements screaming with carefully harnessed desire. My body,
unexpectedly and not really understandably, reacted with waves of pleasure of
surprising magnitude. My mind, being confronted with its allies on both sides
running over to the enemy, decided to give in and followed the herd, and soon I
lay on top of my Lover, groaning, sweating, catching for breath, grunting silly
confirmations into Boromir's ear.
I felt his passion mount in him, building up like pressure in a barrel of young
wine, waiting to be released, screaming for freedom. It was a marvelling
experience to feel the tense passion of a man approaching his peak, feeling the
whole of Boromir's body underneath me growing tense and jerky, his breath more
and more rapid. And though my own body was nowhere as aroused as he was, when
his barrel finally burst, I felt so close to his mind that I thought I could
feel with him, feeling him contract to a singular point of pure passion,
exploding into sparks, ebbing away into utter pleasure.
Breathing heavily, I lay on top of him, still reliving the moment of his highest
passion again and again, until he finally withdrew himself from my body. I
rolled down of my Lover, welcoming the cooling feel of sweat on my skin.
Boromir lay there, eyes still half-closed, but smiling and so benignly beautiful
I could hardly believe him to be the same man that almost raped me but some time
ago. His sweat-covered body shone in the starlight, his heaving chest glittering
as if covered with crystals.
Opening his eyes, he looked at me, full of love, and pulled me up to meet his
lips in one more, passionate kiss, his body radiating almost searing heat.
"Your turn, now?" he asked when our lips finally parted.
"I'm not sure I know what to do," I answered, cheekily raising one eyebrow.
"But you'd want to, don't you?"
And how I wanted to! All my body still prickled with the aftertaste of my Lover's
peaking emotions, craving to burst a barrel myself, craving to return to at
least something remotely familiar in this kind of making love.
Nodding empathetically, I rose on my elbows, showing my outstanding readiness to
Boromir and all else who might have been spying. Boromir in turn laughed out
loud, turned on his side and motioned me to lay behind him.
"Come," he said, "I shall help you. And don't worry, it will come most
naturally."
I did as I had been told, cuddling myself to his back, sneaking my arms around
his shoulders. Feeling his firm buttocks pressing invitingly into my lap, I
understood what he meant when he said it would come naturally. I knew very well
where to go next, though I shied back from making a move myself, still
remembering the pain such unprepared an intrusion could bring.
But he did as he promised and took care of himself, all the while I was
caressing his chest, covering his back with gentle bites. Then he reached behind
him, through the gap between his opened legs, gently showing me the way to go.
Trusting his guidance, I carefully increased my pressure, unnecessarily fearing
I might accidentally hurt him. But then, suddenly, I felt him open, taking me
in, slowly accepting a part of my body into himself. The sensation was odd at
first, then slightly tight, and finally surprising familiar. Familiar enough for
even my body to remember what to do. I started moving in him gently, slowly,
carefully. Boromir drew in his breath sharply, and I halted myself.
"All right?" I asked him, my voice betraying far more of my passion then I had
hoped.
He nodded jerkily, firmly cupping my buttocks with his hands. "Will you go on,
bloody hell!" he gasped, his breath short and his voice coarse, yet very far
from being filled with pain. "Don't you dare to stop, you—" he added, his
last comment being cut short when he sharply sucked in air in answer to a
passionate thrust of my loins.
I didn't stop again. Not too soon, anyway. Tightening my embrace around him, I
slowly increased my speed, feeling his body move with mine, feeling me inside of
him, luxuriating in every move. I knew I must have started growling of passion
before long, moving ferociously, Boromir in my arms answering with noises not
unlike those of a laughing orc. I felt my passion coming close to its peak, but
unwilling to end this encounter so unspectacularly, I withdrew rather more
abruptly than I had intended to. Breathing heavily, we both lay there, in
silence, as I watched in bewilderment the faint whiffs of steam that rose from
our sweating bodies in the cooling night of the forest.
"What?" Boromir turned around, obviously unsatisfied with the situation.
"Don't know," I answered with a shrug, realising that I was hacking off the
words for lack of breath. "Don't want to finish—like that..."
He looked at me for a long moment, than he nodded, his eyes sparkling full of
gentle love. He turned on his back and helped me between his legs, spreading
them wide.
"Lay on me," he whispered, "so we can see each other." Pushing a sticky strand
of my hair out of my face, he smiled at me again, saying:
"How beautiful you are, my Lover."
This time, I managed to enter him with ease and without need for his help. He
had been right, and though our new constellation demanded a little more care
than the one before, the pleasure of seeing each others face while making love
was more than worth it. I do not know what he saw in my face then, but his eyes
never left mine, as well as mine never left his. His face shone with delight,
strands of my hair, wet with sweat, dangled mere inches from his nose. I watched
his body heave with each respective movement of mine, and the soft, grunting
noises he made this time only fuelled my passion all the more.
This time, when I felt myself approaching the peak of my passion, I slowed down
my pace, just to savour this moment a little longer, just to keep my eyes open
not to lose one single sight of my Lover. I felt my whole world contract,
turning dense and single-minded, growing smaller until it only encompassed my
passion and my lover's face, his eyes still fixed in mine, staring with the
anticipation of joining me.
One more move, and I couldn't hold onto myself any longer, and a long barred
flood of passion and pleasure washed over me, utterly purging me and all and any
of my thoughts, leaving nothing but a feeling of purest wholeness and peace.
When I came to my senses again, I was laying next to Boromir, cuddled in his
arms, my body still shivering in remembrance of the moments of bliss I had
experienced.
I looked at him, watched his body, nearly being swallowed by a wave of memories
that swarmed over my brain. As he rose, I remarked several long, red marks
running down from his shoulders to his chest, somehow ominously alike to the
marks of fingernails on flesh.
"Was that me?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
Boromir nodded with a cheeky smile, his eyes sparkling.
"You are a very passionate boy, once you let your guards down," he said,
collecting some of our wide-strew clothes to form a makeshift cover, as the
night had taken on a distinctive, not yet unpleasant chill.
We huddled together underneath our improvised blanket, this time Boromir in my
arms, once more looking for the lonely stars shining down to us.
"Thank you," Boromir said after a while.
"Thanks for what?"
"For accepting me."
I blinked in befuddlement. This huge man, whose acceptance I had been such a
long time searching for with so little success, this man was lying in my arms
now, holding onto me like looking for protection, thanking me for accepting him?
But I didn't manage to phrase a question, as once more, he was faster with words
than I.
"I know I'm not always in control of my temper. I'm neither well mannered nor
refined and after all, I'm probably quite dull-witted on top."
He turned around a bit to face me, softly touching my chin with one of his
fingers, smiling with little stars in his eyes.
"And yet you, thoughtful and wise and beautiful as you are, you do not only say
that you love me, nay, you truly do love me, for you could forgive me."
My head swam with his words. He called me thoughtful and wise? Me, who in the
course of the evening had proven more than once that he was not only unable to
find words, no, that even if he talked, he endangered himself and his beloved
ones. He truly must be somewhat dull-witted not to have noticed. Or truly in
love.
"What a gentle and caring soul you bear underneath your rugged shell," I finally
managed to say. "And this is why I love you, for you are true-hearted and
valiant, and on top of it all, you are most beautiful, too." "At least in my
eyes," I added, as his look turned into amused disbelief.
"And, I forgot, you do not always have to think before you can act, in contrary
to me."
I kissed his forehead, gently trying to untangle some strands of his hair, still
smelling of sweat and him and our sweet love-making. Being so at ease with him,
so close to him, filled my being with peace, my heart with softly glowing
happiness.
He let his fingers run down my throat, trailed onto my chest, until he stopped
at the pendant Arwen had given to me on our parting in Rivendell, the only piece
of clothing left on my body.
"What is this?" he asked, carefully fingering the precious stones. "It doesn't
look like you at all."
"It has been a present," I answered, unsuccessfully avoiding the touchy subject
of my betrothed.
"Who would give such a frilly thing to a ranger?" he asked, his voice clearly
showing merely curiosity for his Lover's life, no trace at all of inappropriate
nosiness.
"Looks like elven craftwork, isn't it?"
I nodded, still trying to figure out how to keep this unwieldy subject out of
this evening that had unexpectedly turned out so wonderful.
"Who was it?" he asked again, smiling, playfully poking me.
I closed my eyes, decided he'd learn eventually anyway, and answered:
"It has been given to me as a parting gift by the woman I am betrothed to."
He didn't even try to hide his astonishment.
"You will marry?"
"Yes, eventually, when all has turned out well and the Ring is destroyed."
"Oh."
Merely 'oh'? I didn't really understand why his reaction tweaked such a hot
spike of anger within me. I had expected him to grow angry or sad or—I don't
know. It was only that in my eyes, his plain reaction seemed to reduce our love
to a mere accident, a thought I loathed to accept.
"Have I ever heard of her?" he asked after a short moment of uneasy silence.
"Probably." I looked into his eyes, braced myself and said:
"I'm promised to Arwen Undómiel, daughter of Elrond, as she is pledged to me."
"Elrond's daughter?" he gasped. "I do not think her family will like what we
did here, nor is hers a house whose wrath is easy to ignore."
He looked at me with a strange combination of insecurity and anger, saying:
"What a tricky net you have manoeuvred me into, my love."
Grinning nefariously, I moved onto my elbows, saying:
"Did I mention that her mother's mother is Galadriel, the elven queen of Lórien?"
Pure shock widened my lover's eyes, yet I somehow was unafraid he might do
something short-sighted, for his arms were still gently holding me, his body
clearly saying he wasn't going to give me up, at least not tonight.
"Oh Gods!" he gasped softly, as the whole proportions of tonightıs encounter
came to his mind.
"And did I also mention," I went on, now with some kind of grim amusement, "that
she probably has been spying on us all the time, and that she is quite likely
retreating now in the worst mood since the end of the second age?"
"You knew all this," he stated in accusing bewilderment. "Why did you then—"
"Because I love you. I cannot say that I do know a way to untangle this mess,
but I do not regret any single word I said tonight, or anything I did." "Or
anything that has been done with me, for that," I added with a seedy smile.
Boromir still looked at me, heavy thoughts moving behind his brows.
"And it was Galadriel herself who ordered me to sort things out with you, to any
outcome. Though I'm pretty sure she'd preferred to see something less carnal."
"She knows...?" Whatever worries might have had crept into my lover's thoughts
were now replaced by pure bewilderment.
"'The Lady of the woods sees deep into the hearts of men. And whatever she sees
will forever change the one who faced her gaze.' The old saying is pretty true,
my love, for I do not know about you, but I have changed, far more than I would
have thought possible."
I tried to kiss him, but he gently pressed me away, asking:
"How in all the worlds did you think all this would sort out?"
I shrugged, saying:
"Hadn't thought about it at all. By all accounts, I might be dead before the
next moon. Or you might—" I left it unsaid, for the thought of it was painful
beyond expectation, too painful to even word it.
"So you hoped one of us would die before you had to make a decision?" he chided
me with mocked anger. "What a lovely thought of you!"
Phrased that way, my former decision to wait seemed more like a cowards hope to
avoid conflict than a future kings wise plan. Smiling guiltily, I shrugged once
more, half-heartedly dodging Boromir's playful slap at my head.
"I know it's no great kingly way to deal with things like that," I admitted.
"But no-one knows what the future will bring, and thus, I am somewhat reluctant
to make plans beyond our recent task at hand."
Taking one deep breath, Boromir nodded, pulling me down to him again.
"I'd have liked to know how you see our relationship, that's all." "I do not
like the thought to be a mere replacement for a lovely yet momentarily
unavailable elven maiden."
His words made me draw in my breath sharply, but before I could answer, he
added:
"Especially, as I'm utterly untalented in pretending to be shy or wise, nor am I
slender or fey or whatever else one might attribute to her race."
No, he truly was as far from elven stature as man might be, yet his words did
not amuse me, impinging on Arwen's honour as they were.
"Take care of how you speak of the Lady Arwen, for she is pure and not to be
spoken of in anything but reverence," I said, pointedly reminding him that my
feelings for her were by no means changed by the night I had shared with him.
But he merely pouted at me, gently patting the small of my back, saying:
"I have not been speaking of the fair lady Arwen, nay, not at all."
He cupped my face between his hands, looking deep into my eyes, adding
seriously:
"I have been talking about the two of us, valiant defender of your ladies
honour, and if you see me as a lover equal to her or as a mere little adventure
on the sidelines of the battlefield."
He was right to demand at least that decision of me now, for tonight we had been
alone in the world, but night was drawing to an end, and tomorrow we would be
back again to titles and responsibilities.
"I—I'm not sure."
"Oh, how very nice of you."
"No, please. Let me explain."
Taking a deep breath, I tried to focus my thoughts before I continued.
"I do love you, and there is no doubt or deceit in my heart. Most definitely not
so, my valiant Lover. And if you ask me now, the love in my heart is by no means
less than what I feel for the Lady Arwen. And this ails me, for I do not know
any way to deal with this that would not make at least one of us unhappy."
I gently stroked his face, and in his eyes I saw the gentle light of sad
understanding.
"Please do not ask promises of me tonight, for I do not want to hurt my Lady
Arwen more than I have already done with my deeds. Nor do I want to reject you
unnecessarily, for your love means much to me, and I cannot part with you
without dire need."
A soft, sad little smile lightened up Boromir's face as he bent to kiss my
chest.
"You give sweet talk, Aragorn son of Arathorn, once you have put your mind to
it. And I will not force you. You have shown your love to me in word and deed,
and whatever love you will be able to share with me in days to come will be all
I desire. For I truly love you, and though I will ever long to be as close with
you as tonight, it will be enough for me to know that you love me at all."
Smiling seedily, he added:
"And the memory of our first night shared will be enough to warm my lonely
nights."
"But then again," he added jokingly, "it just might increase my desire until I
do something thoughtless and try to abduct you to live in my lonely tower. Or
stuff like that."
We laughed, both knowing that future might turn out far darker than we pictured
it in our words. But we held each other tight, for the moment was precious to us
and would be cherished in the dark days to come, lightening our moods.
Laying closely together in silence for a long time, we thought of us and what
might become of our love if both of us would live beyond our current task.
It was already close to morning, the first grey patches appearing in the sky
above the green canopy to our heads, when I softly said to Boromir:
"There is one thing I can promise you, though."
Slow and sleepy my Lover opened his eyes, and though the warm heaviness of
fatigue leadened his limbs, his eyes sparkled with gentle curiosity.
"I can promise you, that whatever happens, I will never hurt you. I can promise
that I will ever try to protect both your body and soul from harm, and that I
will gladly give not only my life, but also my happiness to see it done."
He listened to my pledges with ever-growing eyes, sleepiness more and more
replaced by wide-eyed wonder.
"I cannot promise you what I will do in days to come, nor can I promise that all
will be well. But I can tell that your life and happiness are so close to my
heart that I will try to protect them at all costs."
"And that I will always love you, whatever fate has been laid out before us," I
added, meanwhile grinning at his bewildered face.
"And you were the one who talked about not to make important pledges too soon."
"Well," I shrugged, still grinning cheekily, "now that I've had time to think, I
know what to say."
"You really know how to talk sweet as honey, my love. So maybe there has been
one good side to all that elven manners that have been bred into you."
Kissing me, it was now Boromir who cleared his throat and raised up on his elbow
to say:
"So as you have given your pledges freely and graciously, I will pledge myself
to you as well."
Blinking in astonishment I looked at him, for I had not spoken as I had to
provoke any reaction of his.
"I will pledge to you that I will always be by your side in love, if not in
body, than in soul, and that I shall always strive to keep you from harm, be it
in body, heart or soul, by acting or abstaining, by life or death. So I pledge,
to be true and binding until my very last breath, for the gods to bear witness."
"Oh—"
Now it was my turn to stare in wonder, for I had never anticipated such a loving
and great pledge from him, and though he hadn't really promised more than love
and protection as I had myself, the ancient form he had chosen for his oath
impressively showed his seriousness. I felt honoured and gifted to be deemed
worthy for so binding an oath from a man who had, only mere days ago, been
giving the impression to me that he'd rather see me dead.
"I thank you, Lover, and in all honour and with great joy I accept your oath," I
replied, as ancient in form as his pledge had been.
We kissed, sealing our oaths with our lips, both filled with loving admiration.
Huddling together, we snuggled underneath our makeshift blanket, this time
Boromir holding me in his arms tightly.
"We ought to get some sleep before the others wake up," I said, feeling sleep
crouching up to me like a sneaking spider.
"If we're lucky, we might walk up on them before the have noticed that we have
been away all night. Maybe we just tell them that we have risen early, and have
been out in the forest practising."
"Practising what?"
"Swords."
"Oh."
"Might work," I added after a moment of sleepy silence. "But only as long as
nobody sees the marks I left on your chest."
Softly chuckling, we both closed our eyes, waiting for the long-denied sleep to
come. But once more Boromir broke the silence, saying:
"You know, I might become happy with you after all."
"Mh?" was the only thing I could answer, sleepy as I was.
"As a Lover, you have made me happy already, even if in future we might only
love each other as brothers might. And as the captain of our fellowship, you
perform reasonably well, so after all, you might become a king not so bad at
all."
I shook my head, amused by his conceptions.
"Who's doing the sweet talk now?" I asked without bothering to open my eyes.
"I do love you too. But now get some sleep."
He kissed my neck one last time, and we both drifted away into a deep and
dreamless sleep.
And then he died, in my own arms, on the slopes of Amon Hân.
Riddled with orc-arrows he lay there, bleeding, shivering, coughing up blood,
and both of us knew that all help for him would be too late.
There had been no real chance to talk again since that one single night we had
passed together in that little grove in Lórien. There had been so much to plan,
so many things to prepare for our way further down to Mordor. And since we had
at least 'settled the issue', as Galadriel had put it, we came along splendidly.
I had kindled the hope that once we had left Lothlórien, we two might be able to
sneak away at night like the lovers we were, sharing some moments of mutual
passion, but there had been too many signs of orcs in the region already. Guard
duty had put an end to our romantic hopes. Yet there had been sweet looks every
now and then, little gestures that had shown each other that our feelings were
still fresh, some remarks that only the two of us knew to be not so innocent as
they might have seemed to the uninvolved. It had been a pleasant time, but duty
had put a clear end to romance.
I will not speak here about Boromir's ill-fated affinity for the lure of
Sauron's Ring, for enough on this has been said in so many other books, and it
had tortured me beyond words to see a loved one being infected with an illness
all my skill as a healer could neither banish nor slow.
But my heart had been heavy with sorrow already for days, and when I saw him
lying there, dying, I felt a part of me dying with him. Kneeling next to him, I
cradled his head in my arms, trying to console him, trying to give him
confidence in a future he would never live to see. There were so many things I
longed to say, so much to express in so terribly few moments left, that it was
once more Boromir who spoke before me.
"My brother," he whispered. "My captain"
And then, with his last breath:
"My king."
His eyes broke, and he left me without ever having had a chance to tell him one
last time how much he meant to me, how much I loved him. Kissing his forehead, I
sent a silent message after him, conveying all my love, all my care, all my
sorrow.
Since then, much has been said and written about the role of Boromir the Fair,
Boromir the Tempted, as called by some, in the history of the war of the Ring
and the Fall of Sauron. I have always abstained from such speculation, for my
judgement will never be impartial when it comes to this brick headed Gondorian
prince.
He might have been close as a brother to me, I was his captain once and would
have gladly become his king by now.
But for one night, we had joined as Lovers, and as such, I will always remember
him.
And as such, I will always love him.
is last words, as they were recorded for the books, were to 'his Brother, his
Captain, his King'. All assumed that, with his last breath, the son of the
steward of Gondor acknowledged my claim to the throne, acknowledged my heritage,
acknowledged me as who I am today. But secretly I always knew in my heart that
his last words were not meant for any future generation, but for me alone, to
safeguard in my heart until the end of my own life. I saw it in his eyes, the
day Boromir the Fair died in my arms—I might have become his King one day, and
was his captain then, but first and foremost for him I was the man who, for one
night, had been closer than a brother to him, both in mind, heart and body. For
one night, we had joined as Lovers, and as such I will always remember him.
